I am having a semi-normal day. Water trucks started heading by around 4:30, I hear mototaxis, some actual sales trucks for milk, juice, water (since stores are all closed except some pulperias and healthcare facilities) and patients are coming to the clinic.
Sometimes a normal day of paperwork in the office though can still break me inside though.
Someone had the good idea to use some of our Hill Climber coffee to gift it to all the employees that are still able to get here, thinking that it is something we can do to help them with the lack of being able to shop, not much, but something. Those in the clinic were so excited they made a party out of surprising each new person to come in the room with applause and a party like atmosphere.
Talking to Maria about a Milk Project child and their housing change, she let me know that the child's parents have separated, and so the siblings that came to us from that house are now in different neighborhoods, and that her sister that now lives far away often comes with lice, and that have several girls that help remove them on a regular basis.
And our clinic was consulted this morning about a patient that wants to use our ambulance to remove a loved one from the hospital to take them home so they can die there versus the hospital.
The life situations reflected there made me angry. I reacted, I asked God why does it have to be this way? I have the theological answer, but that doesn't always cut it for my heart. But, it does mean that instead of totally collapsing, I can keep going, but sometimes it still doesn't take away the heart sting.
Although, when I stop to write this down, I can also see those situations in a different light...gifting 20 pounds of coffee will impact probably 75 people or more, and brought way more joy than could have been predicted...being there for these girls and their family means ongoing opportunities to show, model, and express God's love for us, them, and other children in the project...and we are blessed to have an ambulance to help when people are in need, not to mention a clinic and staff that are here helping people in the face of a even more real lack of options recently.
Paraphrasing something I heard recently...sometimes you just have to do what you can, whether you think it is enough or not and let that talk you out of it...and sometimes you have to do just for one or a few, what you wish you could do for all.
Maybe in another few decades I will get that down. In the meantime, God keeps giving me, us, and the mission different opportunities to take those steps of faith and trust Him to bring it all around.
We have had a busy couple of months.
Three groups so far this year, two of which were medical focused. What huge blessings each one was...from what they accomplished, their abilities, ages (from 13 to 85), three birthdays, and so many days of helping people and showing Christ's love...sometimes we move so fast, it is hard to get the time to stop and smell the roses of the relationships we are so blessed to make. I am going to pause right now and just shake my head trying to take that in myself. If you have been here in a group...thank you. Like really...thank you.
Warning...emotionally motivated blog ahead.
I just finished sending out an email to the Milk Project sponsors. Maria and the staff compiled prayer requests from all 75 children in Tegucigalpa and 25 in Sampedrana.
I proof read all 100 prayer requests, and once again I was humbled by the nature, thoughtfulness, and character of the requests. Requests for parent's health, for them to be able to find work so that they could buy food for them to eat. To do better in school, to not be angry and fight, to meet their birth parents, to get over pain...and thankfulness for the Milk Project and the people that work there, for the sponsors...the list goes on.
I have learned quite a bit about prayer living here, and learned a lot about prayer from visiting homes and talking with people, and that includes a fair number of children.
I read 100 prayer requests from mostly happy, well behaved, polite, good kids. At least, that is how I see them when I get to interact with them.
What I sometimes forget though is that everyone has problems and everyone has a story, of which I am not getting all the chapters. And if I think about it...I don't even read or understand all of my own story.
For example, through some conversations of late, I have realized some things about myself. I reckon that there are maybe two handfuls of people in the world that I think actually like me. (even writing that feels smug...I say to myself "Really? You really think that many people like you?" Now, this is not some fact I know, or rational thought that only ten or so people might enjoy my company, but that is what I believe to be true...that at best people tolerate my presence.
Reading through those prayer requests was hard. Lots of just sad life situations/stories. But there was also hope, and rejoicing in them. There was trust that prayers make a difference. And if I think about it, the trust that this is not the end of the story.
Thinking of that, and then through a devotion shared recently in our leadership group from someone battling depression and the heavy reality of that...immediately mixed with the joy of reading 2 Corinthians 4...is powerful, twisting stuff.
To understand yourself, to understand myself, that down deep what profound self-hate and sadness might be there, and then to remember, like a child trusting in their Good Father (a child or adult who might not even know their earthly father or have memories of combining those words good and father) and can share in Paul's words (2 Corinthians 4, The Message) saying...
5-6 Remember, our Message is not about ourselves; we’re proclaiming Jesus Christ, the Master. All we are is messengers, errand runners from Jesus for you. It started when God said, “Light up the darkness!” and our lives filled up with light as we saw and understood God in the face of Christ, all bright and beautiful.
7-12 If you only look at us, you might well miss the brightness. We carry this precious Message around in the unadorned clay pots of our ordinary lives. That’s to prevent anyone from confusing God’s incomparable power with us. As it is, there’s not much chance of that. You know for yourselves that we’re not much to look at. We’ve been surrounded and battered by troubles, but we’re not demoralized; we’re not sure what to do, but we know that God knows what to do; we’ve been spiritually terrorized, but God hasn’t left our side; we’ve been thrown down, but we haven’t broken. What they did to Jesus, they do to us—trial and torture, mockery and murder; what Jesus did among them, he does in us—he lives! Our lives are at constant risk for Jesus’ sake, which makes Jesus’ life all the more evident in us. While we’re going through the worst, you’re getting in on the best!
13-15 We’re not keeping this quiet, not on your life. Just like the psalmist who wrote, “I believed it, so I said it,” we say what we believe. And what we believe is that the One who raised up the Master Jesus will just as certainly raise us up with you, alive. Every detail works to your advantage and to God’s glory: more and more grace, more and more people, more and more praise!
16-18 So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There’s far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can’t see now will last forever.
I, for one, am falling apart, on the outside and the inside. But in that mess I have made, I cannot deny God is making new life. Really? Yes really. Can't I stop looking at what I can see and instead focus on what God sees and trust Him like a child?
Moment of clarity (which I have received and been knocked upside the head multiple times before with, and still need such hits): The focus of my story isn't me anymore...it is Christ in me.
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