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

Just a frayed string

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

My heart just hit the ground again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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!!!

Just Another Lump Of Clay

Out of the many people that come and go… There are few that stick around forever. This is something we all know very well. Each person that comes to the homes in Honduras definitely leaves their mark behind. All of them special and touching in their own way.

They all bring certain stamina to help us continue or bits of motivation. Some of the new ones help catapult me to the

 next level. It is odd though. The old ones, the seasoned ones, the ones that I had long forgotten and then suddenly re-appear… It is those that seem to keep me going for the long haul.

Having Teachers. Counselors.  Friends. Pastors. The significant relationships that helped create who I am… I am talking people from my past. It is currently my past that is pushing me forward. Normally I would neglect my history and focus on my future. Despite what my old history teacher taught me to do with learning history to avoid major pitfalls in the future. I want to keep my eyes straight ahead and look for what is coming down the road. But what am I driving? Where is the energy coming from? What is it made of?

Today, I had sort of an Aha Moment! He is the Potter, and I am the clay. I am still clay. And I always thought of Him as THE POTTER. Then, as ridiculously elementary as this is I remembered the hands
of The Potter. Nowadays, His hands are referred to as the church. And frankly, I, like many of you, have issues with what we now call “the church”. Back in the day, however, the church was a community of people. For Stephen it was small groups of people in homes. People that were hands. The hands of the Potter. I am clay. Clay that has been pushed, smashed, nearly destroyed, and molded back together. Not just by Him, but by you. By the people that love me. The people that KNOW me. The people that raised me. The people that molded the people that raised me. It takes more than parents to raise a child. It takes a community. My family did a great job, but so much more was left pressed, pushed, shaped, and molded by teachers. Pastors. Friends.

I find great motivation in having people that know who I was, and those that helped create who I am, come see and be a part of what I do. It drives me.

The fingerprints that have been etched in my clay are molded into my hands. My hands that now touch the lives of young ones around me. I leave my print, but in essence, I leave yours.

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!

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!

There is NO place like home!

I was hesitant to write about gratitude this year. You know how sometimes you get in a depressing rut and don't FEEL it. That was me today. I am bummed. I have to spend another holiday in a country that does not understand, nor truly embrace my customs. Like, who doesn't sell cranberries? Or sweet potatoes? Or turkeys for less than $10 a pound? SERIOUSLY!! Oh, and this blew all of my happiness out of the water! Wait for it... This is good!

This morning, I wake up and get Jayden to sit and watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. TOTALLY STOKED! The one thing that will bring me closer to feeling "at home". What do I discover? All of the U.S. channels that we get are blue screens! NOOOOO!!! Can you imagine the disappointment I felt in that moment. I should have stayed in America and not returned to this little country until after the new year. We were already sad as we took our seats that day on the plane. Really, I sent a picture of our faces to my parents. You want to see?

Pathetic, right? We were not too excited!

I came "home" and it has been a whirlwind of catching up and calming things down. Never a dull moment here. It has been a frantic period of trying to spend some quality time with family before the next team, but complete all of the tasks on the "to-do list". While many of you were prepping for holiday meal times, I stood in long lines at banks. Thankfully, was not turned away from the counter because of a failing system either! That is always a good day!

Last night, I decided to try and forget about the sorrow I was feeling with not having a real Thanksgiving. I decided to jump over the big turkey-day celebration and focus on Christmas. I was hoping I would not grieve the absence of family today if I "forgot" there was such a thing as Thanksgiving. I put up our new tree! All of my Christmas decorations are still in the States. Jayden has not had a tree in Honduras. This year a friend blessed us with some extra money and I was able to buy a new tree and all the pretties! I think it is the first tree of color that I have had since I was a very little girl. I carried my mothers tradition of trees decorated in elegance and beauty and let go of the funky fun colors, till now... Picking out the decorations I had to think of the kids. So now I have fun colors. Still undecided as to if I like it or not, but I LOVE that I finally have a tree! Another thing to be thankful for!

The thoughtfulness I put into "skipping" Thanksgiving just haunted my innards. It did NOT work! It was worsened as I reviewed the FaceBook newsfeed. Every friend, near and far, and my entire family making some dumb comment about how wonderful it was to be with family and friends and how yummy their turkey turned out. Really guys? Way to make a girl feel like crap! Then, my sister... Oh, she posted the sangria picture. That brought the tears. It wasn't so much about the food, the parade, the weather... NO! Not the sangria either! It was knowing everybody was home, and I am not. I was bummed!

I did the video chat thing with my parents and siblings. It didn't help. I was missing out!

Then, I had a knock at the front gate. A little annoyed for an uninvited interruption of my grumbling sorrow I peeked out the window to see who was there. I saw these little faces. I went out to see what they needed, and yes, it is raining here. They asked if I had warm clothes or food for them. Little clothes are always sucked up by the orphanage so I couldn't help. Food, I went to the refrigerator to get them some lunch. It is not turkey dinner, but a meal they were thankful for! I loved seeing their smiles and grateful hearts! It melted mine.

I came inside and about an hour later there was another knock. Again, it is raining hard! And again, it is little girls. This time, the fridge was bare. I just gave away every leftover I had saved away. I open the freezer and see a few hotdogs. I heat them and serve them up on sandwich bread because I have no buns. They didn't complain. Only smiled and thanked.

This made it okay for me to be in Honduras on a special holiday. Yes, I would rather be with friends. Yes, I miss home. If me being here on another holiday means that one of these girls didn't have to sell their body to eat today, I am okay with that. It is more than worth it! I just wish I had all of the scraping off of your plates. And the left-overs that you will eventually throw out over the next week or so.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of my family and friends back home! I thought of you today. I prayed for you today. I missed you today. I hope you realized how many things you are truly blessed with and even the little bits of things that we have to be grateful for!

Clone Me, PLEASE!

How many times this year have you wished you had a clone? Like, EVERY DAY! You are not alone.

I have taken a writing hiatus for WAY too long. It just feels like there is never enough time. Can you relate? There is always something on my to-do list that seems to get pushed off until tomorrow. Or some project that I decide I don’t HAVE to have done. I can survive without it for a while.

The last couple months I spent leaving the house around 6 in the morning prepared to have Jayden in the car all day. There is always a celebration if I make it back home before 9pm. Jayden has spent more time in his car seat during his life than he has spent out of it sleeping or otherwise. I have just decided to think it is a sacrifice we can make for the difference that we are making in other areas. Deep down, I feel like a bad mom and really just wish I had a clone.

 

I need someone that will either help do my mom duty or that will help be the hands for my heart. Does that make any sense? I feel like I am at a point where it is one thing or the other, but both of them urgent, important, and impacting. Family is always first, but which family because they are all a part of my family.

At Open Doors, we really need some help. I need sponsors for kids. I need an additional $1,800 a month because right now I have six kids that are looking to call us family and come home with us.  I need staff.  I need a full-time teacher to teach on our projects and tutor some of our children. I need someone to help me with easy jobs like keeping track of chores. Helping a child learn their alphabet and numbers. I need someone to help me divide the boxes and sacks full of food each week. I need someone to help babysit. I need someone to help give kids hugs, love, and counsel. I need someone to help serve plates of food. I need someone with a heart. Either a heart to give so we can pay a staff member, or a heart to serve and assist on a daily basis.

About a month ago, I was preparing boxes of food at the feeding station.  I had to make sure the kitchen was prepared because I was not going to be back with supplies for two weeks. I struggled dragging a 100 lb. sack of rice into the kitchen at the feeding station and I felt a little hand on my back. As I turned to look I saw Joche’s smile. He is 11. He quickly came around and picked up the other end of the sack to help ease my burden. He then returned to the car and helped me carry the remaining items. He commented on the amount of food and the quantity that he was seeing. I was quick to ask him how many kids ate each day at that feeding station and his expression informed me that he understood without much explanation why there was SO much food in his eyes. He asked me if I had anything extra I could send home because he hadn’t had dinner and it was close to 8pm. I had nothing except crackers in my bag and the food that was already designated for the feeding station.  He took the crackers, gave me a hug and skipped away. The next day as I was dropping off the purified water they needed to cook with for the week Joche came running up again, but this time with his 6 year old brother.  It was almost lunch time and plates were being filled as I shuffled in the water containers. I stayed to help serve and clean up. Just as I was ready to leave Joche and his brother came and asked if I had any grocery bags left over. I happened to have one in the car that I gave them. I didn’t ask why. I said my goodbye’s to the cooks and turned to walk away when I caught a glimpse of the two brothers shooing away dogs and scraping the food off the table into the bag I just gave them.  They were collecting their families dinner. Hear me! The food droppings that the dogs eat. *pause* They were carefully collecting for their dinner. Even now, I have to stop to wipe away the tears. 

How can I tell of a love so great that He would die for you, yet because of hunger pangs you cannot concentrate in school or sleep at night.  Joche has a little sister that was so sick from being malnourished she was hospitalized for three weeks and almost died. Time and again this is what I face. Now you see why I have a hard time choosing. I want to be SuperMom and SAVE the world at the same time. How can I do both? I have to show the love. Not just tell stories about it. I have to be the love so that they can in a small way catch a glimpse of what it is all about.

If you are not currently support Open Doors will you consider making a monthly commitment. Will you skip a night out each month and designate those funds for one of our kids? Can you hold a house party to raise awareness? Can you talk to your church and ask them to consider sponsoring our ministry or letting us speak to the congregation? Can you talk to your family and friends and ask them to consider sponsoring the work we do?

If you are reading this, you know me. You know my heart. Please, HELP. PLEASE, Help us to continue making a difference.  

If you already support Open Doors, THANK YOU!!! We don’t tell you enough! THANK YOU! You are the reason we are able to save lives! You are the reason we are able to protect these children from child slavery and prostitution! You are the reason poverty and abuse is not their future! Because of YOU we have 51 children on our property full-time. Because of YOU we are touching over 300 kids at the feeding stations.  You are making a difference!

If you want to give, sign up here: Open Doors  

It's Not?

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.” ~ Dr. Seuss

 I would like to believe that it is because "I care" about them that I stalk, rather frequently, other blogs of missionaries. People I follow are all around the world. Asia, Taiwan, Greece, China, Costa Rica, and yes... HONDURAS!!! There is a whole community of missionaries in this country, Honduras, that I secretely look upon. I wonder about what they are doing. If we can network. If they have an invention that I can use at the projects. If I can meet them and not feel judged. If I can get along with them without the suffocation of religion. The list goes on. As a fellow reader, YOU IDENTIFY! I am sure of it. The thing is, I am sure it is not because "I care" that I am an on-looker.

I feel threatened. Nervous. Scared. I am afraid to talk to a "gringo" that I see sometimes. My knees knock, my palms sweat, and I am afraid I will say the wrong thing. I pretty much always do. I answer the phone while I am yelling words that should probably not be whispered here, and then I see it is a fellow missionary, or worse... a Pastor.  My stomach just did a mini flip as I thought about the numerous times I have (without thinking first) said something offensive or ignorant. BUT hey! Im human!

Today I realized something, it is a really bad something. The same thing I am afraid they are going to do to me, I do to them. I get invited to a Bible study. I immediately begin to research the people to see their "views" on life. I ask mutual friends to dish the scoop. I want to know if it is okay for me to even introduce my kid, or worse... The Baby Daddy. If I bring them with me, what will be done that will make me turn red and hide behind a book with shame. Or what will I regret for the next six months every time I see them at the super market. It is nerve racking.

Yesterday I went for a ride with a friend. I showed her a local area that is stricken with poverty and has doubled, if not tripled, over the last year. As I drive, passing tarp and mud shacks held together with string, my heart aches. I have to fight tears as I watch a little boy play with an old wheel from a stroller tied to a long stick, and he plays with joy. I secretely am praying and screaming out to God to keep my baby from ever having to endure such a situation. I look further down the road and see a lady sitting on a metal chair frame. No cushion. No pad. Just a frame. "Thank you Father that I am able to sit on a chair." I drive a little further and see a home with three walls, not four. I think about the breeze they must feel each day and how nice that must be. Then I wonder if their baby cries at night when it is cold and raining because their is no protection from the down pours that we have experienced lately.  "Thank you Father, I have windows that close. I have doors. I have four walls of protection." Trying to avoid tears I quickly begin talking on some random, insignificant subject. Then it hits me. She cares. My friend cares. She is seeing what I see. She is feeling what I feel. She knows that these people need help too. She cares SO much that she is making a difference. She just sacrificed the last bit of her time to help us complete a vision that God gave us. She just poured her time and money into a project that isn't even hers. "Thank you Father!" 

Not everyone I meet will care to make a difference. Not everyone I meet will be as accepting as I am. Not everyone I meet will want to help other people. There are a few. A few can make a difference. I realize more each day, even if I am judged by the "others", it is okay. They are making a difference. They care. They are making things better. We all have our own way of going about it. Those other gringos... I am starting not to care so much how they "see" me.  Maybe we can make it better together. It is a whole lot easier, life is a whole lot happier, and things look a whole lot better when we stay focussed on the goal. I believe, we ALL have the same goal.

You can make it better. We can make it better! We Care!