On love and marriage. And rest.

At the present moment, I sit in the guest room of my brother's home as the sounds of the concluding numbers of the annual jazz festival waft gently and soothingly through the open windows from the park across the street. The time that I spent here, though a few days from being finished, has been so restful and rejuvenating. The greyhound adventure was rather calm, though it had its interesting moments, and I am beginning to feel more like myself.

The last few weeks have been truly draining. So many conflicts, both internal and external, waged war on my spirit and the grueling tests that ended the year were no help. As much as I love my community and all that I do in Joplin, I had to leave. I looked forward to leaving. Though I did not realize the extent of the damage that the last month inflicted, I did know that it wasn't healthy for me to stay there - the feelings that I had been suppressing were bound to roll over the top. I know suppression is rarely healthy but I think that it was in this case. I have a habit of imposing unfair expectations on people and then becoming quite disappointed when they fail to live up to them. While holding in all of my thoughts towards the end made the last days a living hell at some times, it saved the people I love from my hurtful words, and for that I am grateful. It was important for me to leave and process everything, in order to heal and be able to contribute to the community again.

Then the storm hit. If my emotions had been in shambles before such an event, the wreckage was far from distinguishable after. I have no claim on anyone's pity, because I was not there, nor do I have any right to call what I felt even a glimmer of survivor's guilt. Yet there was an emotional attachment to the city that made my heart turn within my chest. The few days I spend at home turned from a Sabbath to days of walking around with a heavy heart and great sadness. Hours were spent staring at the wreckage, trying to mentally map the pictures flashing across the television and computer screens. The time that wasn't poured into grieving and praying for Joplin was devoted to studying to become a re-certified lifeguard, and then I almost immediately shipped out to Oklahoma, a girl running on empty and ready for distraction. Even my quiet time, my time with Jesus, suffered greatly.

But in this home I have found greater peace than what I could anticipate. In the delighted smiles of my nephew and the long talks with my sister-in-law about love and marriage and family, I have felt joy. It is wonderful to feel someone pouring into me in the way that Erin is. It is wonderful to talk to someone who has been in my shoes and felt as I do, to talk to her about the beginning of her and Nathan's relationship and things that pertain to love and self-image. As I watch their little family together, I see a "someday dream," one that has come to pass for her and one that I still fervently pray for.

While I think I could remain unmarried for the rest of my days and survive, I know that I crave a marriage. I want to be a God-honoring woman no matter where I am or what my relationship status is, and so I pursue God first and foremost. Yet there are days when my someday dreams crop up and get the best of me. I want to embark on the adventure of marriage, of serving God together for life, of furthering the kingdom by two people, divinely unified for all days. But I think the God part is far more important than the two people part.

These thoughts (not regarding a certain someone, but in general) began to chyrstalize after a recent trip to the movie theater. I rarely go to the movies (before this one, I think I saw Toy Story in June). It's a lot of money for something that doesn't retain my attention well. And a long time to sit still. But some friends were going, and I decided I was in the right mood. We saw the movie Something Borrowed, with Kate Hudson and John Kransinski and a whole slew of other talented people. The story is that Kate Hudson is engaged to this guy who's evidently had feelings for her best friend forever but thought they were unreciprocated. The night of the friend's 30th birthday, truth is revealed and so begins the affair. For a long time it goes back and forth between them feeling awful about sneaking around and painting Kate Hudson's character as the bad guy. Surprisingly, months go by before the fiance makes a choice between the best friend and Kate Hudson. I mean, who saw that coming? A guy who's good enough to sleep with the best friend of his fiance doesn't have the stones to give a definite answer to either woman? Wow, crazy.

The movie really got under my skin for some reason. I'm sure part of it was my emotional vulnerability, though I wouldn't discount the annoying habit I have of analyzing everything that come through my mind and philosophically dissecting it in terms of everyday practicality. After wrestling with it for a few days, here's what it came down to:

I have come to disdain chick flicks. I'm tired of movies about desperate, lonely girls who do stupid things in pursuit of a forbidden man, who in turn loves them for their immoral and selfish ways, claiming great emotional connection as the end all be all.

That's not the woman I want to be. So am I doomed to single-dom? Since I want to have a man nobly and God-fearingly pursue me, respect me, love me? Since I want to fall in love once and have Christ at the center? Since I want to be in love with a man who loves me in spite of - not because - my character flaws, a man who pushes me to be a better, more Christ following woman? Since I crave more than an emotional connection, but a moral, intellectual, and spiritual connection that preludes any sort of physical or emotional vulnerability? Am I facing a future full of lonely nights and endless bags of cat food because I want the man I love to enable me, to push me and challenge me in serving God? Because I want a partner in ministry and a man to help in bringing glory to the King, the Creator of the universe and the Redeemer of souls? Does that rule our the possibility of romance and passion and deep, deep love?

Doubtful.

As much as I crave this experience, this connection, this love, as I much as I desire to be a wife and confidante and lover and servant to a man to whom I have given the days of my earthly existence and the trust of a life together, I could not be happy in a relationship lacking such things. I'd rather live the singe life forever.

Rarely am I comfortable sharing such intimate thoughts, yet there is a point in all my rambling. I'm tired of the lowering expectations for romance and building a life together. I feel like girls are falling prey to the myth that men can't be better, can't change. I'm not suggesting that withholding all affection and intimacy is the answer to a morally degenerative society, but I do think that - to some extent - when ladies have high expectations, men rise to meet them. I can't help but wonder how many men would become better leaders, better husbands and fathers, if woman could accept their identity as beloved daughters and sisters in Christ rather than pursuing an identity as a wife, mother, lover, girlfriend, etc.

It'd be an interesting experiment, I think. I could be wrong, I don't know. But that knowledge does not compel me to change the way I'm living. If my expectations are that morbidly incorrect, I think I'd rather miss out on the whole thing anyway.

Storms

A mere twenty hours after leaving my college hometown, a tornado ripped portions of the city to shreds. Most news sources have their own cover of the stories. We sat in front of the TV as the devastation became more and more publicized. The city is unrecognizable. My heart breaks for those who lost so much. It is unfathomable, especially as far away as I am. I know that it won't truly be real for me until I drive down those roads myself and see the lingering after-effects of such a power storm. How I long to be there with my friends, of whom I am so very proud as they continue to pour themselves out for their neighbors. I love watching them be the hands and feet of Christ, a truly united church serving their community.

Editorial Note: a friend just text me to report that the sirens are going off in Joplin and a tornado was sighted a few miles north of Joplin. Devastating. Terrifying. Oh, how my heart breaks.

Yet life goes on. We pray and we give and we pray some more. But ultimately, time marches on. The recovery and rescue attempts take less and less of our time and attention as the daily chores and information claim our focus. There's nothing wrong with this, I know. Yet it is hard not to feel guilty. It is difficult not to feel like a victim, even so many miles away. My heart is with those that I love in the city where I reside most of the year. But other responsibilities make it impossible for me to go back to this beloved place. If I could move back, I'd be there in a heartbeat. But I have to prepare for my summer, I've committed to spending time with my brother and sister-in-law, I have to move to camp. I wish with everything in me that I could spend these days in Joplin; yet I am excited about the things which will fill my days instead. And I wrestle with this. I know in my head that I shouldn't feel this obligation necessarily. I know that it is okay for me to be upset and appropriate for me to call on my Heavenly Father and beg for His mercy. But there is no place for my feelings of guilt. It is simply selfish.

But I cannot feel excited without this guilt. I go to update social media sites and can say nothing but to re-iterate my prayers for Joplin. My Facebook news feed is an odd blend of gruesome pictures of streets I drove down a few days ago and mundane daily news. The pictures look like something out of a bomb catastrophe. The trees are left barely standing, naked without the leaves or small branches to decorate them. Homes are simply a pile of wooden planks mixed with years of rubbish torn apart. It's indescribable.

Yet I still wish that I was there. I know that God is working mightily in that city right now, even as the citizens sit terrified in their basement.

I cannot conclude this post without relating my own mundane news. While I would love for my travels to take me to Joplin, I will instead be traveling to Oklahoma City on a greyhound bus. While I am quite familiar with school buses, I have never taken so much as a city bus, much less a greyhound. I am oddly excited. I am also excited to spend a week with some of my favorite people. And I am excited to go to camp in just over a week. Mostly, I am excited for life to go on, to move past this terrible tornado and to watch Joplin re-build, to see the lasting Kingdom effects of this devastation - to watch the beauty rise out of the ashes.

The Charms of Home

Home. Though I am only here for a short time, I intent to savor every minute of it. I love to rest, to read whatever I want, to have an entire room painted and decorated to my whim that I can enjoy. I love growing up and going away and begin to feel the anticipation of independence (a concept both terrifying and incredible exciting), I love to be back where I am taken care of, where I can walk out of my room and be greeted by things dating back a decade and - best of all - my family. I love going to church at LifeSpring and seeing all of the people who are near and dear to my heart. There's just so many wonderful people in Kansas City (although the metro area does not have the monopoly. There are several great people in Joplin as well).

However, my stay here is so very brief. Ironically, I am quite excited to leave. After resting here (and studying for a terrible test that is slated for Tuesday afternoon), I get to travel down to Oklahoma to be the most excellent aunt I can to my precious little nephew and to visit with my sister-in-law and brother for a week. I do love them so much, and I am really looking forward to getting to hang out with them for a while.

After that wonderful week, I'll come back to Kansas City, re-pack everything (well, not EVERYTHING. but lots) and move to West Central Christian Service Camp for another excellent summer of lifeguarding and shoot-outs with the nurse. I am so ready to be back at camp, and I am so looking forward to this summer.

I think the thing that most excites me about this summer is the prospect of growth, of training, of discipline. Last summer was a good forerunner, but I intend to be more intentional as the next few months' progress. I want to know more about God, to know Him better and trust Him more, to stretch my intellectual capacity, and to start running again. Oh, how I love to run. Some of my most intimate God moments seem to happen out on the road in front of camp. I am so looking forward to it.

Joy

I have found a new obsession. Coincidentally, this obsession is the best thing that I have ever done.

I wrote a little about the mentoring project I am working on in my last post. That little snapshot was a gross misrepresentation of the amount of time and energy that I have devoted to this. Since week of e (spring break), I have been working to pull this thing off. More than anything, I've been turning it over in my head, trying to see it, trying to make it real.

Well, as of May 3rd, it is real.

The reality of it still sends shivers up my spine. That one thought makes me feel like I'm on a roller coaster, about to descend the first real hill. My stomach leaps to my throat, and it's a bit hard to breathe. It's happening. This is my baby - the thing that I am most passionate about. And it's actually becoming a reality. The impossibility of it all strikes me more than anything. Like I said earlier, this is the best thing I've ever done. More than that, this is the type of thing that I have always wanted to do. It's a small piece of a dream that is intricately connected to my heart, something so intimate yet so public now. In many ways, it's bizarre.

It's still weird to hear other people talk about it. There's a part of me that selfishly desires to keep it close, to shelter and protect it, to maintain the monopoly of conversation on it. While that part exists, I'm still beyond excited to hear people discuss it. It's amazing how people have caught the vision and the passion that I have had, although I don't think anyone could love it quite as I do.

What happened on May 3rd, you ask? May 3rd marked parent approval. A dear friend and I went to visit with the parents after the Tuesday afternoon activity. Both parents received it extremely well. It was amazing the trust that they had in anything associated with the ministry, which only serves as a strong testimony to the work that is being done. It is an exciting time.

In the next few weeks, I will be introducing the mentoring pairs, helping to set up the first meeting, facilitating a training session for the mentors (speakers: the elementary school principal and a social worker), and making general going-out-of-town preparations. It's difficult, in some ways, to trust something so dear to my heart to anyone for such an extended time. But I'm excited too. I want this to change. I want to tweak it, I want to learn. I want this program to grow and to become better. It's scary to hold a dream out so far and let it be beat against and let it fail in its own right, but I think that is part of the charm to me. It is an adventure.

The fall will already bring several, more official changes to this program. I'm hoping to get grown-ups involved to serve as partners for the young adults who will be serving as mentors. I'm also hoping to compile more information regarding both the students and the volunteers who are involved. I am hoping to have lots more people involved. Ideally, I want this to become a volunteer-led, self-sustaining program that will continue to evolve and benefit people long after I leave.

The fall will also bring the opportunity for me to live in this community, to work harder and longer on this, to devote more time and energy to this. Not only will my housing situation make this more feasible, but also my course load. It's amazing to see everything come together, to watch the hand of God and recognize the opportunities unfold.

But if this whole thing falls flat on its face, my joy will not be any less. My God will not be any smaller. My dream will perhaps be scathed, but it will remain. I am only twenty years old, after all. I hope that this is not the best thing I ever do. In fact, I know it won't be.

Life Right Now

It's been a while since I posted anything even remotely current. My life right now feels like a hurricane of activity, and I am terrified of the collateral damage that seems inevitable. Despite the negative connotations of such a metaphor, it excites me more than frightens me. So I guess that's a plus.

The semester is winding down as far as school work goes, yet I somehow seem just as busy as ever. Today marked the turning in of one of my three remaining assignments, a burden which I didn't notice until it was lifted. I have spent the entire semester working, it seems. I have barely kept my head above the workload threatening to drown me, and only now can I see how perilously close I came to such a fate.

Work has been especially, especially busy these last few weeks. With the musical approaching entirely too quickly, it seems that my afternoons are devoted to preparation for the musical or playing catch up on the things which got bumped from the time the musical claimed.

I have decided not to be an resident assistant next semester. Despite the fact that I did not do nearly the job I wish I had done, and I will always regret such a short service with many broken commitments, I feel God tugging me away from the dorm and into Life House more deeply. Plus, without the harness of being an RA I can now do the things which I wanted to do as an RA (the catch-22 of dorm life).

What will I be doing at Life House? Well, honestly, I'm not really sure what it will look like, but I know it will be time consuming. For the past several weeks, I have been going to meetings and brainstorming and praying about a project that I want to start in the neighborhood. A mentoring project. What started as a small idea has grown into a dangerous whirlwind that threatens to plow me over at any moment. Basically, the idea is to partner with the school, the parents, and the existing ministry to provide mentors to kids that Life House already has consistent communication with. I have met with several people, including the principal of the elementary school all of the children attend, and this small idea that the Holy Spirit put on my heart has grown and grown and grown into something that I never saw coming. People have been so incredibly receptive and encouraging, and while it has been a lot (A LOT) of work, it hasn't been an uphill battle in the least. Working out the logistics is a headache after headache affair, but I have had tremendous support. Soon, soon, soon the launch for a summer trial run is approaching. Soon I will be approaching the parents about this idea. I need all the prayer that I can get!

In all of these things, I am so vastly impressed with the work of the Holy Spirit. As much as I'd love to take credit for all this and avoid sounding all new age-y and mystical, I can't. From the very beginning, the Spirit has been guiding me and working on people's hearts. It's an amazing picture. I know that this is where God wants me and this is what he wants me to do, but I can't rule out the possibility that this will fall flat on its face or morph into something entirely different. And I think that I am okay with that. I am trying to be, at least.

God has been teaching me so much in these last weeks. My heart and mind have been torn open and stitched shut, my circumstances have been altered, my expectations entirely shifted. I feel like so much is still up in the air and that few things are certain right now. As much as I hate ambiguity, I see the necessity of this. I am learning to be laid back, to take things as they come, to love people rather than tasks.

Life right now may be full, and it may feel like a hurricane some days, but I am learning so much about the Father and the Spirit and the Son, and I daily find myself more captivated by their work and their character and everything about them. There are so many things I'd love to articulate, so much about my feelings that I'd love to express but they remain simply feelings rushing around my head. This I do know: I dearly, dearly love my Savior, and I am constantly finding myself falling more in love with Him.

Honduras - Schools

Wednesday ushered in my first exposure to international education. Long ago, I dreamed of (felt called to would be a more appropriate description) teaching in a missionary school, so I was anxious for hands on experience. And I definitely got it. My father accompanied the missionary and I to the school. The roads were less smooth, and the route took us up through some poor communities, much like what you would expect to see on late night TV pledge commercials. It was an interesting juxtaposition for a five to ten minute drive - the commercial metropolis was a stone's through away, yet shanties cluttered together in small communities seemed to pervade the miles surrounding the school. Upon arrival, an armed guide suggested I sign in. I took his advice. I met briefly with the principal,and all too soon my father left and I was alone, in a foreign country, unable to speak the native tongue, unable to communicate via phone, and unable to even try to find my way to the house. I had a brief moment of panic, but it was mostly a surreal knowledge. It's so unusual in the States to have any one of those circumstances, let alone all of them.

The principal led me to the director, who introduced me to the teacher for first - third grade. I expected to observe, or help in the classroom. She sent me with the third grade to teach. As I led the students to the playground (the easiest place, in my mind, to work) I was more than a little overwhelmed. Fortunately, the students had worksheets they were supposed to go through. We talked through them, in broken English (I was not so bold - desperate? - as to try communicating in the rusty, extremely elementary Spanish vocabulary that had laid dormant for two years)we worked through them to the best of our ability until recess. I wasn't sure of the difference between recess and lunch (both times seemed characterized by the same activities and food), but at both I heard students playing some version of tag, taunting each other with "Gringa, Gringa." It made me laugh, but I don't think I could've felt any more conspicuous. Thank goodness they liked my eyes (I got several compliments on my blue eyes).

After recess I worked with the second graders, of whom there were several. They were far from fluent, so we accomplished one worksheet with minimal difficulty, but there was no way I would be able to teach them an entire lesson in Science (it was on farming. I tried to demonstrate, but apparently I'm an even worse actor than I remember). I was loosing them, so I got out my camera (and of course had their attention right away). We finished what we were working on, I took a few pictures (they LOVED pictures. a few girls pressed their faces against mine as soon as I took my camera out. guess they've got some experience with the American self-portrait - which I am sure is rather universal, but still...). Before too long, I took them back up and was told to work with the third graders again. I appreciated their fluency so much more, and we were able to get several worksheets done before lunch. I ate lunch with some of my students, then went and sat with the teacher. We talked a little, but mostly I just watched the kids play. They were having so much fun.

After lunch I was given the first graders, who spoke no English. There were only three of them, but they were a handful. I had them for the rest of the day and was given Math and Science books to go over once they had completed spelling. I am not sure what the teacher expected, but in the two hours we were together, almost all of the students finished their spelling, and I considered that a victory. A crucial part of classroom management, I've realized, is speaking the language of the students. The "mom look" - which I've received enough to do a decent impression - is universal, but only as long as the kids think that you'll back it up. About ten minutes before school let out, I gave up and we went outside to play.

I rode the bus home with the students. "Bus" is an exaggeration - it was just a church van, crammed full of students. I got to see a lot of different places in the city as we dropped the students off, and we arrived back at the missionary's house before I knew it. The team was still at the church for the sewing class and medical clinic, and I was exhausted and glad for the alone time. The team was back a few hours later, and we had a delicious dinner and a wonderful evening together.


Friday morning, my Dad spoke at the chapel service of the missionary's daughter's school. The missionary, my father, Anna, Andrea, Alyssa (who taught the sewing class) and I loaded up early Friday morning to head to school. This school was much more structured from the get-go. The campus was neat and tidy and the students were much more calm. The building was simple but decorated tastefully. The entire service was conducted in English, except for the national anthem and the pledge to the flag. Dad's sermon seemed pretty engaging, and after the chapel service we took a tour of the facility. Everything is open and airy, which is nice. The classes are set up with "offices" for the students, which essentially are tables with dividers set up to make it feel almost like a cubical. Because of the curriculum they use, everything is very individualized and all at the pace of each student. In spite of this, the classrooms were still colorful and welcoming. After the tour, I was given the option to stay behind. I was hesitant - the memory of Wednesday was still rather overwhelming and the idea of being stranded at a school with no way of saying that I wanted to leave caused a moment of panic - but the realization that this was my last opportunity won me over and I stayed. After everyone left, I had the opportunity to sit down with the principal and chat. She is an American and supervises only the English education component of the school. When each students graduates, he or she receives a degree recognized by the Honduranean school system and by schools abroad. It's pretty legit. We talked for a while about what her life was like as an American living in Honduras, and it was awesome.

Afterwards she put me in a classroom with the second and third graders. That teacher was so amazing. He was welcoming from the beginning, and he asked me simply to practice conversation with some of his advanced students. I am excellent at speaking English, so I readily agreed. The kids were so much fun! They peppered me with questions, and we talked about so many topics. Soon they asked me about my family, and I pulled my camera out to show pictures. When the camera came out, they all started posing. So goofy. We had been conversing for a while, so I figured we could take a break. The students suggested we go down to the courtyard, and I agreed. We took pictures and went back to work briefly, but soon it was recess. I agreed to play with them, and during an intense game of freeze tag, one of the administrators pulled by aside and politely whispered that we were in a forbidden area. Excellent. We quickly left, and I went back and talked to the teacher, a kind man who was studying foreign language at the university. He spoke excellent English and was very interested in the culture. One of the students came up to me and asked if I liked one of the traditional breakfast-y/snack foods. When I replied I had never tried it, the teacher went to the cafeteria and bought me one! It's been several weeks since I tried it, granted, but I liked it. It was a tortilla with mantequilla and red beans, I think. It made me feel very welcome, and I appreciated the generosity of the teacher.

After recess, I worked with a little boy who was struggling. He was a very cute little boy, but he didn't have a lot of focus or dedication to his work, which was not what I was used to. We worked through the necessary pages with a lot of re-focusing and some mild off-task antics while the teacher was gone. In the hour or so we worked together, he seemed to get a lot done, though I don't know the typical standard. During our time together, it was cool to watch the teacher in action. He used some of the same American classroom management techniques we're learning about in my education class at MSSU, which was super cool. When I asked him about it, he said that it just made sense to use the callbacks, etc. I was pretty impressed with him.

Lunch was delicious - fresh fruit, fresh avocado - mmmmm. It was fun to watch the kids play and laugh. I also got more opportunity to speak with the teacher, which I really enjoyed. It was fun to see him interact with the students during their recess time as well.

After lunch, the students studied in Spanish. A calligraphy teacher came in to instruct them, and the teacher worked on some grading. We talked about American culture for a while (he's really into movies), and then the principal invited me to play with the kindergartners during their recess. I agreed, since my time at the school was drawing to a close.

The kindergartners were a mischievous bunch. I thoroughly enjoyed the few minutes I had the opportunity to spend with them before I had to leave. They loved the camera, of course, and they loved playing with me. They had an awesome tree house that they climbed around fearlessly. What a joy it was to see children play without the cumbersome restriction that the US imposes on recess! It was a wonderful way to end my school days in Honduras.

Honduras - Arrival

Three weeks ago, I was preparing to leave Joplin for Honduras (with a stop in Kansas City for a couple of days). What a strange thought. In some ways, I feel like I returned yesterday. In other ways, three weeks seems to have stretched into a lifetime that now separates me from that experience. However, I did promise that a post would appear relating my experience, and now seems as good a time as any. Since the week that was spent there was rather busy, I think I will just post segments at a time, also to ensure that I don't spend my whole life on one long, boring post that no one will ever read entirely.

The excitement mounted as we drove to the airport in the damp, cold, dawn air. It was almost surreal to think about spending the evening in an entirely different country. Although it was early, we were plenty awake. We met up with the rest of our team in the lobby of MCI - an eclectic group of people that were somehow drawn into the mission of the ministry of one man, his obedience to God, and the products therein. The flights were uneventful, except to mention that we lost some luggage - the box containing the medical supplies and the box containing the sewing supplies. Thankfully, their delay lasted only a day.

We arrived in Honduras around three, I think. I know that our first act upon arrival and clearing customs was to eat Burger King. Naturally it was an excellent introduction to the culture... After BK, one of the women and I did venture to a legitimate Honduranean business - a coffee shop that rivals DD. It was wonderful. The streets on the way to the missionary's home were interesting, although typical of Tegucigalpa (from what I saw). There were no lawns and every house was gated. Though the gates were ornate and beautiful in many cases, they failed to entirely conceal the reminder of their purpose: to keep people out. The streets were narrow and cars were parked on both sides, making some roads a little more treacherous. In my journal, I described it this way: "Tegucigalpa is an odd blend of American 90s culture and Hispanic. The architecture is Hacienda-reminiscent - lots of reds, oranges, and pale yellows. There are no front yards here - only gated patios. The trees are blooming, with palm trees and mango trees mingling with bright purple flowered trees and trees with no flowers, just vibrant green leaves. It creates a wonderfully picturesque scene."

The missionary resides on a dead end. The front gates of the houses form a continuous wall on either side of the street, replacing anything that would be considered a front lawn with colored concrete. While the house seemed small by American standards, it was more than adequate for the purposes of the family. It even had a small pool (which seemed like more of a baptistery) and a wonderful deck (for lack of a better term) with comfortable lawn furniture (a paradise to reflect, journal, and read). It was also where we ate our meals.

Anna and I were shown to a room with two sets of bunk beds with the two other girls on the trip. The room functions as an office for the missionary when there aren't visitors, and it is right next to the missionary's daughter's room (a fourteen year old who could talk from now into eternity, and wished to especially in the later hours of the night). It was clean and roomy, although four suitcases definitely cluttered it up quickly.

After getting settled in, we met to talk about logistics, then we went to pick up supplies to replace what had been delayed. This included a frightening road trip to pick up a woman working with us for the week, a trip to the mall, and a trip to Walmart.Two rules govern the roads of Honduras:

1. Don't do anything dumb in front of the police
2. Biggest car wins

A much simpler system that we Americans have. We returned home for a much-anticipated dinner, where we met a wonderful woman who works with the ministry and lives across the street. My parents were staying with her (given the constraints on space) and my sister spent the summer learning Spanish from her. Adjectives that spring to mind when thinking of her: strong, determined, practical, passionate. She was so fun and so funny, and she reminded me a lot of my mother's mother, which was wonderful.

The evening was over before it got too late, as we were all pretty wiped out from our early start. Also, Wednesday morning came quite early, and I was glad for the extra rest of an early bed-time.