Free Sex...

Not for you. Don't get excited. Got you to come to the page, didn't I?

This week I was reading news articles with highlights from Honduras. One of the articles was addressing the massage houses that are overwhelming our cities and towns. The police have finally decided to start combatting this homes that are known for providing happy endings. You thought that was just happening in the Orient? Don't be so naive.

The recent raid included children between ages of 6 and 12. Free sex. You give it away. A normal prostitute has a price that they receive though they more than likely pay a fee to their boss man. In this home the kids receive what? The moms sell their children into these homes. The kids in return are housed. Kept alive. They have food and a roof. Oh and abuse. You do that the way they want it OR ELSE...  Free sex... Actually they are paying a high price to give it away.

If that is what is taught to these kids. And we are in the business of trying to help heal their innocent bodies and minds... HOW??? HOW will they ever be able to function as a normal child? They will never be able to play with Barbies or G.I.Joes in a normal fashion again. What they were made to do that they fought to not participate in becomes something like a drug that they begin to crave. Is there any hope for normalcy in their lives again?

All of the psychological help in the world cannot erase the things they experienced and suffered through. Some of the stories have me... Me... The girl that is numb to it all because it is all normal... It just took it to another level and has me speechless. The things these children are experiencing at such a young age is heart breaking. I pray for the home that receives these kids. They are going to have a lot of work ahead of them. The rage they will experience. The depression and depths of sorrow to overcome.

That brings me to another point. When will the death penalty be permitted in this country so infiltrated with murder and violence!!!??

I want revenge. I want that little girl. I want to hold her and brush her hair and teach her that there is more to life. I want to prove that not everyone is going to wish that lifestyle upon her. She needs someone to come in with love. Someone to teach her there is a different life. Someone to love her through all her nasties that she will now be trying on kids in school. Starting school will be a huge difference for her.

She has value! She is worth something more than just her body and the pleasure someone can get from her.

In these thoughts I have recognized that these same things are values I am trying to teach to my own daughter. In a world where you are recognized for your beauty, your body, or your moves... It is in almost every commercial on TV. It is re-enforced by music videos. We even re-enforce it in our own homes. When is the last time that you told your little girl she was beautiful when she woke up in the morning? Does she only hear those words when she is dressed up? What do you say about yourself in front of her? I am one of the worst at saying "I look gross!" or "Don't touch me, I smell." One thing I have learned from stinky indians is they all seem to have lovers. The stench released from beneath the pits is of no importance. That is so contrary to our culture. I think pheromones attracting the opposite sex is a line of bologna. There is no way that smell would ever cause me to desire a man.

Enough of a rant for today. Go love somebody just because of who they are. Not because of how they look or how they make you feel. Love them because it was a command. Loving the least of these isn't something that is always easy. Heck, I don't even know if I love my own kids when I find a bag of flour has exploded all over my kitchen floor or have that red juice spilled all over my nice clean white pants. It is definitely a choice. No matter who it is, how they smell, or what they do.

I choose to love you! I choose to love her too! Sex not needed. All kids are worth loving.

Are you there mom?

Mothers Day brings a mix of emotions depending on who you are and where you are at on your life journey.

Mothers Day... It is like most other holidays for me. Stressful.

It is a time when most of my kids get emotional. When I get emotional. When I try and over do another project to make sure my house moms feel extra special on a day they don't get to share with their family because I need them to work. A day of resentment. Frustration. Angst. Sorrow.

A day in the life of one of my kids doesn't begin to open your eyes to everything they go through.

A life of abuse, but when all you know is abuse it is what you want. And on mothers day just like a healthy child you want to be with your maternal mom.

I had planned a beautiful lunch. I made every detail special and coordinated it all to go perfectly down to the games we would play as a family. Part of the day was only for my house moms. Part of the day for my teen moms. Part of the day for a big family celebration.

As one of my moms walked in I noticed something was different. I was so focussed on the details of the day that I never took the time to ask. Then during a time that I had set apart to ask my moms how they were and what they needed from me so they could be more efficient, she broke down. "I didn't call you because I knew you were busy. She ran away. She hugged us. She gave me my mothers day card. She disappeared." I was informed that one of my little girls ran away. She is eight. She is used to the streets. She is used to abuse. My reply? "Don't worry. She will be back. I am sure she wants to find her real mom for mothers day. Just wait."

Yesterday... They brought her home. Within four days she was beaten and bruised. Her hair has been chopped off. The joy we had seen dancing in her eyes has been stripped once again. I ache wondering what she experienced the last few days. With time, she will talk. For now, I wonder.

I wonder why she chose that life style to run back to. I know it is a cycle of abuse. I know she will desire parts of her past life until she is fully healed. I wish we hadn't taken three steps backwards after just starting to move forward. I believe God will heal her with time.

The part that hurts me the most is knowing she left see if a mom was still there. A mom who would hug her the way her tia hugs her in our homes. She left hoping mom would sit and listen. She left wanting a love that is best shown by a mom, but she doesn't realize her mom is sick and will never be able to provide that love. Unless... Unless she receives it first from God.

I am learning more each day how much God existence is like a light house and He guides us and lights the path, but we have to set our own course. These kids know the way. We are being used as a light house, but I cannot force any of them to follow the path before them. I can pray. I can wish. I can desire. I can lead. Even at eight years old... they have to decide.

They decide. In the midst of confusion. During the blurs of abuse. The stress of change. They decide.

I am just now coming to reality and recognizing they will forever wonder, "are you there mom?"

"These people tell me of a love so deep. A love so strong. And it comes through people I barely even know. If that is true then why? Why don't you love me the way they love me? Why don't you show me? Why do you hurt me? How can they be there for me even when you are not?"

In the midst of Mothers Day runaways and chaos I found a moment to chat with one of our oldest girls. She came when she was 16. She will be 26 this year. She is working for us and still studying in high school. I asked her how she felt when she came into the house that she one time lived in. Her reply left me kind of surprised. "Mama Lore, how do you feel when you go home to the States and walk in and see Mama Penny? I think I feel like that, but better. I knew how bad it once was and I know how good I feel here. This is my home. I find peace and happiness here." She once tried to run away. She thought about ways to escape. She learned, with time, where God placed family, hope, and a future. She took advantage of it.

I hope that all of our kids eventually follow in her foot steps. I know we will lose some along the way. For now we make sure that seeds are being planted and one day they will recognize a place they could call home and where they found a love like no other. And when they ask, "Are you there?" A response will surely be heard.

Haunting Prayers

There have been a few times in my life that I have known that I am right where I am supposed to be. Most the time I kind of guess and assume. Sometimes I am SO convicted to do something that I lose sleep. Right now, is one of those moments. I can tell. I know because of the emotional, mental, and physical obstacles I have been facing. I know. I am right where He wants me.

On occasion their faces plague me. They spin around in my dreams and stop randomly on two in particular. I find myself awake in the middle of the night praying. I am determined to make a difference.

One of them is a man I have been reaching out to. He isn’t in the best of situations. I have forced my partner in crime to accompany me to visit him at least once a week. Resentful at first, a month later Nilsson is pushing me to go twice a week. We sit, we talk, we visit. I ask questions, the man answers, half of his replies are covered in lies. I know this, but I don’t care. There is something about him. We took my dad to meet him. Now I think he may be becoming his best friend. Not really, but he for sure found a soft spot in my dads heart. The other day I found out Nilsson now visits him without me. This is a little scary. We went from not interested to bi-daily chats.

In a group setting I asked if I could pray for some of the members that surrounded us. They accepted. Then I called on “him”. I asked him to pray. To pray for himself, to pray for the group around us. He said he would pray with me, but not lead. He admitted in a group of people that would likely judge him for faith that he would accompany me in the prayer. It was a start. I accepted. We prayed.

A couple weeks later he admits to my father that his grandpa was a pastor. Interesting that someone labeled as the worst of the worst of people you could possibly want to know in this life has been rooted in the word. He knows the Bible. He believes in the Bible. He is asking for the Word. He knows where true life is found. He has never forgotten his roots.

A murderer. An addict. An abuser. A liar. A thief. An adulterer. An extortioner. We have tons of negative labels that are placed on people in this world. You and I are not exempt. Whether it was big or small every one of us is plagued with a piece of guilt from some place in our past. We have a label. When we call on God, He sees NONE of this. All He can see is a child of His. Lost or found, He can see you. He cares. The church was found, the Bible it was written, His son was given, all for you. Not for perfection, but for every flaw you would have. His blood was shed.

We all are born with a basic knowledge of this. We know, deep down, there is something more, something larger.  Our families are rooted in it. Yet sometimes it is hard to just surrender. A family history of ministry isn’t necessary. It is engrained from the moment we are conceived.

My little friend. His face spins in my head. I see him when I go to sleep. I am haunted with it as I awake. So I pray for him. And I know that if I continue to show the love he will come around. It is in our visits. Our talks. Our simple prayers that he will come around.

Prayer, no matter how big or small, prayer makes a difference. 

Breaking

Just a break

That is all. That’s it. A break. I want to wake up and not see your face. I want to walk outside and not have you greet me. I want to enter a store or a clinic without you asking for something. I want a day, an hour, even just a minute of peace and rest.

I am exhausted. I feel plagued. I have spent two weeks wanting to write. Two weeks thinking, processing, now I have silence… Then another clang is at my gate. Shhhh… I want a sign that says baby sleeping. You wouldn’t be able to read it.

I want a guard that sends you away and tells you to leave me alone. You wouldn’t understand it.

I pay you to take my garbage so you can find food amongst the smelly leftovers and buy water to drink. I give you my moldy clothes and broken sandles so you can be clothed. And daily you ask me for more. Daily you find me. I buy your half rotten oranges because I wonder what it would be like if it was all I had to offer the only form of survival. I offer you my last tortilla praying with every ounce of my being my husband will have a patient today so he can bring home dinner.

Then I watch. I watch your young children come with your babies hoping I will give medicine. I make them laugh. I play with them trying to catch a twinkle in the deepest parts of their eyes. I touch them giving them the only form of healthy affection that they will most likely ever know in their lives. I get annoyed by the frequent visits as I turn to go back inside.

I listen as the judge comes and tells me about the most recent sex traffickers being caught. I hear a name I recognize. It was her.

I begged to be left alone. I pleaded for silence. Now I am consumed by the guilt and the bitter frustration that I didn’t step in sooner. The voice that once annoyed me I wonder if I could have helped. The banging and knocking, the pleads for assistance. What if I had stopped and truly listened? What if my plans and to-do lists had been set to rest for an hour or two? Would it have changed your future? Could I have saved your pain?

There is no training. There is no preparation. The frustration. The guilt. The anger. The bitterness. The helplessness. Nothing could ever prepare me for the emotions I feel.

My heart aches. I think it is breaking into pieces. There is a love I know to be so pure. So kind. So genuine. I want to share it. I want to pour it out. I want to take each and every one of them and place them in the most beautiful crystal encasing and show them what it is to truly be a princess. A King. A Savior. A Provider. A Healer. The One that can change it all. The One that intended for all things good and beautiful, to know and be known. How would she ever know? How can she ever comprehend? Did He hear her cry? Does He see her tears? You can say yes, but when it only feels like a NO what is left?

She questions her birth? I tell her of a purpose and a destiny. She wonders if I’m drugged. If only she weren’t living. I assure her there is a bigger picture. One she can’t see. One she can’t trust. If the bigger picture was always there than why did she suffer the hurt?

Questions. Answers. Questions. Thoughts. Questions without answers.

Preparation? A life full of love. Pre-requisite? Willing heart. Duties? Too many to name.

Looking for someone to help fill some shoes. The one that walked before me left an impression to big for me to fill. Please send some extra hands and feet. 

Its Easy! Yet Hard!

Happy Thanksgiving! I know this is delayed. I was trying not to write. I didn't want to hurt any feelings.

Last Thursday was awkward. I was greeted by family that I love, but feel so different from. I was hugged and felt warmth, but still a frigid coolness that creeped over. I got to stuff my face with food that I no longer desire to eat. There was so much that it made me sick. I still had a bite of EVERYTHING, don't worry. I was surrounded by people that may be a part of me, we share blood, but don't have a clue what life is really like. They don't comprehend what it is really all about.

I was asked questions that were ridiculously insane.  "How is life down there?" "So what do you really do?" "What is it like?" "You love it, don't ya?" "How do you walk in those shoes?" "You must love living there, its so easy, right?"

My own family... They have no clue. I think I want it to stay that way. At the same time, it breaks my heart!

To those that know me from the work you have seen in Honduras, you know nothing about my secret desires of the past.

Growing up with a house too big too clean, swimming pool, spa, a foyer that was larger than my current bedroom, vehicles that only had the name exotic or luxury attached, a garage that is the size of our little home we now rent, a private driveway that was longer than the length of our current neighborhood, a personal bathroom that had two sinks and extended counter-tops so I never had to share. The screen room to the pool was larger than the average home. And everything around was decorated like a magazine, even the yard. Dad had the landscape guy change the flowers according to the season. Resort style. I was the girl that never walked out of the house without heels, make-up, and my hair sprayed rock hard. The girl that was well traveled. The girl that never hosted the parties for fear of what they would all say after being on the inside.

I was called the spoiled brat and I was referred to as the snob. Not just by friends, some cousins too. I once got into a dispute with a friend at school because a girl called me a rich snob. That week my dad had sold one of the cars so he could pay some bills. We were blessed. We were above blessed. But I also knew what it meant to make sacrifices. And sometimes you had to down size and decrease spending to maintain the good life. As much as we had materially, dad taught us Kingdom responsibility. Well into my twenties I worked the material things. I kept a pretty good life on my own. If I desired it, I had it. I realize now what I wanted and achieved then, is what people into their 50's still are hoping to attain, one day...

That was then!

Because my then is the only way my family sees me, they don't come close being able to comprehend my now.

Mattress made of cardboard setting on the floor.
No Air Conditioning
A shower that is a bucket of cold water and a cup used to pour it over my head.
Most days my dishes are done in the same way.
Laundry that is done by hand.
An old TV that is the size of my head
Cars that are at the mechanics once a month. One of them spending more time in the shop than running.
No closets
No furniture other than the crummy living room set and dining room set that the termites are eating. (Its okay, they are nothing pretty or spectacular.)
I work longer hours than a private business owner and for no pay.
I have a family that says I have time to raise everyone else in the world except my own blood.
I have heated conversations with my husband over the mold, rat poop, and dust all over the house. (I'm allergic to dust mites and animals and it causes an instant headache upon entry.) These conversations end in me crying once I realize how little time I spend at home and finally acknowledge my unavailability to clean for my family like a normal woman.
I have a child that is supposed to start school next year. (Public school goes to middle school and the kids come out ignorant and unstimulated! Private School option only, but yea... I no longer hold a real job.)
I get to see my entire family? NEVER   When I am home someone is always gone and I get to work on some newsletter, financial statement, or some random office project.
My last vacation was in 2005.
I spend my days being pulled in three hundred different directions because each child or worker has something urgent.
I have no time for me.
When I stay at the home for the kids I am up until 2am and back up at 5:30 so I can try and "get it all done".
I get to deal with Religious Legalism that tries to make every child conform to their law or they go to hell. (This leaves me with hours trying to comfort a girl that she is not going to hell because of the music playing on the street or at school.)
Then the language/cultural barrier that I am still trying to comprehend in SO many ways.
I am the only full timer I know that has no support or mission backing, no income, and no maid.
(House workers are common because of the intense work required to maintain the lifestyle and long hours required when working a ministry.)


There you have it.  I now live with the poorest of the world, not just amongst them. I live just like them. The orphans in our home eat better than we do on most days. They have better furniture. A better built home. A better water system.

But there is something in me that I have no matter how I choose to live my life. I have joy. It wasn't found in my black onyx travertine marble or granite beauties that surrounded my home. It wasn't found in the cars or luxurious items that I could find at my dads growing up. It wasn't found in the unforgettable vacations. But this is stuff that not even my family fully comprehends. It is fine to build a beautiful life. I won't lie. I miss driving my Lexus. I am pretty sure Nilsson misses his Mercedes. Nice things are fun and sometimes very worth the money. I am not currently a lover of Kia or Chevy. I would like to try at Nissan and Ford, or so I think. There are days when I miss going out every night of the week because I didn't feel like making dinner. I don't really know how to get you to understand how I live unless you come and see it. If you knew my before, you still won't believe it.

A couple months ago a missionary made a comment about me being the LAST girl she would have thought was going to move to Honduras. I stayed at her home when I was fourteen, I believe. That was from a missionary. Lol. What did I do? What was so wrong with me?

In May, a friend from school came to Honduras. I knew him since I was about ten. He rubbed his head one day saying out of everyone in school I was the least likely to end up here in Honduras. Why? What was it?

Just because of how life was lived?

These comments make me laugh. God calls. We just have to answer. For a while I may have been caught up in the newest Prada find (which I just found in a box and want to sell if you are looking!) I may have been distracted by the pretties that surrounded me. I liked to go to the store and find new home decor year round. It wasn't that I didn't hear Him, I just liked to distract myself from the burden I now feel so intensely.

My family, they will never fully get it. A couple will, but not all of them. Why would I give up the best in the world and choose to take the worst?

I think when Jesus died on the Cross that was exactly what he was doing. He gave up the best. He was born like you and I. He came to save the world, nothing else. He didn't have to. He did it anyway. He set an example for us to follow. I don't want to be a martyr. I pray the blood over me and my family. I plead for His protection. I follow His lead. I love the least of these. I caress the dirty, smelly, rotten of man kind. I live amongst them. I pray that my life, my love, my joy will flow out of me and onto them. I pray that they catch a glimpse of the love of the Savior and they grasp onto Him. I pray they learn the true treasures in life. I pray that a difference is made with the love and support that is provided when all they have ever known is rejection, hurt, lack. But I am willing to do what He wants me to do.

Not everyone will get that. It is far from easy. This life is the hardest I have ever lived. Most days I hate it. I hate not being able to fix the world. It sounds cliche, but I desire World Peace. I desire to heal the hurts and sorrows and provide a brighter future to those that have nothing, no one, and no way.

You aren't helping them, so I guess I have to. I don't say that with bitterness. So few are helping. I know! I was one of them! I was worried about housing upgrades and kicked myself for not getting that Bentley. Life is about SO much more. It is so easy. It is hard to let go. Relying on Him takes FAITH! With time and practice, it gets SO easy! Here or there, what are you going to do? What will you risk? Will you answer Him? Will you accept the challenge and step out in Faith? Someone needs you. Near or far. Someone is in need. Are you willing to be His hands and His feet? Your family may not understand. It doesn't matter. You know in your heart. He is calling!

Stubbornly Helpless!

Maybe I am wrong, but I think everybody at some point goes through this awkward stage of becoming an adult. We try to take control and act like we know everything. Then we feel pressure. We think we will crack. We ask for outside help. We don't accept the advice from the outside helper. Then we spazz as we realize we have royally screwed something up. So finally, with desperation, we cry out to God and ask for help.

This is becoming more and more real every day.

I am noticing so many of our kids that have these issues. Some with school, some with family life, some with their "new siblings", some with the house moms, some with church. They all have something. Almost always they think they know the best way to do something or handle it.

I have a girl that had some school shoes that were really kind of sick. For three days I told her to put some shoe glue on the soles so she wouldn't have problems on her way to or from school. She ignored me! A couple days later she came home from school dirty, white socks turned brown, and with tears on her face. Her shoe fell apart and she was forced to walk with one shoe almost the entire way home from school. "Now will you help me glue it?" she couldn't even look me in the eye. "OF COURSE!!!" How easy it is for someone who has experience to step in and try to help us avoid a painful lesson. Yet, how common it is for us to want to do it all on our own!!!

What are you not letting God help you accomplish in your life? What has someone older or wiser been trying to help you avoid that you aren't listening to? There is wisdom in years. It is SO easy for us to admit we messed up and just ask for ask. Except for when we let our own pride get in the way! Sometimes we all just need to ask for a little help!

What It Really Is...

You know those days when you have SO much to say that you don’t know where to really begin? 

It is my fault. I took to long to write. I took to long to sit down and jot out some ideas. I have so many things to share and not many would you really want to hear about, but I still want to share.

We are packed! That is one that I am both proud of, and cringe in shame. In one year we have nearly doubled in size. Not in the size of houses. I mean kids. Why? Because I lack the word “no” in my vocabulary. Is this good? It depends on whose glasses you are wearing. Do you think my mom and dad jump up and down when I say there are more kids? Maybe, depending on the day. We all celebrate and at the same time we bite our fingernails wondering what is happening.

We have broken the odds. We fit into no mold. We never have, I am not sure why this still surprises me. 

We have done more work, touched more lives, and seen more success (depending on who you ask!) than any other mission our age in this country. Most people wait TWO years for approval to open a home. We waited less than a week. The number of kids that have been under our influence? I need to pull out all the old files so I can give an exact number, but it would knock your socks off. The amount of lives that have been touched, AMAZING!

I was recently asked AGAIN about our success stories. Well, what do you consider success? The fact that we are still open, and operating BY FAITH, and can continue to do all that we do, THAT is success.  Having girls that come in and are 11, 12,13, 14, 15, and even a 16 year old with kids that have never been in school and teaching them to read and watching them go through sixth grade, (The majority stop after 6^th country wide.), is pretty impressive. The girls that have come from abuse or have been abandoned and stick around because they recognize family, that is pretty awesome. The ones that runaway looking for their “real family”, and realize God has placed them in our home with their new family so return still leaves me astonished. And we have some that have left their young babies behind so they can work and try to find stability and they come “home” on vacation to see us and visit their kids. Those are success stories. Kids that now know, accept, and embrace unconditional love. What could be better? Little by little, one life at a time, a difference is being made.

A couple weeks ago Sandra, one of the first girls accepted into the home, had her youngest son in the hospital. I went on rotation with her as you cannot leave the patients unattended due to the lack of medical staff. On the third day I was exhausted. I wanted to leave. I was ready to go home and see my own family and play with my own kids. I was wanting to cuddle, and read bed time stories with Jayden. I just didn’t want to be sitting on a cold, hard, metal stool for another minute. Sandra finally walked back in the room. I went to buy more medicine and additional syringes to get them through the night. When I returned, I placed the items on the floor close by and started to say goodbye. I turned to walk away and Sandra tapped me on the shoulder followed with a nudge. I turned to nudge her back and gave her a look like she was silly. “Mama Lauren.” I looked at her with a smirk, still half playing. “Yes, Sandra?” “I don’t have a real mom, but I know what that love would feel like because of you and Mama Penny. Thank you for loving me, showing me, and accepting me.”  I wasn’t sure how to respond. I just kissed her head and squeezed her tight. That, my friends, SUCCESS!!! On the deepest level!

A culture so bombarded by the abandoned. In a country where you throw out people like you would throw out garbage. She senses a true love. A pure love. She can relate more closely to the unconditional love of our father because of how we allow Him to use us. We may not be touching the multitudes today, but we are raising the hands and feet that will reach the multitudes tomorrow.

Is there anything better than that?

Please Sir, I Want Some More!

I did it again!!!    I ate my words.

I decided that I would take nothing else on. Accept no more responsibility. Bring home NO MORE KIDS. You know, until I had more help.

Yup, I blew it. AGAIN!!!

Maybe it was me. Maybe it was my mom. Maybe it was really God. I am so confused that I cannot tell you what really happened.

Some how, we just grew again! In the midst of trying to clean up messes and working on figuring out what motivates the teen girls to make such awful decisions, and catch up on everything I left for someone else to do, but don't remember any job in particular that I have to do...  I think I may have said yes to one too many kids. Fighting the feelings of hyperventilation I am looking for new sponsors, more uniforms, additional baby supplies, and increasing the food supply, AGAIN!

Only one of the five new kids this week was planned. The rest, just sort of happened.

There was a commotion as a lady began to try to steal two children from a young girl walking through the market. The girl was 17 year old Miriam. She was looking for work and had her two kids and her 13 year old sister by her side. While the sisters were fighting for the kids, a man began to grab one of the sisters pushing her towards a car. Luckily, the noise drew attention and some assistance came to their rescue. The girls were taken to a safe place with the two babies and eventually we were called for help.

The story grows deeper. The girls were sent away from their home in the mountains by their mother. The step-father was trying to sell them to neighborhood men. The mom knew that the only way to protect them was to get them out of their village. The 17 year old was already left with a soon-to-be 3 year old and a 22 month old. The little sister would only be forced into the same lifestyle that was pushed upon the older sister.

So here we are sitting in a room with the four kids. Pretty little girls that were being taken advantage of and weren't allowed to study beyond third grade. We have a home that is full to capacity, and don't have the provision to bring home more children. Then, I look down as my son rolls his ball over their shoeless feet. That was all I needed to see. I didn't even want to look at my mom to see her reactions or thoughts.

I look up and nod at the psychologist assuring her we will do what we can. What was left to do? What would you have done? Do you say no I don't have a crib for your baby? Or do you take them home and make it work?

They are here!!!  The stress of it all is starting to sink in. It has pushed us over to the next level and we are looking for more permanent help. We need more baby items and also more toddler clothes. The girls have already been attending school at the Gates Of Hope and are adjusting to their new life styles. We are looking to God to provide more. I think He misunderstood when I asked for more though. I meant resources. He gave me kids.

His timing is always perfect. His plans are bigger, better, deeper, and wider. We started 2013 with goals that were going to push us to the next level. We are only in June. He is meeting us right where we are at and carrying us forward. We have new ministry opportunities. New partners. New buildings in the works. And continued progress on the existing areas. It is SO exciting! It is something only He can orchestrate. He is using SO many of you to help and assist. Thank you! Your help. Your service. Your donations. Your faithfulness. Your support. Your prayers! You help make it all happen.

Thank you for believing in us and helping us touch lives! Thank you for making a difference in the lives of these children!

Hurting... It surrounds me!

I could not help it. I was staring. Everything my mom tried to teach me as a child, it was OUT THE WINDOW! She was almost awkwardly tall as her legs doubled below her swing like she was trying to tuck them tight and gain speed. “Mom, how old do you think she is?” I just had to know. My mom shrugged. Insisting because that is something I am good at, “She is pretty old mom.” I turned back around to look for my son on the other side of the playground.

It was like a magnet drew her closer to me. She walked up and stood right in front of the bench we were sitting on. My mom and I glanced at each other as if to ask why, but never speaking a word. Then she began mumbling, “I’m not afraid any more. I’m not afraid any more. I’m not afraid any more.” I looked at my mom wanting to hit her arm so she would speak up and help this stranger out. We were on her territory. I was at home in the states. It was not my ministry location and I felt out of place. I stared at the girl again. “When I was little, in San Diego, I was kidnapped from a place like this.” Her voice sounded just like my niece who is six. “For two years my mom searched for me.” She began to tell her story. My heart began to ache. She had health issues. She had a tumor removed from her brain. She had a brother in a special home because he was sick. She was now forty-six. She looked a lot younger than that, not young, but younger. She threw her purse and cell phone down at our feet and ran off chanting, “I’m not afraid any more!” She was working on breakthrough. Once more, she began to swing.

“Mom, why do you think she is here? Is she alone? She said people were watching her, but the only person she pointed to was animal control.” Again, my mom shrugged whispering “who knows?”  The girl came back to pick up her stuff and received a phone call. She quickly skipped it happened as fast as she had come.

After walking to the car I began strapping Jayden into his car seat. I saw the pink shirt sitting off to the side. It was her. Sitting with a man. He was touching her. Talking with her. She was all smiles. I couldn’t help but wonder how many of them called her each day. If she even knew she didn't have to, or if her kidnapper had destroyed her. Maybe because of what I work with in Honduras. Maybe because I know the statistics in Central Florida. It broke my heart. “Mom, do you really think it is what it looks like?” A tear escaped and began to roll down my cheek. “Lauren, there are people hurting every where.”

I wanted to take her home. I wanted to show her how great life can be. I wanted to show her a true and pure love that is only found in Him. I could not. I don't live there any more. That, my blog reader, I leave in your hands. 

Not everyone is called to leave home and move to a foreign country. I know that! Some of you are senders, supporters, and advisers. Some of you are called to ministry at home. Some of you are the reason we can keep our doors open and continue to care for the orphans and abused here in Honduras. However, some of you have been watching for a while. Afraid to get involved. Afraid to make a commitment. Or maybe even on such a tight budget that you are afraid to donate $5 a month. If you are not committed to Open Doors will you do me a favor? Commit to something. Commit to someone. Tomorrow, as you go out and face the world look around. At work, as you drive, in the gym, maybe even at church. Set yourself aside for a moment and give to someone. Maybe not financially, but give love. Show grace. Brighten their day. You may be the only thing keeping them from having the worst day ever and giving up. Spread some love.

Value...

                                            Okay God, I will...

But Not TODAY!

                               Yes God, I will...

                                    Please, just not today!?           

Even if you don't want to admit to it, you and I both know you can relate. The tug to give. The urge to help. The nagging push to do something different. The intrusive shove to speak up and make a difference. In some way each one of us knows exactly what I am talking about.

For a while I have been avoiding the telling of a story. Why? Why do any of us do this? We are all human! We all need help! None of us are perfect. Yet there is still part of us that we try and hide. It just can't be seen by the public eye.

Not too long ago, I lost a baby. I tried to remain quiet. Miscarriages happen. Life goes on. It seems really common, what do I have to say that would make any difference. The loss happens. The pain endures. Physical, emotional, relational... There is junk to deal with. Junk that affects every area of life.

The cause? According to the doctor and according to Mr. Know It ALL, I mean Nilsson, it is my fault. Not that it is MY fault, but the lack of taking care of myself type of MY fault. You see part of the issue started after hauling 100 lb. sacks of rice with a nine year old. Why did I do this? Because there was nobody else around and if I didn't do it then it just wouldn't get done because we don't have the help here that we need. This lifting, even today, is causing problems. Because I didn't have the time to allow my body to heal properly I still am having major cramping. Which again, is MY fault. 

Aside from physical issues there are the emotional issues. The day it happened I didn't take the time to process it all. I walked away and continued working because I had things to get done. This only led to days followed by weeks of just focusing on working because there are jobs to complete. This isn't necessarily bad. However, I am secretly mad at my husband. Why? Because I am female and hormonal. Because he wasn't there to help me, hold me, love on me and say it was going to be okay. Because for him, it almost didn't happen. For him it was just a story I told him because he wasn't around to experience it with me. He never saw it. It is almost as though it isn't real. Not his fault, it is just a guy thing maybe. He is supportive, but wasn't that day in my opinion because he was not physically with me. Worse... He can't FIX it! Ouch! Some of you may be thinking "dumb girl".  Its okay, I think it about myself all the time. I know deep down inside he isn't supposed to fix it, but as a woman we want the man to fix everything, right?

My mother told my father who left secretly in the middle of the night driving on a dangerous road at 4 am and only to go bury the fetus. He made a little grave. This made me upset because he risked his safety to do this, but it also means the world to me. The burial disturbed me because I have never seen it with my own eyes and cannot find it. I only have this picture.

Nilsson is blaming the work I do, and resenting the ministry. He tells me I need to learn the word no. This is true. I am getting better, but I cannot fix the past. He gets upset because he sees how everybody just demands more from me and I am determined to save the world so I try to perform. The truth is people don't know the true cost of ministry.

I am trying to manage this...

Gates Of Hope	Casita #1	Casita #2	Casita #3
Tia Mirian	Tia Sandra	Tia Flor	Tia Nidia
Angi	Kyla	Mileny	Sandra
Eili	Sebastian	Edyn	Wilmer
Fabiola	Thomas	Carlos	Joel
Waleska	Josue	Engleis	Reina
Tania	Carlitos	Adan	Karla
Maryuri	Jonathon	Junior	Nicole
Amelia	Manuel	Jonathon	Katerine
Lorena	Blodimir	Yahir	Evie
Yami	Jona	Noe	Keylita
Eyeni	Briana	Mario	Wendy
Estefani	Alexandra		Fany
Esther			Jasmin
Nohemi			Brandi
Jose David
Saidi
Amalia Nohemy Amalia Joslyn Geovanny Esther

I have 59 people living on property that I am trying to manage. Each one with their individual issues, medical needs, disciplinary challenges, and school problems which is all handled WAY different from in the states. There are three kids that are coming during the day while their mom is undergoing medical treatment until school starts and they will be full-time. There is the random police drop off for temporary stays which seems to happen at least once a month. There are feeding stations, employees, families, and kids that all bring their own set of issues to the table. There are teams that come stay and work which is supposed to be a huge help and blessing, and is always amazing, but sucks up a LOT of my time and energy.

Today there was a lady that came knocking on my door at 8am asking what I was doing. I was a little annoyed because I had actually just walked into the bathroom. I was up until 3 am catching up on papers, searching for documents, and with a medical emergency from one of the casitas. I had to be up at 6 am to take four of our oldest girls to orientation because school has already started and now have to plead for mercy on their behalf because they don't have the uniform they need. I had to take Jayden with me at the last minute because we have an unreliable employee that didn't show up on time. My son still had not eaten breakfast and I was being called to a lumbar yard because there is no translator with the team. That quick trip to translate turned into me getting back to the house at 4:30 this afternoon and only getting about half of my urgent list completed for the day. I finally gave my son something more than a juice box, raisins, and cookies for the day and I get called back out of the room because of a new school issue with supplies that are needed tomorrow so I still haven't eaten all day. I also have no clothes to wear tomorrow because I have not been home nor had time for myself to wash them.

I have Americans ask really dumb questions like what I do all day. Then I take them with me for a day and they want to go back to their hotel room by 2 to take a nap or they call it quits at 5 and retreat. When they leave me, my day begins. I come home to girls that need counsel, love, affirmation, and the list goes on. I have tias that are giving everything they have to children that are coming from abuse and quit a few actually have mental retardation from lack of nutrition in early childhood. So my tias are drained and needing to suck some life out of me so they can keep giving like they do. I have security guards that get called to help be a driver and lawn man, oh and by the way can you go to the second feeding station and help because there is a problem with that stove.

I have had people ask what sponsorship covers for these kids implying the cost is expensive. $350 a month is nothing. Divide out what your home spends a month between housing, electric, food, water, private school, medical care, transportation. That is what we provide! Unfortunately I can't find another tia as dumb as me to work this hard for free so we have to pay our house moms and security guards. Our cost is SO much higher to care for these kids the way we really want to. They don't get to go out to the movies or out to dinner unless a team comes down and sponsors it. They don't have weekend get aways or family vacations. THEY SHOULD!

I guess maybe I needed to share what life is really like. The real cost and I do not mean financially. It is easy to send money and ease your conscience, but what about offering a hand? I need help. I have been inspired lately by a lady that cannot fulfill a need we have herself, but knew someone who could so she sponsored his trip. How perfect!! We can't keep doing all of this on our own. It took me some physical/emotional pain and loss to realize this, but I am going to learn from it. 

How long has He been telling you to do something, but today you don't want to, maybe tomorrow? How many times have you said wait? The timing is all wrong! If it doesn't cost you anything to get here than you aren't supposed to be here. If it looks like you could never do it. You never have the time. You never have the money. Then this is exactly where you need to be. Stop waiting. Yes God, but not today, isn't being obedient. He wants more! And it is going to cost you.