Humbled by Their Grace

If you've read my blog for any length of time you know that I get asked by friends to work for them (for "free") on a regular basis. Most of the time, I oblige, because I enjoy what I do, and the truth is I ALWAYS get something out of it.

Last week I was invited to dine with my neighbors two doors down. We attend the same church (well, they attend, I sort of "pre" tend lately), and our church recently sponsored a mission to the House of Hope, an orphanage for children of the Miskito Indians in Honduras.

There was no pretense in our dinner plans. My neighbor asked if I would write an article for the newspaper about their trip. She had been persuaded by our pastor, another friend of mine for whom I have done some advertising, to call me.

So despite the fact that my husband wrecked his car on the way home from work and was absolutely in no mood to socialize, I convinced him the wine would do him good, and we headed two doors down to dine with our neighbors. We took along my 89 year old best friend, Muriel, who I thought would enjoy the discussion.

The evening literally blew me away.

Ten people from our church went on this trip. The mission was to complete construction on a volunteer house where visitors like them could stay on future trips. The orphanage itself houses more than 30 children. Most have medical concerns born of malnutrition. Many have been to the states (to Dallas) for medical treatment, some are planning to come. The orphanage is run by a woman named Katrina who went to Honduras 20 years ago and never looked back. The work she does there is amazing.

Unlike orphanages in other countries, the children in this one are not adoptable. They are a protected class that cannot be adopted outside of their tribe, and yet most have been abandoned by their families due to their inability to care for them. It's an irony that is hard to understand, but it is simply the rule.

Our church got involved last year, after being introduced to the orphanage by Dr. John Loar, who happens to be our dentist. Dr. Loar was introduced by a dentist in Allen, Texas, who had been traveling to Honduras providing dental care for years. Last fall our pastor challenged our church to plan ahead to donate to the orphanage at Christmas. He suggested that we all match what we spend on our families with a check to the mission. On Christmas Eve, a collection was taken, and our congregation ponied up more than $38,000. Now we're not a mega church. This is a small church in a small town in Texas. Our normal Christmas eve offering is $600. The giving alone was a miracle.

Our neighbors -- a couple and their 18 year old son -- joined with 7 others, including three more teens, to make this trip. They drove to Houston, flew to Honduras, then flew from there in a small plane to an isolated area known unaffectionately as the Cocaine Coast. It's an area full of drug trade, poverty, and neglect.

For seven days this family and the other volunteers played and prayed with the children, mingled with the locals, and completed construction, not only on the volunteer house, but on a soccer field for the kids. Before and after dinner, Kristen and Rick shared with us a slide show of photos and told stories about their activities while there. They also shared stories about the beautiful children shown in each picture. It was an incredibly moving evening, with a story I look forward to sharing. To say that Mark and Muriel and I were moved goes without saying. In fact I came home wanting to go to Honduras. It's something I plan to do as early as next year.

My point in mentioning this here is mostly to light a fire under myself to write the story I agreed to write. It's also to remind everyone who reads this that there are people in the world living much more meager lives than ourselves. And yet they are people who have God in their lives, who smile beautifully, and who appreciate every tiny little thing that they have.

While my kids get $200 hockey sticks and $400 guitars, these children are thankful for a soccer ball that will hold some air. While my friends get bi-weekly pedicures and lunch at the club, women in Honduras walk five miles for a can of milk at the orphanage's milk bank to feed their weak and often dying infants.

Despite this, the children at the House of Hope are happy. The people in this country are happy. They have faith, love, and the support of those much more fortunate who make sure they have the clothing, school supplies, medical care and food they need -- not to propser, but to survive.

While we whine about gas prices to fill our big SUVs and the cost of a gallon of milk that we buy pasturized and cold at well-stocked store, others are happy for a simple blanket to call their own. I need to write this story, because it needs to be told. And once again, I'm not doing it for free. The lessons I learned and am internalizing just from hearing the story and seeing the photos at my neighbors' home was priceless. I look forward to sharing it with you.