Not for the casual reader.

Generally, I try to stay positive in my blogging. Even when I complain about bugs, I try to do it in a humorous lighthearted way. Disclaimer for this post: I need to express myself in a way that may not be the most cheerful or uplifting. So happy-go-lucky blog readers be-gone!

Our shower had a serious leak, no, more like a constant stream, of water coming out of it. Consequently, we had to turn off the water completely last night to prevent wasting even more water. As I went to turn the water back on this morning, I was startled by a large toad. I am not afraid of frogs; quite the contrary, as a child I used to love catching them. I still think they are rather cute. However, when it is dark and you wish you were still in bed at 5:15 in the morning, a toad is a startling and unpleasant creature to behold. After I stepped into the shower, I noticed a busy trail of little tiny ants running down the wall. These ants are everywhere, but it is unusual to see more than a few at a time. So that was a bother, but I washed them away without too much worry. Getting to the kitchen for breakfast was another story. A big centipede lurked right by my door. I gathered my courage and tried to smash it with a wash bucket. Which did absolutely no harm. Then I went for the cockroach killer and doused the creepy crawler. It squirmed around for what seemed like way too long and finally stopped. Covering it with a paper towel I gave it a few jabs with the spray can and went for the trash can. I opened the cupboard under the sink to dispose of the centipede and my eyes were assaulted by a large dying cockroach laying on its back but still moving a little. This was to much before 6 in the morning.

Which brings us to school. We are attempting to do what people spend four years of college learning how to do--teach. I am only teaching Bible classes to pre-kindergarten, kindergarten, and prepa. That seems easy enough, until you understand that the kids don't understand English. Prepa understands some, but I'm pretty sure half of what I say goes right over their heads. Singing helps a lot, but most of them just do the actions while I sing. I have them repeat after me in prayers, sing, listen to the story or do a little activity, sometimes color...But it is very difficult for me to use all 40 minutes most of the time. I have to be extremely animated and jump around the room just to keep their attention when I'm telling a story, and even then I have no idea if they understand or not. I'm supposedly quizzing prepa over a memory verse this Thursday...really? I am not very optimistic on how this will go. We are using actions and the verse is very short, but I don't think they understand at all. I just feel at a loss as far as what else to do. I love the children, I do have the right energy to teach them, the language barrier is so very frustrating.

A few of my students are from The Hogar. The Hogar is an orphanage here in Honduras that Emily Brewster's parents work at. I don't think I have ever really known anyone without a family. Think about how much the absence of parents affects what you say to little kids. I can't say, "How can you help your mommy and daddy at home?". I can't pray, "Thank you for our families," when three of my students don't have families. Most kids have packed food or parents that bring them meals for snack and lunch time. The children from the Hogar get food from the cafeteria. The food looks good, I know they enjoy it and most of them finish every last piece of food. But the way that they all have to wait around with nothing to do and then when their food is ready they are called 'the kids from The Hogar' like that's their identity. They are saying 'the kids from the orphanage'. To me it feels like the label singles them out, makes them different. Perhaps that is part of the reason they tend to stick together. A look unnatural for children to have, so poignant and pressing, presides across their faces or maybe it is something in their eyes. I honestly cannot place the emotion. But something makes them look so much older, so much less carefree. You can see it in their demeanor, in the way they play. I cannot imagine how different their psychology must be without having a family to love them and provide their basic needs. I am very glad that these darling children are getting the chance to go to Maranatha. I hope that somehow I can provide the love and hope that we all have in Jesus. That's what it comes down to though. God has to handle this and provide understanding, because without Him I will fail.

A stolen goodbye left me in tears tonight. I got to talk to Steven for one final time. He leaves for Woja tomorrow, not sure what time. He paid for an internet card hoping that the connection would be better. It was mediocre at best but so good to see his face. I am having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that I won't talk to him again until Christmas. The worst part is, I didn't get to say goodbye. In the last minute, just when I was thinking I would cherish every last second, the connection froze up and the call was dropped with thirty seconds left in the conversation. Gone, just like that.

Right now, I have lesson planning that is due tomorrow. My bedtime has already passed. I have a headache. I am crying. And I could really use a hug.