Hard Days Are Fighting Days

Some days are just hard.
It's still dark outside but the bladder will let you sleep no longer. Throwing back the blankets with annoyance, you take care of business without really opening your eyes. Wiggling back under the covers, sleep is just about to fully take hold again... and the alarm goes off. Hitting snooze leads to an arm being flung over the side of the bed - and staying there, until it starts to tingle, go numb, and the cold exposed skin wakes you too much to be ignored. Tucking the stray arm back under the covers, sleep starts to grab hold of you again. While not really awake, you rationalize that if you are this tired, you need the sleep and should maybe skip the gym just this one morning. Resetting the alarm, snuggling in for one more hour of shut-eye, suddenly you are wide awake. With a loud sigh of exasperation you throw the covers back once more, swinging legs over the side; today will not be the day to skip the gym.

It feels good to move the body, get the blood flowing, see the sweat dripping; better than sleeping one more restless hour. But the dalliance with the alarm has put your schedule off and now you are running late. While you make it in time for the train, it required bringing your make-up bag with you to apply it while riding along to work.

Stepping off the train early, choosing to walk the rest of the way to the office, it seems like it may rain making the choice questionable. An odd mix of people are passing by on the sidewalks first thing in the morning in downtown Portland. It's the crazy homeless man that spits loud and profusely on the sidewalk along Powell's Books that grabs your attention, not so much because of his looks, smell, behavior, or spitting - but because you caught yourself walking to the far side of the curb away from him. "What ugly, unloving behavior! He isn't so different than the residents at the hotel you minister at." you chide yourself with such remonstrations. And out of the blue you hear, "He's crazy, he'd probably ask you out too since it's only crazy people that have an interest in you. Well, the crazy, and the social awkward, or the scoundrel who absconded with more of you than he should have." Suddenly you are judging every man that crosses your path, many who can be 'interesting' in Old Town. But there are those few who are dressed for work, who took some care about their appearance, and don't seem to be crazy in the least; and as you check those things off, the whiny voice asks, "Why can't someone like that ask me out? What's wrong with me that only creepy Chris is interested in me?" With the tailspin starting, the ache of loneliness scourges out your insides leaving you achingly hollow. Is it the wind or the pit on the inside causing your eyes to water? No matter, they both sting. The mind wanders, back to memories with the scoundrel, and longing stirs into the mix. Not so much for the scoundrel himself, but for the connection, the togetherness and sharing of life. Walking down memory lane leads nowhere good, so you put a halt to the amble with a road sign that reads, "He REJECTED you!" Painful, but effective. Also effective at creating an opening for evil to lob their familiar arsenal:
You are unwanted!
You are unlovable!
You are defective!
You are utterly alone!
You have been forgotten by God!

Under this heavy unrelenting barrage, you buzz yourself through the front door of the office, but walls and structure provide no protection from this kind of attack. The ride in the elevator to the 7th floor is agonizing, as you want to seek refuge under the covers that were so comforting only four hours ago, you just want to hide and wallow.

Starting everything up, while programs boot, you start to get caught up on the blogosphere.
And you read this post:
The King is Enthralled By Your Beauty

Those bombs that have been exploding in your heart start to fizzle as truth starts to break through the smoke and ash.
You are loved!
You are delighted in!
You are thought beautiful!

And if you were still doubting, this blog post shows up:
beautiful you
Another cleansing sweep of Truth washes over the battlefield of your heart, reminding you that you are indeed loved, seen, known, and thought beautiful by the almighty King of kings who is always with you. He cares so much that He orchestrated two posts, using the same verse, to send His message.


Some days are hard.
Some days you just need to fight a little harder.
Fight for truth. Fight for love. Fight for healing.
And be generous with mercy and grace.

Learning to be loved by my Creator, allowing myself to be loved by myself and others, accepting that I am loved and lovable is hard work for me. I need constant reminders. On those morning walks from Jeld-Wen field to the office I keep my eye out for hearts, love notes from God to remind me on my way of whose heart I belong to and where I am kept tight.

"Hearts Abound"

Getting Right

It is May, April slipped by with a solitary post that only taunted you with the promise of more to come in the month. A broken promise. When the words wouldn't come, the sentences more fragmented than usual, the desire to write all but entirely absent - that is when I finally knew, I was heart sick. My soul in need of some serious TLC. My heart needing balm to heal.

On the outside I looked fine. I kept "keeping on" out of sheer necessity, projects at work didn't give me an option. If I allowed myself to open up and enter in to the mess, it meant I wouldn't be able to function. So I numbed myself. I buried myself in work. I obsessively read "The Hunger Games" trilogy. I watched TV and movies. I hit the gym with more frequency. I shopped. I ate. I drank (and not just copious amounts of coffee). Feeling and processing wasn't allowed, strictly verboten. Occasionally my heart wandered when the numbing started to wear off, but it only brought tears, incapacitating sorrow, unbridled anger. I didn't know - and still don't - how to delve into the muck while functioning in life. The only thing I knew to do was shut down and ignore my heart. It is awfully hard to write from the heart, about living a life of faith, learning how to live whole-heartedly, if you are silencing it.

But this can only go on for so long. I felt the fissures in my facade creeping, making their way to critical joints, the wall separating my heart from my head was about to crack. It made me nervous. Thankfully, it was also about this time that I finished my part in a major project at work. No one was waiting on me to finish something before they could start their work; I was no longer a roadblock for others. Enough time had passed since March's escapades that some vacation hours had accumulated in my time-off bank again. This meant - I could escape!! A couple weeks ago, I took an afternoon off from work and found the brackish balm that I so sorely needed. Pulling out of my driveway a few minutes after noon, I drove straight to Sleepy Monk Coffee in Cannon Beach. (It really is the best coffee and worth the drive just to pick up a bag of beans.) After stashing my bag of beans in the car, I walked across the street and found the sand and surf and started walking south. And kept walking south. Then went a little further. Finally, I had to stop as I didn't want to go for a swim to get around the bend to Hug Point Park. Most of the way I was alone, not another person in sight up or down the coastline; just me and God, walking and talking. Pouring my heart out, needing Him to show up and care for it, to rescue me, and remind me just who I am.

And God did show up.
As I pronounced myself wretched, sinful, rebellious, and unworthy of love, Jesus said, 'No. You are redeemed, forgiven, and not only worthy of love, but you are loved.'


Presenting the 'evidence' of my single, solitary, lonely aloneness as proof of my unloveableness. God refutes me, and reminds me that I am loved. Deeply. Beyond measure. And I am not alone, not ever, that I am part of a much larger family. A community that loves me, if I would allow them.


Ranting and whining about recent events of the past six months, questioning God's goodness, wanting to know why I am being punished. The Lord, with gentle loving kindness reproofs me, 'I am good. I am the giver of all good things. I lavish you with my goodness. Don't confuse punishment with living in a fallen world.'

I have never, ever found even one whole sand dollar on the beach. I brought home over 20!

Nearing the turn to get back to my car, just when I start to question am I totally crazy for believing God would talk to me, talk to my heart, had I made it all up? He sends one more reminder.


I am understanding the verse in Philippians 2:11 so much more that says "...continue to work out your salvation..."  It's all a process. We are all in process. My afternoon and evening at the beach did a world of good for me. I physically feel lighter, as though burdens were literally taken off my shoulders, words are starting to trickle back in to my mind and are being turned over in my heart, forming into phrases. I'm getting back to right, but it's a new right as God is moving, changing, renewing me. It's a process. I'm a process. I hope to get back to posting regularly soon, and share some of my process with you, but if it seems slow, please be patient and kind - I'm in process... just like you. 

To Catch... His Eye

I had been joking with the cashier, trying my best to break up the routine of his job. I swiped my debit card through the machine and punch my code in and wait for him to finish ringing me up. I don't know why but I glanced up and over. Down three or four check-stands he stood there facing me mimicking my actions, swiping his debit card and entering his pin number. I don't catch his eye, they are staring at the card machine. I freeze. My cashier is telling me something, but I can't track with what he is saying. Has he seen me and is choosing to ignore me? He must have heard me laughing with Terrie, a co-worker I ran into in the nut aisle. Surely, he knows I am here and is choosing to ignore me. Goodness his hair looks lighter, more salt in that salt n' pepper hair. Has the new job made him go gray over the summer? All he is buying is wine. Not surprising. I wonder if he is having a party. Another party I would have heard about but never been invited to. My fingertips seem to remember how soft his hair is and twinge with an urge to feel it again. My head swirls with panicked indecision of whether or not to greet him. But I have done my chasing. I could not catch him. Much more chasing after this one man than any self-respecting woman should have done. No more. I finally understand that the cashier rang up my avocado as another gourd, but it is to my favor and so he hands me my receipt. Desperate to be out of the market I grab my cart with the bag of groceries and bouquet of flowers and head out the door studiously examining my receipt as to avoid eye contact with anyone.  As I lift my bag out of the cart and shove the cart into the holding area I recognize his car beside me and catch a glimpse of him coming down the walk way. I yearn for him to say "hello," to acknowledge me, that is what I've always wanted from him. I walk up to my car, opening up the passenger side door and placing my bag on the floor. Jangling my keys I walk around to the drivers side, glancing down to his white Mercedes where he is likewise putting his bag of wine in the passenger seat. Terrified of him greeting me and yet longing for it, one more chance, I hope to catch his eye. I slide into the drivers seat a mixture of relief and sadness.
(This is not the same grocery store incident as the previous post. Just coincidence.)

A fun writing exercise from The Gypsy Mama.

Dreaming in Purple

I am all woman.  And those internal organs that make me female have been the bane of my existence since puberty hit. They have caused me problems from the time they 'woke up.' It is partly for this reason that I have always had a strong suspicion that I would not be able to get pregnant. (Before I go on, let me clearly say I do not know this as fact - it is just a strong hunch; I don't want to offend those of you who know with certainty.) The idea of being pregnant has never been particularly appealing either. But this is due to vanity. I have always struggled with my weight and the idea of being pregnant and getting fatter yet horrified me (because of course I would never be able to lose the 'baby weight'). The lack of desire to carry a child and the idea that it wasn't likely does not mean I did not have a strong desire to have children - loads of them - it just meant my plan was to adopt. At least one from every continent. In the last few years my opinions had started to change, not about adopting - I still very much want to do that, but about bearing children, about being pregnant. What caused the shift? That annoying cliche, "the biological clock." As I just passed my 38th birthday with nary a date to be had in the last year (or the last 38 for that matter), let alone a spouse, assuming the physical ability to have children - my chances are just about out. I no longer have a choice in the matter, the decision has been made for me. I do not like that the matter was taken out of my hands. This past spring-summer in particular has been a struggle. A struggle to let go of the newly accepted idea of being pregnant. A struggle to let go of the idea of having children at all, ones that I can truly call my own.

The precious Madeleine Sophia

Being a parent is not a right, it is a gift, a precious gift - and one that I will not receive. Yet realizing this has made the children and teens who do allow me to speak into their lives as friend, mentor, "auntie," "mama hennyfir" that much more treasured. A dear friend has taught me a lot about how incredible a gift children are to a family as she and her husband have walked the painful road of miscarriage with all its unmet longing, desire, and questions. And when that road took the uncertain turn towards adoption, I started to learn what an amazing gift a birth mother bestows on a couple. One day in June I sat at my desk completely distracted, fidgeting more than normal, constantly checking  for news. News of a baby to be born. News of a smooth adoption. News that my friend had been blessed with the outrageous gift of life. And when the story of that day was finally told, I cried. Big tears of joy and happiness, mixed with relief, rolled down my smiling cheeks. I have never been so happy for a baby's birth.

When it came time for the baby shower - scheduled for after the birth, just in case the birth mother changed her mind - I knew exactly what to give my friend. Two very adorable dresses had been hanging in my spare closet for the past three years. Dresses I had bought on a whim when the same friend had announced her pregnancy. Even though other friends have had children in that time, little girls too, I could never bear the idea of giving these dresses to anyone else. Hope's embers still glowed, however faintly. It was with delight that I finally took them off the rod and wrapped them in tissue paper. Looking at the size tag I had second thoughts as they may be the wrong season when they are the right size, but hopefully  this lil' girl will be petite like her birth parents and it will all be fine. Behind these two dresses was another little outfit, a romper, the cutest romper I have ever seen.  Look at it, isn't it super cute? I had bought it as a baby gift for a friend. That child should be about 18 by now. I thought the outfit so adorable I couldn't give it away. I decided to keep it for my own baby girl who certainly wouldn't be that far off in the future. For the last 18 years that little purple romper has been my symbol of hope and dreams. Hopes and dreams that were not unanswered, but shifted, and are in the process of being answered in a very different way than anticipated. With some hesitation, reticence and sadness (and a few thousand times of asking God, "Are you sure, really-really sure I won't need this?") I took that outfit, burdened with so much meaning, and added it to my friend's gift. A friend whose hopes and dreams were at long last answered, also in unanticipated ways, but answered in a beautiful brown-eyed way. I really don't know that I could have given the romper to anyone else. It would have been easier to give it to Goodwill, never to be seen again, than to give it to someone who doesn't understand the process of releasing our hopes and dreams and the heart-ache involved, who couldn't appreciate that this was more than just an article of clothing - I was giving part of my heart. As my friend opened my gift I had no regrets about passing on my symbol that I had been holding onto for so long, its time had come to an end for me, I only hoped she liked it as much as I did. I am content, my heart is full, it overflows with love for my boys - my Micah boys - and they would have looked down-right silly in a purple romper meant for a 2-year old girl.

Movie Review: "The Way"

Wednesday night I lived on the edge and stayed out late - on a work night! Shocking! What did I do in my moment of carefree extravagance? I took my mother to a screening of the movie, The Way, which is being released today. How about that for some wild times! I even sneaked in my own water bottle and snack! I am a wild and crazy woman.

Okay, all talk of me aside, the movie is great. No, I mean it. Really fantastic. This is me, giving the movie 2 BIG "thumbs-up."  The Way is one of the best movies I have seen in a while. Well done, Emilio!!

Reasons why I like The Way:

1. It is thoughtful, thought-provoking, and challenging while being very entertaining.
2. The characters are well developed, engaging, and funny.
3. The scenery is stunningly beautiful. 
4. The movie affirms life, relationships and community - without being preachy.
5. Last, and certainly not least, it has a positive Gypsy character.* 

I like this summary of the film from its website:

"In the film, a father unfortunately comes to understand his son’s life through his death and along the road finds himself as well. The main protagonist of the film is the conflict we each have within ourselves of choosing a life versus living a life. This greater question of finding oneself is a matter of acceptance and choice. Given the circumstances of our lives, how do we understand ourselves, our family and our friends, and the choices we make? Do we blindly go through life unaware of our actions and how they affect not only ourselves but others, as well? What role does our community, friendships and faith play in our decisions?"

A great line: "You don't chose a life, Dad, you live one." I wouldn't normally so heartily endorse a movie, but I really like this one. It draws you in and at the end, you feel as though you were among the travelers, that you had journeyed with them. I could identify with the character of Daniel - on the surface as a bit of a wanderer wanting to experience the world, a cultural anthropologist, a walker. But also, I could identify with the internal searching and struggle to find where I fit in the world. The Way strongly resonated with where I am at in life, the path I'm going down, the tumult of thoughts and emotions that are rumbling through my head. Thoughts that now include "When can I walk the Camino de Santiago for myself?"

Just go see it. http://theway-themovie.com/tickets.php

*Curious why this would make my top 5 list? I am, by schooling, a cultural anthropologist who did her Master's thesis on the "The Exclusion & Marginalization of the Roma in the Czech Republic and Slovakia."

My Profound Thought for the Year

Apparently I came up with something profound last night, and didn't even know it. I didn't set out to say deep thoughts, I was just rambling the partial thoughts as they came through my mind. I shared the same thought with another friend tonight and she thought it was so good that I was asked to repeat myself over and over until she had copied it down. So I am sharing it here on the off chance you too might think it is profound.

As my girl friend sat on the couch sipping her tea and me my cocoa, she explained how she feels God has withheld a husband from her. She can point to His providential care and provision in various circumstances - except when it comes to a husband. She wandered down the road of "what if..." to the cross-section of "if only..." pausing to ask me if this was familiar territory to me. I admitted to wandering down that way occasionally, but explained I try to steer clear of that neighborhood; unless there are lessons to learn and areas of growth that can be identified, there isn't much point in revisiting the past - what's done, is done. I would drive myself crazy if I dwelt on those two questions. Thankfully my wretched memory doesn't provide much to fuel that kind of reminiscing and recrimination.
We started listing our friends who are also in the same situation, that is, someone in the 35+ age bracket, godly women, no baggage that is too detrimental, single, desire to be married, but single none the less. It was quite the lengthy list. But then I asked how many guys she knows that are in a similar status; is there anyone in your church that you'd want to date? A long pause. "Is that Tim guy still going to your church?" "Yeah, but he has been dating this cute gal for quite awhile now. Plus, if you knew his whole story, I don't think you'd be interested." Another pause. I shared what a friend said several weeks ago: "Men are like parking spots; they are either taken or handicapped." We laughed, and then sighed at the truth of the statement. I then started my soap box rambling of incomplete sentences trying to capture incomplete thoughts. Thoughts about how the modern American church is doing a disservice to men, there is an epidemic shortage of godly men.

But this is what all my ramblings boiled down to:

I don't think God is withholding a husband from my friend, myself, or from any of the names we mentioned. I don't think he is saying "No. Not now, you need to grow in this area first." Instead, I think He is right beside us, grieving with us. He is sad with us that our longings, our dreams and desires have gone unfulfilled. And He is sad for the men that could have been our husbands but have chosen to walk away from Him. He is sad for all his children. For the women who have been faithful and uncompromising, but at the sacrifice of their dreams for family; and for the men, who have given up on Christ himself. I think there is an epidemic of single women in the church, in part because the church has failed to raise up men of character.

Yes, this may seem awfully harsh on the church and on men. I'm open to counter arguments that can explain why I need two hands to count the single women I know at just one church that I attend, and why I can't even come up with one name of an eligible bachelor between the two churches I regularly attend. But for my gal pals, I would just hope that my perspective would help us to not question ourselves so much. Put away the "If only I was _____ [smarter, funnier, thinner, livelier, prettier, etc.]." and remember that you are a child of the King, you are Daddy's princess, you are enough, and He is enough.

Only By Love

"The arms of love encompass you with your present, your past, your future; the arms of love gather you together." - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Tuesday afternoon I sent my mother a link to a blog, that I picked up from Becca who posted it on Facebook. It was for a photographer who is on a short-term missions trip to Honduras at the moment and went with some people from the Micah project to visit the market district. I commented that I was kind of proud of myself for picking out JuanCa from the back of his head; the scar is rather distinctive.  Looking through the photos made me a little envious of this gals skills - I want to take great pictures like her! But it also made me homesick, on a day where I was already filled with longing to be in Honduras. 

Want to take a looksie at the photos? Start here.

Pretty great shots, right? Make sure to click on the link day one (part 2) to see more. 

The next morning - Wednesday - I found an email in my inbox at work, apparently I had sent the link to mom using my work email. 

"WOW...went through a gamut of emotions looking at the pictures.  From smiles to tears to ahhhh's back to tears.  I KNOW now that you have been called by God to go to Honduras.  You look at these pictures and you (Jenn)  are drawn in with your heart to the people and you ignore the streets and trash. (sorta)  I see how that could get to you and the work God has to do in a heart/mind to get beyond it.  Is there a smell too?  There must be.  These were really incredible pictures - felt like I was there, recognizing a few of the people.  Fab pic of JuanCa.  But when I saw that pic I realized the work God had done in his heart and life and the smile of a changed man. That going there means giving up the American life for the Honduran life, and loving a people addicted and dirty....not unlike the Hotel residents in  some ways.   I saw Honduras in a different way = a people made in God's image and a people God loves and children without many chances for a life without glue, needing someone to come alongside to help bring life to them. 

I trust in God's Name for you and in His promises to sustain you there and give you wisdom and His love to share with these wonderful people.  I love you so much and would be selfish without knowing that God is calling you and I would never stand in the way of what God is doing in your life. He has given you a heart sooo big it needs to be shared with these lovely people."

My mama! My eyes welled up and spilled all down my cheeks as I read that. And they still do. With her words she wraps her arms of love around me in the present, reminding me of my past, releasing me into my future, gathering me together in one cohesive whole. 

Today I Wear Coral

Today I am wearing a coral shirt, a rather bright color. A suitable color for this glorious summer day.

Today I am attending a memorial service. Remembering a life well lived, a life lived for God, full of love.

Wearing bright colors to a memorial service is a bit of a taboo, I know this. But I'm choosing to break with tradition, commit the taboo, because I want to celebrate Cinda. While I mourn the loss of her presence here, and I know the family is hurting, I think Cinda would want us to celebrate that she is in heaven, with her Savior, in a renewed body no longer ravaged with cancer. So while I put on my waterproof mascara and stuff my purse with tissues, I think of the ways Cinda influenced my life, how she modeled quiet loving service, small acts of grace, that reached the hearts of many. And I want to boogie and shout - "Well done, Cinda!! Well done!!" as the tears start spilling over. Joy and sadness all mixed up together.

Home Coming

As we walked off the airplane and I looked out at the lush green hills, they were familiar; I was coming back, back to a place I know and where people know me. The customs guy was surprised that I was coming back for a third time, "You must like Honduras?" "Yes, very much, I have some special friends who live here." And as I walked out to the meet & greet area I got to hug and squeeze those special friends. It was like coming home.

The best hug didn't happen until later that day. We drove up to the Micah house for dinner and as I sat in the back row waiting for my turn to get out I heard from Mitch up front "Hey, there's Hauner!" I started desperatly trying to get the back door of the van open but my impatience was thwarting my efforts. Finally someone else got it open and I scrambled out as fast as I could, hitting Becca in the process. I squatted down so Hauner could see me around other people and set an extra bag down on the ground so both arms would be free. We locked eyes and burst into smiles and ran at each other. As I got close I leaped at him,wrapping my arms around his neck tight while he held me tight and swung my legs like a pendulum. "I miss you so much, mamí!" All night I could not stop hugging Hauner every chance I could. I've missed my boy.

My heart is so full.

Justice Conference - Part 1: : Ken Wytsma : : Why Justice

A couple weekends ago the roommate and I trudged over to Bend for The Justice Conference sponsored by World Relief. It was an inaugural event, so I'll admit that my expectations were fairly low. I recognized a few names on the roster of speakers but not most. The pre-conference breakout sessions were interesting but sitting all day listening to speakers in my sleep deprived state was a challenge. I loaded up on caffeine to make it through the evening; the official start of the conference. But I was so enthralled with the two speakers that evening I think I would have managed to stay awake without any chemical help. The conference as a whole knocked my socks off and sent them to orbit, it was so good. I'm still mulling over what was said, processing the insights gained; as an aide in doing so I want to post the key thoughts I picked up on from each speaker and the video. I would gladly welcome dialoguing and hearing your views on any of the topics.

First up, to kick off the conference, was Ken Wytsma, the pastor of Antioch Church in Bend. His title was "Why Justice." Below is the video of his session.
Here are some of the key thoughts I picked up on during his talk:

• Justice is mercy. 
• We can't fix the world, but we can change the world.
• Choosing to intervene and fight for justice is messy, you lose out on the benefits of a just society and have to pour your life into the mess of injustice.
• There are three reasons for justice:
• Biblical: the sense that we ought to, but guilt holds us back.
• Religious: we should fight for justice because of love, but the cost will often stop us.
• Personal: God has given us a calling, but confusion and/or fear keeps us immobile.
• Empathy comes before action, concern is part of our love.
• Service is love in work clothes - action through which love is manifest
• It is so much better to invest your life for justice, than to spend it improving your golf game. 
•  If we give our life to God and spend it on justice, we gain our life.

Ken Wytsma :: Why Justice? from The Justice Conference on Vimeo

Choices within Choices

Today I had a choice, a choice between two competing desires and expectations. While I don't want to waste a single moment to be with the boys who I came to Honduras to enjoy, I also know that I needed rest and all too soon I'll be heading back to Portland and resuming my job for which I needed to attend a webinar this morning. I could have easily gone into Micah this morning, hidden myself in some corner for the webinar and then been around to hang-out with whoever was left at the house this morning and the Tech School guys. But I told Natasha I would stay at the house, attend my webinar, and help Daisy with the cooking for Nightstrike; although I kept the idea in the back of my mind of heading into Micah as well. When I woke up at 8:50 this morning I realized that I would be staying at the house and only had a few moments until the 9:00 webinar. My decision was made for me by the desperate tiredness of my body.

I heard the rain hitting the metal roof early this morning, a pleasant drumming sound, that lulled me back to sleep. But not once did I hear the Wiggs clan as they got ready this morning and left the house; nor did I hear the dogs bark their departure. I slept soundly, my body craving the rest it needs to recover from this nagging illness. So here I sit, still in my pj's, at my computer, the webinar over, IPod plugged into my ears, Daisy has arrived and is starting the laundry, I'll help her cook for Nightstrike later, after I put on clothes and get ready for the day. But first I must shake this sadness and regret.

A sadness at the realization that I have a return ticket that will be used in one week. That this time next Friday, I'll be starting my journey back to Portland which is home, but yet is no longer home. Regret that today and this weekend will be "wasted" in that I will not be able to build relationships with Micah guys. Today is about Nightstrike which doesn't include Micah guys, but will still be good. This weekend Roger is taking the guys on an 'excursion' so they won't be around. With the self-inflicted pressure to make every day of this short visit count, I am anxious about the weekend. What can I do to make it worthwhile? But as I think about it, why do I have such a narrow definition of what is "worthwhile" that only includes relationship building time with Micah guys? Isn't finding a way to serve, encourage, minister to Natasha and the boys of value? (Brian will be gone this weekend.) Of course it is! Who knows what God has planned for this weekend, maybe other opportunities to be with staff and develop those relationships will be possible, which is just as valuable and possibly more important. Maybe there will be an opportunity to be out and about, seeing and learning more of this land and culture, which is also very valuable.

So the question for this weekend, as it is for life, am I willing to allow God to take His proper place or will I try to usurp Him? Will I create the open space in my agenda for Him to interrupt? Will I put aside my expectations and self-made road map, and be open to God's leading, guidance, and movement? Will I take my eyes off of pinpoint specifics to take in the whole vista He has laid out before me? Will I be stubborn and unmovable, or be fluid and allowed to be moved by God?

My Heart is Home

I didn't admit this to anyone, but I was really nervous about coming back to Honduras. I was sure the boys wouldn't remember me, after all I had only been one of many, many visitors this summer. And if they did remember, that they wouldn't remember my name and only be politely welcoming. Nothing could be further from the truth. I was welcomed back with such enthusiasm that I was overwhelmed and surprised. Surprised more by some of the boys who I hadn't connected with a lot previously were very excited to see me, Miguel Fugon and Junior in particular. And the ones I had connected with before welcomed me back with so much warmth that my heart was about to burst. Wilmer is one of them. I went with the group of visitors to view two potential sites for Micah 2.0. In between the two sites we stopped for lunch at Flora's house. I found a spot on a bench and soon Wilmer joined me, sitting right up against me. After we finished eating and plates were disposed of, he continued to sit beside me occasionally trying to tell or ask me something, wrapping his arm around me, leaning his head on my shoulder, holding my arm. Michael Miller was taking a group on the tour of Villa Linda Miller and I thought for a moment of joining them, hoping that maybe we'd go to the top of the water tower and I might get some better photos than last time. But I wasn't about to bring an end to this quiet moment with Wilmer. We can't communicate much, thankfully Jeremy was on the other side of Wilmer and able to translate, but as Wilmer was laying against me I didn't need a translator when he quietly said, quiet enough that I wondered if he even meant me to hear, "Te quiero mucho." (I love you much.) "Yo tambien, Wilmer." (I also, Wilmer.) He pulled my arm against him tighter.
It's a crazy thing, I believe a God thing, that I can love this kid so much.


Wilmer, the son of my heart.

Returning to the Micah house from our tour of properties, I ended up in the back of the red pick-up. Once we pulled up outside the Micah house I was sitting on the top of the tailgate, swinging my feet over when all of a sudden, there was Hauner right beside me with his big goofy grin. I squealed, "Hauner!" and wrapped my arms around him while still sitting on the tailgate. He gave me such a big bear hug that I was pulled right off the truck and held against him with my feet dangling. When I was able to get my feet on the ground and gain some space I asked him how we was, "I'm happy, I see you!" Ahh! I had some time to kill while waiting for Brian Wiggs to finish up what he was doing and until Natasha arrived to pick us up. So I found a spot in the courtyard to sit and Hauner joined me, holding me close telling me how happy he was that I was there. We talked about the upcoming graduation ceremony, his plans for the future, and I made him promise to introduce me to his girlfriend later that night. He also started playing with my camera, which resulted in the goofy photo below. The big lug. I love this kid.

There is something about the Micah boys. They have a way of entering your heart that changes you, changes your priorities, changes your plans, changes your ambitions, changes your life.


Hauner, mi niño grande.

The Phantom Critic

I feel the need, the need for speed. No, that's not it. I feel the need to defend and explain myself. To whom? No one in particular. The phantom critic, the person who has read my post-Honduras update and is bashing me for referring to Hector and Wilmer as "my boy" and questioning my "motherly love." I questioned my word choices as well. I tried to think of another way to describe what I feel towards the Micah boys, because it is not just Hector or Wilmer who are "my boys" - they all are, and that really is the best way to say it. I know, I know, they aren't really mine, truly, they belong to God. The love I have for them is most akin to a maternal love, and wouldn't any mother call her sons "my boys" with the understanding that they are her responsibility, they have been put in her care, entrusted to her by God. And that is not unlike how I feel; that God has imbued me with a deep love for these boys that is motivating me to help carry the responsibility of raising and caring for them. I just can't come up with a better word than "maternal" to describe it.
I have no desire or illusion of being their mom, they have mothers. Some are involved in their lives, some have passed away, some are absent, some are a positive influence, some are not, but they have mothers - and it isn't me (we need an equivalent of the African notion of "Auntie"). What I can be is an adult figure who loves them, just as they are, who will stand beside them through their ups and downs, a stable positive constant, teach them how to navigate life, encourage them to be their best, point them to God, training them up in the way they should go, who will continue to love them even when they throw it back in my face. Why? Because that is what God does for me every single day. It's all about the love of Jesus. Because He loves me, I need to share that love. Because He first loved me, I can love my boys. Because He loves me, and has given me this love for Micah, I will do the hard work of loving. To the boys, I'm just one of many visitors that came down this summer; I'm just the crazy gringa who spoke gibberish that no one understood, who spit water on Hector, kissed Wilmer (and others), and had a camera permanently attached to her hand - that is, if they remember me at all. Before I can be that 'caring adult figure' I have to earn the right, earn their trust and respect, prove myself, before I can speak into their lives. That will take time, years, and it won't be easy. But I am driven to take on this challenge by the love of Jesus. What other source could give me the strength to sell my cute home (and my books, which may be more painful) and move to Honduras? It's all about the love of Jesus, baby!
And there I go again, talking like it's a done deal!

This is my response to that phantom critic who lives in my head, and hopefully only there.

*One more note about Hector, "the son I didn't know I had." If I had ever had a son, I'm certain that the resemblance in personality and temperament to Hector would have been uncanny. That's all I meant.

Love

Today I've been trying to collect things for the garage sale next weekend. While trying to get one box down from a shelf I sent another one upside down, spilling its contents - old journals. I couldn't resist taking a peek as I started to put them back. I found a quote, maybe from a sermon, from July 22, 1992, that is worth sharing:

"Love is an action of caring for others like God does for us. We can't show love without knowing God. Nothing proves our love for God more than our love for others. Love is an attitude, love is a prayer for a soul in sorrow, a heart in despair. Love is goodwill for the gain of another, lover suffers long with the fault of a brother."

I think I'll stop reading there before I'm mortified by my younger self. :)