Buenos Dias

Sent Sunday, Nov 25

I'm not a morning person.

Today I couldn't help it. 

I needed to get up. Let my spirit get to work. 

A cold shower actually sounded great. I quickly abort the idea when I can't figure out how to operate the shower. Where is my engineering husband when I need him?

I settle for tearing open the packaged moist towelette I happened to have in my backpack and swipe my armpits, put on another layer of Arm and Hammer Ultramax powder fresh deoderant, get dressed, and pull out my iPad. 

I have three thoughts this mañana: 

1.  Someone prayed last night in our group gathering, "God please help us overcome the barriers, language being a big one." If today, and every day hereafter, those who speak Spanish, can write 3-5 phrases for us to speak and perhaps 3-5 vocabulary words to use that will be relevant to our day, then our barrier will be gapped perhaps more than we can even imagine. 

2. I also wake up thinking about barriers within my team. Natural ones that come with diversity. I want to really try to understand each individual on my team: high school and college students, pastors, professionals, a surfer dude and a couple moms, kind of like me. I am so out of my element, its exhilarating. 

3. I must chronicle this trip. This experience. This piece of life. It's what I do. I can't help it. The thought crosses my mind, that my roommate, Becky, can help. She the veteran, and also a photographer. Me, the rookie, and also a writer. Our perspectives will be my story,  intertwined like everyone's hands last night, waffled together (as Mallory calls our intertwined fingers) in prayer. 

As I write, I glance out my open window. It looks out to the brick mortared chapel. 

The kids sang there last night.

 I hear laughter this morning and the sweeping of a broom on the sidewalk. A clear sculptured glass cross is lodged into the bricks of the chapel. In front. For everyone to see. Simply beautiful. I love this chapel. And I love that I woke beside it. "Cerca de" as they say in Spanish. Near it. Perhaps I was the one who needed "it" the most, as religion bothers me. A lot of bad stuff has happened and continues to happen in the name of it. I signed up for this trip because I wanted to see firsthand what "God" was doing in Honduras. Is He here? Or is Children of Love Foundation another mission project for Americans to feel good about.

This morning though, I feel God.

He is here. 

And I can't wait to get up. 

Tia Debby Henry