Please Sir, I Want Some More!

I did it again!!!    I ate my words.

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

Yup, I blew it. AGAIN!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hurting... It surrounds me!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Value...

                                            Okay God, I will...

But Not TODAY!

                               Yes God, I will...

                                    Please, just not today!?           

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am trying to manage this...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

L.O.V.E.

Think about it for a moment. LOVE. When you see that word what do you think of? What does it mean? A word so little, but SO BIG!  Love...

One word. Many meanings. A word that can penetrate. It goes deep.

If you grew up in a good home then you have a decent grasp of the word. Yet, just a grasp! If you grew up in an abusive home then you have no idea what the love of a parent feels like. You do, however, know what you longed for. Good past, or bad, each of us have a deep desire for love. God created us that way. If you have kids, you know a different kind of love all together. More of an unconditional love.

Today, I got to receive love. Give love. Watch love. In many ways, love is action.

All of our girls have been abused in some way. Emotionally or physically, not one seems to have escaped it. One of our girls has been abandoned repeatedly. Rejected by her mom when she was two, she was sent to live with her father. Her dad found a new woman that didn't want her around so a few months later she was sent to her grandmother. The grandmother said she was a burden and cost too much so she sent her to IHNFA. IHNFA placed her in a foster home where she was mistreated and neglected to the degree of crying hysterically if I raise my voice while giving correction. She knows no love.

This morning I was busy trying to get my January report finished. I know the month is not over, but I want my work to be over so it is one less thing I have to do this weekend. I was filling out papers to finish payroll and adding numbers and kept seeing a face in the doorway. A pacing silent shadow in my peripheral vision. A little annoyed over the distraction I went to see who it was. I asked her to come inside the room. She stood behind me as I worked and said nothing for almost half an hour. Finally, I set my things aside and looked at her, "Aha? Whats up?" Her head dropped. "Is something wrong?" Silence. Her distance concerned me, but I figured she needed a moment so I answered my ringing phone. Finishing the conversation I sat back down next to the mess of papers. I felt a hand touch my arm. I turned and pulled her close. Hugging her I felt something warm on my arm, soon followed by a sniffle. "I just want to be loved."

Sometimes I lack for a response.

What do you do? Sometimes all I can do is hug. I can assure her. But the truth is that I can only show a small bit of how GREAT His love is. She knows the sting of rejection all too well. It is time to show her what it should have been. I cannot undo the past, but I can influence her future and some of that is by showing her a love that is true and pure.

She isn't the only one that is in need. You see people that are hurting every day. What are you doing to show them LOVE?

Sometimes you just need to stop, let everything around you sit, and spread some! I mean LOVE! Don't get confused! ;)

Do your part, Be His hands! Spread His love!

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!