Some pictures from Honduras

Honduras - it could be Mexico

Our team of eight, we'll refer to them as the Awesome Eight, not because they're awesome in any theological or philosophical way, but because there are eight and I like them, arrived in Tegucigalpa on schedule at 12:30PM.  Before we left Houston we heard the story that pilots landing in Tegucigalpa had to have special training because it is among the top ten most dangerous airport in the world.  Add that to the United Nations' characterization that Honduras has the highest homicide rate in a the world and we are feeling so confident that everything will go well.
       Our contact at the airport was delayed because traffic was heavier than expected.  However, she, Sandy, arrived before anyone panicked along with Brian who transported our luggage and will be our guide, interpreter and driver for the week.  A really cool young man.
       Expecting an traditional fare for our noon meal served in the afternoon, we were instead served order-out pizza, which could have been downtown Monmouth.  Soon after we were winding, literally winding, through the hillsides of this capital city forward a statute of Jesus with outspread arms overlooking the city.  From that vantage point we could see rows of small metal-roofed very small homes, the area still not redeveloped after a rain-drenched mudslide from hurricane Mitch some years ago, big businesses and estates as well as the now infamous airport which is very short and essentially in the middle of the city.
      The detail of this statute which must have stood a hundred above us was fabulous from an artist but I'm skeptical if it a very good likeness of Jesus.  It's the artist's idea of what a perfectly looking Jesus might have been.  Fine artwork bit with little theological relevance.
      Deep fried chicken, tortillas, flavored rice and a cabbage cole slaw was ready for us at six.  Several pictures from the day were viewed, several reflected comments and the Awesome Eight after no real sleep except for catnaps on the plane headed for showers and sleep.  And here I go also (without editing this).

Packing

Gail presented information about our Honduras trip in church yesterday.  She seemed to stumble for words when she talked about our safety.  She probably didn't want to concern them too much.  After the service I mentioned to several that Honduras had the second highest murder rate of any country in the world.  Last evening while reading about Honduras online I discovered I was wrong.  It has the highest rate of all countries.

However UMVIM is sending teams in and out of the country on a regular basis so we project that we will be safe.  Most murders are connected to gangs and drug trafficking, and we don't appear to be related to either.

Other major events of the months are past and we are packing.  Prescription to prevent malaria, sunscreen, anti-diarrheal pills, water filter, flight insurance papers; yeah, I think we have the safety measures covered, not that there are any.  OK, so there are precautions that one must take.

With the list in one hand, the items are spread out across the table and room and we are moving forward.  Batteries, chargers, cameras all charged and ready.  Fortunately the electricity is the same there as here; so I've read.  Baggies are overfilled with clothes and flattened before closing them to minimize space.  Special towels that take very little space and dry quickly, and shirts that don't stink even after a week of wear are on the pile are on the pile.  Passport and tickets are in safe and ready-to-go locations.

And there are the lists for home: what the house sitter needs to know about watering plants and feeding animals, what we need to do before we leave to ready the place for the house sitter and our absence, what we need to do for committees and volunteer work before we leave, and what we want to buy to take and leave for the children and people where we are staying.  Back-to-school sales are best at this time of the year.

There's also the posting on the blog to keep people informed or over-informed.  Check!

Preparing for the Honduras Mission Trip

The word "mission" is used in many ways, similar but somewhat different ways.  A determined child with a specific goal may be on a "mission."  A particular action of a military unit may have a "mission."  A missionary works within his or her "mission."  The goal or purpose of a church may be its "mission."  And a group of individuals traveling to another region of the world with a specific purpose are on a "mission" trip.

So it is with this group of eight from Dallas, Oregon, mostly members of Dallas United Methodist Church, who are headed to Tegucigalpa, Honduras, to help build a church/conference office building.  As outsiders to this group, being members of Christ's Church Methodist and Presbyterian United in Monmouth, Gail and I don't know that much about each individual, but then that's one of the products of an eight-day trip working and living side by side: to get to know each other better.

Don, our leader, who has taken the Dallas church from four years of talking about an international mission trip to a reality, has a book store on the coast.  Julie, the second wife of a student I knew at WOU over 15 years ago and a mother of two, is so full of energy.  Jim and Lola are her parents.  Kellie has been designated as our official photographer and comes with great equipment, and a couple children she will leave at home.  Craig, active at Dallas UMC, has taken on many leadership responsibilities.  As a choir member he has been identified as our song leader.  Gail and I will be participating in our 22nd "mission" activity or trip, and for essentially the first time, not as the team leaders.

Honduras has been designated as a very dangerous country having the second highest murder rate in the world.  It is also identified as one of the sources of children illegally crossing the borders into the United States after walking, hitchhiking and bussing a thousand miles across Mexico to avoid poverty, death, rape and slavery in Honduras.  These are phenomena we may gain insight into, at least I hope so.  Even now as I write this, I feel pain for these children and their families.  We have dreams of being a benefit to the people in Honduras, but only time and patience will tell if our dreams will come true.

A Good Day

What makes a good day?  Or a bad one for that matter?  The answer varies with each person.  For most of us waking up in the morning, just being alive makes a good day.  Having loved ones whom you love and who love you in return makes it a good day.

I'm compelled to be productive, so I must do something beneficial.  Often that means benefiting someone else, someone besides myself.  It does also include something for myself or at least something that I value as important.

Today was a good day.

I like waking early and so I did today, about 6:20AM.  It was overcast expecting some baby needed rain.  Before 8:00 I have read and answered my emails-very few today-and had a breakfast with fiber and fruit-cold cereal, and I was on my way to mow Sarah's pasture.  All went well including seeing Sarah, one of her delightful little puppies and serving as a scratching post for one of the four horses.  By 9:30 I was done and home, with a plan to mow some of our pasture but also to clean up around the trees in the pastures.  I have never really cleaned up this area, I merely mow the tall grass to help with wildfire prevention.

This also goes well.  I get lots of exercise, stretching, walking, lifting by moving broken down branches and cleaning up weeds.  Gail joins me after lunch which makes the day nearly perfect.  About 5:00PM a light mist starts and I do small tasks cleaning around the yard.  By six I'm on the computer labeling pictures and writing emails.  Now after a small glass of red wine to help the blood flow and a light supper, I ready to sleep.  And so I will.

Good night after a good day.

It Happened Again

It happened again tonight.  I stepped outside after dusk had fully become night.  And it hit me.  Nothing literally hit me; a thought, an idea, a feeling hit me.

I live far from the sounds of the village, or city.  At this time of the day, early night if you would, there's enough light in the sky, either from a receding sun, stars or the moon, to see the black shadows of tall Douglas firs reaching high over my head.  The only life besides that of nature is behind me in the house I just left.  It's cool, quiet, hardly a the rustle of a leaf in the trees, if even that.

I'm alone.  Not alone because I stepped out with no companion; alone because at that moment there is nothing but me and the ball I standing on, a ball so large and diverse that I will never see it all.  There may be billions more like me standing, walking, sitting, sleeping on other parts of this ball but because I am only me and can be no one or anything but me, I am alone--in myself.  I am singular.

My pace is steady, the strength is adequate, for living on this ball for seven decades I feel darn good.  The feeling I had is of comfort, of peace, of happiness, even a form of satisfaction.  There's something out there, not behind the Douglas fir or lying in a bush, something greater than all I know, greater than all collectively can know, something that makes me want to shout out that I am glad to be able to step out and be hit by this feeling.  Someone once called this something God; the name stuck.  Others have given it other names and because it comes to each of us individually and separately, none of us can fully understand or explain it.  One once wrote that "God" merely said that "I am."  So it may be.

Now I prepare to sleep through this night and as I lie down, before I become unconscious to this world, I will say "Thank you for another day on this beautiful earth among these wonderful people."

Remembering Friends of Freedom and Peace on Earth

It's a good thing that I'm sitting home in the privacy of our living room, even Gail's left the room.  I hate to cry in public much less sob.  OPB is broadcasting the Memorial Day National Concert.

I'm never been in an army and certainly not in a war.  Nor were my brothers, father or grandfathers.  But, yes, I have friends and many acquaintances who have served in the military and also experienced battle.  Several completed their service far from their home and loved ones.

I hate war.  I never want to be a part of it.  I dream of a better way to end international differences, but, oh, how I appreciate those who think differently and are able to literally fight for our freedom.  We call this activity service, military service, and I think I understand service, and if I don't, I hope that I can move to a fuller understanding and an expression of the ultimate service.

I believe in service and I see the military doing service far more than fighting.  I regret that we have to shroud our service in the name of a country rather than all mankind.  I pledge my allegiance to peace on earth and all those to work to achieve it.  I pray all the families who have lost members in war and all servicemen and women who have sacrificed for a better world.

Remembering war is terrible; remembering friends, relatives, and those we don't know for serving in a way to protect our freedom, my freedom, is a honor.  You too can honor these heroes.  And don't forget for every heroes that crosses the seas to a foreign land, that are even more heroes here at home supporting them and each other.  In memory of all of them, I reach up and wipe aside my tears, not away, just aside.