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 :)