Questions

Being a missionary is the weirdest thing I have ever done. It is so strange to be a part of a group of people, most of whom I have never met before, but yet I feel like I can identify with and understand them more than I can many of the people from my "home" town. It's weird. I didn't know what the term ex-pat meant before we moved to Honduras and now I have joined the ranks of them. Some of these missionary people I like, some of them I don't; some of them I agree with, some of them I don't. It's like this big giant weird group of people, most of whom, are just trying to love Jesus and love people in the way that makes sense to them. 

The thing about loving people and living life in the way that makes sense to me, is that my way doesn't often make sense to other people in the same exact way it makes sense to me. And when I say that, I mean that same group of people who are all reading their Bibles, all showing up and spending time with Jesus, trying so hard to be faithful to him and his call.

Jesus tells me to love my neighbor. Seems simple enough. But, is it simple? What does it look like to love my neighbor? Does it look like building you a house and giving you my clothes and paying for your education? Does it look like finding you a job so that you can pay for those things on you own? Does it look like empowering you to make changes in your own life?  Does it look like sitting and listening to the heartache and the tears? Does it look like laughing so hard together we cry? Does it look like holding your baby or watching your kids or making you dinner? Does it look like just showing up to just be present? Does loving my neighbor look the same in your culture as it does in my culture? And what culture are we talking about? My passport country culture? My country of residence culture? My ex-pat culture? All of the sudden, I have gotten so confused. I started out trying to follow a seemingly straight forward command and I thought myself into circles. And so it happens. I can try so hard to make sure I get it right that I forget or talk myself out of just doing it. 

Prayer is making a huge difference for me as I try to get out of my head and just do it, just love. That pray without ceasing thing is really a hard thing, but wow is it powerful. He really does hear. He really does listen. And he really does help me to love the person he puts in front of me today. 

Do I know all the answers about how to best love? Nope. Sure don't. Do I agree with all of the choices that I see the different people in my different circles and cultures making? Nope. Do I need to keep loving anyways? Yep. Do I need to keep praying and talking to the Lord about it all? Yep. Will I ever have all the answers? No. Way. But I know that he will continue to lead me and guide me and show me the way that he wants me to love the people in my life today. 

- Katie

The Word

I know that I say this a lot, but I so often feel like the things I am learning and are really sinking in for me are such a cliche. I have been in church my whole life and heard the stories my whole life, but every day it seems to come more and more alive. For so long, I have felt like I could say, "ya, ya, tell me something I don't know" ... it felt cold and boring. But. Over the the past few months, I feel like my soul is coming alive. Ginny Owens (have you heard her music? Go take a listen if you haven't. So powerful, such good lyrics.)  has a song on her newest album where she talks about her soul coming alive. She talks about how she was in the dark and now she is coming alive. I feel that way lately.

I have always known that I should read my Bible ... to be a good Christian and to grow in my relationship with the Lord, I need to have a quiet time every day. I also know that in Psalm 42:1 it says, "As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God." And so, over the years, I have had my quiet time and I have trusted that longing for Him in this way was possible, but not felt its reality for me. To be honest, I just assumed that it was something that was possible for the psalmist or for other people, but not for me. I have loved Jesus and trusted in His goodness. I have known His love and His comfort. But His Word was not something that was alive for me. 

About six months ago I was talking with a friend who was reading through the Bible chronologically over the year (I love you, Reagan). I loved that idea and decided that next calendar year (2018) I would start doing the same. I didn't want to start in the middle of the year because that would mess up the daily checklist (anyone else feel that checklist need?). So, instead I decided to start at the beginning of the Old Testament, at the beginning of the New Testament, and to read a Psalm and a Proverb every day. At first it just felt routine. It also felt like a lot of reading. But somewhere along the line, and I'm not sure where, it changed for me. I started having a hunger to read more and grow more. If I had a chance to read, I pulled out my Bible instead of pulling out a book, not because I was trying to do the right thing but because I wanted to, because I wanted to read my Bible instead of read a book. Say what? Who am I? What has happened to me? People. The Lord has come over me and shown me that His word is incredible, and alive, and such a ridiculously amazing story. He has also shown me that it is all so interwoven ... each part needs the other parts. I was reading last week just in the Old Testament because I was so engrossed in the story of it all. But the weight of the law started to get me down ... and I realized that I needed to go to the New Testament for awhile because that's where the HOPE is. He is all the hope and all the love. 

And so, I feel like a cliche ... maybe that's the wrong word. But, I feel silly saying to you, "GO READ YOUR BIBLE", because that's what people said to me my whole life and it felt so stagnant. But, it isn't. He isn't. He is alive. His Word is alive. He is speaking to you, to me. He is loving us, challenging us, asking us to make hard choices, to love big and listen in. He loves you. Pick up His Word and ask Him to show you, to give you that soul that pants for Him and His word, to help your soul come alive. You won't be sorry. 

- Katie

Snakes

So. If you follow me on Instagram, you've heard this story. And if you live near me, you've heard this story. BUT. If you don't do either one of those, then you NEED to hear this story. I cannot stop thinking about it. And praying that it NEVER EVER happens again. Like ever.

First thing you need to know is that I have pretty much gotten accustomed to all types of bugs and critters and insects in my house ... cockroaches, ants, moths, scorpions, mosquitoes, you name it, we have them in the house and even in our beds. None of these things even phase me anymore. So ya. But this, this is another thing altogether. And just, no.

It was 8:30pm at night. I was on my way over to my neighbor's house, using the back door of my house. We have a regular door and a screen door. I opened the first door first. No problem. I open the screen door, WHAM, a SNAKE fell from somewhere on the door and LANDED ON MY ARM. People. On my arm. I was standing in my house. Inside my house. The snake fell onto my arm and then onto the floor and then crawled into the house. Into my house. Where I was standing. In my house. I may or may not have freaked out. It didn't look like just any ordinary garden snake. It was black and had yellow stripes. I try to avoid snakes at all cost, including any knowledge about snakes, so I had no idea if it was poisonous, but I had heard something about how black on yellow kills a fellow and I was definitely seeing black on yellow ... just NO. Did I mention it was on my arm? Inside my house? Oh, you got that? Ya. Needless to say I ran the opposite direction and called for Peter. He trapped it with the broom and asked me for a knife. I obviously brought him all the knives, because of afore mentioned arm and house. He thankfully and very bravely cut off said snakes head. And now, I will have nightmares about snakes forever ... so, maybe you'll pray for me too? That I will never have to touch or have a snake in my house ever again. 

(I have since been told by some that this snake is poisonous and others have assured me that it is not ... not sure who to trust, but still happy that it's no longer in my house.)

- Katie

His Incredible Love

          Late last week my neighbor very kindly reminded me that I haven’t blogged in quite some time (thanks, Jordan J). But she is right.  I am due for a blog post. It’s not that I haven’t had anything to say. It’s not that things aren’t happening and moving. The thing is, blogging feels tricky to me these days. The longer we are here, the more this place becomes home and the more these people in this corner of the world are my people. I live here. I work here. I love here. I can honestly say that I am coming to love it here. It has been a long journey for me to arrive at that point, but I can say now after 3 years and 9 months that I love this place. Living here now just feels like life. And people here are my friends. How do I write a blog post about my friends? It feels invasive somehow and not respectful. But. We serve an incredibly big and incredibly awesome God. And He is worth writing about. He is worth sharing about. He is worth SHOUTING about. Praise. You. Jesus. So tonight I write about him and shout his glory.

Have you ever had an experience that just blows you away, that renders you speechless? We have been attending a church started by missionaries that meets in the school building where I teach. It was started by missionaries but is currently being run by an incredible Honduran couple who moved into our area as missionaries of sorts from the country's capital, Tegucigalpa. Their lives shout Jesus and we are so fortunate to work alongside them.

The church is a mixing of different people who have come to Bible studies led in the community and have decided to follow Jesus in a committed and faithful way. It is really amazing to see how the church has grown up. Because it is the result of these Bible studies in different communities, the people come from towns all along the coast. We help give people rides home after church.

Today after church Peter told me about the baptism that was happening and that the people who were riding in our car wanted to go to the baptism first before being taken home. To be completely honest, I didn’t want to go. Our girls have been sick, I’ve been short on sleep, I had a lot of work to do at school to prep for the week, Peter had some ministry stuff happening in the afternoon and I just wanted to go home and rest for an hour before starting our afternoon. However, I didn’t feel like we could say no, so we went.

We got to the beach and I saw the man who was being baptized. I had not met him or seen him before though I had noticed him in church because he had a scarf up around his neck and head. This seemed strange to me because of the heat and because scarves are usually reserved for women. When we arrived at the beach and I saw his face, I realized why he had a scarf. He has some sort of disease that has been eating away at his face. He had what looked to me like a hole in his face. I have never seen anything like it before in my life.

He is currently a patient in our hospital. He is from someplace up in the mountains of Honduras. He went to see a different doctor at a different hospital about a year ago. They did some testing and came to the conclusion that he has leishmaniasis, a parasite that eats away at your skin. Over the past year, the treatment they prescribed has not been working so he has come to our hospital to see if we can help him. We (and by we I mean the amazing doctors we have here, not me) have done some testing that has not been conclusive and are currently in the process of sending away for more testing so that he can get the help that he needs. He faces the very real possibility of having this disease for the rest of his earthly life. But Jesus. Today, today, he received the best treatment he could ever receive. He received Jesus: his salvation, his love, his grace, his forgiveness.

This man is in so much pain. Can you imagine? Something is eating away at your skin, your face, making it difficult and next to impossible to eat and talk? And you know what he was saying through the baptism? “Praise Jesus. My sins are washed away. Praise Jesus. My sins are washed away.”

I am undone. Jesus. Life is so hard and so full of pain. But Jesus. Physical pain. Emotional pain. Heartache. Loss. But Jesus. If that man can praise and thank Jesus, so can I. Jesus. You are good. You are faithful. In the midst of life, the good, the bad, the pain, I will praise you. You, Jesus, only you.

- Katie

It was a typical call night. Rainy. Muggy. It was 7o'clock at night and I got called into the hospital right in the middle of putting the girls to bed. I had been on call every Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday for a month straight and it was getting old. I rode my motorcycle down the hill thinking, "Great. Some over-concerned mother is bringing her two month old because he is acting strange. How strange can a two month old act? All they know how to do is eat and poop." I arrived at the hospital and began checking the kid out.
The baby boy was very small for his age, but that was all I could find. His mother said that he had been in a hospital in San Pedro Sula for the last month. She said that he was born there and at first was unable to breathe on his own. They had just discharged him, two days prior from coming to our hospital. I asked her what her concerns were. He had no fever, no GI problems, nothing that I could find that was wrong. She said that he had not eaten well two hours prior for his last feeding. I asked her to feed him and he seemed to feed without difficulty. The mother was very concerned and I thought it would be easier to admit him for the night and do labs in the morning to make sure he was ok than it would be to send them home. I wrote the admission orders and got them tucked in. I drove my motorcycle back up the hill, but less than half an hour later, I was called back to the hospital because the baby had stopped breathing.
Six different doctors were helping me. Dr. Isaac helped me figure out the diagnosis. We came to the conclusion, after talking more with the mother, that the baby was having apnea and bradycardia of prematurity. We breathed for the baby for several hours and he seemed to recover. I had never dealt with this before; I had never even seen this before. In the United States babies who are born this way are not allowed to leave the hospital until they have a week free from apnea and even then, they are sent home on an apnea monitor.
I was never so happy to see Dr. Judy, our pediatrician, as I was that night. She is very familiar with this problem and the treatment. She got to work building a bubble CPAP machine from oxygen tubing and physics. In no time at all, this baby was doing better.
We had multiple set backs, including a collapsed lung lobe and likely pneumonia, but Judy helped me limp this baby back to health.
I was embarrassed that I had no idea what was going on with this baby and that I almost sent him home to his sure death. I was really thankful that God had placed such great people around me and for the timing of this little boy's respiratory arrest. Dr Judy came and brought him to my room and I didn't recognize the little guy. He was huge, with a full head of hair and so active I was astounded that this was the same itty bitty boy that was so tiny his brain hadn't learned to breathe yet. I felt really humbled that God had saved this kid.
I have been humbled multiple times this last month at how powerful God is. He controls time. He controls the timing of everything. His timing is perfect. This precious baby had been born at 27 weeks gestation.  He was discharged from the hospital and lived at home for a day before he came to our hospital and stopped breathing. He was admitted because his mom knew something was wrong. Dr. Isaac is here and helped me make the diagnosis. Dr Judy is here and saved his little life. the hospital is here because Dr Jeff and his family moved here to build it. I am here because you guys have supported me. All of this is Gods timing, his perfect logistics.
He has you where you are in the position you are and with the influence and abilities you have because you are perfect for the role HE wants you to play. He is in control of time which means He can take His entire focus and put it on you since the second you were knit together in the womb. He won't ever stop and He will never leave you, because He has the time to do it. Live today knowing that the most powerful being ever has made time for you, every second you exist.

- Peter

Grief

Overwhelming. That's one word I would use to describe the events of this past weekend. And the emotions that have gone with it. Shocking. I honestly cannot believe it. When I think back, it feels like a horrible nightmare that could not have possibly happened.
For me, writing is processing. Without writing, the processing is never quite complete. So, for now, I write. I may not even publish this. It feels too raw. It feels too soon. It feels too painful. It feels too honest. But the words are burning a hole in my soul and begging to run free, begging to teach me and show me how to cope. And so, I let them come. I give way to the process and pray that it will bring healing to my broken and bleeding soul.
What have I learned and seen over the past three days. Have I really learned anything? Or just felt things? So many emotions and feelings over-running my heart and mind.
Has it really only been three days? Three days ago that he was with us, having dinner and laughing at the girls' and their funny songs? Has it really only been three days since I heard that horrible screaming? Three days since I felt the panic welling up inside my heart and mind. Three days since I felt powerless to help, powerless to save. So much fear. So much confusion. So much waiting.
Waiting for the dreaded radio to hear that a swimmer was indeed missing ... waiting for the mention of a name. Was it my precious husband? Would it be his name they mentioned, his body for which we were searching? Relief as I heard a different name, not my beloved's name. Guilt as I knew that it meant that someone else would be receiving heart wrenching news about their beloved. How could I feel relief when they would feel so broken? Guilt. Fear. Wondering. How will this go? Will we find him? Will he still be alive? Waiting. Oh the endless waiting. Moments upon moments upon moments ... has it really only been an hour? An hour of waiting, of listening, of searching, of praying and begging for a miracle, for life. Wanting and praying for the Lord's will yet honestly only wanting and longing for one outcome ... life.
How can you long for something so much and yet dread it at the same time? The radio call. They found him. Praise. But then, the wondering. In what state did they find him? And then. The world crashing down. How could it be? Why would He allow this? Not like this. Not in this place. Not in something meant for joy and tension relief. Not in this. Lord. Why?
The fear. The logistics. The phone calls. The waiting. The guilt. Oh, Lord. The guilt. The weight of the responsibility feels heavy. It lies heavy in my heart and on my shoulders. It is suffocating and drowning. The fear. The overwhelming fear. Will they hate me? Will my team mates hate us? Will they be angry? Will they blame us? Will they ask us to leave? Will our loved ones cast blame? Will family cast blame? Oh the weight of it all. The pain of a life lost amidst so much pain and loss. The pain of a son watching his father die. The pain of the search. Imagining what he must feel ... the hurt and the loss and the grief, oh the grief. It is too much, Lord. The weight is more than I can bear. How will I stand up under it? I am drowning. I am lost. I feel invisible. And unseen. And unable to carry it, Lord.
And you come. You always come. You see me. You carry me. You allow me to survive. You provide a friend who comes alongside to teach me about grief. She shows me what it looks like to love and give and support in the midst of grief. I feel so lost. This feeling, this emotion, this overwhelming suffocation is so new to me. And in it, Lord, you are teaching me. You are using her example to show me how to love those who are grieving. She knows what to do, how to continually ask and support. She gives what I don't know that I need. And my community. My community that can be so confusing. You have shown me life. And allowed me to feel and know support. You have given me support in ways I never imagined I would feel it. And allowed me to feel seen in places I so often feel unseen and unwanted. Praise.
You know me. You love me. You see me. Even when I cannot possibly bear the pain of it. Or stand up under it. And cannot understand it. And cannot logistically understand how you would allow this when you are love ... it doesn't fit with what I know to be true of you, Lord. And, yet, I choose to believe what I know to be true. When I don't feel it, I know it to be true. I know you to be true. I know you to be love and life. Lord, I find myself asking, once again, help me in my unbelief. Please. Meet me in this pain that seems too great to bear. Allow me to walk in a way, in the midst of my grief, that brings honor to you, that shows your glory and shouts your name. Jesus. Come quickly to me. Come quickly to us. Meet us in our grief. Meet the son and the wife and the brother and the friend in their grief. Give them the ability to stand up under it. Oh. Jesus. We need you.

- Katie

The Love Hammer

I love being here in Honduras and getting to know more about the poeple. I love teaching Jiu Jitsu to the local guys. I love driving through rough neighborhoods like Maradiaga and picking up my students. They love to ride on top of our truck and shout and laugh. But I especially love to use the love hammer.

The Love hammer is what I call it when you tap or hit or even smash somebody with love, in the exact moment and timing of Gods perfect will.  

Nobody survives the love hammer.

I picked up a large crew of about 20 students from Maradiaga this last Sunday. I drove with them hooting and hollering on the roof rack back to the cabildo (our meeting hall/church). About half of the kids were 12 and under and we were joined by four missionary boys. I began teaching the chokes and joint destroying fun of Jiu Jitsu after we prayed and went over rules and stretched. The younger students were hyped up and after about 20 minutes of wrestling each other slowly lost focus. After forty minutes they were a little bored and I told them to go outside in the gravel parking lot and play or to calm down and wrestle. Ten or so kids went outside with the missionary boys. After two minutes I heard angry shouting and glimpsed through the doorway two boys both with faces twisted in anger, kicking and grabbing each other’s shirts. I yelled my best drill sergeant yell and they stopped and looked at me, each with a fistful of the others shirt in their hands. It was my second smallest neighborhood kids named Nero and one of the missionary boys named Napolean (I changed the names to protect the innocent). I didn’t know this, but little Nero had a reputation for slinging insults and foul language. He apparently began insulting the other kids and punching or kicking them until he got a rise out of Napolean. He persisted, sensing a good target, and called Napolean’s mother all sorts of terrible things. At this point all the boys, except the other missionary kids, began yelling for Napolean to fight Nero. Napolean could not take anymore insults and the shirt grabbing and kicking began.

Thankfully I saw the fight in its embryonic stages and my yell aborted the altercation. I dragged a missionary kid outside with me to help translate and because he had witnessed the fisticuffs, he informed me of the chain of events. I told the boy Nero that fighting and cursing was not allowed and that it violated one of our five rules: Always purport yourself with a Christ like attitude considering others before yourself. I watched him harden under my words. His eyes took on a look of flinty disdain for me and my rules. I told him that at least he would be suspended from practice and maybe not asked back, that I would have to think on this. I returned to the wrestling room to tell the rest of the kids that I was very dissapointed in them. I have been teaching this class for almost a year and a half and have never had an incident. I knew it was my fault for letting them go unsupervised outside and I regretted that decision, but also I expect better out of the kids who urged the fight on. I told them so and when we had picked up our mats, I returned outside to find that Nero had fled on foot.

We loaded up the truck and carted the guys back to their neighborhood. As I was turning around and heading back out through the neighbor hood, the older boys began yelling at me to stop. They had found Nero and were holding him on the bench for me to talk to. I got out of the truck and walked over to him. His chin was thrust in to the air with more defiance than I have ever seen in a child. He wouldn’t make eye contact. I had been praying about what to do the whole car ride back and the older boys had told me how troubled Nero was. His parents were always absent though that was better than present because when they were present, they beat him. He was always hungry and poorly clothed. His older brother was in prison for drugs. He was known for casting vitriol at all who he percieved to cross him. When I saw him there I knew what to do, I felt what God felt for this boy. I grabbed him and hugged him to my chest, I whispered softly “Te amo”. I repeated it over and over. I felt him sob and lifted his face to me full of tears. He looked incredulous. He looked like he could never believe me, like he could never believe that anyone would love him. I squeezed him gently and repeated that I loved him. He looked shocked. Then the other boys started calling out that he was crying. Immediatley harshness crashed down in his eyes and he pushed me away.  

I asked him to come back to wrestling in two weeks, I explained that for fighting he had a one week suspension. He nodded and stood there looking hard as granite. I told him that I would look for him in two weeks. He didn’t respond.

I know that he wants to come back, I know that he needs attention. I know that he he has a tragic situation at home. I know that he is angry.

I also know that Jesus can fix all that with His love hammer.

- Peter