being the gringa

by Alanna

I'm a bit of an odd one here in Catacamas. It's true that I know of at least 3 other white woman who live in this city, all married to Hondurans, but I rarely, if ever, see them outside of school. If I forget that I look different, I'm reminded by the stares. After being here for over 4 months now and walking the same streets, I would have hoped that the novelty would wear off. But it hasn't.

This weekend my husband and I took a 2-hour bus drive to a place called Culmi, and experienced Honduran hospitality for a night. We went there with the music teacher from our school, and Yonas helped them with their music for a 'culto' (their word for a church service). It was such a blessing to be there. The young people were genuine and kind, and a stranger opened up their home to us. I enjoyed 2 cups of sweet Honduran coffee and wonderful food which they call Tacos Mexicanas. We walked the streets at night safely, under so many stars. Yonas played soccer with the guys late at night, and I watched them and prayed. I also marveled at the moon, which is sideways here compared to the way it is in the U.S.A. It means the crescent lays on its back horizontally, and last night just the top was in shadow and the whole thing shrouded in clouds. It was a beautiful night, me the only woman but feeling so lucky to be married to that one man. We learned new things about culture in Honduras, sharing a room with somebody else and using bathrooms with just curtains for a door. It pushed me a little out of my comfort zone, and I'm glad because I want to live in Honduras, not alongside it. But still, I'm not one of them. 

After lunch, somebody asked where can they buy Gringas? Here it's a term not just for American girls, but also for a kind of mexican quesadilla. Everybody laughed and looked at me, because clearly I am the only real gringa in the whole city. Yonas said I'm not for sale =P It reminds me that I'm being watched. The little kids in the house peer through the curtain at me; they ask us shyly if we want to come "platicar" with them in the living room (chat). Maybe I'm the only gringa they'll ever have in their house. I don't like being different, don't like standing out at the Christmas program among all the other teachers, don't like being watched. If I go to the grocery store with a bad attitude, I'm sure to meet a parent of one of my students there.  Sometimes I wish I could just be Honduran, but no matter how good my Spanish accent, this skin color will never change.

Being watched is good practice for me here, a sober reminder that we are ambassadors of Jesus, representatives of His name. We don't belong here on earth, we're strangers and sojourners. Yonas says his home is in the heavens, not here in Catacamas. And he's right. The thing I wonder is, how do I bear the name of Christ? Do I reflect even a little of His compassion, His love? Do I radiate joy because I'm beloved by the Creator of all? Do I dance happy because I'm forgiven and free? Do I forgive the way I am forgiven? I don't want people to see me in me, but to find reason in me to glorify His name. Today I want to remember that I'm being watched, not as a white girl in Honduras, but as a light in a dark place. Not so that I can perform, but so that I can cling to Him and so that He can produce fruit in me that brings Himself glory.

surprised by gentleness

 By Mary

My so-very-close-to-being-two-year-old has a pretty good understanding of discipline and consequences. I think she even appreciates the justice of it, though it doesn't in the least prevent her from doing the things she knows will earn an unfavorable result for herself.

But I've also noticed that in those moments when she's at her worst and the very hardest to love, when something inside me makes her pull her close and kiss her soft, the sweet surprise teaches so many lessons in itself.

I can tell she knows that she doesn't deserve it, that it doesn't excuse her behavior. But she knows I love her anyway and always will. And that's when she softens, quick as a wink, and presses her chubby little cheek against mine with a squeeze around the neck and the sweetest "wuv youu" that ever was.

I'm so thankful God loves us with such merciful love, praying it will always soften our hearts and cause us to seek His.

pictures

by Alanna

We've hardly taken any pictures here in Honduras. None of the school, none of Catacamas or the kids we're teaching.  I took just a few last week (we were in Tegucigalpa for Thanksgiving), so I decided to upload them here. I'm hoping to do better in the future with picture taking, but we'll see.

No deep freezers here. The Honduras version of an "extra large freezer", at our hotel in Tegucigalpa. 

(Bigger than the one in our apartment.)

We visited Valle de Angeles, a touristy sort of place in Tegucigalpa, 

and found this book exchanging post!

They use these taxis in some places in Honduras. Called 'motos'.

 Here in Catacamas we use regular white taxis, but I took a picture of this moto because I think it is so cute. Someday I hope we'll ride in one.

My husband walking in Valle de Angeles.

Both of us in Valle de Angeles.

Sometimes our water from the taps in Catacamas looks like this.

(And no, that's not Fanta. And yes, it's just straight water into a clean bottle).

My husband loves to make crepes, and to bless people with them.
Sometimes he makes crepes and plays guitar at the same time.

He's also very creative. Made a chess set out of a pizza box, a file organizer for me out of cardboard, a new drawer handle from a camera strap. These shapes from crepes.

Anyway, enough pictures of our uneventful life here in Honduras. 

Here's the last one, of us together outside of our apartment in Catacamas.

A thankful heart is a happy heart

By Mary

I had a little Thanksgiving post all ready to put up just before I went to pick up my parents at the airport the day before Thanksgiving...and then my computer restarted before I could publish it and it was time to go and I proceeded to bid the internet farewell for the week they were here.

But the title of the post still goes with what God seems to be reminding me; take what comes and be thankful for it. Slow life down and forget about imaginations drawn up in my mind. Life is unscripted and people don't always behave like they do in a book and getting a certain feeling out of an activity definitely shouldn't be the goal I set for myself.

And sometimes imperfect is just right.