Jose y Raquel los peregrinos

In which Raquel la Peregrina sleeps in a hammock and witnesses a miracle

Joe and I left 12 days ago for a trip to the south of Honduras. We spent the first few days in a huge Dodge Ram, traveling with Jonathan Smoak, a friend from the USA who has been working in Honduras for many years. Jonathan was traveling to the South to prepare for a mission team from Minnesota, but he dropped us off in a small village called Caragual for the week (he went on to a different village a couple of mountains over where the mission team spent the week digging a water system). We returned to Las Mangas (our "home" in north Honduras) last night and Jonathan flew back to Florida this morning. We went on the trip in order to spend some time getting to know Jonathan better, in order to seek some direction from him about what our time in Las Mangas should look like over the next 8 months, and in order to get a better feel for village life.

On all counts the trip far exceeded our best hopes. We had some wonderful conversations with Jonathan. It was amazing how our hearts lined up. Our thoughts and struggles with all sorts of topics were similar--on poverty and dignity, on the life of Christ, on the meaning of incarnational living, on the radical nature of the kingdom, and on calling. It was helpful to hear his thoughts--he´s spent most of his life commited in some way to helping the poor in Honduras and elsewhere, and shared his experiences and reflections freely... Incredibly valuable as we continue to try to sift through our own thoughts on those subjects.
As for our plans now, Jonathan encouraged us to stay in Las Mangas and find some people in the village to connect with. He gave several suggestions for things we could do in our spare time--a kindergarten nearby that we could help with, starting a childrens reading time, some wonderful farmers we could get to know, and a highschool a couple of villages away that`s hungry for volunteers. We can also play an important role in maintaining the facilities in Las Mangas. I feel confident that we can find a niche here in which to serve and build relationships.
The most difficult and wonderful part of the trip was our time in the southern village of Caragual. Jonathan visited several houses in the village with us as we contemplated who we wanted to stay with for the week. The last stop was at the house of a woman named Doña Nativa and her 13-year-old daughter, Carla Milagro ("Miracle" in English). Doña Nativa had been ill for two years, and we entered the small adobe and dirt floor house to find her sitting in a tattered hammock, her skeletal arms resting on her knees and her stooped, shrunken frame shaking with weak coughs. She was only 55 years old, but looked about 75. Carla was her sole care-taker and housekeeper (which I soon discovered is an all-time-consuming task). Yet when Jonathan asked if we could stay in their tiny house with them, Carla´s beautiful face lit up with the brightest smile I have ever seen in my life.
Carla quickly became my teacher, sister, and friend. I can honestly say that she is one of the most striking girls I´ve ever met, radiating charisma and life. She is my height with a ponytail of black hair that falls to her waist, large dark eyes and a huge smile. She has the body of a girl and the poise of a woman, and somehow she manages to keep a foot in both worlds--her life revolves around the grindingly mundane and backbreaking tasks of a village woman, but she has the innocent and jubilance of a little girl as well. We washed clothes, fetched water (I´m not too great as carrying it on my head; the village seemed to get quite a kick out of watching me try), cooked food, ground corn, shaped tortillas, swept the dirt floor, washed the dishes, tended her mother, sorted beans, collected fire wood and stoked the cooking fire together. She became my "profesora de español" and we had some wonderful times together. I came as an eager learner, and she was an excellent teacher. It was beautiful to see her dignity increase as she taught her "gringa" friend the tasks that made up her day.
There were two things that were truly difficult for me in the village stay. The first was witnessing the constant misery of Doña Nativa. I felt the same helpless feeling I felt as I watched my grandmother die four years ago. I did what I could--sat next to her as she wreched, brought her water, rubbed her arms, patted her back. But most of the time I could only listen to her weak coughs and groans, and pray with her that God would "ayuda"--help. It was hard to watch Carla care for her. For two years she´s watched her mother fade in front of her eyes, and her lively, animated disposition dropped completely when her mother would call, asking for something or other. She went into "robot" mode and filled the need, but tried not to feel the pain of what was happening.
The other difficult thing was our marriage. The single hammock we tried to share every night was merely the beginning of our troubles. :) The lives of men and women are lived seperately in the village, and Joe and I struggled to connect during our time there. We did different things for much of the day (there was a break in the farming, so he spent a lot of time talking, visiting, and playing soccer with the men in the village. I spent much of my time around the house trying to help with the housework). It was hard to find time to talk and process together. We reacted to the life around us differently too. My first impulse is always to start doing, and Joe tends to take a more passive and reflective approach. There was definite tension as we looked critically at the other during the week.
The last two days have been full of reconnecting and processing for us. We know we need each other. I need Joe encourage me to focus and reflect, and Joe needs me to help him see needs and feel compassion.
It was eye opening to live in poverty for a week. Its hard to think back to my comfortable life in Chattanooga and imagine how I´ll approach life differently in light of my experiences. We have much, and I don´t understand why. God´s world is both beautiful (Carla´s smile) and tragically wrecked (the poverty of the village and Doña Nativa´s sickness), and somehow there´s a spot in it for Joe and me to live incarnationally and with hope.