Last week, as surreal as it seems at this moment, I was in Tegucigalpa, Honduras. ‘Why?’, my mother asked me before I left and after I returned. I have given that question some thought, and hope that penning these words will help me find and then share the answer.
My instinctive answer, which will satisfy some but not all of you, is that God told me to go. But that sort of implies that I am this über obedient child of God who always hears his voice and follows his lead. Well if you know me at all you know that I don’t suffer from excessive self-discipline. The truth is that I have been doing some praying lately asking the Lord to help me do better, because I have been too busy and preoccupied to spend much time with him. What I needed was a big intravenous bolus of Jesus, and he decided to send me to Honduras to get it.
One of the things that I love about our Creator is his capacity for irony. He loves to shake things up, to use his power through our weakness, to show his love to the unlovable, to give grace to those who least deserve it... that sort of thing. Well, leave it to him to take me to one of the darkest places on the planet in order to lead me back into the light.
Tegucigalpa is the capital of Honduras, and Wikipedia calls it, ‘the murder capital of the world.’ It is a very dark place where people who can afford it live behind walls, have razor sharp wire on their balconies and bars on their windows. Many many people, however, can’t afford a home with windows or balconies. The poverty is overwhelming, and the fear is palpable. Children without parents live on the streets and sniff yellow glue to numb their hunger for food, security and love. They join gangs to try to belong to something, as awful as that something is. The girls and boys are sold into prostitution or child pornography rings, and it’s big business. The drug lords are more powerful than anyone wants to admit, but everyone knows the truth. Many people are desperate and the violence is off the charts.
(My iPhone, which is worth three months wages in Tegucigalpa, was stolen the first day, so I will upload more photos once I receive them from the rest of the team.)
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| Como se dice...? |
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| Daniela and I reading a urinalysis |
There are around 10,000 various humanitarian organizations listed with the Honduran government who come to try to help. I was with some folks from St. Philip’s Church (downtown Charleston) and folks from a Methodist church in Greenwood. We were considered a ‘medical brigade.’ and were led by Dr. Ken Holden and his wife, Pat, who have been making these trips for over twenty years. We were not alone, as when we pulled our nineteen trunks full of medications and medical supplies off the airport baggage claim belt, we had to be careful not to accidentally grab one from one of the other groups who arrived at the same time. We had four doctors and one nurse (me), plus six other souls who wanted to serve the precious people of Honduras. We were careful to follow the many rules which were in place for our safety. We worked hard, as we operated our traveling medical clinic in various places, stocking our supplies at night and seeing as many patients as possible each day. We served alongside some Christian Honduran physicians and medical students, who worked double-duty as translators. All in all we treated over 1000 patients in seven days. I was the ‘pharmacist’, and thankfully had some really good people on my little team to help me. Suzanne, Daniella, Amanda and I did our best to see that every single person received vitamins, medicine for parasites, a toothbrush, and whatever medications were prescribed for them.
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| Outside the clinic at Flor de Campo |
To be brutally honest, had the Lord not been with us, we might have become overwhelmed by negative emotions such as sadness, feelings of helplessness, hopelessness, frustration, and even anger at the sight of such poverty and need. But we were encouraged to find a mysterious kind of joy, pockets of love, humbling hope, and beams of light in the eyes and hearts of those we were serving. And with each passing day I softened. It was as if someone or something was chiseling away at my heart of stone to uncover the heart of flesh that was apparently connected to my tear ducts.
I was moved by the vision and hard work that had lovingly provided a high-roofed gymnasium carved out of the rock of the mountain...an open air playground that was safe from the dangers below and overlooked some of the poorest and violent parts of the city. Amanda Scott, a missionary with the Lamb Institute told me that the preschoolers sang praise songs to God up there and she imagined those little voices washing the community below. (I cried a little too. It’s okay.) I was touched by the passion of those who have given up the conveniences of life in the States to be full time missionaries... like Suzy McCall who started the Lamb Institute preschool and has since opened a beautiful orphanage out in the country up on a hill where the children can go to school, run and play, and grow up in the love of Christ and safety of their ‘Tias’. I was encouraged by the story of beautiful Betsy Hake, a gracious lady whose doctors told her that she would surely die of her liver cancer, but instead years later continues to run Jericho, a ministry to women of the street (prostitutes) and their children. (Her Manhattan doctor is a believer now.) I was inspired by the generosity and compassion that Dr. Rena Duron shows as she constantly looks for new and creative ways to serve the poor by providing them with medical care. I was touched by the gratefulness that overflowed from the hearts of those we served... the hugs, and smiles, and the hundreds of times I heard, ‘Gracias’, and ‘Dios te Bendiga.’ (God bless you)
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| Sweet visit with Jeremy |
Towards the end of the week I received a wonderful surprise, when one of Sean’s soccer buddies from Wheaton College came to see me. Jeremy Tolleson is starting his fourth year as a missionary in Tegucigalpa with the Micah Project, a ministry that reaches out to street boys and offers them a safe and loving place to live and be free from the addictions of their pasts. We were able to spend a couple of hours catching up. So cool.
One of the most memorable events of the week happened when we had driven far from the city out to Proyecto Victoria, a ministry started in 1977 by Cuban-American pastor Mario Fumero. The purpose of the ministry is to help gang members get out of the life of gangs, violence and drugs. Last Thursday Pastor Fumero invited people from the surrounding community to come receive our medical care. During our frenzied day of treating over 200 patients, most of whom had walked for miles to get to us, I was asked to take my pharmacist hat off and put my nursing cap on to debride a wound. The patient was an 89 year-old man whose foot was severely infected. (About the same age my father would be if he were still with us) I was excited to get to do some real nursing, but I was concerned about the amount of pain my patient would experience. Desperately wanting to do something to alleviate the pain, I asked one of the dental team members if I could have some lidocaine, which I tried to use topically. (Yes, we had a dental team with us for two days. Awesome.) The debridement process was long and arduous, but my little man was a champion. One of the staff members prayed for him, as did I with tears in my eyes, and suddenly the Lord reminded me of the Last Supper when he washed the feet of his disciples. At that moment I felt that my prayers were being answered... through this little man with a bum foot... out in the middle of nowhere in Honduras. Truly... washing that man’s foot was not just something I was doing for him but it was something that God was doing for me.
Oh...and those ten strangers? Ken, Pat, Jimmy, Kathy, Katherine, Doug, Suzanne, Kit, Steve, and Paddy... each one brought special gifts and talents and it was a beautiful thing to watch the team work together in unity. We shared a powerful and unique experience, I learned from each and every one of them, and they will always have a special place in my heart.
Gracias, Señor, y Dios los bendiga a todos ustedes.
Charlene
ps: I found this article for those of you who want a more graphic description of the violence in Honduras so you can know how to pray.
3/23/13: This article was just sent to me today. It tells the story about the lady behind the LAMB institute: Suzy McCall. So inspiring.
I was moved by the vision and hard work that had lovingly provided a high-roofed gymnasium carved out of the rock of the mountain...an open air playground that was safe from the dangers below and overlooked some of the poorest and violent parts of the city. Amanda Scott, a missionary with the Lamb Institute told me that the preschoolers sang praise songs to God up there and she imagined those little voices washing the community below. (I cried a little too. It’s okay.) I was touched by the passion of those who have given up the conveniences of life in the States to be full time missionaries... like Suzy McCall who started the Lamb Institute preschool and has since opened a beautiful orphanage out in the country up on a hill where the children can go to school, run and play, and grow up in the love of Christ and safety of their ‘Tias’. I was encouraged by the story of beautiful Betsy Hake, a gracious lady whose doctors told her that she would surely die of her liver cancer, but instead years later continues to run Jericho, a ministry to women of the street (prostitutes) and their children. (Her Manhattan doctor is a believer now.) I was inspired by the generosity and compassion that Dr. Rena Duron shows as she constantly looks for new and creative ways to serve the poor by providing them with medical care. I was touched by the gratefulness that overflowed from the hearts of those we served... the hugs, and smiles, and the hundreds of times I heard, ‘Gracias’, and ‘Dios te Bendiga.’ (God bless you)
