Please excuse the long berth in entries. Unforeseen events, (such as my computer breaking twice before going to meet its maker in Japan, a brief stint in the in The Valley of Angels for time to talk with the Man upstairs, and a technology fast to ensure that my heart was present as I adjusted life in a new country), have caused me to be in “soul searching” mode. Currently, the entire D squad is staying at Zion’s Gate, a ministry in Honduras. Our contact has been in Honduras ministering to the youth population for almost six years, and while he has a cheerful demeanor, he’ll be the first to tell you the ministry here is no joke. There are a about a half dozen or so street kids from Los Pinos living at the ministry, a Honduran city notorious for rampant crime and drug use. Many of them were addicted to sniffing paint thinner at a young age and are involved in gang activity. Two kids just lost their dad a few days ago to suicide. We’ve been given the honor to enter into the lives, as well as the pain. The first few days I yielded new nicknames (“Santa Suave”/Smooth Santa or “Pelon Grande”/Big Baldy happen to be my favorites). However, after two weeks of intentional “Hey, I want to get to know you” time, I have found that they are some of the most kind kids I’ve ever met. Their dreams dwarf their hard exteriors, revealing that healed wounds are always the best weapon against evil.
One of the kids and I ducked outside from the evening chaos that ensues when the kids come home and need to decompress from being cooped up at school all day. We sat on the cold pavement by the doorway and stared at the stars. An extremely obnoxious noise erupted off the walls we had painted days before. We both jolted with fright, and then snickered while simultaneously rolling our eyes. After spending fifteen minutes in silence staring at the stars, I looked over and spoke in Spanish (more fluent than before):
“Hey man. How long were you homeless?”
“Four years,” he answers back, in a tone that doesn’t indicate the want for sympathy.
“Dang…” fell from my mouth (which happens to be the same word in Spanish).
A semi-truck noisily ambled by as he tried to say something.
“What?” I asked.
He spoke again in slower Spanglish, “Por why?
“It’s remarkable that you’ve made it this far…” I said, too honestly, “What do you wanna do with your life, man?”
His response was immediate, “To be a pastor.”
My jaw dropped, “That’s awesome.”
A look of uneasiness spread on his face, “Why? I gotta go back for my people in Los Pinos. That’s what you’re supposed to do as a Pastor, right?" he said, not realizing the power in his statement.
The big teenager sighed,"I just hope they don’t make me read the bible too much to become a pastor. That’d suck…”
I laughed real hard. He laughed back, but I’m not quite sure he knew why.
When the laughter had died down, we stared back at the stars.
I wonder how if he was surprised as I was that I was sitting next to miracle.
Currently I am $546 short of my next financial goal. Would you please consider being part of a miracle?
Picture of my team painting the minitry…
