The Unexpected Christmas

 

“And in despair I bowed my head

There is no peace on earth I said

For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

In many ways, the complete joy of the Christmas season doesn’t exist. For hatred and violence in our world continually mar the image of a season of Peace. This year alone, twenty families are having a Christmas without their young children; taken away too soon. Some didn’t even believe that this Christmas would even be reached; expecting a devastating worldwide apocalypse. Just this Christmas Eve, a gunman set his house ablaze and, from a sniper position, opened fire on firefighters, killing two and injuring two others; then turned the gun upon himself.

The Unexpected Christmas. Failed apocalypse or not, senseless violence remains rampant. Humanity in its shattered state, ever begetting pain with more pain. The world didn’t end on the 21^st, but our slow apocalypse continues.

And while not everyone succumbs to this kind of devastating violence, the potential for it exists in every one of us. Given the exact right conditions, every person has that same capacity for violence, for deceit, for fear, for anger, for despair, for greed. None are innocent.  I feel that this is our human condition; perhaps even our inherited sin; not what we do, but what we could do.

“Then ringing, singing on its way

The world revolved from night to day.”

But, yet, this day celebrates the One who can redeem all the pain, all the violence, all the suffering; not in part, but in whole. While our walk upon the earth will be wrought with struggle, it will not remain so, for night will revolve to day when we come to know Him. For the day the Lord came to ransom us, He made a promise, a new covenant, and brought flesh to our dry bones that we may know Him. From that day, born and laid into a cradle of wood, Jesus the carpenter began the journey that would result in his finest work; the cross.

For all the pain, the senseless agony of this life and the despair; we have a promise that it will not last forever. A glorious day will come, and our Lord’s might be shown. Until then though, we rest on His promise, His hope, His love, and His faith. And we rest on each other. For every one of us is another weary traveler on this path. We do not bear our burdens alone.

For, it is through each other, and through the small joys that can be found from day to day, that we are able to meet the despair of this world with hope, meet the pain with faith, meet the violence with peace, and meet the brokenness with faith.

“Then rang the bells more loud and deep

God is not dead, nor does He sleep.”

                                (Casting Crowns “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day”)




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Sonnet 1. Ashley C. Goff:

                Sonnet I, by Ashley C. Goff:

The Summer’s hot envy did flare, when saw

Our hearts as one in Love’s heavenly bliss.

No storm alter, our Love, nor Time claim flaw,

While drink the sweet melody of his kiss.

The chill, bitter Autumn us nearer brings,

But finds me safe in those protecting arms.

Through gold, leaf-tipped black boughs, a shadow sings

A haunting song of Season’s ending harm.

Winter, his toothless grin he bares, rapture,

Of farewells said in pain. His sadistic

Pleasure in tears we shed. The departure

Agony to our heart, become septic.

                But ice will melt, these bonds no more constrain,

                For Spring will find us together again.

 

This is my first attempt at a Sonnet, so it's undoubtedly still a little rough around the edges. But, I wrote this for Nathan Barber, who has been and continues to be one of the biggest blessings in my life. He is the most incredible, caring, and talented person I know. There is no hesitation when I say that "I love him with all my heart, and I will love him always." There is no place I'd rather be than in his arms, and it hurts to be so far away from him for most of the year. But there is no one else that I would rather wait for.
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Untitled

As an artist, I usually begin with an idea. A little spark of inspiration that sets me on a path; usually into some pretty late nights, fervently working paint onto canvas or charcoal onto paper. During the course of my work though, many things change, and RARELY does my work ever come out exactly as previously planned. In my experience, what I have discovered though is that, by my art, I am not so much trying to convey precisely what I have in my head; rather, it is a process of discovery. There is an element that I am even unaware of, and my job as the artist is to discover that, because there is something that I am attempting to find just as much as there is something I am trying to portray. It is a small, but pertinent journey of spiritual discovery.

Drawing from another subject entirely, but which, I promise, that I will relate in a moment; names are severely important. They are our IDENTITY. And the name of a piece of art or a book is no exception, for the title is what sparks our interests, sparks our judgments.

As an artist, I am severely critical of what I do. I could honestly spend a lifetime on one work, and NEVER get it to look precisely how it does in my mind. I could waste my life away in front of a canvas, miserable and never content. Now, tying in the spiritual discovery I experience in my art as well as the significance of names; it is in the naming of my artwork that generally symbolizes the completion of my small journey.  I never begin a work with a title in mind. But, over the course of the work, eventually, one will be revealed to me. Whether it be in reading, in conversation, sudden inspiration, ANYTHING, it doesn’t matter how it’s revealed, the important part is that it is. At that time, and at that time only, do I know the work is complete. It is finished. My work has fulfilled its identity, its purpose, its message.

We are God’s artworks. His creation.

Biblically, names are very, very important; from Genesis through Revelation. He brought the animals to Adam, to see what he would name them. God already had a true name for every living thing, but He brought them to Adam regardless because He wanted to see what Adam would name them. A gift perhaps, to share in the creation process; we continue to name things today. Every new discovery, humanity bestows a name upon it; Creation continues.

19 Now the Lord God had formed out of the ground all the wild animals and all the birds in the sky. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. 20 So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds in the sky and all the wild animals.

Later, in the New Testament, names are changed; Saul becomes Paul and so on; possibly to indicate the baptism that occurs within a person when they invite God into their life. For one cannot accept Jesus into their heart and then walk away as the same person.

 Then, in Revelation, we are promised a white stone, and on it written a new name known ONLY to God and our self; a name is an identity on both a very public and a VERY private level. I believe that when He grants us that new name, that new identity in Him, I feel that signifies our completion. We, His creation, have attained our identity, our purpose, our message.

17 Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To the one who is victorious, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give that person a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to the one who receives it.

Until then though, we remain unfinished. And each experience we go through, even our daily experiences, only continue that process of our individual creation. One day, we will be completed; but not yet. Each person is still a work of art in progress. But God is working on us daily; and until we stand before Him, now completed by His no longer obscured presence, we must say:

Until that day I am yet unfinished.

I am Untitled.






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The Grief That Does Not Speak

The Grief That Does Not Speak

A contemporary revision of Shakespeare's "Sonnet 18"

by Ashley C. Goff

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Run

Run

By Ashley C. Goff

A non-fiction short story

                Twenty people sat on their knees, hands bound to their feet behind them. Soldiers reigned over them, keeping the prisoners in their rifle sights while simultaneously discussing among themselves in their quick and sharp native tongue.  I was among the bound.

We sat in a line. Not a very neat line, but a line nonetheless. We had been there for some time and I could no longer feel my feet or hands. Keeping my head carefully bowed so as to avoid unwanted punishment, I managed to examine our captors with quick stealthy glances. Though dressed in matching green military uniform, the state of their clothing was deplorable. It betrayed their rebel status. Rebels; fighting against an indifferent government and all who tried to bring aid to this faltering country. Such as our team; a mission team sent to bring medical aid and the Gospel to a village in the mountains. Unfortunately, this village had been under surveillance by this guerilla pack and when they caught wind of our underground operation, we had immediately become a target on their radar.

It was hot, very hot; over a hundred degrees with equally cruel humidity. The jungle pressed in around the small wooden lean-two in which we were being held; suffocating it. The color of the immediate foliage was of a most brilliant green, but peering into the distant depths of the jungle, the green became a foreboding black, scarcely green at all.

                The lean-two did in fact look as though it had been halfway suffocated. Even though the beams themselves were of a hard, reliable wood, there was not much to be said for the rest of it. Haphazard bits of plywood and tin roofing metal had been used to fix patches in the walls and roof but these patches were so numerous that one could scarcely tell of which material the original walls had been. Mending in the roof had primarily been done with burlap sacks which had likely contained coffee beans. It had probably been an old storage post for the shipments of coffee, awaiting the next stage of their journey which would take them in trucks down the nearby road and to the factories where they would be roasted; but it was difficult to tell.

                Without warning, the ape-like chatter from the soldiers stopped and a large deal of shouting began. Our captors, who were doubling as our judge and jury, had reached a verdict and had sprung to life. One in particular began screaming our sentence at us, but I could not understand his words. The translator who had been traveling with us certainly did though, for he sank forward, back bowed, and began to weep and pray aloud in a voice that strained, cracked and faltered like chipping paint. This enraged our captors and they roughly yanked him back to an upright sitting position. But he went limp and tipped over onto his side as though the bones had vanished from his body. The din reached a feverish pitch, and then,

Bang! –

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-

                The report of the rifle stopped everyone’s heart and filled our ears with the silence, hollowing out our heads. As the echo of the shot ran away - doing what all others could not and escaping into the dark jungle - everyone stared at the corpse that had just a second ago been a living, breathing, crying man.

“Run! Run! Run! Run!” The echo screamed as it ran deeper and deeper into the jungle.

Shot in the forehead, the force of the shot had arched his back in the opposite direction he had previously slouched, and toppled him backwards over and off his feet which he had been sitting on. His body, lifeless and distorted because he was still bound, tipped over and then ceased to move, lying on his side while his vacant eyes stared fearfully at us, no longer controlled by him but of a different force altogether, a deadly force. That was when we realized we were to be joining him very shortly. Most were too numb and shocked to shed tears and it wasn’t until the second and third rifle reports had occurred that I even understood.

Bang! --

 Bang! --

Bang! --

The succession of the three shots passed too quickly and before I knew it they were standing above me; next in line. I did not want to look at them. To say that I was not frightened would have been a lie. Certainly I was grounded enough in my faith to know that I would see the face of my Beloved in a very short time, however, under immediate threat, survival instinct involuntarily took over. My heart began to pound, hammering the inside of my chest as though trying to escape through the flesh. I became possessed, one thought, one thought only. One thought slowly pushed the others from my mind. Very, very slowly through no will of my own, I raised my eyes and met theirs, peering down at me through the black barrel of the rifle:

“Father, forgive them…?”

“Run! Run! Run! Run!”

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                The bullet ripped through my chest, seemingly in slow motion. I felt it part my flesh though my brain could not yet comprehend the pain, and I felt my body distort from the impact; I began to fall. As my back hit the hard floor, my eyes flashed open…

 

                It was at that instant when my eyes flashed open and I awoke in my college dorm, my heart skipping beats and my body drenched in sweat. Disoriented by my surroundings, I sat up and cast a quick look to the opposite side of the room to make sure I had not woken my roommate by my sudden motion. Finding her slumbering peacefully and altogether unaware of my horror; with tremendous will I twisted by body around and sat dangling my legs freely over the side of the bed, attempting to catch my breath, which came with effort. The clock read three in the morning. Slowly, both my body and mind began to realize that I had not been ripped open by a bullet and was not, in fact, dying. But as the sweat vaporized and my heart returned to its normal tempo, a chill began to creep up my spine and radiate through the rest of me. This nightmare was unlike most others, after waking and even in retrospect, the horror remained undiminished.

My face sunk into my hands and I wept.

Clumsy Faith

Clumsiness has been a disease that has plagued me my entire life. I’ve always been one to err on the side of caution because I know that one unfortunate misstep could quite literally mean the death of me; or at least spell excruciating pain. Grace has always been something which eluded me; ever in sight yet beyond my reach and far outside my physical capability to grasp. I cannot stride into a room without bumping the doorframe, cannot walk on a sidewalk without tripping over every single crack, cannot pick up a glass without it sliding from my hand, and cannot even bring my coffee to the counter without spilling it all over the poor, unfortunate cashier. But there is more than one meaning for Grace, and naturally, I speak of both.

For quite some time, the concepts of Grace and Faith seemed beyond my understanding and too far beyond the parameters of what I could ever possibly reach; out there with my dream of walking through the library and NOT slipping and falling on the wet floor in front of dozens of people. Grace was a concept, an idea, an idea that was not possible for humanity to attain. Us, washed up in our own filth, covered in mud because we continually fall, time and time again. Grace was not possible. And I certainly believed that kind of Grace was not possible for me either; as far away from me as its other definition.

Though I felt that there was something inherently broken in humanity, I never believed that there was anything that could be done to fix it.  I couldn’t reconcile my own failings with the fact that Christ had given His life for my own sake and had extended forgiveness for them; but not only for me, but the whole of humanity. Yet terrible things continued to exist in the world and in me, and for years I believed that disproved the validity of Christ’s actions, and perhaps even His existence altogether. I simply couldn’t believe that anything I did or anything that anyone else did could warrant the kind of forgiveness that Christ extended. We don’t deserve it.

It wasn’t until I stumbled into church, was blind-sided by the kind and caring people I met there and crashed headlong into Christ himself, that I dropped all my preconceived notions, prejudices, and fears. Much to my surprise, it turned out that my stumbling ways were what got me to Grace in the first place. It is because we are broken, fallen and stumbling that God extends His love and forgiveness to us. We wouldn’t be His children if we were anything else. The realization hit me like a wave when I read in 2 Corinthians 12: 7-10 that:

“Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me.8 Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me.9 But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.10 That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

 My weakness makes me strong because it brings me to God and makes me accept the forgiveness and love that has been extended. Every time I trip and fall to my knees, I know that is the safest place to be. For God will certainly pick me up, dust me off, and set me on my feet again. By walking confidently, and knowing full well that I am certain to trip and fall on my face, I also walk with the confidence that there are guiding and protective hands waiting to help me up when I do.

I will never achieve perfect Grace, I cannot say that I will never go bumping into another wall or will never again drop my tray in the middle of the cafeteria, just as I can never say that I will not find doubt in my faith or be tempted by the ways of the world. But even in my imperfection, I know Grace surrounds me and keeps me safe from far worse things that, on my own, I would certainly walk bumbling into. It is through our mistakes, our blunders, even our regrets that God will continually be most present. We are not perfect people and we never will be. But letting our own chaos sing out as a chorus, God will be able to reclaim us as His own.

I Believe in Love

I believe in Love. Not only the awesome power of God’s love, but also love between people. I believe that it can exist; and can exist in a fulfilling way. Today’s world does not seem to believe much in love. Rather, it seems to discourage it. The way a relationship on television seems to be portrayed is a fairy tale ending but with none of the work. These on again, off again relationships, disloyalty, lies, and love games are somehow supposed to merit a love that lasts forever? Excuse me, but I don’t buy it. Love takes work, responsibility, relationship, forgiveness, honesty, trust, and patience; that is the kind of love that lasts; that is the kind of love that I believe in.

I didn’t always believe in Love, I didn’t always believe in Jesus. I know now that the reason I didn’t believe was because I didn’t understand this kind of love; I didn’t understand each of the elements that make love work. For that reason I was not able to enter the relationship I wanted until I had established the relationship that I needed: and that was a relationship with Christ. I had to learn what perfect love was before I could give and accept love in an earthly relationship. For the first time in my life I was absorbing God’s Word and I was feeling His presence in everything I read, the music I heard, and the people I met here at Youth Group.

But love, even when better understood, is still not an easy thing. The necessary work and attention never ceases or diminishes. People now seem to be under the impression that a fairy-tale relationship is easy, but it is not. A great, meaningful and lasting relationship requires work; hard work. You get what you give in a relationship, and this includes faith, trust, love, forgiveness, everything. So many people have the idea of a perfect relationship in their heads but yet continually fail to be patient enough to wait for the right person or they do not put in the necessary work to make it a worthwhile relationship. A relationship like that is not going to just jump up out of nowhere and work like clockwork.

But by putting in the effort, two people can become one just as the church is meant to become one humanity through its “marriage” with Christ. Marriage is a practice of our marriage with Christ and vice versa. Ephesians says that a woman is to love her husband as she loves Christ and a man is supposed to love his wife sacrificially as Christ loves us. Our earthly relationships are tangible; we can literally feel the effects of love, so use it to better understand Christ’s love for you and your love for Him. Similarly, use your love for Christ and His love for you as an example for your earthly relationships. In this way, idolatry of another over Christ is diminished, and, instead, one keeps God in the center of their relationship; something that will give glory to God and something that will aid the survival of said relationship.

22 Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord.23 For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior.24 Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything. 25 Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her26 to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word,27 and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.28 In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself.29 After all, no one ever hated their own body, but they feed and care for their body, just as Christ does the church—30 for we are members of his body.31 "For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh." Ephesians 5:22-31

Faith as a Daily Choice

                It is not easy to be a Christian in today’s world and I applaud all who have already bravely chosen the more difficult path. To those who may not yet consider themselves Christian but are still on the fence, don’t be deterred; though the path may be more difficult, the reward exceeds all expectation and any hardships are dimmed in the power of God’s unwavering Love. I, myself, have recently been learning this in the experiences I have had at college. My school was, at one time, the seventh most atheistic school in the nation, and is taught with a very liberal structure that favors intense discussion as the key learning instrument. It feels as if one’s beliefs are being completely deconstructed, and then, from the ashes, one is asked to recreate their moral and belief systems. As a result, the logistics, the science, the validity of my faith is almost constantly called out and questioned; and I am not, by any means, the kind of person who has all the answers. But I have been learning the art of discussion, and even though I don’t have all the answers, and even though there I questions that even I have, I am learning how to continue to choose my faith.

Faith is a DAILY choice.

As a Christian, I don’t always make the right choices, I make mistakes, I stumble, I fall. I am not a perfect person. But, the difference is that Christ gives me the strength to get back up again, to repent and to carry far beyond what I think I am capable of. We are fallen in nature, even those who don’t consider themselves Christian will tell you that there is something inherently bad in the nature of our species; just look at the havoc we have wreaked upon the world. Christianity asks us to, in a way, defy our nature; to love the neighbor that we hate, to give up what we want so that we can give someone else what they need, to love what we cannot see, and to forgive the unforgivable. We can’t achieve all of these standards; we will sin, there is not one person who has not already. This is why God himself came and paid the price for us, so that despite our sin, we can find a way to His love anyway. Jesus was sinless. But, as we are not, it leaves us with a choice; to continue in our nature or to choose to follow Jesus. Some days, this is a hard choice. I know I don’t always choose the better path, because it is not always the easier path. But the more days that I can choose to follow Jesus, the easier the choice gets. When you choose your faith, you choose your fate.

I hope that you will all eventually make that choice, and that those who already have will continue to make it. I pray that you all will, and that it is an easier choice to make for you than it was for me. I pray for encouragement for you all. Take faith, there is so much Hope waiting for you all, God loves you so much and He wants to be that Hope for you. I would challenge you all this week to recognize and question what our society values; ideal appearances, what defines success, media, even the “American Dream” itself. Don’t believe all of these social laws that have been put onto us; we live in a society that attempts to live apart from God. Don’t look to society to tell you what decisions to make and what path to take for it will surely lead you astray, instead, look to God for your guidance.

“Seek His will in all you do, and He will direct your paths”

Proverbs 3:6

“Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will know what God wants you to do, and you will know how good and pleasing and perfect his will really is.”

Romans 12:2

“Everyday
A choice is made
Everyday
I choose my fate”

-Switchfoot “Afterlife”

~ HONDURAS ~ part four ~

~ Honduras ~ part four ~

Hey Everyone!! Wow, it’s been a LONG time since the last time I wrote anything! College got insanely busy for me second semester and I can honestly say that during the times when I wasn’t writing papers or reading, when I actually had a bit of free time, I really didn’t WANT to write more on my blog.  So I took quite a long break. But now that it is summer I decided that this would be a good opportunity to make some more progress on my blog J

I know that I am not even halfway through my Honduras narrative yet; and as much as I love Honduras, I would, at this point, enjoy moving on to my more current activities surrounding college and the place that I am spiritually at this moment.  However, I intentionally wanted to convey the experience in the most extreme detail that I possibly could, both as a way to have it documented for myself, and also as a way to share the experience with others. So far, I feel that I have done this well, and I don’t plan to start leaving out things now; I am just hoping that I can motivate myself to write these more often.

So. Tuesday! Probably one of the most memorable days for me. 

After breakfast of course, we loaded into the truck and the van and made the drive to the Escuela Nazareno, a Nazarene school for children in grades one and two.  Our team had packed various art supplies and beads, plus a few soccer balls, and we brought them here with the intention of getting to know the kids and helping out around the school for half a day.

When we arrived at the school, the kids were still in their classrooms but one could hear their excited chatter and laughter through the windows on either side, so we gathered in the main worship hall to wait.  Soon, the teachers brought in all the kids, kindly shooing them along whenever they stopped to stare at us. Introductions all around, during which we attempted to meet every stare or bashful smile with a smile or small wave of our own. When the basic greetings were over, the teachers then lead each class in a small performance; a few songs, a recitation of one of the Psalms, a reenactment of the story of the crippled man, and a special version of “head, shoulders, knees and toes” which the children had learned not only in their native Spanish, but had also taken the time to learn in English as well.

Following this, our team divided into two groups, and went to prepare the activities. In the group I was in, we laid out small, decorative wooden crosses that the children would be painting. The younger of the two groups came to our classroom first and we helped them write their names on the back of their cross and showed them what to do. I felt that this was the only time during the whole trip where I really struggled with the language barrier.  For little kids are not able to understand why you, an adult, would not be able to understand them. Usually, I am very good with kids, and have always been able to connect with them; however, it was very difficult for me to connect when I couldn’t even respond to their questions and was barely even able to find out their name. It wasn’t really until the second group came in that I felt I was able to connect more. We ended up having a few extra crosses so some of us decided to join in the painting itself. I sat down with a table of about four little girls and one boy and began to put my art skills to use, painting delicate little flowers that cascaded over my wooden cross. The kids were enthralled and in no time we were complimenting each other’s work. All of the little girls at my table began mimicking my art style and by the end we had five or six, beautifully flowery crosses.

Though I felt that this was a big success, I admit that I was a bit jealous of how well Nathan was able to connect with the kids; laughing, smiling, having small conversation, giving jumping high-fives, and he even taught them the classic “up high – down low – too slow”. During our big group picture one of the little boys even wanted to sit on his lap. It was quite amazing to witness, in any case, and I loved watching him play with the children. It was one of those days that I was again reminded of his incredible heart.

retrieving one of the balls

small river we had to cross - it smelled terrible

Following our art projects, with the help of the teachers, we gathered the kids into a massive group and walked a few blocks from the school to a large asphalt area that had basketball hoops, a few soccer goals and some bleachers. Here we pulled out the various soccer balls that we brought and ran around with the kids in a rudimentary game of futbol. Needless to say we “lost”. We simply could not keep up with the children running in that sweltering heat and humidity; if we were lucky we got in a kick or two, but we were always out-maneuvered and it wasn’t long before we were out of breath. But to see them laughing and having such a good time was well worth any dehydration we may have suffered.

The most touching part for me though, was after we had walked back to the school, many of the kids, before returning to their classrooms, stopped to give us hugs. Once inside though, as we were gathering our things, we could hear the teachers leading the kids in a recitation of some sort. Lindsay translated for us, “they’re saying a prayer for the foreigners who came and played with them today.” When I heard that it gripped my heart like a vice. These children, who come from what in America would be considered complete squalor, still have the ability to love and play and learn just as well, if not better than any other child, and would in an instant pray for us when it would appear that they are the ones in need. It was then that it really sank in that I have far more to learn from this trip than I could ever give to anyone I met.

"Quesooooooooooo!"

 On the way back from the school we took a short detour to the church that Romellia and her family were in the process of moving into. It was a large concrete building with nothing more than a small, rickety fence to protect it. The yard was overgrown and the inside was dust-covered. The classroom in the back which the family was going to turn into their living quarters, was even worse off. There was no plumbing, no electricity, no windows, and the carcass of some animal long-dead lay in the middle of the room.  Regardless, she showed us around gleefully; excitedly telling us all her plans. Even when she told us that her and her family would be moving into this shell of a building that Saturday, it was with great excitement. This woman of Christ was following His will with the utmost attention and excitement, wherever it might lead her and her family.

After a quick lunch we headed back and spent the rest of the day on the work site. The next day we would be ready to begin installing the roof! J

~ HONDURAS ~ part three ~

First Work Day

Out of bed even earlier than the day before, and off to El Progresso; our first work day. 

We returned to Efrain’s church and began examining the structure that we were there to complete.  The classrooms and kitchen located to the left of the large church building was, at the time, nothing more than a concrete skeleton, much smaller than the main church building itself. Unlike the church it was going to be a low ceilinged building, far more cozy.  The one large room toward the front would be divided into two rooms later by a removable wall (creating two classrooms) and in the back, a kitchen, opening into the classrooms through a window, was what the building would contain. The basic form of the building was already laid out, meaning only that the walls were up. Our task, during the course of the trip would be to; install plumbing and electric, put on a roof, level the floors, pour concrete floors, and paint the interior.

In 106 degree weather with 100% humidity, that is easier said than done.

But by the grace of God we did it.

Our team settled in quickly and got right to work.  Thankfully, it turned out that we all worked well together; where one was lacking in the “know-how” another had the knowledge. The first task that I decided I could help with was the leveling of the floors.  I picked up a hoe and began beating level the stubborn earth.  I’d done this kind of work before, helping out my dad in his various construction projects and just being a country girl at heart who enjoys hard work, but I had never done work like that in this kind of heat and found myself getting very hot, very quickly. Under Todd’s rules, the team took a water break every half hour so as to prevent severe dehydration (with the help of Powerade mix we were able to make the best of the warm water).  During which we would retreat to the shade of the interior of the church. But even within the church, we could not escape the heat. Our one small refuge from the heat were the two ceiling fans and one large stand up fan in the main congregation area that we huddled as close as possible to during breaks.

Though we were forced to call it an early day due to the exhaustion of our water supply (by 2:00 pm we had consumed about 15 gallons of water!), we were still able to accomplish tremendous amounts.  The floor was, for the most part, leveled off and preparation had been done for the installment of plumbing, electric and the roof. Hot and tired, but with energy to spare, we were definitely feeling the effects of the day’s work; all in a good way.

At about 3:30 we decided to call it a day. Upon returning to the compound, many of us opted to use the bit of spare time for an ice cold shower. The kind of shower that most people in the states would complain about, but here it was a blessing that, for a short time, washed away the grim and the sticky heat.

This was also the day that Loyda came to cook us all dinner.  While she was in the dining room, busy with the meal preparation, many of us had some time to relax for a while.  Now that it was evening, the sun was gradually becoming less treacherous and Nathan, I and a few of the others decided to sit outside for a while near the little chapel.  Playing there were Alessandro, Sarah and Efrain’s two sons (Efrain Jr. and Brian).  The kids had created their own game involving a bike and a jump rope and were taking turns holding the rope parallel to the ground and then riding the bike into the rope. when the rope couldn’t stretch any farther the two kids holding the rope would then pull it and thus sling shot the bike rider backwards.  For a while we simply watched the children play, but eventually drew closer until they began to include us in their play. 

Hasan kicked a soccer ball around with the Soriano kids for a little bit, while Sarah and I pulled Alessandro back and forth across the slick concrete patio using the jump rope.  Various other small, senseless but entertaining games developed and through them we made a connection with the children despite the language barrier (at least with Alessandro and Sarah, the Soriano kids knew some English).  While we played around with the kids Nathan was able to converse with them all quite a bit; asking and answering many questions.  Alessandro particularly took an interest in my hair, crawling all over my back as I sat on the patio and running his little fingers (and the toy he had, which got tangled a few times) all through it.

For dinner that night we had Baleadas with avocadoes, cheese, steak and tortillas, courtesy of Loyda’s hard work. The meal was simply fantastic and it was a real treat to have an authentic Honduran meal. There was much conversation over dinner and it was a great time of getting to know one another.

Later in the evening, after the Soriano family had headed home, the team spent some quality time together over various board games, including Phase10 and Uno.  I won't forget the laughs we shared after that first work day.  Though we had certainly gotten to know eachother during our travel and at church the day before, I think it was that first work day that really brought us together as a team and as life-long friends; brothers and sisters in Christ's family.