Back from Honduras

The first week back from Honduras is always the hardest for me... The reverse culture shock never gets easier with time, and I am a very slow processor. I have to purposely allow down time once the trip is over to go through things in my head and in my heart and figure it all out.
Honduras trips are really not a sacrifice for me. The person I love more than anything comes with me on the trip, we haven't left kids at home with someone to look after, and being away from family for as long as we have makes two weeks in a third world country really not that bad as far as saying goodbye for a few days. I know we'll catch up eventually. It's all good. I get to go to one of my favourite places, with a lot of my favourite people and serve my God whom I love. To me it's pretty much a no brainer. Every day I wake up praying I'll go where God needs to be that day and be open to give and receive His love with the people He places in my day.
I've been going to Honduras since 1996. One thing I never want to be is apathetic to it all. It can be easy to do after thirteen trips... I try to be intentional about watching people who are on their first trip to remember how I felt the first time I saw something... observe others while they are serving and delight in the pure joy of giving of your total self.
When I found out we would have an opportunity to go the city dump, I knew I needed to go. That it was an experience that I could not miss out on. So big was the lesson God was showing me He had me go on two different occasions.

There are about 150-200 people who live and/or work in the city dump. Men, women, and children. Covered in garbage. Living in garbage. There were easily more vultures there than people. Dogs. Cows. All digging through garbage. To survive. Some came to find items that could recycled so they could earn a living. Some lived right there with their "houses" in the background of a bus handing out sandwiches, cookies, chips, oranges and bags of water. To be Christ. To reach out to those who have been forgotten by the rest. The untouchable.



How has the world gotten to a place where this is okay? When do we dig deeper and realize that we are to blame for them being there? For there being no other option in their lives? That this is the world we've help to create? How many times has satan used only the fact that I do "mission work" once a year in Honduras as a stroking tool for my ego when I'm challenged to give more, sacrifice more. As LC would put it "living simply so that others can simply live"?
My most precious memory from being there was not captured on film to my knowledge, but will be engraved in my memory forever... Despite several roadblocks, Brett INSISTED that we give everyone the opportunity to wash their hands before eating. With some buckets full of water, a bottle of dish soap, and some towels my husband reminded me that we are ALL made in His image and are to be loved and respected.