“Mommy”

“Mommy, I want a baleada,” (the Honduran version of a “burrito.”)“Mommy, I want to jump on the trampoline.”“Mommy, I want juice. Mommy, I want candy.”I looked down into the faces of 6 little girls surrounding me at their school Open House. Instead of feeling annoyed at the whining sounds directed at me, I felt pure joy!

Our family was just finishing up a month of volunteer work supervising children’s activities at the PAHS campus. We had become acquainted with the children when we came as part of a volunteer building team months before. Why was their whining sweet to me? Because you cannot whine with that intensity at someone you don’t love, someone you are not 100% sure loves you back unconditionally. Their whines meant one thing to me -- they truly meant “Mommy” when they called me that! People ask me, “What do you do in Honduras?”They want to hear about some amazing building project, a medical/dental clinic that helps hundreds of people a day, or at the very least an energetic vacation bible school in the evenings. These important activities God has called others to do.

What He called our family to do is very simple and may seem unimpressive….to model and provide the love of family and a home for these beautiful children who are separated from their own parents and homes for a variety of reasons.No, it is not impressive. It is not the type of calling that fills one with pride in the re-telling of mission stories when returning home, but it is a calling of deep joy and immense satisfaction: I am called here to be “Mommy.”Our days are filled with homework, applying band-aids accompanied by hugs and kisses, attending school functions, fixing healthy snacks, playing -- and just plain being there. We have had many children sitting around our table at night, learning (hopefully) manners and how a family functions in a home. We have been able to enjoy the normalcy of life…baking a cake to take to a class party, watching “our kids” play soccer, seeing “our kids” in the school program, talking to the teachers to know what is happening at school and how the grades are going.

No, it is nothing extraordinary, but it is the very “ordinary-ness” of it that makes it so special. Sometimes God’s greatest gifts come in very simple packages….and that is what He has given us here in our Honduras home.“As far as lies in your power, make a home for the homeless,” Ellen White reminds us. “Let everyone stand ready to act a part in helping forward this work. The Lord said to Peter, ’Feed my lambs.’ This command is to us, and by opening our homes for the orphans we aid in its fulfillment. Let not Jesus be disappointed in you.”I am honored that God has called us to serve by just being a family.

I am honored to be called “Mommy”. 

Thankful for the Father Who never Abandons Us

As Rosita swings on the swing set, the soft breeze tousles her curls while warm rays of sunshine bathe her surroundings and whisper to her of a Father she is just getting to know. There in the back and forth of her swinging this small child is removed from the extenuating circumstances that are the reality of her short life. She is the youngest of seven siblings who recently came to live in the PAHS Home.

These children’s lives recently were a nightmare. Four hours travel time away in the capital, Tegucigalpa, their mother is dying of a lung disease and only a miracle can save her. Two months ago, as the children lay sleeping, their father disappeared during the night. “When we woke up in the morning he just wasn’t there anymore. He left without telling us goodbye”, Rosita remembers. At the age of six, she already is feeling deeply the repercussions of abandonment.“Before coming here we lived in the city with an aunt. She took us to live with her when our older sister went to be with our mother in the hospital. She locked us up and then brought us back to our house. We were alone and scared. There were many men close to our house and my siblings and I would hide.

When someone would knock on our door we would be very still and quiet so that they would not know we were inside”, Mercy tells us.  At the age of fourteen, she became the primary caretaker to the younger siblings in the absence of their oldest sister, 17, who has gone to be at the bedside in the hospital to care for their dying mother. Now the fear that these children lived in has been left to one side, and in its place, they now get to enjoy the company of other youngsters who they can talk to and play with. They get to eat three meals a day and live in a room that was specially decorated just for them by Gary and Jennifer, a couple whom God used to remove them from the nightmare they were living in. Part of a visiting group who stayed on the PAHS campus while they worked construction at a nearby site, Gary and Jennifer came across the abandoned siblings when they were out distributing food baskets to the community.

Observing the conditions that Mercy and her younger siblings lived in they decided to intervene and find a safer situation for the children. Safety, now they have it. There is no more fear. And even though they are not fully aware of the seriousness of their mother’s struggle to live their little hearts are with her and their hope is placed in the Father-- their Heavenly Father--  they have just come to know.“I didn’t know any songs before, but we just learned ‘Let us give thanks to God’. We feel that there must be Somebody who loves us so much to provide us with all of this. And you say that Jesus loves us. Well I am thankful to know this Father that will not abandon us”, concludes Mercy.

Meanwhile, Rosita jumps off of the swing set and runs to the arms of her older sister. The smile on her face is evidence that just like this sibling bond of love held them together in the dense darkness of the trial they have come through, now they have the security of that Heavenly Father, they are just getting to know, who will always be with them just like He always has been before they knew it. Thanks to a visiting volunteer group and the watchfulness and concern of one special couple, the siblings are now adapting to their new home at PAHS.

God sent us to get you

Alicia and Nellie

I entered the Casita Feliz on a special mission. A joyous place, filled with happy voices, smiling little faces and tiny hands reaching out to be squeezed, the “happy little house” is the new dwelling of Alicia, 7 years old,a waif brought to the Nutritional Rehabilitation Center four days before by a Medical Team from Central Texas Medical Center in San Marcos, Texas. I wanted to see how she was feeling today and assess the recovery progress she was making.

Having been a photographer for the Team on the last day of Field Clinic, I had developed a special bond with Alicia which started when I was asking her to stand closer to her mother for a picture while they waited to be seen by the doctor. My hand brushed her very taut belly and my eyes immediately fell to her feet to confirm what I suspected – Alicia was in a state of severe malnutrition - her feet barely visible because her long dress was swollen, peeling, and raw, the secondary effects of not having enough protein and vitamins in her food. My heart ached as I looked through the camera at her sad brown eyes. Her demeanor spoke of a life of pain, indeed the struggle to survive. My gut instincts told me this was the child we had come to the mountain village of Santa Rosa de Bacadilla to retrieve. She was the reason we were right here, right now. Reflexively I felt a deep gratitude and sent up a prayer to God for having sent us, for the privilege of being part of this Medical Team … today.

My heart quickened as I saw the family enter the humble little structure that usually serves as a one-room school but today was a one-room Clinic filled with Doctors, Nurses, Support staff, and Patients. I quickly followed knowing I would have an important role to play in the treatment of this particular family. My fluency with the language, my profession as a Registered Nurse and a lifetime living in these mountains and watching malnourished children recover give me a unique perspective and skill set that would come in handy. As they sat before Dr. Ivery - a pediatrician - and her translator, Paul, I hunched down next to the mother.

Then, for what seemed like an eternity but was probably a little less than an hour, we coxed and cajoled the mother to allow her malnourished seven-year-old daughter and three-year-old son to be admitted to the Nutrition Program at Pan American Health Service in Peña Blanca.  The father – who it turned out is Alicia’s stepfather – was convinced much sooner than her mother that this was a good idea. Her mother kept repeating, “I don’t want her to be brought back to me dead” and “I don’t want a dead child”, while all the time resisting her consent for her children to be treated and restored back to health. At some point, I glanced over at Dr. Ivery, a mother herself, who had tears streaming down her cheeks. With a lump in my throat, I said to the mother, “See, the doctor knows how seriously sick your little girl is and it makes her sad.  And she is a mother too and knows how hard it is to think of being apart from your children”. At this, I saw a ceding in the mother’s manner. Tears started to well in her eyes as she said: “Ok, but tell the doctor to stop crying”.  I breathed a sigh of relief as I knew Alicia was on her road to recovery.

Having the consent of Alicia’s mother for her and her little brother to be admitted to the Nutrition Rehab I stepped out of my role as translator/nurse and resumed my photography job.   The next time I looked back at Dr. Ivery and Paul’s medical station my heart was warmed to see Nellie, a nurse, and Karen, a respiratory therapist and the leader of this Medical Team gently washing Alicia’s swollen and peeling feet. After softly bandaging her feet up with Karen, Nellie scooped Alicia into her arms and tenderly carried her out of the one-room, make-shift Clinic, up the trail to the vehicle that would transport her to a new life.  I was transfixed as I snapped photo after photo, my mind reeling at the miracle I was witnessing, my heart full of a knowing that Alicia’s life will never be the same again.  I was struck by the symbolism as Nellie carried Alicia up the path … up and out of her life of pain.

Four days later, I am in the Casita Feliz on a mission. I am here to see how Alicia is feeling today. My heart leaps as she responds in a one-syllable chirp that sounds like a little bird: “Bien” (Good) to my question of “Como te sentis hoy?” (How do you feel today?).  I feel deep gratitude and great love for this child bubbling up in my chest and impulsively, without thought, I blurt out, “You know, God sent us to get you. Did you know that?” Instantly her face lit up, her eyes sparkled and joy radiated from one of the most beautiful smiles I have ever seen. That moment was a clear confirmation for what I knew in my gut when I first took her picture: God sent us to Santa Rosa de Bacadilla to get Alicia.

He puts poor people on their feet again; he rekindles burned-out lives with fresh hope, Restoring dignity and respect to their lives - a place in the sun! ~ 1 Samuel 2:8