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

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

The Bumper

Over the past year and a half, I (and everyone within close proximity to us) have come to the conclusion that cars hate Peter and I. Every time we come within driving distance of a car, the car seems to sense our presence, and henceforth feels compelled to break. I know cars are not living and breathing, but we do NOT have good luck with cars. We bought one when we moved to Honduras a year a half ago. It has been drive-able for about 5 months of that time. So frustrating, although at this point it has become comical. If I don't laugh, I will cry, ya know? Anyways.

A friend of ours here was going out of town for a couple of weeks and offered her truck to us to use in the time she was gone (she is brave). We agreed to take it into town for a routine 110, 000km check while we were using it. We went into town, dropped it off at the car place, waited for it to be fixed, went to the grocery store, and were on our way back home a mere six hrs later (ha! everything seems to take exponentially longer here). We arrived home and began unloading groceries. As I was coming around the back of the truck with the last load of groceries in hand, I noticed that the back bumper was no longer on the truck. I yelled to Peter, he came out, assured me that the bumper had been on the car when we left the dealership, and went to look for the bumper.

We live about an hour and a half away from town where we do our grocery shopping, have our cars worked on, etc. Forty five minutes of that drive is on a very bumpy dirt road, so it did not seem outside the realm of possibility that the bumper had fallen off of the truck in our trek home.

When Peter left to go in search of the bumper, it was almost dark. As he drove, he shone his lights back and forth on the road, trying to look in the ditches to see if maybe it could've fallen to the wayside.

He got to a village that is about twenty minutes from where we live when a taxi chased him down, with the taxi driver waving out the windows for Peter to stop. Peter slowed and began talking with the guy. He asked Peter what he was looking for and said that his friend might know what had happened to the bumper. He didn't want to answer any of Peter's questions, and seemed to be trying to figure out if he could somehow get some money out of the deal. When Peter realized that the taxi driver was not going to be helpful, he gave the taxi driver his phone number, told him that if he could find the bumper, Peter would have a big gift for him, and came home.

When Peter arrived home, I couldn't believe it ... someone was essentially holding the bumper for ransom?! Off of a truck that wasn't ours?! I did not want to have to tell Judy that we had lost part of her truck (I warned you that cars hate us - ha!). Within minutes of Peter arriving home, he received a phone call from the taxi driver saying that he had been able to find the bumper and he wanted to know how big of a reward we had for him. Peter assured him that it would be worth his while, asked our neighbor to go with him to pick it up, and left to retrieve the bumper. About an hour later, they returned with the bumper in our possession and were only $15 poorer because of it. Life in Honduras is never short of adventure!

This taxi is similar to the one that chased Peter down

Daily time

I have been re-realizing (pretty sure thats not a word, but, well, you know what i mean) the importance of quiet time with the Lord. I mean, I know that it is important. I know that it should be my priority. I have known that since I was in junior high. Youth pastors tell you. Head pastors tell you. Parents tell you. Teachers tell you. Mentors tell you. Spend. Time. With. Jesus. Every day. No distractions. Just do it. But, if I am being honest, its hard to find the time every day. Life is busy. Kids get up early. Kids stay up late. Work is hard. School is busy. Homework is never-ending. There is always more ministry. One last email to write. One last phone call to make. The list goes on and on. Finding quiet time is hard. And honestly, at times, I can go weeks without spending good quality time with my Jesus. BUT, over the past few months, my Jesus has been patiently showing me just how important spending time with him is.

About four months ago, I was scrolling through Instagram and saw a picture of one of my friends who was switching over to a new prayer journal. And it stuck with me. Journaling and writing has been a  huge part of my walk with Jesus, from the time I first gave my heart to him. It has allowed me a safe place to pray and vent and cry and rejoice. It has shown me how to be real and true in my relationship with the Lord, while at the same time showing praise and respect and awe for who Jesus is. Somehow, in the busyness of life and kids and moving and ministry, my way of connecting with Jesus fell to the side, because I didn't "have time". As I stared at that picture, I heard Jesus speak to the depths of me and challenge me to get a new journal. So, the next week when we went into town for groceries, I found a journal and I started back up again. Making time for Jesus. Daily. To be real. To talk with Him about the truth of my heart. To worship Him. To praise Him. To be accountable. To be in relationship. For the last four months, I have only missed a three or four days of spending time with Him. I am NOT saying this to boast in myself, but to boast in Him. He is changing me. He is teaching me accountability. He is transforming me. He is showing me the power in prayer. He is showing me the power in His word. He is teaching me joy, an peace, and contentment. He is making me new.

I struggle with how to make this real and how to stress the importance of this. There are so many Christian have-to's and sayings and cliches. How do I talk about this truth and reality without bringing on eye-rolls and "uh-huh". How do I truly teach my girls and talk to them about the importance of a quiet time without having it become some kind of cliche to them? How do I truly impress the importance on them? I'm not too sure, really. I think that I make it a priority in my life. I model what I preach. I show them the ways that it makes me a better mom to them and show them how it changes me. I allow Jesus to change me and transform me. I give Him credit in those moments where change happens.

I don't know why I struggle so much with Christian cliches. I don't know why they get under my skin so much. But what I am learning, is that so many of those cliches and things that make me roll my eyes are TRUTH. Even if I don't want to teach my kids a cliche, I need to and want to teach them the TRUTH. I want to teach them how to grow and change and become more like Jesus.

I am constantly amazed at the lessons that I keep "learning" over and over again. I started my relationship with Jesus about 20 years ago (yes, I am old). Spending time with Him daily seems so basic, yet it is a lesson that I keep having to learn over and over again. As I am learning this lesson over again, I am learning about myself to. I am learning that writing is an important part of who I am. It helps me process and grow and connect. It helps me grow closer to Jesus. It brings me joy. For you, it might not be journaling. It might be something else. Find what that thing is. Connect with Jesus EVERY day. He will change you, as he is changing me. He is so faithful.

- Katie

Representing Christ

It was a wonderful time having Doug visit. He is Physicians Assistant I worked with in Phoenix. Having him here was a delight. We were able to spear fish, ride motorcycles, and have a blast working in the hospital. Unfortunately, an event happened to Doug which made me feel very convicted. I am trying to witness to Doug and to be a picture of Christ for him. While I realize that I am not perfect, I hope Doug was able to see an inkling of Christ in me. 
He had a mild verbal altercation with another visitor who was also staying in guest housing. I will call this visitor Freddy. Freddy has led many teams here over many years. He is a wonderful man and you can tell that he loves this hospital and the work that is done here. He was baking a casserole in the community kitchen of the guest house. Doug inadvertently turned the oven off while trying to cook his own food on the stove. Doug immediately realized his mistake and went and told Freddy that he had accidentally turned off the oven. Freddy became very upset and roughly address Doug and even insulted Doug. This was Doug's first interaction with Freddy. 
Immediately after this, Doug and I went to Fellowship, which is the mission's weekly time of praise and worship. After singing praise songs, Freddy got up and introduced his team and preached a little bit. The look on Doug's face was one of disgust.  
My dad used to always say, "there is never so polite a driver as in the church parking lot". I need to realize that my witness is not to other Christians, but an ever-present action of submitting my will to God's. I can't even imagine how many times I have failed to let God be glorified in my life or how many times others have been disgusted when I preach. It was a humbling moment for me to realize how many times I fail to represent Christ. I pray that I can come to see every interaction that I have with every person that I meet as an opportunity to witness and be a witness for Jesus. So often life with Jesus is not about going out to minister or preach and making a difference with those people out there, but it is about loving those and ministering to those who Jesus puts in my path in the small moments in the daily things. Oh that I can be faithful to him in those moments and glorify him there. Dios obra aquí. 

- Peter

Put On Truth

Comparison is the THIEF of Joy.
PUT. ON. TRUTH.

These two sayings. They have been rattling around in my head for the last month, alternating, playing over again. I am realizing tonight how, for me, they relate to each other. Well, I should say, Jesus is opening my eyes to how they relate to each in my life.
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I don't know if its because I grew up in the church and in Christian school, but for some reason, I have a really hard time with Christian cliches and sayings: things that everyone says all the time, but often sound and feel so empty. They grate under my skin. Now, don't get me wrong. I love Jesus, and I am amazed and oh so grateful for his redemptive work in my life, but I hate the cliches and the lingo that often come along with Christian things. I feel like they can make Jesus and his work on the cross sound so trivial. I hate that. Put On Truth has been one of those saying for me. It seems empty, something people say to encourage you or challenge you, but why? What does it mean? And why does Jesus keep reminding me of something that is so irritating to me?

Why is comparison so difficult? Why is it so alluring and yet so painful at the same time? Facebook and social media have made comparison so much more of an ever present part of our lives. If you're like me, you see someone else's pictures or posts and you wonder why your life isn't like this or that or you feel happy that you aren't doing this or that. I find myself comparing myself to people and pictures and places and statuses I see on the screen and I find discontentment sneak in. I find myself feeling unhappy with my current situation, whether it's the behavior of my girls or my hair or my house or my vacation or my lack of vacation or my weight or my clothes or my family or my school or my talents or my lack of talents or my whatever it may be today, I feel unhappy and discontent. I may have felt perfectly happy and content before I started my comparison game, but then, all of the sudden, I feel completely miserable. Ugh. I don't like this person.

The past month or so, anytime that I start to play this comparison game, Jesus reminds me PUT ON TRUTH. What is truth? What is he talking about? The truth of his Word. What does he have to say about me? What does he have to say about my current situation? What does he have to say about my talents? This month I have gone searching for his truth in a different way that I have before. Yes, I am reading the same verses that I have read many times before, but my soul is soaking them in and meditating on them in a way that it hasn't before. I am realizing and recognizing the beauty in his Holy Word in a way I never have before. I am recognizing the importance of fighting back with his Word. How do I combat this comparison game? How do I combat these feelings of discontentment? PUT ON TRUTH.

My whole life people have talked about the importance of memorizing Scripture. Honestly, I knew that they weren't lying to me, but it never seemed that important to me. It seemed like a lot of work when I could just go and look up a verse in my Bible anytime I needed it. However, this month I have seen the value of memorizing Scripture, of putting on truth. Having God's Word in my mind allows me and equips me to fight. It allows me to fight in the moment, to take control of my mind and find joy in the midst of struggle, to find wisdom in the midst of confusion, to find peace in the midst of a fight. PUT ON TRUTH. His words are truth and life. It takes work, but it allows me to experience joy, unending joy.

-Katie

Feeling Homeless

This past month I have been thinking a lot about home. Where is my home? What is my home? Honestly, at this point, I have no idea. It has been one year and four months since we moved to Honduras. Considering the fact that I lived the first 31.5 years of my life in the U.S., is not a very long time. There are days when it feels like we have been in Honduras forever and days when it feels like we have just arrived. But, where is my home? Is it in the U.S., the place where I have spent most of my life? Or is it in this new country, that so often feels strange and foreign, but yet so familiar and certain?
I feel so different now than I do when we moved last January. Time has changed me. Experiences have changed me. The changes that I see might not be obvious on the outside, but in my heart, they feel colossal. Things that were important to me then, seem insignificant now. Insignificant things then, seem colossal now. Life in Honduras has changed me.
One huge change is in my cooking. Because of all of the allergies that my girls have and the lack of resources here, I have started to cook most things from scratch. I have started to enjoy cooking (say what?!). Someone told me, within the last month, that I am a good cook. A year ago, I would've laughed at this thought. Today, it feels normal, like something I was always meant to do.
But, I digress ...
Where is home? When I think about going home, where do I think of? I don't think I have one anymore. My family of origin and I are so close. Most days, I miss them so much that it hurts. I long to be with them, living life with them. But, when I think about the possibility of someday moving back to live where they are, I feel joyful at the possibility of being where they are, but I also feel confused because that place no longer feels like home. I have changed: I'm different now. That home no longer fits exactly who I am.
So, then, is Honduras home? My family is here. My house is here. My things are here. My girls are in a routine here. I cook and clean and live here. This is familiar and home for now, yet, somehow, it doesn't feel like home either. Though I have changed and feel like I don't really fit back in the States, I also don't really fit here: my Spanish is still broken, I will never fully understand this culture, I will never be Honduran. Every day I learn more about this culture and assimilate further, but I will always be a foreigner. So, this home still doesn't really fit either.
When we thought about moving to Honduras, we thought a lot about how the move would effect our girls. We knew that it would have benefits and drawbacks. They don't really fit into this Honduran culture and yet they don't really fit into the American culture. Missionary kids are often referred to as third culture kids meaning that they don't really have a culture that they fit into. They are, in a way, culture-less and homeless.
This is something that I had thought about and prayed over for the girls, but wasn't really something that I had given thought to in regards to myself. I assumed that home would always be where home has always been. I have been so surprised to find myself feeling like a third culture adult. I feel homeless, in a way. I feel like no place truly fits me.
So often, I ask the Lord why He brought us to Honduras. I ask Him about His plans and remind Him that I feel confused about His plans for me. But, as I have been thinking and praying this month, I keep coming back to this idea of home and feeling displaced. The Lord has been slowly showing me that this is part of His plan and His purpose. He has plans to use me here in Honduras, yes, but He also has plans to change my heart and to make it and me into something and someone that will glorify Him. So, maybe one of the reasons I am in Honduras is to show me this feeling of homelessness; to allow to me sit in it and live it and experience it. To experience it so that at some point in my life I can better love someone who is homeless too. To experience it so that I can better love my girls when at some point they are overwhelmed with feeling like a third culture kid. But mostly, I think He wants me to experience it so that I will long for Heaven, my true home. Longing for Heaven sounds so cliche or like such a typical "Christian" answer. I was raised in a Christian home, school, church ... I've been around it all so much and sometimes I get callous to the basics of my faith and I take things for granted. Saying that I long for Heaven can sound so "overly Christian". I get so distracted by life and things in front of me that longing for Heaven seems impossible. And the thing is, that is ridiculous. He is what matters. He is the only thing worth living for. He is my all and my everything. Of course He wants me to long for Heaven, because that's all thats worth living for AND that is the only place that I am ever truly going to feel at home.
So, I think that right now, that's what this Honduras thing is about for me. It's about missing family and home and feeling out of place so that I will long for the only place and the only One who can ever really fill me and make me feel at home.

- Katie