RAW

Raw. I don't know how to describe everything I am feeling. So let me say right now, this is raw. This is real. This is what I am feeling.

Don't be offended by anything you will read.

Raw.  Think of raw meat. Cold. Nasty. Bloody. It is the real deal before all the seasoning and cooking to make it a wonderful masterpiece. Just know... That is what you are getting ready to read.

I am struggling with complete surrender. I can give it all up. I can trust. I can believe. I have more faith the anybody that is sitting next to me. And for some reason... right now... I just don't know what is going on. I am not sure where we are. Where we are going. What we are doing.

Verification: I know that I am surround by a hundred kids and I am dedicated to making sure they succeed at life. And that is about all that I know.

Are you dedicated to them? Are you dedicated to me? Is this blog going to scare you away? Maybe. The sad thing is I am writing because I need back up and I am at the end of my rope. So can you maybe for a day overlook my cruel or offensive writing and try to see my real heart.

I am tired. I am scared. I am exhausted. I am feeling as abandoned as every child in our home and that is just where it all is. I know God is there. I know that He cares more than you or I, but in the midst of my current reality His timing and His caring seems really off. (I don't need you to write me a mini sermon explaining why this comment is insane, I already know.) Sometimes... it just doesn't feel like it. And that is going to have to be okay.

I have abused children experimenting with abusing others. I have rape victims with the desire for more of their past so they are escaping at night with men from the military. I have a monthly budget that is dwindling each month in a ministry that just keeps expanding as our children and monthly commitments continue to grow to support them on their journey. I have uneducated staff that when given time and materials to grow don't care to apply it or use it, they continuously ignore the help offered and just look for a paycheck. I have teams that hear needs of the kids and projects, but then just return home and kind of forget about us as the return to their luxuries. I have volunteers that are eager to help and assist, but don't speak the language and having to be a translator is exhausting when heaped on top of the responsibility pile. I have teachers with credential, but lack the passion and have us working overtime in the homes to try and keep the kids on track without having actually been taught. And I am surrounded by a community that is perverted and dangerous and at the end of the day looks for how they can benefit from us instead of trying to help or assist. I have human fecal matter being thrown over the wall onto the home and kids because a village is mad I won't give the front of our property to them for a family to live on. And I have to stare at a half naked woman crying on the corner of the road while watching the police laugh at her and fear stopping to help because of retaliation when I desperately want to just sweep her off her feet and take her home.

So where is God in all of this?

I know. He is right here. I know. He is still saying 'TRUST ME!" I don't doubt that part for a second. It is still a very lonely place to be standing in right now. As the rain pours down, my tears follow.

I hear Him. But do you know the fear that would surround you in the midst of the howling winds while standing in a tornado... That gripping, stifling, hopeless feeling... Fear.  I hear Him so loudly saying "Trust me." But the fear of what I am seeing has me almost paralyzed.

I am trusting. I am believing. I can't see how or when. All I see is darkness. I hear the truth, but I am in need of some serious back up.

The end of school is coming and with it is a lot of extra expenses. That is November. Right behind it comes December.

We are in need of some serious financial commitments. Our next home is very close to being able to open down stairs, but I can't even attempt to accept kids or open until I get some monthly supporters to cover what we already have going. I need a couple staff members just to cover employees during their time off. Full time care of these children is a heavy burden and it is extremely exhausting. Yet, I can't hire anybody else right now.  I need a math and English teacher for our school, but need an extra $600 a month before they will consider working for us because bi-lingual teachers are worth more money. I have a list of improvements that we would really like to see completed in the near future. I am looking at $1,800 in car repairs just for this month. Yesterday, I had to spend 8,300 Lempiras in repairs for one of the homes. I had another refrigerator blow out this month and have called the repair man twice a day for three weeks because it is supposed to be under warranty and it looks like he is waiting for the warranty to expire before he helps.

When I said raw... I was honest. This is the raw look at the behind the scenes stress that I am feeling. I need help. I need Spiritual back up. I need some serious prayer. I need financial assistance. I know that everybody goes through their own personal battles. I know that many of you are dealing with back the school costs and are already stretched to the max. But if every person that read this sent $10, it would really help ease the burden. I am making our needs known and praying for blessings. I am trusting and believing for miracles.

I know that God has brought these children here for a reason. I know that He has a greater purpose

than I could ever imagine. This past week as I stared at Olivia (Lil' Bit), I remember making a promise to her just over a year ago. When I brought her home I promised to give my all and that I would never abandon her. I made a commitment to watch her grow wherever she goes. With every child that has come in I have made that same commitment. No matter how bad it looks. No matter how much rice and beans we have to eat. I will never give up.

When you read in Hebrews, "I will never leave you nor forsake you" it is telling us not to be anxious. Our commitments to God will be rewarded. I made a commitment to God a long time ago to do what I am doing. I don't have to worry. Out of that commitment, I made a pact to forever do everything within my hands for these kids. I don't have to worry.

You know, further in the same chapter of Hebrews it is promised that He will equip (in Greek it states fully provide) and to bear with it. (Bear = Patience).

So I made our needs known. Now I just have to wait.

What are you stressing over? What are you anxious to see happen? Be patient. When it lines up with His plan all you have to do is wait. His timing doesn't ever seem right when we are in the midst of the stress. Actually, His timing seems awful. It gives me wrinkles and silver streaks on my head. The beauty of it all is His timing is always perfect and always leaves me awestruck. For those that can help in some way you can head over to Open Door Ministries (click to donate).  For those that need the same prayer of patience and are waiting for God to perform, lets pray together! There is power in numbers.

Battles With The Past

My silence should not fool you. If you only knew half of what was going on you would be exhausted.  Thinking about it gives me a migraine and reminds me how much I hate what I do at the end of SO many days. This bitter sweet relationship with these kids and the passion that burns frequently has me sick by days end.

This week I had to face a bitter reality from my past. I had a set of kids that came to live with us with their mom when they were younger. They continued to be abused while under our care to the extent that one day I filed papers with an attorney, took the kids to the forensic department at the municipality, removed them from their mom and kicked her off property. This was one of the hardest things I have ever faced. A girl. A lonely girl. Who just yearned to be loved and accepted and needed an education. I knew exactly what she needed. I just couldn't provide it and allow the cycle of abuse to continue.

Fast forward a year later and I receive a document that a judge is ordering the mom to take custody of the kids.

The judge happened to be a local acquaintance that I had a previous history with. Obviously I wasn't going to accept a document. I went to her and asked why. "My term is ending I have to close out all of my files. We don't have the staff to investigate. She comes in crying every week. I just need to close it all out. I am moving to a new city." SERIOUSLY!?! You need to remove a stack of papers so you don't even look at the history of abuse???  The history of pictures??? The reports on the refusal of psychological help??? The fact that she has no home, no job, and can't feed herself??? My heart

crumbled. I couldn't deliver the kids. (This is normal. I always send a staff member so I don't have to cry in public. I grieve for a few days in private and pop back.) I felt helpless when it was done and over. This was just the first time I would face a situation like this. It turns out that there have been many days that I come home wondering if it is worth my energy to try and protect these kids when in the end a judge can say they are going to live some place else. No investigation. No questions asked. Just a signature on the paper without asking for the file folder with the history that the document will soon be placed inside of.  I wish there was an office to report the awful and horrible work that this countries government officials, but the truth is that even in the upper ranks finding a person that actually cares is not common. They can be found, but the positions of power are always held by some political puppet.

Hence the reason I want to be the First Lady of Honduras! I will re-marry if it gets me the position. Just Kidding!!! Or am I? I secretly pray that a single man is voted into office and I can snag the position I desire and take Nilsson along as the pink house mascot. (We don't have a White House. We have a big pink building. Think rose petal pink, Not pep-bismol Mom!)

This week a couple new faces showed up at our feeding station. It has been a few years since I have seen them, but very little has changed. I think even their height is the same. Which is sad. My heart is over joyed to have them back in our lives even on a small level. I am so grateful that we have the feeding station to be able to help them out and even keep track of them while they are around. I can't believe that after so much time has passed they can still be picked out of a crowd. (They all typically look alike!) AND you know the best part? They have on clothes and shoes!!! Yay God! I say all of that to say this... Never stop praying for my kids. The current ones. The lost runaways. The few that have been sent away. My heart has a place for every one of them. I still lose sleep praying for my Fabiola's and Esther's. I keep in touch with the few that I can, but for those that I have lost... I just pray. The most strategic thing you can do for this ministry aside from financial support for the projects is prayer! And from this little heart of mine, there is nothing better than seeing one of the babies that I thought I had lost forever. My tears, for now, are from an overwhelming joy!!

Welcome Back Home Sweet Peas!!!! You have been missed!

Dirty Little... Slut?

"Don't come home until you can bring me 500 Lempiras!"  I am sure that she was never told to sell herself. I am almost positive that she never wanted to offer her body to make the money. But I know that making that money in one day in this country doesn't happen very often. Unless, you are willing to work the streets! Every day the words, names, actions that surrounded her implied what she was to become. "You dirty little slut! You are worthless! You are good for nothing! I would rather be spliced with chicken wire than have to continue to look at your face! Don't you dare come home without that money."

I know that this week my own family is eating the basic rice and beans because we just haven't had the income. In a country where even with a college degree you are probably only going to make $600 a month. In a country where meat, gas, eggs, and milk are more expensive than where I lived in the States. In a country where the average income is only a few dollars a day. I can kind of "get it", you know? 

What if the label already ran in the family? Why wouldn't an hour of my time, no matter how miserable it was, be okay if it meant I had milk and bread for my kids? There are many that do it for free. Why is she more guilty? Because she received pay? Isn't sin, SIN? Who has the power to rate the degree of sin? When you speed? When you don't wear a seat belt?  Isn't it all breaking the law? How and who gets the priveledge of defining the level of offense? This has been my reply to my staff.

Forgive me now, this will probably be too much for you to handle. 

I have an employee that was/is a prostitute. And I will not fire her because of it. I am not capable.

For two years I have had the desire to work with prostitutes. I have longed to have donors designate funds for me to pay the girls for their time. Take them to dinner. Love on them. Be a friend. And send them home. Why? Because I know most of them are required to perform this way. They know without money in their pocket they will be beat. They know they will be gang raped on their way back home when their performance hasn't pleased El Jefe. They know their family will be hurt. They really don't have many options to escape their inevitable reality. Even if they don't want the red light outside their window the gang will just put it back up again tomorrow.

I believe she started for the same reason. I know that she was forced into some acts by family because of stories she has entrusted to me. I just never knew the depth. I never knew how recent. I never knew... Maybe I should have asked.

She is loyal. She is a hard worker. She is the most dependable worker we have. She is grateful. She is so grateful that she comes to me weekly with hugs and tears full of gratitude for the opportunity. On Easter Sunday she profusely thanked me for changing her life and allowing her to feel loved for the first time.

Frankly, I don't care what she was known for in her past. I know that she can have a future. I don't see her past choices affecting our kids. Actually, I see it helping her encourage them more in their studies and helping her to constantly remind them of their current opportunities. 

This wasn't my idea. I never planned on having a prostitute for hire help us with the ministry. Rahab married into one of the leading families in Israel. I can only imagine the judgement that came upon them. I would bet a million dollars her husband never dreamed he would one day marry the town whore. And the in-laws... I laugh as I think about dinner conversations as he suggests the idea and says "Mom, I'm gonna marry her anyway." What was God thinking as He allowed all of this to happen? Oh, you know, probably about how He could best accomplish His work because she was the willing servant that didn't give a crap about anything other than doing what she believed was right in her heart.

The balls it took for Rahab to betray her people. She was already an outcast. She was viewed as less than. She was probably disowned by her only family because of her lifestyle. She still stuck her neck out on the line for these "men of God". When you read the story and actually pay attention, she acknowledges that these men were sent "By the ONE true God." Imagine that. She chose, I mean the harlot decided, to help accomplish the will of God. Because of her heart to serve she married up! Not a little up... Big up! And check out the genealogy... The blood line that leads up to our Savior.

She is beautiful. She is valuable. She is worthy of second chances. She can bring a piece to the table that we are all missing. Help me love her! It is easy when I feel the need and can relate. It is easy, some of the time. In the midst of the ridicule... It is so hard. (I feel kind of skitzo because in my head it is more like this:  She is beautiful, slut. She is valuable to her pimp daddy. She is worthy of second chances to bring home more dough.) I want to cry as I write these thoughts. Whether flying through my head in a joking manner or not. It isn't fair. Not to her. Not to her family. Not to her kids. She is a treasure. Not because of who she can blow and how much dough she can bring home. She is a treasure because she, like me, is covered in the same blood. Her Savior, is mine. Her daddy, He is mine. He sees His daughter. His beautiful little girl. Worthy of nothing, yet she inherits EVERYTHING. She is the daughter of the same King. Her father, like mine, owns the cattle on a thousand hills. She is adopted into the family, forgiven of everything, crazy history wiped clean... I mean blank slate.                  She is beautiful.                 She is a princess.

So many times my part in the ministry has nothing to do with the kids at all. It is more about the staff. I need an open heart that is always willing to go the extra mile. Even if an entire town will judge you for it. I need the strength and stamina to continue pushing and pulling out staff in the right direction. Helping them heal and leading them to wholeness. I need the understanding so I don't join the rest as fingers are pointed and as judgement is cast down. Wisdom to say the right thing at the right time and that it would help to bring a calm in the midst of chaos. I need... To not care about the ugly truth of the past of any of them, but to continually see them as He does.

I didn't plan to save a prostitute. It just kind of happened. Now I have to not throw in the towel and quit on her like everyone else in her past...
Hey Val! I guess we finally started that side of the ministry. Ready or not. It just kind of happened! Help me!

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

The Unspoken

Why is it that most of the time the days we feel the MOST joy we are smacked in the face with an overwhelming sorrow?

She was scared and nervous. The doctor asked her to change and put on a gown. She looked at me for assurance. I can only imagine that her hesitation was really fear that gripped her. The only male interaction she has ever had was unhealthy and full of abuse. I nodded to her hoping to push her along and she slowly proceeded to do as was asked of her.

As she walked in with her new ugly robe she sat on the edge of the bed with hesitation. She laid back as though it hurt her the closer she got to touching the cold vinyl. Again, I just smiled.

The doctor explained that she would be able to watch the big plasma that was hanging on the wall in front of us. As he began to move the cold jelly tickled her slightly. I looked up and saw a hurricane on a screen. I giggled. “Do you realize what that is?”  She shook her head harshly, but didn’t ask for an explanation. “Wait, you don’t know what that is?”  I scratched my head no believing what she just said. “IT’S YOUR BABY!!!!!!”  She didn’t smile. She didn’t nod. She didn’t react at all.

“WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A BABY!!!” The blur on the screen bounced around like a Mexican jumping bean. I was elated. She showed NO emotion at all. Suddenly, I fought back tears. “Lauren, you seem ready for another child.” I didn’t know what to say. I am, I think. “Yes, one day…”  I was smacked in the face with a big glop of jealousy, envy, and a side of anger. I wanted to ask if she didn’t realize that there are thousands of woman crying for a child and they are waiting for an answer for prayer. The emotion of every miscarriage I had overwhelmed me. Why? I immediately want to ask God why her? Why not me?

She just turned 13 only two weeks ago. She was twelve. She was twelve when she was abused day after day. Her mother knew nothing. She was afraid of the reaction that would be thrust upon her if she spoke negatively of the mom’s current lover. So she stayed silent.

She wanted none of this. She is now forced to raise a creation she wanted no part in making. She gets to do it without her blood family. I wanted all of it. I dream of holding another baby. The worst part of it all? I allowed my emotions to get in the way of a serious ministry opportunity. AGAIN!!!

Why do I do this? Why is it such a struggle to set ourselves aside and focus on another for more than just a few minutes? Why did I not consider how I would feel if I was her? She is lost, sad, scared, and lonely.

That is her reality.  Now is yours really that bad? Find your joy! AND KEEP IT!!!

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.

Soiled Beauty...

I recently took a couple girls with me to pick up a new child. I did it because I needed help, but didn’t know God had planned it to bring healing.

Sitting in the government office “Negra”, one of our girls, and I began to notice the awful conditions. Half of the building has no roof top. The bathroom has a  hole in the ground as a toilet, but no sink. The office desks are held up by cement blocks.  Chairs with no backs. It is sad to think that the office which is providing help to kids in need is in such poor conditions. It makes me wonder what the government homes are like?

Negra and I looked at each other and spoke with our eyes trying not to offend any workers.

The head of the office began to pull out files on kids currently in our care and kids he wants to place with us. He asked me to review them and consider others for our project. I asked for the folder containing the file of the girl I was waiting to pick up. He pulled out her file. I began reading the papers on the fourteen year old girl that had a 17 month old baby. “Twelve and pregnant?” He nodded yes. “By who?” I asked as though I am surprised. Like it is uncommon. He told me to keep reading the file. The fourth page in I noticed the babies birth certificate. Both last names matched the mom. I looked harder wondering if it was coincidence. The next page I found the sentence. The girls father was sent to prison. Sexual abuse. “Poor child.”

The girl came. Timid and shy she said nothing. Just cried. She was placed in a temporary home until the sentencing of her father was final. The baby was born in the care of the foster mom. I felt awful breaking up the bond that was created over the past two years.  More than awkward. I felt sad and angry because it feels as though I am breaking up a home. The case worker assured us all it was for the best because we are a long-term care taker not just temporary like the foster homes here. The tears streamed down each of our faces and after getting situated in the car I began to make the more than two hour drive back home.

My head hurt and my heart ached, I was thankful for the awkward silence that surrounded me.

Then, she began to talk. Not the new girl, but Negra. “Mama Lauren, that was hard. It brings back SO many memories.” I can only imagine, I thought to myself. “I cried the whole eight hours on the bus when I left home.” She told me how puffy her eyes were. She told me how bad her head hurt.. Thinking it probably hurt like mine did in the moment. I just wanted to close my eyes and sleep. It was five o’clock. I hadn’t eaten. I had no water. I was emotionally exhausted. My vision was blurry from my headache. And Negra continued to talk.

She told me how she didn’t even know she was pregnant. She said her mom knew because she noticed that she hadn’t cried in pain that month. She had a disease that made her period very painful. She said she didn’t know what was happening when a gush of water came out. She was in pain and rolling on the bed next to her sister in the night. Her sister asked what was wrong. Negra hit her in the head and told her to shut up and go to sleep. Rolling and crying with contractions and not knowing what was wrong she turned the light on. Her mother yelled at her from the other side of the room. “STUPID! Go outside and have that thing in the field because I don’t want you to mess up my home!” She began to crawl out of the house as her drunk step-father came home. (He was also the father of the baby.) The mom yelled for him to take the prostitute some place else because the creature was coming out and she wanted nothing to do with it.

Negra now in her dirty, wet, blue dress began to walk with her abusive step-father to the doctors. They sent her to the nearest hospital. Sitting in the waiting room the doctor asked Negra why she was having a child so young. She was only fourteen. Then he asked who the father of the baby was. Negra looked at the old man by her side as he pinched her from behind reminding her to keep her silence. She said nothing. The doctor told her to go take a seat until a bed was emptied. A few minutes passed and Negra began to vomit. A nurse told her to go knock on the doctors door because that baby was coming. The doctor took her to a sheetless bed. She was told to take her soiled blue dress off and given nothing. Alone with just the nurse and doctor she pushed the baby out. Two hours later, scared, crying, and naked, the nurse finally offered a hospital gown after realizing nobody was accompanying the little girl with her baby. The doctor, seeing that she had nothing, went out and purchased a few items including a diaper and socks. Negra was also given a baby blanket by another pregnant woman. Finally feeling a little comfort she went to sleep for the night.

The next morning her mother came for a visit. She told her the child was ugly and told her she should have never given birth to it. Negra, needing to use the restroom, tried getting out of the bed. Weak and bleeding she fell to her knees. Her mother laughed. A nurse walked in and told the mom to help her child. The mom scolded Negra for embarrassing her and putting on a show. Mom left angry, and Negra sat waiting for the doctors release.

When she finally was given permission to head home she put on her soiled dress and headed towards the hospital gate. The guard asked where her proof of payment was.  She had not paid. She had no money. She had nothing. Just her blue stained dressed and a baby that was crying. The guard told her to take a seat and wait for someone to come get her. She began to cry. A few minutes later the guard called her over and told her to leave. He would get in trouble if he was caught so she needed to go quickly. Negra began to make the four hour walk back to her house. She knew something had to change. This wasn’t the life she wanted. When the baby was three months old she decided she had been through enough. She got on a bus and headed to a place where she knew no one! Through a series of events God had provided for her and He opened doors for her. She came to the Gates of Hope. After sharing her story with me she looked at me and said, “ I just don’t know why. Why? Why do any of these things happen? Why did I have to go through this?”

God has been working it out and He has a purpose for placing you where you are at right now! I can’t tell you why! I can only tell you that I know you are not the only one. You know different. You know there is a better way! You are a lucky one! Now what are you going to do about it? How are you going to use it to help others?

No matter what your past is… The history you are trying to hide needs to be embraced! It has helped mold you into the beautiful person that you are. Let it become part of your ministry!  Don’t ignore or try to forget your soiled dress. He makes beauty from ashes!

MY HERO!

No matter the hour, the day, the plans... He is there.

You know how as a child you could always count on your parents? It didn't matter what I got into as a kid, my parents were there to bail me out. It didn't matter what I had done, they were there. THEY WERE THERE! In an instant to save me from hidden dangers. Like Superman, but without all the muscles and special powers!

I was talking with a girl from the Gates of Hope a few days ago. She doesn't belong here. She has no child. She was not being abused according to the paperwork. The reason we have her is because I am a sucker. She ran away from home. The mom she was living with (who is really grandma) could not deal with her so she called the police. IHNFA was involved and I was called. They have no home for her. If I don't accept her she will go to jail because there are no beds available in foster homes. I met with her and we spoke for a few hours and I committed to TRY and see what happened. I reminded the attorney she did not meet the requirements for our home so the first minor issue we have she will be kicked out. We signed the papers and life goes on.

A few days ago I saw her crying alone. I sat down beside her and began to pry hoping to resolve her issues. I soon found out how little I could really do for her. She is feeling alone. She is feeling abandoned. She is feeling worthless. In digging deeper and asking why she reveals some more history. She ran away from home because her grandmother was abusive. Her grandmother sent her mom to a "friend" when she was a teenager looking for work. They were desperate for money. That "friend" was working for a sex house. There is a home here locally that holds young girls against their will to sexually satisfy paying customers. Her mom escaped, but was already pregnant. She left the baby with her mom and fled to the states. Now the young girl in our care was this baby. The grandmother had introduced her to a "friend" for the same job her mom escaped from. Our girl ran away from home because she was scared and felt alone and didn't want history to repeat itself. She resents her mom for leaving her in the hands of someone that will force her to live in the dark shadows her mom left behind. She hates her grandmother for making her mom leave. She hates her aunts and uncles because nobody stepped in and offered help. She wants absolutely NOTHING to do with her biological family.


How easy is it for someone like me to trust in God? How easy is it for me to forget to trust in Him? How much easier would it be for someone like her to trust in no one?

I had a hero growing up. I have an example of fulfilled faith. She has nothing, but lies. Hurt. Failure.

It is so hard to teach someone to trust when they can trust NO ONE! It is so hard to show someone unconditional love and support when they believe their "dream" they are living may shatter
tomorrow.

She needs a real life hero! Luckily, I know a Savior!

Sex For Tortillas!!!

 “Because I have hope that in her eyes, it makes a difference.” That was my reply. I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t know how to ever make him understand. When a person asks why I do what I do, I get upset. I get nervous. I begin to feel insignificant. Unimportant. I feel dumb.

I think maybe I was stupid for letting go of a success driven life. I question if it would serve everyone better if I just left it all and began the rat race all over again. You know the race where each of you look for the next piece of cheese hoping each one you find is bigger and better than the last. In the end your pay check is full of numbers. Sometimes, I just wish I had a pay check and the size of it is really unimportant. All of these thoughts flood through my head at this moment and are followed with, “Why? Why do I do it?”

I dread the ride to IHNFA. I always dread the ride to pick up a new kid. Recently, I had the chance to meet Madeline. She is thirteen years old and has a newborn. Picking her up to take her to her new home is a reminder of all of the car rides I have had over the past few years with the kids that first come in. I get to know them. Know their past. Cry with them. Love on them. And help give them the hope of a better future. I kind of like this part, but I kind of hate it. I hate it because I never know who will get car sick and throw up all over me. (She only threw up twice.) It can be a long two hours. I hate it most because I never know what words will be filtered through my ears.  There is a part of me that cannot stand the horrid history that most of our kids bring with them. You think you have baggage because of past issues, but hear this. “My family couldn’t afford to send me to school. We had no money for food. I was sold so that my siblings could eat.”  Are you okay with that? How did that make you feel? “They were able to eat.”

My insides begin to twist and the silent grey matter yells!! They were able to eat? That makes it have value? It was worth it? How does that make it worth it?! Every day for the rest of her life you get to look at the result of a meal that was placed on the table.  What was taught to her is that her life, her body, and her value is worth a small meal! I am not talking a fine dining steak and potatoes meal. I am talking a tortilla with some beans and eggs! She has a child and she should be studying! She has a baby and she should be playing with baby dolls! She is forced to change diapers and wake up four times in the middle of the night for the next few months, but her little sister got to eat a tortilla!! I want to ask if she cried. Why did they pick you? Did it hurt? Were you scared? What infections did you get? Have you had treatment for it? Those answers, I know, will come with time.

What were you doing when you were thirteen? What did you think about? What did you dream of? How did you spend your time?

Madeline is so excited just for the chance to go to school. How would you have felt if you were thirteen and starting kindergarten? She is stoked! I would have felt like the stupid kid with the dunce hat. Not her. She doesn’t even seem to mind that she has to take care of her baby. She seems so resilient. It is amazing! So strong for being so young.

So back to the original question:

Why do I do it? Because I hope that I can change her world and give her the opportunity to have a future that is full of true love, not sexual slavery. I hope that her daughter will grow up in a functional home and learn real life values so that she can have a better future than her mom and not suffer the same abuse. I hope that there is some small chance that the backwards thinking that comes with abuse and poverty can be broken and that a new cycle will begin in her family with a new heritage that can be found in Him! I hope, that there is some sliver of a chance that Madeline will find healing, and wholeness, and purpose, and have an opportunity to make something with her life. I hope, more than anything, that she will discover hope in Him.

More importantly, I do it because I know this:

One day, it will have made a difference in her eyes.

Because from now on there is no more sex for tortillas!

I Give Up!

I am not sure where to begin. Today has been eventful. Emotional. Overwhelming. Exhausting.

It started a week ago. On January 1st around 10:15 pm I received a phone call. An attorney for the municipality in Tocoa was looking for immediate placement of three children. Maybe it was because I was already asleep. Maybe it was because of the urgency I heard in her voice. Maybe it was because God knew what they needed. I said yes. Three kids arrived shortly before midnight.

Arvin 5 Months

Jose 10 years old

Perla Samantha 6

Their mother was shot four times and sent to a hospital in La Ceiba. They had no place to go. The only person that was able to help care for them was a grandfather that was now helping the mom in a different city. I knew when I said yes that the reality of them staying was going to be for more than one day. That is just how things work in this country. It always ends up being at least a few days. Sometimes longer. I told the attorney they could stay until they had a safe place to send them. I texted my mom an update on the situation and her reply was "that could be never, lol". Funny, yet not so funny.

These children came with one outfit and one pair of shoes. The baby, which is a boy, had on a pink sleeper when he came. Lucky for them we have a house of plenty. We have supporters that send us clothes and were able to pick some good outfits for them. 

A week had passed and the kids were looking for information about their mother. Knowing she was in critical condition all I could tell the kids to do was pray and wait, but for now they were in a safe home and their needs were taken care of. Perla returned five minutes later and said, "I am leaving soon, my mom is getting better." I could only hope she was right. While scrolling through the phone book of my phone I recognized a new name. It dawned on me that the name was also the new director of the hospital that their mom was sent to. I started to ask for a favor and research information looking for any bit of news I could give to the children. I went to bed with NOTHING! 

This morning I woke up. I texted another friend from the same hospital to see if anybody could give me any news. NOTHING! Then two hours later I see a message, I blink as I read the following: "she is dead". My heart sank. I began to wonder if that was why the attorney was not answering my calls. As I sat in a chair trying to focus on paperwork, but contemplating what to say to these kids I had a knock on my door. I crack it open afraid to see Jose or Perla. It was Tania. I was relieved. "Mama Lauren, there is a lady at the gate and she wants to see you." I grabbed my keys and walked out the door hoping it was the attorney and thinking she may this hard task away from me I sighed.

I find this...  meet Gloria and one of her daughters.

Gloria was sent to us by the local health department. She says hello and looks like the sun was too much so I have her come inside. She immediately looks for a chair and collapses. With tears flowing she begins to share her story:

She has aids. When she was a little girl her mother sold her to a couple. The man sexual abused her and gave her a present she would never forget. A present that would cost her her life. She has three children. I cannot remember any of their names, but it is only midnight and I have been on an emotional ride since before the sun came up this morning. Forgive me. I will post their names in the morning. The oldest daughter is 11, the second oldest (shown above) is 8, and the youngest is a 5 year old boy. Her husband died, from aids, when her son was a baby. She is alone. She is scared. She has no support. She needs help. She is still trying to work a little, but no more than three days a week. She grabs my hand and says, "I can't do it anymore." Her oldest daughter notices she is gradually becoming more sick. She is weaker. Because her daughter told her mom they needed to know where they could go tomorrow if she was gone she came looking. She has tried to continue to be a mom, a dad, and a provider for as long as she could.

I needed a break. I asked her to give me a minute to check on Jayden. It was a lie. I knew Jayden was fine running around getting into trouble. I went to my room and collapsed. "God, I give up! I can't do this job any more!" We have no more beds! We don't have support for all of the children we have! We don't have support for all of the ongoing projects! She has a need. I cannot help. She has a NEED! How can I say no? I stare at my phone contemplating who to call. Do I call the states? Do I call my husband? I can't take three kids home with me. That is WAY too much. I also know I cannot keep them on the projects because we DO NOT have the funding. Crying I call my mom. Mom can always make me feel better, right? I was hoping. A female did not answer the phone. Not that my dad greeting me is bad, but I was wanting a good listener. Dad is good at hugging and fixing, not really listening. (Sorry!) I ask for mom, he puts me on speaker. I HATE SPEAKER PHONE! Oh well... I could not hold back any longer. "I QUIT MY JOB!!! I cannot do this any longer!" They ask whats up. I give them the scoop. Wiping snot off my face I lift my head and see Sandy is behind me listening, supporting, comforting from a distance. My dad asks about the new kids we have been waiting to receive since the end of November. IHNFA... They always have something else and it is always on their time. He proceeds to say, "You have the kids, they have the need, just get the papers and work on the funding." That is all I needed to hear. I think I ran out of the door. (I know I did because when I came back to the bathroom I had black streaks down my cheek. Gloria had to know I had been crying.) I run out to tell Gloria the list of things I need from her to make the transition. We call the lab and I sent her immediately to get blood work for the kids. They are negative! PRAISE GOD! The attorney is working on papers making us legal guardians so it will be permanent, and tomorrow it should all be completed. Before Gloria left I gave her a hug and told her I cannot imagine what she was going through, but that would be here to help support her through each and every process. She is moving into a room that the Pastor of her church has been renting. The agreement is for her to pay as she has it. If she can't work they will figure something else out. Leaving her children must be one of the hardest things for her. Walking away wanting to watch them grow old. Wanting to see your grandchildren. Knowing you will never have that chance and waiting for the ticking of the clock to stop each day. I cannot fathom. I cannot help ease that pain. I can hardly bare to try and comfort her kids during this transition. All I can do is love. 

I have cried off and on ALL DAY! My eyes are puffy. My head is aching. I am annoyed with everyone. I am so emotionally drained at the moment that I have nothing left to give. Don't even ask for a glass of water! Pray for me over the next few days. I need strength and wisdom. I need to know how to help and what to say. I still have some bad news to share with some little kids.

We also need sponsors! We need 225 people to give $100 each month for the next year. We need to consider that fourth casita. Today an additional security guard started. I am meeting with potential teachers. I am looking for the best private school for the four girls moving on into high school they have to be registered by the 15th. All of this is because of the support that you help provide. 

Thank you! Thank you for the problems that you help solve! Thank you for helping us make a difference! Tell your friends. Tell your family. Tell your church community. There is room for everyone to get involved. The need is great and I really HATE saying we cannot! God has enough in His Kingdom. We just have to make sure we are doing our part!

I didn't deserve that!

I have a hard time receiving help from friends and loved ones. I kind of like to think that I can do it ALL. And I mean ALL ON MY OWN!

I have had a special person staying with us off and on over the past month. She is one of a kind. I wish I could express how much she means to me. I almost feel as if I am being accompanied by Mother Goose every where I go. She always seems to have time to help. She is SO organized. I am not organized at all and always seem to run out of time. I always have something left to do. Being around her makes me want to be a better person. She makes me want to be more patient. More loving. More helpful. I fall short compared. WAY short! I hope one day with time and experience I will be as wise. Now that my little tangent about my failures is over I can get back to my purpose of writing. SHE HELPS ME!

Any task or job I have and am working on, she helps me complete it. If I spill something all over the floor (I am super clumsy!), she helps me clean it! If I am working on paperwork that takes me months to complete, she helps me finish it!  If I forget what I needed to get done, she keeps me on track. The truth is I need a copycat version of her beside me ALL the time. Or maybe she will stay and never leave. (PLEASE GOD!!!) A few days ago I made lunch and was just finishing eating, she was already at the sink washing dishes. It embarrassed me. I hopped up to go try and grab the sponge and start washing. It was my mess. Why should she clean it? She told me to go do something else because she could help. The first thought that crossed my mind was "I don't deserve this!"

I don't deserve much of anything! Do you? Nope!

Does it really matter? NO!!!

We have GRACE! I LOVE His GRACE!  I NEED His grace!

Ephesians 2:8 ~ It is by His grace that we are saved!

1 Corinthians 15:10 ~ We live by the grace of God! (I am what I am because of Him.)

2 Corinthians 12:9 ~ His grace makes me strong!

I love Titus 3:7~ That being justified (justified means to be declared righteous) by his grace, we should be made heirs according to the hope of eternal life.  

MEANING: I get to inherit eternal life. I don't have to work for it! I don't earn it by good deeds. I am given it freely through love.

Definition of God's grace - Unmerited Divine Favor!
Something my daddy taught me. This is also why I get to be a Kings Kid!

What is favor? - Websters says:
(a) Friendly regard shown towards another especially by a superior.
(b) Gracious kindness
(c) A special privilege or right granted or conceded
(d) Something done or granted out of goodwill, rather than from justice or for remuneration.
(e) Excessive kindness or unfair partiality or preferential treatment.

I am favored. Not just by God, but I am favored among men! I don't just want to receive favor, but I want to shower people with favor! I want people to know me for spreading gracious kindness!