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

Hospital Loma de Luz

As promised, a tour of the hospital.

The front of the hospital as you walk up from the gate.

The front doors.

The main waiting room in the hospital.

Peter's clinic room where he sees patients every day.

The emergency room.

The center courtyard in the hospital.

The hospital hallway right outside of Peter's clinic room. 

Thanks to all of you who play a part in our work here in Honduras! We are grateful for you!!

- Peter and Katie

El Camino Bilingual School

We thought maybe some of you would want to see what we do on a day-to-day basis. Peter and I are not very good at taking pictures to document things, but I'm trying to get better. So, here are two posts with what our daily routine "looks" like ... one from the school and one from the hospital.

The school grounds, as seen from the road.

This is the new school building. Three rooms were opened and in use last year, four are open and in use this year. It is an incredible building!

This is my fourth grade classroom. Isn't it gorgeous?! I have the biggest room in the school and I feel so spoiled. We have lots of rooms to spread out and do our thing :)

These are my fourth graders. I sure love them. They are teaching me so much about life and love and thinking outside the box. 

This is our individual reading corner. I snagged these chairs at a store in town for $6! The kids are under strict instructions not to pop them with their pencils. So far they have lasted us 10 weeks. I'm hoping they make it the whole year!

This is our listening center. We had an amazing person donate four ipads for the school to use and the school is letting me use them for my new reading groups!! The kids LOVE them. I cannot tell you how excited they were and still are to get to use ipads AND headphones. So so fun and so so good for their reading.

This is our spelling work station. 

This is our teacher time station ... I get to work with them every day in smaller groups to help them with their reading.

And these are some of my students working in their word work station.

                               

 Be looking for the next blog with pics of the hospital.

- Katie

You Are Wanted

Maybe you don't, but I have times where I desperately need the Lord to reassure me that he sees me and loves me even though he knows me. Yes. Even though he knows me, he still loves me, he still likes me, he still wants me, he still chooses me. Sometimes the need is because of things going on in me; other times the need comes from things going on in life, but the need to know he loves me can be overwhelming. This week a friend of mine introduced me to Dara Maclean's music. I have had the song "Wanted" on repeat all week. I hear him whispering to me through this music. I hear him telling me that he loves me, that he sees me, that he wants me.

You are wanted

To every broken heart, He stands with open arms

You are wanted

To every searching soul, look to the rising sun

If you're lonely, hurting, gone too far

To the outcast you come as you are

For you, you are wanted, you, you are wanted

You, you are wanted, you, you are wanted

He is reminding me to keep my eyes on him. He's got this. He's got me. And I hear him telling me to tell you, to remind you ... He loves you. He sees you. When you're broken. And struggling. And sinking. And searching. And striving. And tired. And worn out. Can't give anymore. Want to give up. He wants you. He wants to use you. He sees you. He loves you. You, my friend, are wanted. 

- Katie

also - look up Dara Maclean. Amazing lyrics. You won't be sorry.

He hears

Do you ever feel blown away at the tangible ways that the Lord answers prayers? Sometimes, I feel as though I pray and pray and pray and wait and wait and wait. Other times, answers seem to come immediately. This is how it went this past week.

In my class of fourth graders, I have a range of students, backgrounds, abilities, and reading levels. Some of my students have lots of support from home, others have almost none. Some live in nice houses with cement block walls and electricity and have indoor kitchens. Others live in houses made of mud bricks with roofs of palm leaves and outdoor kitchens with meals cooked over a fire. Some eat three meals a day and always have a snack to bring to school. Others eat one meal a day and almost never bring a snack. We have a variety of students. With that comes a variety of reading levels.

As a teacher, my training is to teach high school Spanish or English. Typically if I am teaching high school, I am not teaching someone the basics of reading: the students come to my class knowing how to read. Teaching fourth grade is presenting a whole host of challenges, but with it is teaching students how to read. As I would in a classroom in the States, I have a few students in my class who are really struggling with reading. And I am struggling with knowing how to reach them. I have tried a few different things and am having some success, but we are still struggling. Last week in the middle of the week, I was feeling so discouraged. Every day I felt as though I was constantly crying out the Lord for wisdom to know how to reach all of my kids, but especially my kids who are struggling. What can I do to help them? How can I reach them? Lord, I need someone who knows more than I do. Please, Lord, please. Help me to reach these kids. Give me wisdom.

Fast forward to Monday of this week. Only a few short days after I began begging the Lord and asking Him specifically for help with reading. Monday of this week, I walked into our teachers room and met a visiting teacher. As we started chatting, you know what she told me? That she is working this year as a reading recovery teacher. She is working this year doing exactly what I asked the Lord for wisdom with. Holy smokes. Answer. To. Prayer. So real. So tangible. So fast. So so so helpful.
Praise. Jesus. She armed me with so much wisdom, so much insight, and so many tangible things to try. Praise Jesus.

Does Jesus always answer prayers this fast or in this way? Nope. BUT, you know what it reminded me of? He hears me. He sees me. He knows me. He loves me. Even when I feel discouraged. He hears me. Even when I feel lost. He sees me. Even when I feel alone. He knows me. Even when I feel hopeless. He loves me. He is there. My prayers are powerful. Your prayers are powerful. Keep praying. Keep begging. Keep talking. He is there. He hears. He sees. He knows. He loves. Always. Forever.

- Katie

Two years

Two years. January 26 marked our two year anniversary of arriving in Honduras. Two years of being stretched in ways that we never imagined. Two years of being hotter and sweating more than I ever thought possible. Two years of sorrows and joy, of fears and love, of failures and successes. Two years of peace and craziness, of beauty and brokenness, of growth and death. Two of the best years of my life. Two of the hardest years of my life. Two years of life in Honduras.

The first day I heard about Loma de Luz we were at the Global Missions Health Conference in Kentucky. God made it so obvious that he was calling us to this place. He went above and beyond, making it clear, beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is where he wanted us. I have often asked myself why he made it so clear? Maybe he knows the state of my wandering heart. Maybe he knows how I am prone to doubt. Maybe he knows how slow I am to obey. Maybe he loves me and wants me to have something to hold onto on the days he knows I struggle. Maybe it is all of those things. He sees me. He knows me. He loves me anyways.

I think back to that person I was that day in November three years ago at that conference. I almost feel like I don't know that person anymore ... I have changed so much. My perspective has changed, the way I see the world has changed, the way I see my culture has changed, the way I see people has changed, the way I see my God has changed.

I thought that living in a poor country different than my own would clarify things for me, that I would have more answers about how to solve hunger and bring peace and heal brokenness. It hasn't really done any of those things. In fact, I often feel like it has just brought me more confusion as I grapple with those huge overwhelming questions.  But, the thing I do know now more than ever before is that love wins. His way wins. His way is always better. Love is always the right choice. Love is always the best choice. He is always the best choice. His way is always the best choice.

The last few weeks I have been overcome by the love that God has for me. The Jesus Storybook Bible says that his love for me is a, "Never Stopping, Never Giving Up, Un-breaking, Always and Forever Love." No matter what I do. No matter where I go. One thing remains, one thing is certain: His love for me. Life is crazy. It is uncertain. It is challenging. Yet, He never stops. He never gives up. He never breaks. He is always. He is forever. Love for me. Love for you. Incredible.

- Katie

Not a bad view for a picnic

They are all so different

Popsicles

Teaching

As many of you know, starting in February, I entered into the wonderful world of teaching. Our hospital has a few incredible ministries associated with it, one of which is El Camino Bilingual School. Back in November, I knew that there would most likely be a need for teachers for this year (there still is! shoot me an email if you're interested!). I felt the Lord prompting me that this is something I should pursue. Honestly, I was TERRIFIED. My Bachelor's degree is in Secondary Spanish Education, meaning high school, meaning maybe junior high, meaning definitely NOT elementary. Since El Camino currently only goes through fourth grade (we add a grade each year with the hope and dream to one day go through high school), that would mean, in my mind, that I was definitely not qualified for teaching until sometime in the future when the school included junior high and high school. In my prayer time, I tried to explain that to the Lord. I told him about how unqualified I am. I told him about the strain it would put on our family. I told him about how I have no clue how to teach elementary. I told him all the reasons why this idea just wouldn't work. He didn't seem to understand ;) and kept prompting me to volunteer. So I did.

Fast forward four months and I am currently six weeks into the school year of teaching fourth grade at El Camino Bilingual School. And you know what? I LOVE it. Love. It. Has it been hard? Absolutely. Has it been overwhelming? Without a doubt. Has it presented challenges and changes for our family? You bet. Have I cried and felt like I couldn't do it another day? Yes. Have I felt that there are not possibly enough hours in the day for all that I need to get done? Yes. And again, has it been hard? Hell, yes (excuse my language). Is it still hard? Yes. Are there still days I want to give up? Yes. Am I sure that this is where God has called not only me but also my family for this year? 100% yes.

I am learning and growing. I am remembering parts of who God made me that I had forgotten and that I really like. I am learning how to parent and love my girls better. I am learning more and better ways of how to help kids feel seen, and important, and loved. I am remembering how exciting and crazy and unending Jesus' love is for me. I am remembering talents and gifts that He gave me that I had forgotten I had.

So many ways I am growing and changing. So many ways that my family is growing and changing. None of it would be happening if I had convinced myself that I didn't need to say yes, that I didn't need to obey. So often, it is so stinkin' hard to follow where he leads. It hurts. It stretches. It pushes. It pulls. BUT, teaching is reminding me, once again, that his ways are better than my ways. He knows me. He loves me. He is trustworthy. He calls me to hard things. He asks seemingly impossible things of me. They hurt. They stretch. They push. They pull. BUT, they are good. They are life giving. They are truth giving. Because, he is the author of them. He is truth. He is life. He is love. He knows. He sees. He has the best.

- Katie

My beautiful classroom

First week of school

Fourth grade ... reading Mr Popper's Penguins and learning what it means to 'pose' for a picture

Recess

One-armed handstands at recess

Our fourth grade class. We have 15 amazing students. 

My co-teacher, Meredith, arrived back from furlough. Yay! She will be teaching Math and Science and I will be teaching Language Arts, Reading, and Bible. 

Obedience

People. It is 2016. What? And it's not like today is January 1st, its the 16th! What is happening? Also. What is wrong with my blogging skills, or lack thereof? Sheesh.

So many things have been rattling around in my head since the last post. It feels like so much has happened since OCTOBER. For real, though? I need to get with the blogging program.

We were in Arizona for six weeks for the Holidays. Being in the States was so good and so hard all wrapped into one. People were often asking if it felt good to be home. What a confusing question to answer. The thing is that Arizona no longer feels like home. It felt good to be back. It felt amazing to be with family. It was fun to eat so much delicious food. But, it was weird because it didn't feel like home.

I honestly struggled a lot while we were in the States. So many conflicting emotions, so many hard questions to answer. It made me feel frustrated with this Honduras thing that we have done.

Sometimes Honduras feels so great, like such a cool adventure that we are on. Our girls are having new experiences, learning a new language, meeting new friends, cliff jumping, zip-lining, motorcycle riding, wearing ratty clothes, collecting spiders and bugs, and having an adventure. We are having new experiences and meeting new people and seeing the world and Jesus through new eyes.

And sometimes, Honduras feels so hard. We are saying a lot of really hard goodbyes. Saying goodbye to our incredibly amazing family who we adore is hard. Saying goodbye to friends in the States is hard. Saying goodbye to friends in Honduras who have become like family who have decided to move back to the States is hard. Saying goodbye to people from short term teams who we have come to love is hard. This feeling of not belonging is hard. When we were back in the States, I found myself longing for the time before we ever started this Honduras thing because in that space I didn't feel caught between two worlds. That's how I feel. I feel caught between worlds. This Honduras world doesn't quite fit because it doesn't have the family and friends that are home to me. The US doesn't quite fit because it doesn't have all of the familiar things and places and people that Honduras does. It feels too big and too loud and too comfortable and has oh so many options.

As I struggled, I kept asking why. Why have we done this? Why are we making these sacrifices? Why are we giving up relationships? Why are we saying goodbye? Why are we giving more than we have to give? Why are we pushing ourselves? And stretching ourselves? Why me? Why, Jesus, why? What good am I doing? What is this accomplishing? Do I even make a difference? Why?

As I asked and pondered and mulled through these questions, someone said to me, "Jesus sees you and your sacrifice and He rewards obedience. He is faithful." Hmm. He is faithful. Yes. He rewards obedience. Not sure. That seems like a big statement. And one that may be widely accepted and believed in Christian circles. Maybe you agree, maybe you don't, but I found myself questioning it. Have I found this to be true in my life? Has he rewarded obedience? Does my life look like I thought it would or like I wanted it to look? If it does or doesn't, does that mean that he has or hasn't rewarded my obedience? What does rewarding obedience mean? What I would like for it to mean is that because I sacrifice and I am willing to obey, that he will make my life look like I think it should look and want it to look. If my life doesn't look that way, then I assume that he doesn't reward obedience and I get upset because he isn't doing what he is supposed to do. Hmm. I don't think I'm on the right track here. I am realizing that I have been asking myself the wrong question and focusing on the wrong thing: the reward. "Jesus, don't you know what I've sacrificed? What's in it for me?" I have gotten sidetracked and focused on the wrong thing. I should be thanking and praising him for HIS sacrifice. I should be asking, what can I do to love him more, to thank him more, to praise him more?

One reason I have avoided writing another blog post is because I seem to always be processing through hard stuff. There is joy. These days Kyler is bringing so much JOY. That girl. She's funny. She loves animals. She loves music. She loves dancing. She loves her sisters. She teaches our family how to laugh. So often, the five of us sit and watch how funny she is and just marvel at her being her. JOY. Watching my girls love each other. They fight so much, but the sweetness and the love and the laughter is there. And when it is there, it is SWEET. There is just something about the love of and relationship with a sibling. And there is more. The colors of the ocean. The song of the toucan. The howl of the monkey. The splash of the water. The tricks on the bicycle. The healing of a patient. The restoration of a relationship. Sweet moments, joy. But, so often, the joy feels hidden in the pain and the struggles of life. And so often, I feel like all I do is think and process the hard and the pain and the struggle. And that gets tiring. And so I don't write. But, the writing gives life and truth and realness to the hard. And it helps it to loose its power somehow. And it helps the truth to seem more real and more joyful. So, tonight, here's to the joy, alongside the pain. Here's to the sacrifice. Praise Jesus for his ultimate sacrifice. He is good.

Thanks for reading :)

- Katie