Hold On Tight...

It is a simple phrase. “Hold on tight, don’t let go.”  I say this phrase probably a hundred times a week.

“Kai hold on tight. You don’t want to fall off.” As I try and carry the bags and hope that my monkey child doesn’t loose her grip around my neck.

“Careful Jayden. Hold on tight until we get across the water.” As we cross the river that frequents our city streets this time of year. Once it is to my calves I typically decide to carry the kids across.

Driving down the road and the kids are hanging on the running boards of the truck. “Hold on tight Carlos, don’t let go.”

This phrase… I have heard it probably more frequently than I now say it.

As a little girl at the beach afraid the waves would pull me under I remember my dad saying “Hold on tight.”  Or as we speed across the rough waters in his boat I could barely hear him as he yelled, "Hold on tight!"

Parasailing with my little sister as we stared down out our miniature sized looking feet. I can still hear her “Hold on tight Lala, I don’t want to fall.”

And then there are the unspoken “Hold on tights”.  The day my brother passed away trying to remember his smell, his laugh, his smile, and the twinkle of his eyes. I remember thinking “Hold on tight Lauren, don’t let go of the memories.”

You know those moments of being overwhelmed. Feeling that you are in way over your head. A storm that is brewing and it is SO big and it is moving SO fast. You see it coming, but you see it only after you have been feeling the pressure and winds for weeks before hand. In those moments, “Hold on tight. Don’t let go.”

I don’t know if it is a don’t let go because something better is coming, or if it is a don’t let go because they still need you. Maybe it is a don’t let go because it is almost over. It will never make much sense to me and I will probably never understand it fully.

I am beginning to wonder if I have a sick desire for stress and extra pressure. Or maybe it is just that I am stupid enough to believe that I am resilient and invincible. This is all blended together by the fact that I STILL have not learned the word NO.

I mean, I know "NO". I say it all the time to a bunch of staff and to all my kids. No touching. No running. No screaming. No punching. No taking food off the table. No more leaving your things thrown all over. No standing on the furniture. No throwing rocks at the vehicles. No slamming doors. With all of these people around I can say the word NO!

I just haven’t learned to say No to the face of need.

I don’t know if it is because I am hearing, “It is okay. Don’t let go. Just hang on.” Or if I am imagining I hear it because it is etched into the tissues of my brain.

Last night we had a wind storm. No rain. Just wind. It knocked over the patio furniture and we thought our roof was being peeled back. This morning I went outside and it was a disaster. In front of our house is a HUGE Ceibon. This is a really large tree that grows huge here in Honduras. It is taller than a three story hotel that is close by. The tree was not touched. There were leaves all over the ground. A few sticks and twigs, but you know not one branch was on the ground. There wasn’t anything on the ground larger than my forearm.  Furniture knocked over, a solid table flipped sideways, my door flung open, and not one branch on the ground.

“Hold on tight.”

That was all that was said. I stared at the trees with the beauty of the mountains in the background. All I can hear is “Hold on tight!” It is spinning and flying in my head as fast as the winds of a tornado. Unscathed.

I don’t know who I am writing for. I know that I felt the need to share it. You will come out of this. “ ’Hold on tight. Don’t let go!”  The leaves will fall to the ground around you, but your roots grow deep. You are strong. You won’t bend or break. I have placed you in this very place at this very time. Do not think for a second it was all in vane. Did you hear me? I called you to trust me. When I said, Come Follow Me. It meant FOLLOW ME. Don’t hesitate to continue down the path even through the darkness. Do not look at the dark monstrous shadows that surround you. Come follow me. Listen to my voice and continue down the path. You are built to withstand this storm. ‘Don’t let go!’ ”

Don’t let go of His plan. Don’t let go of that dream. Don’t let go of the promise. Find His voice. It is gentle. It is constant. It is calming. It brings peace. It is full of wisdom. It is. He is. He will. He did. And He does. 

Hold on tight.

The Rains Came Down

For over a year I have been posturing myself to move onto other projects. I have had the heart to grow us in new directions. And I know that my deadline is a couple months away.

And the rains came down. 

Talking and planning and getting excited. Walking by faith as each step trembles a little with fear. By faith, we walk on water. By faith, we grow. Dealing with what has felt like contractions for a long time I got hit in the nose. 

A couple days ago I was informed that I had to take a bunch of old responsibilities back over. Not that it is a BAD thing, but before I can release it I need to focus on developing character and infrastructure. I know it will be okay. 

BUT! You know when it rains on my parade it can't just sprinkle, it has to downpour. Losing sleep trying to figure out the what's and how's left me feeling down in the dumps. It's not just one little thing. It is a bunch of things all at once. Well, more like a bunch of big things. Then something crazy silly happened that I want to share. 

Sunday, at church, after debating how the service was going to work out and deciding Yuri was going to be a one man show because some of us felt we had little to offer... He sang a kid song. 

"The wise man built his house upon the rock... the rains came down and the floods came up", and what came next? Nothing! The foolish man that lacked a solid foundation lost it all. But the wise man was steady, he brushed the drops off and carried on with life. 

This means several things to me. Most importantly, I need to yank my extended hands onto my foundation. And just as important, trust and continue in faith because I know who my foundation is and do not doubt the rock on which I stand. 

Growing pains hurt almost at much as birth pains sometimes. But the baby that is to come will be worth it. And the success of these kids... Worth so much more. 

How will you be affected by your rain storm? Are your feet planted firmly? Don't waiver. Trust and believe in your solid foundation. 

Tents are luxurious!

"Mom? I'm hungry." I was frustrated. I didn't have time for the extra distractions. "You just had lunch at school." 

A few hours pass. 

I see him asleep in the back seat of the car. Trying to wake him up he grabbed at his stomach. "Jayden, you have to go to practice. Hurry up!" For the next two hours I see him randomly pull at his stomach. After practice he asked for a snack. "No, we will have dinner as soon as it is ready." 

We were sitting at the table and he inhaled his plate and asked for more before I could blink. "Jayden, what's up dude?" "I told you I was hungry!" Scratching my head I imagined he was ready to grow some more. 

The next day on the way to school he points out a classmate. "That is who I give my lunch too." "What do you mean give your lunch? You eat your lunch. It is for YOU!"  "Mom he doesn't have money to buy food and his mom doesn't send him anything."

Epic fail as a mom. I sit and reprimand and don't ask the right questions. His compassion shines through everywhere he goes. He loves, helps, shares. And I forget. Sometimes I get cold and numb to what is around me. I get tired of the garbage pickers going through my trash and dumping crap all over the front of the house before the truck comes by. I get tired of there always being someone next to me and in front of me that is need. I have gotten so exhausted that I have started to become cold. I need my blinders removed.

Sometimes I give so much, so hard, and for so long that I forget to give back to me. If I give back to me and take a few minutes I am not as toxic and cold. And maybe I will start to ask the right questions. 

For instance. Maybe there is a problem with migration for more reasons than danger. Starting with the lack of education and poverty. What would you do and where would you go if you never had food for your child? Imagine for a minute a shack with walls made from sheets and a roof made from a tarp. You may call it camping, but your tent is way to nice for what I am talking about. What if your only pot had a hole in it. Your kitchen spoon was a stick and your stove was an open fire under the rain drops. No refrigerator. No cabinets and pantry full of boxed/canned goods. You had to make what you found around you in the garden or what you could aford to buy for your family after earning your wage of less than $2 for your whole days work. How are you going to feed your family? What will you do as you stare at your child gripping his gut because he hasn't eaten in two days? That my friends is the reality of where we live. 

Labeled

I am writing this on such a personal level, I don't want to post it. I know so many people will read this that follow the ministry and will probably over analyze the words written. But I have decided I don't care.

I am writing this for myself, for my true friends, and for those that consider themselves my family. If you are not in that category you may want to stop and close out this page NOW.

I have been labeled. You have been labeled. We have all been labeled. And I find it repulsive.

One of my girls doesn't want to go to school any longer because she is 16 and has a 4 year old daughter. Kids at school make fun of her. She is labeled with "run around," "prostitute", "easy". Nobody thought to ask if she was raped or abused. I don't know of any little girls that want to be thrown into an abandoned building as they walk home from school and taken advantage of. But the outcome is a beautiful little girl. A life we rejoice in. She has an excellent Father from above who has provided for her and her mom. And no label applies here. I am proud of her mom for persevering and marching forward in life to try and improve her future. She is doing great and deserves to be lifted up and showered in words of praise.

I am divorced. I am fat. I am ugly. I am mean. I am spoiled. I am selfish. I am judgemental. I am...
You name it and I have probably been called it. Even the Queen B which probably does apply more often than anything else. A few apply, but NONE define. A few don't come close to applying and definitely don't even exist in my world. It doesn't matter. The label was placed. The words were spoken. The harm was caused. The hurt is now cured. The scar on my heart, however, I will forever feel.

I just listened to a lady cry as she was pushed out of her church because she is walking through the storm of her life. She is getting a divorce. How awful, right? I mean how horrible that she isn't just the submissive woman we were all called to be? What is wrong with her? Why doesn't she just shut up and hunker down? God hates divorce.

Oh... wait... I AM DIVORCED. I forgot what I wrote just a few sentences ago.

I don't believe divorce is an option! For some, it becomes necessary.

I don't have to write a list of excuses. Bottom line, from day one I knew it wasn't right and I couldn't let my joy be sucked dry any longer. No fault on anybody except for me. I said yes. I thought I knew what I was doing. I made the mistake. Then I wanted out. I regret none of it. I learned a lot. I am thankful all parties have moved on. I love my ex on some level and I always will want the best, but the bottom line is it wasn't for me. A lot of damage was done along the way. It created a lot more labels.

Our whole world is designed around labeling people. You go to get a new license and they want to know if you are married, single, divorced, or separated. You fill out a passport application and they ask for your race.

What does it really matter?

Labeling is so extreme that my four year old son was afraid to come home and tell us about a new friend because of their color of skin. "Jayden, did you think I would be mad because they were darker?"  "Not you mom, but Rolando's dad doesn't let them play together so I thought daddy would be mad too." For centuries people have been labeled because of their race or their religion.

Why are we afraid of something that looks, feels, or sounds a little different?   Jesus sat and laughed and enjoyed life amongst the oddballs, the uglies, the fatties, and even the town ho.

What is our problem?

A recent hire failed to show up to work. When I called to find out why I was told that her father said no. I asked for more information. "He is a pastor and he knows you are friends with the family that owns __________", a local restaurant. Really??

We are so blinded by these labels that we let it decide our life path on a daily basis. At what point do you stop it? At what point do we decide to love and support the people around us regardless? Not because it is easy, but because it is what we are told to do.

He didn't come for the safe and healthy people. He came for the sick and needy. He is a healer of all areas. Not just referring to diseases. He overlooks the imperfections and sees something better down within. He took the time to notice and care everything about you and me, but not them? Could that possibly be true?

It hurts when I look at the damage the church has created. "I didn't think you would like me or talk to me. Why do you listen so much?"  I can't help, but ask why I wouldn't? It is part of the commandment. He didn't send us out to judge and persecute people into righteousness. He sent us to exemplify His love and in turn winning them into the Kingdom. "I am here to help. Judging isn't going to help you, but I can love you and pray that He does the rest."  That is the only reply I had for a new friend full of questions after being shunned by the "Godly".

I think Honduras needs a church for screw ups because the only places around here with crosses require perfection to gain membership or rosary beads. I really don't know anybody that fits into the category labeled perfect, but I can show you some buildings that seem to think they are full of them. The weak, the hurting, the hungry are all around, but they aren't inside the walls they need the most.

Do something different to love them and change them. It starts with you and me. Because I am ________, but it doesn't matter. It was all erased because I am His!!!

What is Special. What is Need.

I stared out the window as my heart fell into pieces. I frantically began searching the car for food, water, and anything that I thought could fulfill a need. As my endearing husband passed me water that he took from my sister,  "Go do your thing Mother Theresa" were the only words he had to say.

He was maybe 18. It was obvious he had a case of Down's Syndrome. He was squatting beside the cart  outside of a gas station on one of the most trafficked boulevards in Honduras. I watched through the blur of my tears as he scooped water up from the mud puddle trying to get water into his little jug. As I walked over I called out to him. No response. I stood beside him speaking to him and still, no response. Finally, I squatted down and held out the water bottle. He took it. He said nothing. He responded to nothing. I realized he wasn't only mute, but deaf too.

I returned to the car and asked for some shoes. There were none. I walked to the trunk and pulled out a pair of mine, girly or not at least he has something for his feet. As I neared him this time he saw my shadow coming and stood up. I reached out with shoes and told them they were his. He went to the other side of his wood cart and leaned on it as he began to squeeze water from his jeans and clean off his feet.

We were leaving. I wanted to stay and observe a while, but we didn't have the time. As we drove away I watched as he sat up in the cart struggling to put on his new shoes. My heart ached. Where is his family? Where is his help? A child with Down's can grow into a functioning adult. This boy still needed a guardian and someone to teach him and allow him to blossom.

Later the next day as night fell upon the city we drove by the same gas station. He was there. Laying in his cart. Another piece of my heart fell.

For years we have had hearts to open a home for special needs children. People believe it isn't needed here. This country doesn't know what a special needs child is, means, or needs. I have a friend that moved back to Honduras from Arizona that worked with these kids. It was her major. Here she is just considered a nurse. Her heart is for more, but she is stuck living in a community of people that just don't get it.

I get it. I want to help too. We lack the funding. We lack the location. We lack the support.

There is a need. It is a special need. It requires a special heart of a special person to reach out and meet it.

Are you the one? Do you know someone that is? Please help us continue to reach lives. They all matter!

Open Door Ministries

Santa, Christmas, and Helping Others!

“Mom, I don’t want to stay here for Christmas. I want to go to Mimi’s!”

“But Jayden, this is where we live. Why don’t you want to be home for Christmas?”

“Because Santa doesn’t come to Honduras!  Why not mom? Why?”

I had to think. I wasn’t sure how to respond. I let the words I had just heard sink in. How do I defend this? Does it really need a defense? I was frustrated by his persistence on something so insignificant.

Christmas. A celebration. A party of sorts in remembrance of our SAVIOR! He didn’t say Christmas doesn’t come to Honduras. He said SANTA.  We have spent the last couple days preparing for Christmas at the orphanage. He has begged for every nativity scene to come home with us because we need to have Baby Jesus under our tree. He gets the reason behind the season I love. What he doesn’t get is why Santa doesn’t come here with all the pretty packages.

At first, I thought this was awful. This child of mine that wasn’t grasping the reason Santa is not in Honduras. Then I remembered a note that I received from the director of his school. “Jayden is the first in his class to help and give to another student in need.”  The thought was reassuring in the moment. The kid that makes once a week visits to the school nurse. The English speaking kid that gets in trouble every week for speaking too much Spanish in school. The kid that is too rough for his age, and while the teacher says he is just playing, some how the other students tend to get hurt. That kid. He is my little giver. My helper. I quickly had flashbacks of how many times I would yell for him to stop giving away his toys because he wouldn’t have any left. Then I remembered the days we couldn’t buy groceries and he would give away his last cheese stick to the little girl that came and begged at the gate. If anybody understands the giving principal it is him. He gets it so well. He thinks Santa should be giving too. It is the poverty and dirt he does not see.

He lives surrounded by the poverty in this country. He has helped feed the poorest of the poor. He plays with them. Laughs with them. And he has helped them brush off the dirt as they stand up from falling off the rocks outside the feeding station. How do I explain that the families can’t afford presents without ruining the mystery of Santa? The real reason there are no pretty packages is because of the poverty that surrounds us?

He has asked why I haven’t started preparing the baskets for our kids. He likes to put in the drink packets. How do I explain that this year the ministry doesn’t have the funds for Christmas baskets so we aren’t giving to all the families at the feeding station? We only have enough for some families so we have plenty of time to get it done.

I have similar thoughts to his all the time.

I have turned down at least one new child every day over the past week. I pray that God sends someone to meet their needs so they don’t go to bed hungry at night because I can’t bring them home. I sob as I try to go to sleep feeling an agony so deep that it pierces my soul in an excruciating way. “God, let them know they are loved!”

I went last week to meet with a girl that is not just wanting placement, but needs it. I want to say yes. I just can’t right now. On the way home I stopped to pick up one last ingredient for the Christmas cookies we were going to make that evening. As I stood in the check-out lane Jayden picked up some “pretties”.  With all of his excitement “Look it! Look it!! Mom!!! Look at this!!!” I reluctantly turned to let him know I was sort of paying attention. “Can we get this for the new girl for Christmas? She would like it!”

How do I explain to a four year old that has more compassion than I do, the reason I can’t bring home more kids?

I think every year Open Doors makes a plea for help with Christmas baskets and Christmas presents.

My plea is for something more. It is for consistent monthly support. It is for families to “adopt” a child from afar and send them support so they can feel and experience the love of a Savior. What if this year instead of sending corporate gift baskets a corporate sponsorship of a child was made? What if instead of a gift to someone that already has everything, you gave in their honor to someone with nothing?

I think it would be great to play Santa all year. Not just stopping in the month of December. Giving a gift that will continue to impact and change a life. Making a difference. If that is something that would interest you please go to our website and donate now! Help us continue to be a blessing! 

Donate Now!

Just a frayed string

I live in a country of extreme poverty. Amongst homes built of sticks, mud, and cardboard you can see mansions that any American would be happy to call home. Among the luxury cars that American teens dream of having, scraping by the glamour passes a horse drawn carriage collecting garbage looking to earn some sort of wage for the day. On the back of the cart sit kids rummaging through my five day old spoiled yogurt bottle and  quickly the top comes off as one takes a swig. 

My heart just hit the ground again. 

I recently had an encounter with a lady who has nothing. She has a few outfits, two pairs of shoes, a mat she calls a bed, and an arm full of bracelets made with string given to her by her son. "He made them for me!" I admire her arm, "they are beautiful." She looks at me out of the corner of one of her eyes, "but you would never wear something like this. It isn't good enough for you."

I wasn't sure how to reply. It isn't something I would buy. But that doesn't take it's value away. "I would be happy to wear one. I know it's a prized possession and it has great worth!" 

She wrapped her arms around my neck and placed a bracelet on my arm before I could blink. 

It isn't glitzy. It isn't even colors I normally pick. But it has become a daily reminder to pray for her. And I value the strings tied around my wrist. A month has gone by and not once have I taken it off. It represents a lot to me. 

I was given all she had to give and it was done with a heart of joy. 

I see her every day when I look down. I see her when I try to hide my arm because I catch a "friend" staring at it. I am humbled and remember to let go of pride. At least once a day I ask if it is beneath me. "Am I really to good for it?", Asking as I try and wear a silver bangle on top to hide the frayed strings. 

I am no better. I make no better choices. My blessings in life are no greater than hers. They just look different. 

I stop and wonder. If it were a bracelet made of gold would I try to hide it, or would I show it off? What gives gold it's value? The desire to be had by people? Or some man that decides it has value based on its shine and weight? Why don't people value humble hearts full of joy more than a thin string full of jewels? 

Could I be the old lady that offered the last of my two cents as an offering or would I stuff it in my pocket to save for another day?

And why, when I see someone digging for good in my garbage bag full of maggots, do I not invite them in and make a Kings Feast? What stops me?  Am I really too busy? Or do I really just not care? Or, am I afraid they will get my furniture dirty and make my house stink?

I get caught up in life. I get distracted with helping others so much that I don't help or value the few passing right in front of my eyes. Instead of sharing leftovers, I save them because I might be hungry later.  It is not just me. I look at the orphanage which is now full of people that have forgotten the sticks and shambles they have come from and are growing more self absorbed each day. 

How do we stop? How do we change? For me, keeping this bracelet on my arm is a start and a reminder.