21 Years ago today, I became "Mom" to a princess ... my life has never been the same and I have been blessed every single second of the time she's been in my world. Happy Birthday, Meghan ... I love you ...

The Door to Tomorrow

Ellie shifted in that space between waking and dreaming, finding the place of waking to be as unsure as the dream she had just left. She began a thoughtless stretch, trying to find the where and why before opening her eyes to the new day. Sliding across the sheets, her toes encountered warmth and gradually, uncertainly, she became aware of the warm brick wall at her back … the strong arms surrounding her. Persuaded she was still dreaming, she sighed contentedly and attempted reentry to that place of sleep and peace.

“Good morning, little one.” The words were familiar, resonating with a place she knew from long ago … accompanied by the brush of a breath caressing her shoulder, the tightening of the embrace enveloping her. Her eyes sprang open, taking in the room not her own, yet familiar – the room that mere hours ago had been filled with loss and emptiness - wondering at the comfort and security of this place and this moment that was now. It had been years since these arms held her, since that voice was the one to welcome her into a new day, years that melted away into the sunshine filling the space. In a flash, the confusion fell away and Ellie knew she was exactly where she belonged.

Today would not be an easy day. Today would challenge her in ways that would have otherwise been unbearable. Today ... this day ... opened the door to a tomorrow that was everything her yesterdays should have been.

(Excerpt from "The Meaning of Now")

Dance

A few years ago  ... I decided that I'd been told not to dance long enough. So I talked some friends into coming along for the ride and I began to dance. At first, free-style and fun ... then I decided I wanted to do some of the cool things I saw other people doing ... and signed up for lessons. I began slow ... with waltz and some social/ballroom kind of stuff. Then some country ... and then some Latin. There is a distinct hum in the background - the sound of dozens of people saying 'can't' or 'shouldn't' - the naysayers. But do you know how much fun I'm having? Do you realize that three or four nights a week I get a work-out that is not at all boring or unpleasant? Do you understand that I'm living life and squeezing every second of joy from it that I can? Do you see that I refuse to allow a moment of life pass by unlived? So I will never win a dance competition ... instead I'll laugh and make friends and treasure the moments. And, as they say ... "Dance like no one is watching." :)

"I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible. I choose to risk my significance. To live so that which comes to me as seed ... goes to the next as blossom. And that which comes to me as blossom, goes on as fruit." (Markova)

A Bit of Cloth

On a walk through one of the encampments, I noticed a little boy … maybe four or five years old … huddled back behind a pile of clothes, blankets and miscellaneous jumbled pieces of lives. He was crying … not the noisy sobs usually emanating from a child of that age … but silent tears pouring from big, lost eyes. From the evidence on his cheeks, tears had evidently been a part of his day for a good while. I reached out to touch one of the people in my group and quietly pointed to the little one and promised to catch up with them later.

In that place, there is no way to know what a child has been through … there seem to be no limits to the atrocities even the youngest have survived. So I simply went and tentatively sat next to him … saying nothing. I quickly did a cursory visual check … no evident injuries aside from a few scratches … much too thin … alert, but not overly skittish, all things considered. After a few minutes, his curiosity about this strange woman sitting in the dirt by him began to win out over the tears … and I scooted closer and held out my arms. In a blink, he was on my lap … those beautiful eyes looking straight into mine … looking farther still, into my heart. He didn’t seem to notice … or care … that my knowledge of his language was greatly lacking … we managed to share our names … he told me he didn’t know how old he was … and that he didn’t know his mama or his papa … or when he had last eaten. And somewhere in that exchange, his tears came to a halt and mine began. At first, he touched my cheek and tried to wipe them away … and then … when he realized the job was too big for his tiny hand … he began to twist the tattered cloth he held in his hand. I suppose that, at one time, it was a blanket ... although no one would have recognized it as anything more than a scrap at this point. I was angry with myself for burdening this child with my tears … frustrated that he was being met with my weakness instead of my strength. And then he stopped the turning of the cloth and began to purposefully work at pulling away one of the straggling pieces … using his child’s strength to tear away the worn cloth. With concern and gentleness, he took my hand in his … pulled open my fingers and slipped the small bit of cloth into my palm. Solemnly he told me it would “fè li pi bon” … “make it better”. Then, with each of us holding a bit of his blanket … he snuggled into my arms and fell asleep. And there we sat until he woke and we went in search of a healthy meal for him.

Leaving that little boy behind to return to life here has left my heart in pieces … and that stained, tattered bit of fabric has become one of my dearest possessions.

Still

Hello.

I love you.

I want you.

I need you.

Goodbye.

I love you still.

The Path

In his dream, the road was really simply a country lane, little more than a beaten path if the truth be told. It was lined here and there with the footprints and tears of those who had gone before, mile markers of life’s journey. A careless misstep or thoughtless detour could change the destination – the steps taken with fear leading one direction and those taken with determined courage leading another. Each reached marker filled the traveler with hope, bearing witness that others had passed this way, perhaps carrying similar burdens of regret and longing, but triumphantly reaching this place in which he now stood. As long as one foot landed in front of the other, as long as there was one more bend on the horizon, as long as the song whispered among the leaves, the traveler would continue on. The music in his heart blended with the melodies of those gone before, drawing the map that would bring rest at the end of the journey as he took one more step forward.

Honduras - Days Six & Seven

(Note: Not a real time update)

Yes, yes … I know … I missed a day. But it was such a full and busy day! :)

We’ve continued to build. We began with a plan to eliminate thatched roofs and dirt floors … both accumulate parasites and end up creating health issues. The floor part has been conquered by the raised platforms for housing. The roof part is proving to be more difficult. We came believing that we had a workable solution, but after getting here, realized that it really isn’t practical, feasible or maintainable once we leave. Since the goal is to not introduce chemicals or building materials which can’t be found here, we’re now brainstorming for a new plan. Soooo … we have three days left to come up with an answer. If anyone out there has any brilliant suggestions, email them to me or Anthony. I only trek up the hill to use my phone once a day (in the morning), but have a fairly reliable email connection.

Today we did the equivalent of a junior high sex education class. AIDS is considered generally epidemic in several population groups occupying the northeastern part of the country. Additionally, Honduras has the highest rate of adolescent pregnancy in Central America. In self-contained communities like this, it is somewhat less of a concern … but as more of their young people venture out into more metropolitan areas for education or employment and then return home, it becomes more of an issue. So, in spite of a few uncomfortable moments, we did it … Mark with the men and Amanda and me with the women. Re-use of needles for antibiotics and other medications is common as well as those in rural areas attempt to self-medicate. Such a fine line between creating fear and creating empowerment.

With some trepidation we have introduced some ‘outside’ products. Toothpaste and toothbrushes, as well as bars of soap, have been added to the daily routine here. Our local team members will see that supplies are replenished monthly. It’s always a struggle to determine when the good outweighs any potential negatives and too often there is no way to effectively measure the outcomes.

The guys have completed the system to bring water up from the river. Yesterday, for the first time, the women could access water through a manual pump as opposed to having to carry it up. The supply will be limited and they will have to determine what uses the ‘easy’ water will be put to and which uses require the walk to the river. Actually the supply is pretty unlimited, but the flow is minimal and will only provide a certain amount of water in a given time.

Speaking of time, it has flown by so quickly. Only two more nights here … then a night in the city … then home. It feels like we only arrived yesterday.

Honduras - Day Four

(Note: Entry from earlier trip - not a real time post)

It is interesting to see how much electric power affects the way we live our lives. Here, where there is no electricity, life assumes an entirely different rhythm. When the sun sets completely, it’s dark … seriously dark. There’s no ambient light … really … none. Out of necessity, waking hours are determined by the presence of natural light. And it works. At home, after the sun sets, I wring several more hours from the day … usually staying up well into the night. And morning is not my friend … I prefer to spend the first hours of daylight sleeping! Here … after only a couple of nights … I’m awake when the light begins to seep into the day. I wonder how long it will take me to fall back into my old habits once I return home … combined with the different time zone, probably not very long. And I must confess that for about an hour after dark, most members of our team are busy at our computers, pushing the battery limits to the max. Within moments of our heads touching our mats, though, we are all sound asleep.

Having said that, tonight there was music and laughter and singing and dancing and these scrumptious little pastry (although pastry is probably not the right word) things filled with a jumble of fresh fruit … much like an empanada, but not quite. I couldn’t begin to tell you what they were called, but that’s something I want to find out. Given my love of sweets and fruits, it was heavenly. Torches were lit and kids were allowed to stay out until they could no longer keep their eyes open, falling asleep wherever they could find a comfortable spot to land. There are few things more joyful than the total abandon of dancing with a child. Even the monkeys participated, howling from the edges of the darkness … almost as if they wanted to join in … although probably they just wanted the yummy treats.

Today we built raised platforms to serve as ‘foundations’ for shelters. By raising the structures onto modified stilts with deep footers, the hope is that the next time flooding takes place (the rainy season begins in May), the waters and debris will wash beneath them instead of sweeping them away. By preparing more ‘foundations’ than we will have time to build on, the residents will be able to build on them as needed in the future. Thank goodness that in this area, all I am responsible for is following directions and doing as I’m told … Anthony is the construction genius.

By the way (and speaking of genius), Amanda is the person who makes sure that I know what’s going on around me … translating in such a seamless and unobtrusive way that, to some, she is almost invisible. But not to me. In this part of the country, there are numerous dialects that have been cobbled together over the years … add that to my real lack of working Spanish and without Amanda, I would be lost and clueless. She has this eerie way of knowing, just by a glance in my direction, whether or not I understand what those around me are saying or if I need her to make sense of things for me. She’s my voice and I never have a moment’s worry that maybe something isn’t communicated just right. She is amazing and brilliant and her sweet nature adds so much to the time spent here.

Honduras - Day Three

(Note: This is a journal entry from a past trip ... not a real time entry.)

Today has been an adventure. I went with the women to trade supplies with people from the nearest village. I am so humbled with the way they have accepted our intrusion into their world. On the way to the meeting place, I wondered to myself how the other group would perceive my presence … it’s not like I exactly blend in and can be invisible. As we neared the gathering, two of these dear ladies linked their arms with mine and introduced me as their friend … their amiga buen.

Quite an elaborate network has been established here … exchanging different grains, freshly caught fish, fruits. We even brought back a chicken and a rabbit with us. The last two items I’m not going to think about very much … and I hope they’re still here when I leave. Living near the river, fish makes up a big part of the weekly menu. Geographic proximity has made at least one healthy eating choice a given. On other days, the men exchange other items and visit with one another. The men here are eager to share their new ideas with their neighbors to the north.

The women and I traded information today. While talking about ways to safely clean, prepare and store foods, I learned to make tortillas from scratch. Really, seriously from scratch … and to cook them on a clay stove. I think that more than anything, I provided the entertainment for the evening in my clumsy attempts to shape the dough … these ladies effortlessly and efficiently produce perfectly symmetrical circles … mine took on all sorts of interesting shapes. The high point of my day was hearing one of the mothers explaining to her young son the things she had learned today … lavado … limpiar … the cycle has begun.

Reyna is 31. She is beautiful, with eyes that dance when she laughs and a smile that takes my breath. She's brought five children into this world ... three of them died before reaching the first birthday. Her husband comes and stands quietly as she shares her story, supporting her with his presence. Having lost a child of my own, my heart and mind can't even begin to comprehend the immensity of enduring that three times. Tears fill both her eyes and mine as she speaks … the toddler in her arms squirms and pats her face as he settles into sleep. Because of her age, she will most likely bear more children. This is the way of things here.

I struggle with questions of acceptance and respect and culture. Part of me wants to be able to 'fix' so many things ... and another part of me ... the wiser part ... knows that to even attempt to do so would only leave brokenness. I'm thankful for team members who are committed to a policy of "first do no harm" and who recognize that something doesn't necessarily need to be fixed just because we don't fully understand it.

Honduras - Day Two

I am awed by the gracious hospitality we are receiving in this beautiful place. We’ve been submerged in smiles and laughter since our arrival last night. There is a calm here that is almost tangible … an acceptance and joy that is free of the anchors attached to so many of the things that we often believe to be necessary in our complicated lives.

On my first trip to this country several years ago, one of my mentors told me to be careful about the questions I asked. The premise was that there were some things that I would simply be happier not knowing. The advice has served me well. Yes, dinner last night was delicious … no, I do not care to know exactly what I ate. Although I do hope to learn more about the process … I’m ashamed to admit that the very idea of preparing a complete meal without electricity leaves me at a loss.

I woke this morning to find two absolutely beautiful little girls sitting quietly by my mat, waiting patiently for me to open my eyes. And a day that begins with smiles that warm can be nothing but amazing. They’ve been my shadows for most of the day, the youngest, Naima, with one hand always attached to me in some way. After one day in their world, my life is richer.

Their mothers share their stories with me … stories of happy moments and sad moments. They tell me of the children they have lost … of the fear that sickness brings in this place so far removed from medical care. They tell me of the hunger their families endure when the floods take their meager crops. Pride fills the face of one mother who speaks of her son who has gone away to university … and the pride is tinged with a sadness created by his absence. They tell me of the wedding plans they are making for one of their daughters. They insist that goat milk is very good for me.

Floods have ravaged this area repeatedly over the last decade. Again and again, homes have been destroyed and rebuilt … often using the same methods in the same locations. Today, we made sand bags … lots of sand bags … and are brainstorming with these residents on ways to beat the rains next time. This is their place … and they will determine which actions to take. Without their wisdom and their understanding of this place that they call home, nothing we do will be worthwhile.

Already, I have learned more than I could possibly teach.