A Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up 

like a raisin in the sun? 

Or fester like a sore-- 

And then run? 

Does it stink like rotten meat? 

Or crust and sugar over-- 

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags 

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

-Langston Hughes

I had a dream in 4th grade--join the Peace Corps.  I decided in my own slightly altered way to live out that dream, didn't want it to dry out, you know?  And so that lead me to Honduras, to Juti, to 50 wonderful students, and a life changing experience.

And shoooot...I've learned a lot this year--the precise angle upon which to dump a bucket of water on my head for a shower; the most effective stomp, pickup, garbage, raid cockroach killing method; how to drink water from a bag; how to teach more with my body than my words; that I should arrive approximately 3 hours late to any Honduran activity--and that's just to name a few of, course.  When you're living out your dreams, you're sure to learn a lot.  Above all that, however, I think I can safely say that one thing I've experienced a lot of and learned a lot more about this year is that...

God is a God of surprises.  Full of surprises.

Unexpected, unbelievable, life giving, challenging surprises.  Surprises, I've learned, that always come directly from God although we may not initially (or for a long time) understand why.

While I may have learned this, however, nothing could have prepared me for the latest surprise that Sunday evening.

Speaking of surprises, it's surprising how everything always unfolds.  Surprising that I came home that Sunday evening from a conversation discussing life and the future.  I left the meeting with a myriad of thoughts, questions, and bursting with excitement to share my new knowledge with my "my people" to really once and for all discern a 2nd year in my Honduran dream.

That all changed when Laura entered the house that night.  She may have said hi and Mario and Lalo may have appeared bubbly, but I knew from one look at Laura that something awful had happened.

And so the abridged version of the story enfolds:  Laura was with Mario and Lalo and a group of 10ish volunteers from the US travelling to a community in which they served for several years.  After a lovely visit, the group headed back to San Fran. 5 or so of them walked and the rest followed directly behind in Mario's truck.  That's when 4 masked men came out of the bushes and assaulted the group.  Laura was face down in the ground, gun in her back, praying for hers and the lives of the other volunteers to be saved.  And praise the Lord they were and nobody was hurt.

Like, I said--surprises.  It sure is surprising how this could happen and surprising how it happened right when I was discerning year 2.  Totally unexpected, hard to believe, terrifying, maddening and worrisome surprises. 

It also always surprises me how we never actually realize how blessed and lucky we are until the end or something bad happens.  It went without saying that we would all move our mattresses into the living area of our small colonia house to be near each other, comfort one another, freak out and work this out together.  As we lay there we managed a laugh, among the tears and worry about the future, realizing that at some point over the course of the year we had truly formed one amazing community.  And in same community fashion we all sat by one another, held hands, and one-by-one called home and listened to the almost desperate pleas of our families to come home sooner rather than later.

We'd been through this before, it was a dilemma we'd come to know so well: Stay or go?  Stay or go?  But, always in the end, leaving was NEVER an option one of the 5 of us considered seriously.  I knew deep down for me that if there was ever an inkling of a way for me to stay, hands down I would.  Honduras is home to me.  In a lot of ways I feel more at peace and more myself living there.  I have 50 students that I could never abandon midway through the year, friends that I was growing closer to each day, an unfinished bucket list of adventures, I had lessons to learn, a faith to nourish, goals to achieve, and more experiences to have.  Until this point, Carlos, our fearless director, willingly would donate his right arm (he did donate his car) if it meant keeping us here to help us live out those dreams.  Carlos eventually always had a plan, a glimmer of hope.

But then came the next surprise.  Carlos.  He hadn't even made it all the way through the doorway of our house as he came over to discuss the latest situation, when we asked him, "Carlos, what do we do?"  And he immediately responded "Plan B."  What is "Plan B" we wondered?  It means we go home.

Surprise.

And so the final word was spoken.  We were going home.  Going home.  Home.  H.O.M.E.

But, I wanted to cry out, I don't understand.  How can I go home when I AM home?
And so we did.  But what about our students?  What about the school?  What about our home, our lives, the foundation, the mission?  You mean you don't have an alternative for us?  It's only 5 weeks. I'll live school-home-school-home.  I always said I'd do anything for my students, I can't leave?!?!

Honduras is my home, my life, as I know it for the present time--everything I have, need, and want.

I have a community of 5 volunteers—each of us different, each of us with beautiful gifts.  Gifts that I was still learning about and learning from.  I wasn't ready to give that up yet.  The 5 of us had been secluded in our tiny, but wonderful,  home for months and in that time we learned, we grew, we laughed, and we cried.  We shared, we taught, and we listened to one another.  We faced challenges everyday and yet I knew that I could go home, share it honestly, and be supported, loved, and comforted.  We were a community community committed to living the fullest life in Honduras, a brave community that never stopped listening, learning, and growing, a courageous community that persevered in the face of challenges that no other volunteer group ever saw.

I have friends and family in Honduras.  I like to play soccer when I can on Fridays and go out dancing when possible.  I meet with Wendy to intercambio and share stories.  Together we cook meals and dance zumba.  She brought me in and made me part of her family.  Even her daughter, little Ana Valeria (just 2), on our last night together, "I love you." "Miss Sarah, Miss Sarah." "Love." "No te vayas." (Don't go).  Then there's Carlos and my OAF family.  I was the luckiest to be Andree's teacher and am so grateful for the enormous hug I received without fail every time him and dad came to the house.  Then there's Tin, Yessica, and Fanny.  Our weekly intercambio friends whom we could sit with for HOURS just chatting away, English or Spanish no importa.  We could go on crazy adventures *cough*cabra negra*cough* or drink horsehair-tree liquor or play Kings in Spanglish or make pizza and sit at the table for hours losing track of the time in quality conversation.  And there's Mario, more than willing to go to the moon and back for us.  Always loving and taking care of us, willing to help us and make things happen--trips to San Fran, cooking nights, walks around the circle, soccer games, family visits, the Hogar, and so much more.

I have a life in Honduras.  I wake up at 5:00.  Get on the Pancho's crazy bus at 6, ride for 50 minutes through roads, dirt, and fields surrounded by students and bachata.  I teach.  I come home.  I work out, have hammock time, read, and catch up with community.  I cook dinner.  I go to Wendy's house or hang out with Tin.  Carlos comes over for a check-in.  We go on some new and exciting OAF adventure.  I play soccer and visit with the neighborhood kids.  I clean the house and wash the clothes.  I go to the orphanage.  The orphanage.  Every Sunday usually after attending Padre Celios (?) life-giving mass at St. Gertrudis and after pan de banana from the nuns’ bakery, Deirdre and I head to the orphanage for arguably the best part of our week.  Our afternoons are thus filled with the love that only one of the Maria's can give (Maria Jose, Maria Isabel, Maria de los Santos), the smiley Jose David, the pouty Walter, an always entertaining Alberto, the bundle of joy Gilian, and the ever-growing and strengthening little Dina--to name a few of my orphanage faves :-)  Maybe we'll spend Saturday with Caesar and Day Star friends at the Boquerón pool or we'll head to the rio for a hike and to cool off.  We may lose power and water may be an issue, but I'm used to it.  I know to a "T" my Saturday routine with and without power and the subtle changes from tea to iced coffee, planning to chores/reading it brings.  It's a rico life, it really, honestly, and truly is.

I have students, a school, and teacher friends in Honduras.  I was blessed into the BEST team of first grade teachers at Santa Clara--Fanny (my aide), Rosita (1st grade Spanish), and Flor (Spanish aide).  Fanny and Rosita especially have welcomed me into their friendship, homes, and life with the warmest and most open arms.  We adventure together in Catacamas on the weekends and share lunches on a daily basis.  Fanny is the creative genius behind so many of first grade's projects and takes care of every little detail I'm too busy or overwhelmed to remember.  Rosita pushes and challenges me to be a better teacher and person.  Her joyful spirit, dedication, and faith have consoled me, pushed me, and encouraged me.  We work together, both of us compassionate and desiring to create the safest, most loving environment possible to meet the needs of all our students.  We laugh together, tell jokes, play jokes, and goof around.  Then there's Sylvia, Yohely, Claudia, Karol, Dora, Wendy, Jeimy, Bessy, Liseth, Ana, Stefany, Flavia, Lupita, Milsa, Gloria, Michell, Claudia, Brenda, and Ela to name a few.  Women who have modeled Honduran life, perseverance, courage, strength, resilience, and dedication to life, the students, and Honduras.  Women from whom I've learned so much.  Women whom I've laughed with and spent time with.

And then there's the 50 reasons why I absolutely cannot go through with leaving--my students.  When I stepped into 1st grade 8 months ago in August, I wanted to pull my hair out.  I spent my day in front of 50 kids who understood nothing.  I spent my day like a broken record and trying to maintain composure as I struggled to completely change the norms of the classroom and my students slowly learned that with the Miss they would actually need to sit in their chairs, raise hands, listen quietly, participate when called upon, and get permission to leave the classroom.  We started by learning to say, "How are you? I'm fine thank you." and we learned what our shapes were and we drew pictures to answer questions.  We ended the year saying "(S) he’s bothering me." and adding/subtracting 2-digit numbers, and writing complete sentences in English (I like to play soccer.).  I always have high expectations for my students, but this year my 50 bundles of joy sure taught me that when you have no expectation for English, you get to have a mini-party every time your kiddos choose English.  And I can proudly say a few of them did adopt an English-only mentality.  Each of my 50 students has given me reasons to love more, hope more, live more, laugh more, learn more, experience more, and grow more.  They've taught me the beauty of a hug, they've showered me with love and kindness, they've challenged me in new ways, and they've welcomed me into their precious lives.

I have Honduras, which contrary to what the media says is a fantastic country--a country that has taught me so much about true and pure rico living.  Sure it's struggling--it's the 2nd poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.  Sure it's violent.  It's a Third World country.  But, it's got so much more than that.  It's got beauty from oceans to rivers, palm trees to plantains, mountains to fields.  It's got community from the deep sense of family and pride for community.  It's got simplicity, where you learn to enjoy and hardly mind power outages and lack of water because you've got people to be around, time to share, stories to hear, hammocks to be used, soccer to be played, and laughs to be had.  It has food, culture, adventure, love, and hope.  It has all of that NOT despite the struggles and challenges it faces but alongside those struggles and challenges because Hondurans are always "aprovechar-ing" (making the best of) with "animo" (cheer, energy, and spirit) too.  And unfortunately many of those struggles and challenges come from the drug violence that plagues Honduras.  A drug violence that is tearing apart a country and hindering it from improving, that in my opinion is mostly America's fault (I can get into that later).  In a country that struggles to create an identity because of the pain and poverty it experiences, it flip-flops constantly between trying to be more like America (why, I ask?) and maintaining their original way of life.

I came to Honduras to serve in the classroom and to learn.  I didn't come to Honduras to change it.  I didn't come to Honduras to be treated as a white volunteer here to impose culture or make changes.  Sure I'd love to make a difference and impact on someone or something, but more than that I came to learn, to serve, and to grow. I'm not better than anyone else and I don't want any more privilege than the next person, but I have some and I wanted to use it to share, to experience, and to learn.  Yes, I came as a volunteer, but I didn’t want special treatment or exceptions.  I'm not special.  I just want to live and serve and learn and grow.

So how can I leave that?   How can I leave ALL of that?!?! How can I look at 50 sad first grade faces and say to them, so for whatever reason I was born into a different life situation than you and it's unsafe for me here and so I get to leave and I get to go back to the comfort and security and you, well you have to stay here in an “unsafe” environment and now you're without the teachers that are attempting to help change that "unsafe-ness" through education?  How do I look at my Honduran friends and say, I get to leave, that this life is an option for me, that I can say the magic words and hop on an airplane and be back in a life of security and comfort?  And how do I look into the faces of my students' parents as they APOLOGIZE for what their country has done to me?  I don't want an apology; I should be the one apologizing for leaving!  How do I make them understand that I don't hate their country, that I don't want to leave, that I love it here, that I wish it wasn't this way, and that I haveWONDERFUL memories?

It seems unfair, premature, and it's heartbreaking.  I've never cried or shared the amount of tears that I shared that week.  Because I had to be obedient and I had to go "home." And I'm left wondering, questioning, pondering: WHY, WHY, WHY?

And so I did it, the hardest thing I've ever had to do.  It's hard to even type out the word, but I left.  I sobbed, I shook, I practically had to be dragged onto the Viktor bus as we all said a VERY sad, tearful goodbye to our home and life.  All the time wondering, but why? And I don't know why and in the short week I was given to say my goodbyes and attempt to find some closure and peace to my Honduran life, there wasn't time to begin grappling with the whys because this was a surprise.  And, as I said, I've learned a lot about surprises this year.  I know they always come from God and because of that I trust that someday I will find peace and begin to grapple with the whys. 

There's always a reason and a plan.  I know that--it still sucks.  I've never given up or left something unfinished before.  Surely there will be a lesson in that.  Coming to Honduras was and still is a dream—a dream that arose in the heart of a young, dreaming 4th grader and a dream that I considered living out for a 2nd Honduran year.  A dream I wanted so desperately to achieve and now it seems as if it's a dream deferred.  I’m left wondering as Hughes says "Maybe it just sags/ like a heavy load. //Or does it explode?"

As time has passed (I'll  blog more about coming home later), part of me sort of feels like in a twisted sort of way I got what I wanted (at the worst and higest price)--to not be considered a "volunteer."  My Honduran life wasn't sheltered or protected simply because I was a volunteer, I made sure of that.  In doing so I got to truly know and experience the rico life.  I gave my all into ever lesson, every encounter, and jumped at ever opportunity.  But I also had to face and experience the very real and often scary realities of Honduran life.  I learned a lot during my 8 months in Honduras--A LOT.  I was challenged in ways I never thought possible.  I experienced so much and I've grown in ways that I don't even know yet.  I'm BEYOND grateful for the opportunity I had, the people and students I met, and this experience.  But in throwing myself 100% into my Honduran life, I ultimately had to face the choice of staying or going.  My heart BREAKS every time I hear of a family that has to leave his or her own country to come to the US for safety.  I dream and hope for a world in which everyone can be safe in their respective country.  And I NEVER wanted to have to be someone that made that choice, but it was made for me and I was obedient to that trusting again that God is always guiding me.

So I don't know where that leaves my dream.  As I sit in the comforts of my American home it sure feels like a sagging, heavy load on my heart.  The return home has been difficult, I can honestly say I've never felt this sad, down, or heart broken before.  But I can also feel it exploding within me and hopefully around me.  I don't know why all this happened yet, I have a feeling I'll be asking that question for years to come.  But I also know that with every surprise God has given me in this life, I always find hope, meaning, and resiliency.  So maybe it will explode and explode in a way that will create positive changes and differences in the lives of my Honduran friends and students or in those in the US making choices that often directly and negatively affect Honduras.  I don't know yet what it means or why, but I know someday it will become clearer.  Until then, I hold Honduras, my friends, my students, and my life there in my prayers, my thoughts, and in my heart.  Knowing that I will be back and I will use this life experience for some good somehow.  And I know that wherever all this leads next will surely be another one of God’s unexpected, unbelievable, life giving, challenging surprises.