Three shovels, a hoe, a pickax. One road that has more pot holes than cement. A simple job to fill in gaps with dirt. Our rusty wheelbarrow is on its last leg. We try our best to make some kind of difference.
“Ohhhhhhh hahaha hola muy bien muy biennnnnnnn !”
I look up from my shovel. The tall grass to my right suddenly parts. A small elderly Honduran man, walks right over our workplace on a trail I didn’t even know existed. Knee high rain boots, yellow raincoat, a sack slung over his weathered back. He looks at us with kind eyes crinkled from smiles. Greets us, observes for a few seconds. Then he’s on his way. Gone into the mountain just as quick as he appeared.
“WE SING WE DANCE FOR THE LORD JESUS WERE ON FIRE FOR YOU FUEGO FUEGO FUEGOOOOOOOO!!!!”
Pastor Roger, microphone in hand, tearing it up on our makeshift church stage. His smile is so big; hes jumpin around so much his glasses are about to fall off. The chairs the children sit in during school days in rows across the cement patio. But the whole audience is up, following the pastor’s lead. Loud latino worship music coming from scratchy speakers fills the floor. Sunday morning Loyalty church; everyone jumpin for jesus.
“Oh and you know how to use a machete, si?”
I look at Mar and Abby and we’re telepathically cracking up. Slightly unsure how to respond. Ummmmm…yes ? “Yes pastor, we can figure it out. “
An entire hill of overgrown grass, weeds, dead vegetation. One pair of hedge clippers and two blunt swords. Our morning ministry is to take everything out. The sun gently beats down on our hilltop and the breeze sways softly through the grass we have to cut. I do a 360, in unbelief at the view we get to call home. Heck yes I think, I will cut this grass, and with a happy heart. Roger walks down the driveway, satisfied that we somewhat understand.
“I hope you aren’t afraid of snakes!”
“Miss, estrella por favorrrrrrr ???? aqui aqui porfavor iris “
Phonics, 10:45 am. 15 minutes left of class. My six pre k students have successfully been cooperative for more than five minutes. When they finish their work, I put stars on their pages, estrellas. Mateo looks up at me earnestly. Three crayons in his left hand, and points to his workbook with his right. Scribbles fill the page, but enough is colored to where I can star it. Gracias, I say, muy bien. He’s the only one who can color inside the lines. Nataly is crying. Jonathon is sitting on Juliettes desk. I’ve said sit down please more times thank I can count. Valeria looks at me. That smile, those big brown eyes. She shyly waves me over to her messily colored in rainbow. Si, estrella. She jumps up, hugs my legs, and all the kids follow her. Im trapped, they wont listen, and I’m smothered by five four year olds yelling things I cant even understand. I guess class is over. But if you really knew me, you’d know that’s exactly where I want to be.
“Michelle, do they have escalators in Canada?”
She turns and glares. “Only in every other province.”
She’s literally the first Canadian ive ever met. It seems like a big unknown land and im just trying to learn new things every day. So. Good to know. We’re honestly driving each other insane. School has been cancelled. The six of us are all in a room together. The clouds today block out every ray of sun…. that and the huge clouds of black smoke that have drifted up from the roads and burning tires. Because of election confusion/ riots, we aren’t allowed to leave our mountain. [disclaimer: we were, and still are, perfectly safe] That’s okay. We have each other. And Michelle has a ukulele. Between jam sessions and tienda runs, we take naps and discuss how to find God through the book of Numbers. If anything, I guess this is livin simply. Thank you Jesus for these girls.
So, just some moments. Honduras has been something, that’s for sure. Ive seen so much of the Father in these past couple weeks and have just been celebrating his steadfastness, his unshakeable love. If ya were wondering, God is so so alive here.
Thanks for reading y Feliz Navidad,
~i
