Reflective Travel - III

Bird Sanctuary, Copan, Honduras

Doesn't he look at you rather imperiously? Like he knows something that you don't? He certainly did have a feisty side. He bit Pops' shirt button right in half!

Reflective Travel - II

An uniquely still moment in our travels. A small cafe with a tiny outdoor garden in the back and a café au lait nothing short of perfection. The native textile, smooth milky coffee, chipped tea cup, filtered morning light.

And this, to me, is beauty.

Reflective Travel

Back from our weekend getaway where we did a whole lotta' nothin'. Just what we were hoping for. In fact, I took hardly any photos. Suppose you need a break from even the joys every now and then.

Today I've been sorting through Honduras photos and trying to upload pictures so I can finally make some photo books. These two stuck out to me. I remember arriving in Copan, a small Mayan city on the border of Guatemala. I can still hear the sounds of the street market and the juxtaposition of the locals and tourists. Here, you would begin to feel like you were on any typical vacation until you really looked into the eyes of the locals. We were the outsiders. With money. Tourist areas in Honduras are isolated little microcosms. And sadly, most tourists never venture out of the bubble.

I think this picture is lovely, but it makes my heart heavy. He was selling these on the streets with his grandmother. Look in his eyes. I wish I had bought his dolls. At the moment I just thought he was beautiful and surely those dolls would be crushed in my backpack. I smiled and wished him a good day. Though small, it was a missed opportunity to bless.

I'm back to the old patterns of being a privileged American. I am glad to be reminded, again, of those He loves across this world. A world that is so big, yet not so very.

You came near when I called you,
and you said, "Do not fear."
O Lord, you took up my case; you redeemed my life.
Lamentations 3:57-58

On My Mind

I stumbled upon some photos I had forgotten to post. Perhaps as our trip to Honduras has been on my mind today. Ambrocio is hoping to take a trip to the States later this month and is still praying for funding. We are praying along with him and are anxious to see how it all progresses. Pray with us as we are working through our slow communication processes and asking God how we can best participate.

For now, these photos are making me smile and reminding me of His goodness and provision:

Peter and his friend, Edward

Pops on the very left-hand side. This is the church structure they are next to and are pickaxing a trench for the parsonage foundation.

This is how you make sand in Sigatepeque! Take silty gravel and toss it through a screen until really lovely sand sifts through. You need the sand to mix with the concrete, to mix with the water (that you hauled in buckets from Blanca's house, up the road), to make mortar, to lay the bricks. It's quite a process, but oddly fun. There is such a sense of camaraderie as you are working together. No fancy equipment, so you rely on and labor with each other.

Pastor Hector Orlando is fearless in helping lay supports for the roof!

Ambrocio setting brick.

Peter carries the much used 1st Aid kit.

Pastor Elmer lays brick for the parsonage that is to be home for his family. (That's one of his darling daughters, Noami, over his shoulder.) He has one working eye and travels by bicycle over gravely roads to construction jobs to support his family. In his "spare" time, he passionately serves his village as pastor. It's our prayer that his community will be blessed and will support him, in turn. Many pastors go for years and years without ever receiving any kind of tithe or financial support.

Josue at work. (See the rubble to the right? That is what they were pickaxing! The "dirt" was barely softer than concrete and Pops, with his bulging and manly muscles, actually bent the steel part of a pick-axe! We were most impressed.)

Now You See Him

- and then you don't -

My son, the stealth jungle boy.

Garifuna Village on the Northern Coast

A man from the Garifuna village we visited, caught our lunch while we snorkeled. His wife cooked it up and we ate like kings. And there was Pepsi. Even Central American tribes have access to Pepsi.

Hungry, tired and happy.

These Garifunas are well accquainted with western culture, but make overt efforts to retain their language, customs, and skills. The people in this village live simply, but well. They have access to schools (by boat), and tourist visits provide a supplementary income. While hospitable, I did not get the sense they really wanted to be photographed, so I withheld.

A view of the shoreline from the boat we motored in on. This village was a vigorous 35 minute boat ride from the mainland city of Tela.

A full belly and relaxing in a hammock. The mosquito bites were complimentary.

A hike through the jungle. Saw howler monkeys and managed to avoid pythons. Thank goodness.

My view as I sat and contemplated the last day of our trip.

Birds in Paradise

 • Pops, the bird charmer •

• Peter, wishing he had bigger shoulders •

• Anna, slightly freaking out about the birds •

My Fearless Archeologist

The ruins of Copan were all that we had hoped for. Watching Peter was the best part. It was like introducing a voracious pianist to Mozart or a soccer prodigy to Beckham. How fascinating to see the unique qualities of a child develop and unfold before one's self.

Perched atop a Mayan temple and surveying the scene.

The chronology and history within an ancient stellae.

Climbing temples.

Peter grabs the camera and snaps a shot of mom.

Juan. Grew up with National Geographic archeologists living in his home and was so enthusiastic to share his knowledge and experiences with an eager student.

A moment in the shade. A very hot day.

Cities within cities. Juan takes us in the underground tunnels that reveal different eras of Mayan civilization.

Contented tourists.

To Market

One of the mornings, I was able to tag along for the marketing. We went first to a local open-air market that was incredibly fascinating. The colors, the culture, the locals haggling, children dashing about, and even the occasional creepy drunk guy who makes you glad your Spanish isn't very good. As long as you've got a man in your group, it's really a lot of fun.

After, we headed to a super-mercado, looking very similar to western grocery stores. Two main differences? Product is truly packed to overflowing on shelves, apparently operating under the "more is more" theory, and the generous security guards who help you un-stick shopping baskets have loaded pistols shoved in the front of their waistbands. "Oh dear, uh ... (nervous giggle) muchas gracias, Senor."

Before we headed back to the worksite, we stopped off at a home in the village for some local tortillas. Slap a painted sign on your house and your tortilla business has begun! Fresh tortillas with locally made frijoles (beans) are muy delicioso!

Noontime Comida at the Cordova's

One of the highlights of our trip was lunch in Ambrocio's home. It was so meaningful to us, to not only be served a meal in their home, but to connect to their family on such a personal level.

Right off the bat I noticed the coffee plants scattered about. They are vibrant and intriguing. When I asked if they roasted them for coffee to drink, Norma told me no, that they grow them to sell. Another small source to supplement income.

And then ... I smelled lunch. Norma had been home all morning preparing for us to arrive, as the power was out so the hotplates were not in service. So, she just cooked the entire meal outside! The tray holding the pan of food is happily resting on an old car wheel that managed to cook a meal better than any fancy-shmancy convection oven ever could.

And yes. That is fried chicken. Delicious. Just enough for the guests, Ambrocio and family declined. This was an obvious act of sacrifice and honor bestowed on us. I doubt they eat chicken very often.

Norma also served Badu. A root vegetable cooked much like a potato, but sweeter and less starchy. Combined with a few seasonings and local crema ... Heavenly.

"Where do you get badu?" I asked Norma. She turned around and pointed to this monstrously lush plant that one can find all over the place. "Just dig it up," she instructed.

No spin cycle here, but must handle the wash awfully well. We found that while our Honduran friends may not have much, they take pride in how they present themselves. Indeed, Ambrocio has a beautiful and impressive family.

Green Honduran oranges. Cut them open and they are orange inside!

Peter playing Ambrocio's Garifuna drum. Ambrocio was born in a coastal Garifuna village. A tribe who escaped slavery from Caribbean islands several hundred years ago.

Before lunch Josue, the eldest (and Peter's compatriart), took myself and Peter on a little walk to the local mercadito to by some banana soda. Think of a mercadito as a small, Honduran mini-mart. Along the way I saw fields of wild flowers.

A neighboring family's outdoor oven, and friendly donkey that so charmed me I completely forgot to take his picture.

"It is not like 'Target'," Josue informed me. No, but your shop has much more charm.

Our sweet friends, the Cordovas. Ambrocio, Norma, Josue, Angel (pronounced An-hill), Alicia, and Eliza (not pictured and pronounced A-lisa).

Americans have their own standards for wealth, but it was obvious to us that the Cordova's considered themselves very blessed. A home with electricity, a plot for a vegetable garden, wild flowers abounding, and a peaceful, caring neighborhood. The lack of Western "essentials" was apparent, but not missed. Don't get me wrong, I still love my washer and dryer, and I wouldn't mind new carpet someday. But when Ambrocio looked at us funny as we began to take our shoes off before coming inside and motioned, "Why? There is no need. We just sweep it out when you leave!" I began realizing that all my modern conveniences can often be a drag. It leads to more stuff, more care, more worry, and definitely more money. Ambrocio and his family just don't spend their minutes concerned with many of the minor things I often do. There is work to be done and people to care for!

Now really. In light of this, who is the richer?

When We All Get to Heaven

The children of Honduras that we fell in love with:

But Jesus called the children to him and said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these."
(Luke 18:16)

A Journey to Build

We embarked on a journey to build, and not just in the physical sense. It was our true privilege. Here is the first installment:

All over the world this gospel is bearing fruit and growing, just as it has been doing among you since the day you heard it and understood God's grace in all its truth.
(Colossians 1:6)

First Day in the Village

Walking up to the home we would prepare our meals, I passed by the neighbors. Out on a block of concrete in front of their home, a young baby was being bathed. The sunlight streamed down making the tableau a rather holy image.

You see great-grandmother helping joyfully. I never saw any men here, just women and children pursuing the day. I'd been told they were distant to Pastor Elmer and the church that is developing there.

But they were always willing to look me in the eyes and exchange smiles.


Little Andy was teased by the other children. "Big head and big cheeks," they called him. I thought he was extraordinarily adorable. Andy came to VBS the second day we were there. And then his sister Bessi. And then mom and baby.

For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome, who shows no partiality and accepts no bribes. He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the alien, giving him food and clothing.
(Deuteronomy 10: 17-18)