Hope Deferred

Wednesday the 27th of October had finally arrived! Today marks three weeks from when Steven's mom sent his letter to me. You see, he mailed it with the letter to his parents, and they forwarded it on to me. Three weeks ago, to this day. I just knew it had to be here. However, rather than chance crushing disappointment yet once again, I decided to call ahead and see if I had any mail. My friend Emily took over the phone call after they couldn't understand my name, and the words came like Michael Buble music to my hears. A package....and, you guessed it, A LETTER! Words, words, words. No words. I was beyond excited. I jumped and screamed around the staff room with pure glee. Then I explained (in Spanish) that my boyfriend was very far away on a island near Japan, he has no phones or internet, and our only communication is letters. And that this was the first letter in 1 month and 20 days (not that I'm keeping track or anything..). The other teachers were ever so happy for me and quite amused by my display of enthusiasm. I think I must of told every other person I saw after that. More teachers, the cleaning ladies, a couple students. I knew it had to be his letter. As soon as 2:45 hit, I was out the door walking quickly to the post office with a smile beaming brighter than the sun.

When I arrived, the friendly lady with the kind round face greeted me. I greeted her with a smile even bigger than normal and asked how she was doing in a chipper voice. I didn't even have to inquire about my mail, she knows my name. She pulled out a large package and opened the book for me to sign. Then she mentioned something about the letter from my love that I was ever-waiting for. I asked about it, feeling a little confused. I tried to explain that I called earlier, and they told me that there was a package AND a letter. She checked with the other worker who went and looked, but still nada. No letter. I asked something to the effect of "truly?". Yes, no letter. I almost couldn't comprehend. I thought maybe it was an evil plot or that they weren't looking hard enough. I bent down to slip my driver's license in my backpack. When I stood back upright, the smile had slipped right off my face. Putting my feet one in front of the other, I walked out of the post office. I made it about eight feet outside the door and stopped. Clutching the hefty box to my chest, I tried closing my eyes just as tightly to no avail. The tears leaked out--I couldn't seem to stop them. How pathetic a sight--a little American girl in a awfully bright yellow shirt, with a awfully bright neon lunch box, sporting a pink and gray backpack, holding a big box--crying in the middle of the city.
I tried to stop, but it was no use. I plopped down on a step and decided to give myself a few minutes. However, time wasn't helping and after a few minutes I was simply crying more. I don't like crying in public, and I wanted very badly to be alone. But, I could not. I literally did not have the strength to try walking home. A woman and her little boy could see me from their parked red truck on the road. After a while, they came over to see how they could help. After tearful explaining, she took my name and went to talk to the post office workers again. She came back a couple short minutes later saying the same thing: no letter. She sat down on the step next to me, and I told her more about why this letter was so important and why I was so sad. One of my students, Wessly, and his mom came by. Then I had to explain again. Luckily his mom speaks English, so I didn't have to try in Spanish all over again. There were still a few misunderstanding. Nevertheless, talking to her, and listening to her talk about her life helped me calm down.

To my surprise, the whole time I talked to Wessly's mom, the first woman and her son stayed sitting next to me. Then she asked me where I lived. I told her, and she asked if she could give me a ride. I know, I know. You shouldn't ride in cars with strangers, but I liable to burst into tears without warning and too much of a mess to walk anywhere. I think this lady was more like my angel than a stranger. A jovial looking man in a blue and red plaid shirt walked up to the truck. She pointed him out with a smile as her "esposo" (husband).She gave me her phone number and said, "Amigas?". We all piled in the little truck and headed towards my house. I found out that she and her husband have been together for sixteen years and have four kids. She explained my entire story to her husband, and I was pleasantly surprised that she seemed to understand me perfectly. They were both very empathetic and sweet, telling me not to worry, it would come soon. When they dropped me off at my house, my new friend hugged me and told me not to cry. I thanked them for the who-knows-th time and hefted my backpack and package out of the back.

When I walked in the door, my first words were, "Don't even ask me about the letter, but here's what happened...". I managed to hold it together as I told my roommates of my adventure. Then I hurried to my room, finally a refuge after feeling so vulnerable out in the open. Trying to follow my new friend's advice and not cry, I dug into the thick tape on my package with my letter opener. My shaking breaths turned into laughing as I yelled for Kadian, and then Cia and Nelly--to come! Come and look and this! Steven's grandma and parents sent us so many wonderful surprises. I don't want to brag by listing everything, but wow! I am still stoked about it. We munched on some yogurt covered raisins right away. Cia and Nelly had never had them before; now, they are big fans. I did not even have time to unpack everything out of the box, because Cia and I needed to go to tutoring. I changed my shirt, splashed some water on my face, took a drink, and picked up my backpack again, out the door once again. As much as I wanted to stay home, being busy helps.

This afternoon was tough. My hopes were immeasurably high; I had no doubt that the letter was going to be in my hands. Then it wasn't. I think sometimes God lets us feel pain so that He can show us something even bigger. Something so beautiful that the pain is tolerable. I do not know if I'll ever see that family again. They probably just live ordinary lives, and that lady was probably just doing what she felt like was right. But all the "norms" aside, they were my angels today. I saw God in them. Though my hope has been deferred, unexpected  kindness and compassion leave my heart feeling full.

A Pizza, A Package, and Praise +

No two days are ever the same; consequently, I cannot say that this is an average day. Here is my Today:
Today I woke up around 5:20am. I need to stop sleeping in to much. I left the house a little after 6:30am and arrived at Maranatha Adventist Bilingual School approximately nine minutes later. After staff worship, I head straight to my first class--Prepa A. To my surprise, the students are already sitting at their desks (some days they aren't even in the class room when class is supposed to be starting). My initial delight was premature. I don't know what happened, but within three minutes some boys were out of their chairs and talking took over the room like a disease. I heard myself desperately declare, "Class was supposed to start three minutes ago!". As the words were coming out of my mouth (most likely only understood and heard by myself anyway), I realized how silly I sounded. Three minutes ago? What is three minutes? First period class starting even five minutes late is normal and nothing to fuss about. Nevertheless, I wanted to start class--boulderdash! And I wanted them to settle down. So I put my strict face on and quieted the room down by repeating the memory verse a couple times (works wonders!). Lucia celebrated her 6th birthday, so I let her choose a friend to come help lead out in singing up front. Alejandra and she did a great job, and they led out in prayer (with help from me) too. As the girls went back to their seats, I told the class very sternly that I had brought a special surprise for them; however, they would only be allowed to play with it if they listened to my story. I retold them the story of the widow who owed money to a man. She asked Elisha for help, and he told her to borrow all the jars she could find. When she had gathered all the jars, Elisha told her to fill them with oil. The little bit of oil she had miraculously fills the many jars. She is able to sell the oil, thus saving her sons from being taken by the man. Picture this story with one person (Me!) trying to act out all the parts: standing on one side, then switching voices and standing on the other, pretending to cry, running to the cubbies and knocking on them like they're doors, pretending to carry jars, pouring oil, selling oil, etc--plus, throw a funny mix of Spanish words in there--now you have an idea. My students all listened quietly, and they were rewarded when I pulled out my surprise. Homemade playdough. I know understand why my mom always stuck with her recipe. I figured baby oil would be expensive, I didn't have time to call home, and I wanted something easy. I wouldn't recommend the recipe I used, but the kids sure liked it. They were supposed to make jars like the woman in the story used. A lot of creations were constructed, let's just not talk about how many of them were actually jars. lol. Afterward when I sent them to wash their salty doughy hands, they came back shouting, "No hay agua! No hay agua!" (There's no water!). Great. Hm..Hand sanitizer it is.

Going straight to my next class, I walk into the room to the usual shouts of "Meez Emel-lee!" Or "Meez Hem-elee!" and often overwhelming hugs. How can hugs be overwhelming? A dozen pushing kindergarten children, without much regard for each other, all trying to get to you at once, is overwhelming. When that class is over, I walk next door to pre-k. The day continues. I assist Miss Joline, fill out the homework sheet, make copies for tomorrow, eat lunch, try (in vain) to find Miss Norma to stamp my lesson plans, assist Miss Joline again, teach my second prepa class, have a short break, look for Miss Norma again, and teach my afternoon pre-k class. One of my boys in my afternoon prepa class made a pizza with his playdough. He has an extremely loud voice that often catches my attention in a negative way. But today? I just smiled and talked to Josie (the assistant) about how he would make such a cute little pizza baker someday. I wish I could share more details like that, but it's late :) lol.

Right after school, I stop by Jumbo to pick something up and then run to the post office. Although Steven's letter still hasn't come, my disappointment was very much soothed by the fact that I had my second package from UNION COLLEGE! Hooray! Best college ever. This time, I wasn't so patient. I was walking down the street, struggling with the sticky Scotch-sealed, bubble-cushioned envelope. Not even a block down from the Hondutel (where the post office is located), I was reading the first note. My own handwriting popped out to greet me. I got over my confusion when I remembered that we all wrote verses and notes of encouragement in our student missions class. I went from note to note, absolutely delighted. I even ate one of my little Quaker mini chocolate chip granola bars on my way home. Ah. Notes and little food items from home really make my day!

I couldn't bask in my happy joy of love from home for too long (although I did take my happiness with me), because I left to go to tutoring shortly after getting home. Thankfully the boys didn't have a lot to do today, and we were done in a half an hour. We tutor for the Hernandez family. They have three boys. Bayron in 7th grade, Ricardo in 4th, and Guillermo in prepa. I mostly work with Guillermo, and Cia works with Bayron. Whoever finishes first works with Ricardo. Mr. & Mrs. Hernandez are really the sweetest people you could ever hope to work for.

When I got home, I started this blog. Then I stuck my nose in the kitchen and ended up making tomato soup--from scratch, without following a recipe. PTL (Praise the Lord), it turned out well! We sat down to supper, then there was clean up, a little extra cooking to add to what we had leftover for lunch, and before I knew it, it was worship time. I think I mentioned this before, but I'll mention it again anyhow. We started having worship every night as a group, and last week we invited Ashley and Emily to start joining us. Our worships have been such a blessing; furthermore, I do not know how we all managed without them. We pray, sing a lot, have a short devotional thought and talk, and pray again. I have never felt this way about worship before on a regular basis. We have to limit ourselves on week days! The time just flies by. Tonight we spent an hour, and it felt so short. I praise God that I am surrounded by these girls.

Coconut Banana Cream Pancakes

Here is my slightly modified recipe:

Coconut Banana Cream Pancakes
(For four people, we always double this recipe)

• 1 1/2 cup flour (any kind really)
• 1 Tbsp + 1/4 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp cinnamon
• A pinch of nutmeg (or more, if you like)
• 1/8 tsp salt
• 1 1/2c coconut milk (The actual recipe calls for light coconut milk. I just use a 50/50 mix of canned coconut milk and soymilk, but you could use cow's milk instead of soy)
• 1 ripe banana (or more!)
• 1 tsp vanilla

Instructions: Mix all dry ingredients together in a large bowl. In a separate bowl, mash banana(s). If you don't like chunks of fruit in your pancakes, you can blend all the wet ingredients together. Otherwise, mash the bananas to desired the desired size, mix with milk and vanilla. If the bananas aren't overripe, I sometimes add 1 Tbsp of sugar, but it is not necessary. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ones. Mix until combined, avoid over stirring. Cook in a non-stick or lightly oiled pan. To keep them warm, I store them in a covered pot. This may lack glamor, but it is very effective! :)

We like to enjoy ours topped with a coconut lime glaze, sliced bananas, and coconut flakes. I can't give you a recipe for the glaze since I never follow one, but here are the ingredients I usually use:

• Fresh-squeezed lime juice (you could you bottled)
• whatever coconut milk I have left over from the pancakes
• some arrowroot for thickening (you could use cornstarch)
• powdered sugar to sweeten a little

It turns out different every time. I actually first made this recipe when we were out of cereal and milk and didn't have anything else to eat for a Sabbath morning breakfast :). So, it's okay to make variations. The first time I just used coconut milk and some water, because we didn't have any soymilk. If you want to see the actual recipe, check out this sweet vegan blog: http://blissfullyvegan.wordpress.com/2010/07/14/banana-cream-pancakes/

How do You Fall in Love?

Sabbath morning began with a promising start. I woke up after sleeping for eight wonderful hours and went straight into the kitchen to make breakfast. Soon our traditional Coconut Banana Cream Pancakes (p.s. I'll post the recipe in my next post!) were sizzling away, and I was washing up dishes. We enjoyed our bountiful breakfast, and then started getting ready for church.

We are expected to go to the youth church. It's a small church that was started sometime last year to help encourage the students from Maranatha to visit. This week and last week, the 7th grade classes have visited. Last week the sermon was on dating, and this week Sabbath school was about movies and video games while the sermon was on fashion. These are very teen-directed topics, and I'm glad that they are being addressed for the kids. However...sermon topics such as these aren't exactly your typical church experience. Since I don't like violent movies or TV, don't play video games, and dress modestly, I had a hard time trying to figure out what I could gain from the sermon. The fact that it was in Spanish (like always), made it even easier to zone out. To avoid zoning out into nothingness, I read my Bible. (Earlier this month, I decided I want to read it all the way through while I'm in Honduras. Right now I am nearing the end of Exodus.)

When we came home from church, we all went to our respective rooms. I decided that I was not having cereal for lunch and made myself some food. I took my food to my room and ate it in the company of facebook. I really started missing home. At home, we always have a big Sabbath lunch together, and it usually includes a lot of extra friends as well. I remember being annoyed sometimes when I wished our house was quiet after lunch so I could nap. Yesterday, I missed the noise that I didn't even used to like. Several hours passed this way. Thankfully, I got to talk to Mariana :)--one bright spot in my afternoon.Other than that, I just had way too much time on my hands to start missing everything. I miss Steven, I miss my friends, I miss my family, I miss live piano music in church, I miss hearing a pastor preach, I miss having bunches of friends over to my house, I miss having bunches of friends nearby. Just a couple days before I was thinking about how amazing it was that I wasn't homesick. 'Praise God!' I thought. 'How awesome is it that I, who's lived my life in one place surrounded by love, is not homesick.' I think Satan took that as his cue to attack.

Around 4pm it was time to go back for the afternoon service. We didn't leave the house until a quarter past or later, and the service didn't start until close to 5pm. This week it was held in the central church (the one connected to the school). It was supposed to be a pastor appreciation service, but the pastor couldn't make it. Thus, we sang to recorded music and played a couple Bible games that none of us followed all that well. Cia was able to participate once in the second game, so that was good. When the program was finished, we hurried home in the cool night breeze. Comayagua "night life" seemed the most alive at--you'll never guess--Jumbo, our friendly neighborhood grocery store that was blaring music 10x louder than anywhere else. lol

We decided to have our own worship. Usually, the time flies and I love our worships together. Last night, on the other hand, I was so tired and so melancholy that I just wanted to sleep. A lot of things had built up and pushed me down to the point where I couldn't even force, fake, or facade a smile. I just sat. I followed along through the singing, and then it was time to read from our quarterly. I was nominated to read since I'm the only one that actually has a quarterly. I did not feel like reading, but I began anyway. The lesson spoke right to me. This week is about Abigail. I don't know if I've ever even heard of her before reading this lesson. Abigail was a good woman in the Bible with really evil husband. The lesson ended with this: God always hears our cries, and He knows what we feel inside. He allows us to go through trials to bring about His will. When people hurt us, we need to continue doing good and let God deal with them. (To read it for yourself, check out http://www.cqbiblestudy.org/site/1/lessons/2010-4/English/STUDENT/CQ-10-Q4-L05.pdf)

Last night I was feel really miserable, and there didn't seem to be anything to look forward to in the near future. After worship, I wasn't suddenly chipper, I didn't leave with a smile on my face. But God was softly speaking comfort to my heart and quietly reminding me that He knows my innermost feelings. I tried sleeping and couldn't. I turned on my light and read The Little Prince, one of my all time favorite books. Somehow it always makes me feel better. Then I broke down and read the last ten notes that I had left from my going away party. The last one I read was from Maria, and it was absolutely what I needed to hear (I love you, Maria! And I really miss your hugs.).

This morning, I woke up feeling fine. However, the core of my discouragement from the day before still remains. How do you fall in love? I've been told time and time again that I have to fall in love with Honduras. Falling in love is what will make my time here worthwhile. Falling in love is what will make the year one to remember. Falling in love will make me a better teacher and effective missionary. I like Honduras. I am comfortable in my house, my students are dear to me, I enjoy the colonial streets of Comayagua, and I am excited to explore more of Honduras. But it feels so temporary (and it is).

Am I scared to fall in love with a place that my time is so limited in? Or is my heart too much someplace else to really love Honduras? What is it that is holding me back from really embracing this culture? I get hooked on the negatives sometimes--the litter, the bugs, the expensive American products, the unwelcomed attention...Sometimes when I'm alone, walking in a peaceful golden evening I feel the "spark". I feel like the time I have left here will go by too quickly. How do I feel like that about daily life though?  I feel like I need something to look forward to every single day. When I can't think of anything to look forward to, I get in survival mode. The mode that you go into just to "get by" just to "keep going". It's not an enjoyable way to live life.

I'm not just writing to think. I would love suggestions. How can I fall in love with Honduras?

Independent Women.

Victorious.

 Usually we have our "little" brother Christian get water for us. However, after I helped him carry a jug the week before, this week I decided we could handle it on our own. It was already kind of late, and we didn't want to bother him, so Kadian and I set out with our two empty Agua Azul bottles. The nearest pulperia was out of water. Seriously? All their bottles were empty; thus, we headed on up the road to the next one. Thankfully, they had plenty of water, and we were able to get two new bottles. The guys standing around the shop looked somewhat amused as we picked up the bottles and started walking. Not long after, we were shifting the bottles around, trying to figure out the best and least painful way to carry them. Thanks be to God, we made it home without any serious damage to our shoulders lol. We proved that we are capable...but sometimes the smartest thing to do is ask for help.
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Cooking has become an outlet for me. Whenever I start to miss someone, feel a little discouraged, or have too much time on my hands--I head for the kitchen. Whatever negative feelings I have disappear as cooking consumes my concentration and satisfaction eventually presides. However, on Friday I had a hard time motivating myself. Usually cooking is something I look forward to, and I love dreaming about new recipes to try. But Friday I set myself up for disappointment. All day went wonderfully, and all day I was looking forward to the end of the day when I would go to the post office and surely Steven's letter would be there. Since I started tutoring right after school last week, my only day to go to the post office is Fridays. Since I hadn't been able to go Wednesday or Thursday, I just knew it had to be there by Friday. I breezed in Friday afternoon and bought stamps to send a couple things. My hands shook a little as I pasted the stamps on (they tend to get a little shaky when I'm nervous). Then I went over to the other window and asked the ever fateful question, "Tiene una carta para mi?" (You have a letter for me?). "No, still nothing all day," the sweet round-faced lady at the post office replied (in Spanish) with a sympathetic shake of her head. I was so, so let down. It was a quiet walk back to the house, I think Kadian knew I wouldn't feel much like talking. When I got home I knew I should start our breakfast supper that we were all looking forward to, but I couldn't find the motivation. I curled up on my bed and just felt sad for a while. Finally I pulled myself up and beat off the pitiful "poor me" feelings. I took my frustration out while grating the potatoes for the hash browns, and by the end of cooking my sadness was a faint memory. I love that I am getting more experience cooking here! By the end of the year, I will have learned so much. The final result was delightful:

Homemade hash browns, coconut banana cream pancakes, coconut lime glaze, bananas, scrambled eggs, and all the toppings! Yum.

How Could You Not Love Them?

One of the three Alejandro's in my pre-k afternoon class. Alejandro Josue :)

The second Alejandro. This is the little boy that cried for the first two days straight. He is SO stinking cute, with the softest little face that makes a person realize why old people pink little kids' cheeks. He's so naughty sometimes, but he's so clever and adorable and absolutely lovable.

Natalie. A little shy, and pretty much a star student. She is a darling.

This is the little Emely that I have a special bond with. Can you believe her middle name is Nicol too? Kind of crazy. One of her last names starts with an "M" too! :)

Dina :)

I've never seen Alejandro cooperate so quickly. This kid loves the camera. He would automatically pose whenever he saw the camera lol.

The third and final Alejandro (M.) in my class. He is such a good little worker!

Mia is so precious!

Awww....

Gerardo. Such a cutie.

Lili, such a sweetheart.

Henry. I can finally tell him and his twin brother apart! They are both so loving, even when they are trying to break my arm off with their super powerful high fives lol.

Alexandra. She just started a few days ago.

Cute little Juan (this one is for you, Anna!)   :)

Valeria Michelle :), such a good student.

Henry and Saul, very serious about their picture.

One of the many faces of Alejandro. This kid loves the camera...

I promise he wasn't mad. Great acting though! He would make faces for the camera. When he saw this one, he screamed and starting running around. lol

Gerardo, Juan, and Mia

Maria Elizabeth. She has a little sister in her class too, and they have the cutest hair things. (Surprised to see a little blond girl? I was too! Their dad is American)

Miss Jessica with some of her afternoon pre-k bunch.

Maria Fernanda. This week she kept trying to invite me over to her house :). So cute.

Maranatha

Mario before he realized that I was taking a picture and made me put my camera away. Kadian tutors him, so we've gotten to know him a little. This was right before I found out what a hit the cookies I made for Cia's class were. Apparently the kids want us to sell them! haha.

Fatima & Naomi. Fatima's mom owns the pulperia at the corner of the street our house is off of. I absolutely love Naomi's curls.

Dinora :)

Melvin. He just started 1st grade this week. The whole first day, I couldn't figure out his name. They pronounce it "Mel-bean" lol.

Miss Joline telling a story for chapel.

Kelly, Nahun, and Dinora. Just a few of the first graders :)

 

 

 

Precious. Adorable. Loving. Affectionate. And of course a whole lot of energy and occasional trouble. On Thursday when we were getting ready to sing this song that requires you to bend down really small, Juan decided to tackle me with a hug. Chain reactions can be dangerous. Before I could blink, I had at least ten little pre-k kids all over me. I plopped completely down on the floor, I couldn't see even really see. The kids were all over me, even covering my face, hugging my neck and everywhere else they could reach. I was at a total loss. I hopelessly tried to ask them to sit down. No relief. Miss Rosita had to come over and literally pull a couple off and she scolded them in Spanish. They are so crazy sometimes! Rosita and I just look and each other and put of hands up to say, "Who knows?". This is just one of the many, many examples. I love them so much. Hearing "Meez Emelee!" makes my day. The prepa students each lunch outside under the new lunch table areas. When I make my way from first grade up to the teacher's room, I feel like a celebrity. They all scream my name, wave, and even try to run and hug me if I walk too close to them.
You know, from a outsider's perspective, it might seem like these kids have it all. We have a few kids from the Hogar and another orphanage, but most of them come from pretty well-off families. Talking with Miss Myla last night gave me a lot to think about though. While these kids may have material possessions, many of them have bigger problems at home than I can imagine. Broken homes, alcoholic family members, the horrible media influences, a desperate desire for attention and love--God isn't using me to help heal broken bones, but broken hearts. Sometimes I feel helpless when they don't understand what I'm saying, but a smile, excitement, a hug, and genuine care can always beat the language barrier.

Cookie Confidence & Chicken Choices

Thursday I made cookies. No gasp of delighted surprise? Let me try again. On Thursday, I made my roommates their first-ever-homemade cookies! Can you believe it? I don't even know how many people had their first ever home baked cookie because I me. I brought some to school, gave some to our neighbors...I feel so privileged. However, to be quite honest, my cookie confidence was terribly shaken at the beginning. I had never baked cookies with a gas oven before. Our oven doesn't have temperatures written on the gauge. So I had to guess a lot. Despite the first tray turning out kind of crunchy and the last tray getting stuck because I didn't take them off right away, the cookies were a hit.

Did I mention that I made both oatmeal chocolate chip and vegan oatmeal raisin cookies? In a dinky little one rack gas oven? It took all afternoon. In the middle of the baking, I had to run to the store to buy two whole chickens. Yes, the life-long vegetarian went chicken shopping by herself. Great idea. First I went to the meat counter. They told me to go to the frozen food section. I looked in sheer confusion at the different kinds of chicken. Then I decided to look for matches instead. After wandering around for a while, I finally stumbled upon the matches. Back to the dreaded chicken choice. After some contemplation, I headed to the checkout stand to ask for help. In very broken Spanish I tried to explain "Soy vegetariano. Mis amigas quieren dos pollos eteros. Yo conozco nada." Which was supposed to mean, "I'm a vegetarian. My friends want two entire chickens. I don't know anything [about chicken]." The lady at the register looked at me, slightly bemused. The lady at the mini beauty/health counter came over to help me, her heavily lined and shadowed eyes smiling kindly as she directed me back to the frozen foods section. After some debate, I ended up with two large chickens. When I got home Cia was a little upset, because whole chickens are a pain to deal with. But Nelly said it was fine, and after all, that's what we had been asked to buy. We had been asked to bring chicken and plantains to a Panama night thing that Pastor Roy and Miss Norma invited us to. 

Intentional.

Sweeping the bane of my evening up a good fifteen minutes later.

The cause of my worst breakdown thus far. That little spider in the corner is a non-issue.

Today I realized that much of my writing is inspired by scary bug encounters. Well, I have another story for you. Last night just before 9pm, and just before my bedtime, I decided to quickly sweep my floor. Whenever I start seeing weird pod worm creatures, I know my room is due for a good sweeping. I swept 2/3rds of my room without any surprises, until...I lifted my laundry basket and--BAM! There was a giant black centipede just sitting (standing? haha) there. I could not handle it. I jumped onto my bed screaming. Thankfully, Kadian came to see what all the noise was about. She calming took the broom from my shaking hand, while I was laughing, nearly hysteric, almost in tears. I have to deal with creepy bugs often here in Honduras, but this, THIS was too much, too late in the day. Kadian assured me it was dead, and being the good friend that she is, touched the invader with the room to make sure. *pause for dramatic effect* Cue terrified screaming by both Emily and Kadian. The centipede slithered away towards the corner of my room! Now I was in a worse state, declaring that there was no way I could sleep in my room with that creature still alive. We looked around for it a little, but Kadian decided that it had probably gone in a hole in the siding along my floor. Determined to deter its chances of coming back, I grabbed the ever powerful cockroach killer spray and...(cue more screaming) the centipede was right there squirming around along the side of my wall. I used a lot of spray. Let's just not talk about how toxic it is. I opened my windows and left the room with the centipede still writhing and waited for the fumes to lessen. I still shudder when I think about it. 

Now, as fun and easy as these bug stories are to write, here's a little bit on my life and thoughts. If I'm not intentional, I might forget to mention what really matters.

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Oh to be a student in my classroom...

Sometimes I get pretty frustrated when my students' attention wanders. In prepa, I feel like they should understand me. However, then I have those moments where I realize they only understand a little English. In kindergarten, the kids are stuck in this awkward stage where they still don't understand very much, but school is supposed to be more than fun and games. In pre-k, oye vey! Sometimes I just want to give up and let everyone run around the room gleefully while I sit down in defeat. They are so stinking cute, but they are so difficult to get to sit still for more than five minutes. Sometimes, one will just get up and start running around the room laughing and then a bunch more will try to follow lead. Sometimes, one will just start yelling "AHHH!" for absolutely no feasible reason, and half the class will join in. Sometimes, one will start banging their fists on the table, and the rest follow cue like it's what they're supposed to be doing. Today I tried telling them to stand up, and instead they all moved their chairs in two slopping cramped rows in the front of the room. It was too late to stop them. One time I tried to be opportunistic and let them stand up all together for singing time. Within minutes the room was utter chaos, and I had to have them all sit in a circle on the floor. I thought I was being fun. I asked them where they wanted to sit, and they wanted to go back to their chairs. Go figure *sigh*. Today I was watching two of my little pre-k girls, who are both very good sweet students, chatting up a storm, completely oblivious to the fact that I was calling their names and trying to teach. Then a thought struck me upside the head. That's exactly what I would want to be doing if I was them. Who can really blame them? Coming to school where your teachers talked at you in sounds you didn't understand seems kind of nightmarish to me. Learning Spanish (which I haven't done enough of yet) is difficult enough even with the good base I got in a nice happy Spanish classroom environment. Here, they are thrown into English classes. There are no ESL textbooks. Shoot, I'd probably be running around the room laughing giving my teacher grief too. Singing "Jesus' Love is Bubbling Over" only deepened my curiosity on what's going on in their adorable little heads. The song goes, "Jesus' love is bubbling over, Jesus' love is bubbling over, Jesus' love is bubbling over, al-le-lu-ia". Each word is replaced by a sound (Oo, ah, shh, woo!) one at a time until you have finally sung the song five times. Then you repeat the actual words again. Today I was wondering, 'Is there even a difference between the sounds and the words in their minds?' Do they know one is English and one is just noise? At times, thoughts like these tempt me to feel helpless. I feel sad that the one class that we can use to really witness to these precious children is in a language that they don't really understand. Can the concept that God loves them SO much penetrate the language barrier? I know all I can do is keep trying and loving them. Still, deep down I wonder how much I can really help in just one year.

Nebraska...The Good Life.

I have spent my entire life in Lincoln, Nebraska until this year. And I did have a good life. I feel so incredibly blessed to have such loving and supportive family and friends (speaking of which--Grandma & Grandpa, I got your birthday card today and it almost made me cry! I love it. Also, Addi, thank goodness I had your beautiful letter to follow up with. It made me beam! Pretty much, y'all made my day). I guess I kind of thought that when I came to be a student missionary for a year I would have to give up a lot. True, I miss people. But my life here is good! We have a three bedroom, two bathroom house. I have a big bed. We have electricity, hot water, a kitchen, internet, a house phone--we even have a washer that works with a little tampering. We have plenty of food and water. The people here are so warm and welcoming, we are never at a loss for things to be involved in. Basically, I feel like I have it really good here too. Am I really a missionary? The term missionary always brought a more dramatic picture to mind. I knew I wouldn't be out in the African jungle or anything, but still.

Happy Food Days

One thing that makes me super happy about this year is cooking! I am greatly improving my culinary skills :) which is useful, necessary, and fun. Last night I introduced the girls to their first Sloppy Joes and homemade french fries thanks to Steven's mom, Marlene (Thank you so much!). She sent us some TVP, tomato paste, and even the sloppy joe seasoning packets! I love trying new foods, but it is so good to have food that tastes just like home.

Yum.

After this, I was feeling ambitious; thus, we are now enjoying a double batch of banana bread. Ah...I love the whole idea of food. I know we're not supposed to live to eat, but just hear me out. We have to have food to live. Food brings people together. Food makes people happy. Food makes people healthy (well, our food does anyway). Food is the way to a man's heart. Food can remind you of home and good memories no matter how far away you are. Food--how can you resist loving it?

We eat so well at our house! Everyone cooks, and does a good job of it too. We haven't had a bad meal yet. I doubt we ever will. I thought I would be ever so sad without my mom's cooking. While I do have an even higher appreciate for how much work goes into her cooking and how good it tastes, I'm realizing that I can learn to cook like her too. Although I doubt I'll ever reach her level of skill, I am getting much needed practice :). 

"It's not a fashion show!"

Thanks, Pastor Rich. I know it's not a fashion show, but man! I am utterly bored and depressed with the nice plain missionary clothes I brought. Just because you are in a different country, doesn't mean you suddenly stop caring about looking cute altogether. Sure, my opinion of what a good hair day is has altered drastically. Yes, wearing make up is now a rare occurrence rather than an every day routine. At least give me the happiness of having something pretty to put on for the weekends! I need to do some shopping. With my imaginary time and energy I have laying around. haha :). I really think this is good for me though. This experience is forcing me to try and appreciate my natural beauty instead my slightly altered one. 

Random notes more or less about the topic: In Jamaica it's not good to be too skinny. Girls want to have a little extra weight to look curvier. It's so weird to hear girls say, "I want to gain ten pounds!". 

Here, guys wear fashion scarves. Like the kind all the girls in America are into. It's humorous to me. I'm like, 'Ooh, cute scarf! Oh my goodness, that's a guy...'

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Okay, I'm all out of time for one night. Enough intentional writing for now :)

Our Time in Teguc