And the point is to live everything.

Friends,
I have been eagerly anticipating writing to you with news about me in my little corner of the world. I have let too much time lapse in my attempts to convey the seemingly overwhelming amount of anecdotes, poems, thoughts, and rambles I desire to share. Well, here I go. Come along!

Having worked at ASJ for now a little over a month has been an incredible opportunity to learn. Learning to interpret and translate from Spanish to English and vice versa, reminds me that I am far from mastering the Spanish language. Fortunately, I am provided with the space to hone some of these skills my other “ International Relations Team” coworkers seem to effortlessly use.

One of the more satisfying parts of my job is the process of writing short stories for the monthly AJS email updates (if you would like to sign-up to receive them, then go to http://www.ajs-us.org/ ). I have been given the liberty to tag-along on interviews with our beneficiaries, attend public ceremonies, sit-down with our lawyers, journalists, and counselors for hours, all in the name of getting the story. I absolutely love it. Story telling is becoming a passion for me, but not all stories are created equal. “ Beans as a Pedagogical Tool”-with a link to the story below- is my favorite since aside from the title, it took me on a visit to a neighborhood to which I have a special link: Nueva Suyapa.
http://www.ajs-us.org/beans_as_a_pedagogical_tool.htm.

As providence may have it, I was fortunate enough to participate in series of events for Dionisio Action Week . On Tuesday, December 4 , on the anniversary of his death, the memory of Dionisio, the “ lawyer of the poor” was commemorated by AJS. The day before, our staff visited the cemetery where he lay, and I was greatly encouraged to find this time filled with words saturated with hope. Surrounded by people that had worked with and loved this man, and being a outsider in this intimate circle of lament, I became a silent witness to the inspired community of believers Dionisio left behind. I remember the helplessness that engulfed me upon hearing about the tragedy of his murder. Amazingly, one year later, I found myself at the city square, quite literally speaking out against the impunity that continues. As I sifted through the hundreds letters that had come from around the world, marking their support to the cause of crying out for justice for the murder of Dionisio, I began to make out a vision of human solidarity that can manifest in the face of injustice.

Toward the end of December I found myself with a decision to make: Would I spend the holidays in Honduras or in Michigan? Many of you already know the rest of the story. I fear, I will always dream of a white Christmas, for all the implications it brings along. Although all the truly wonderful moments of reuniting with friends and family would fill many pages, I want to share only this beautiful thought that filled me with joy as I went over the many conversations that I shared with ye saints - I am loved. Thank-you.

With a new year comes new transitions for me- yes, more of them. The fabulous and hilarious Venegas family of Nueva Suyapa has eagerly agreed to welcome me into their bustling, loving, and inviting household. I hope to share more news about this dear family in the near future. For the last month, I have also been attending the Christian Reformed church in Suyapa, La Reformada. One of ASJ’s Gideon centers is located on the second floor of the church. This is testimony to how the church is dedicated to holistic community development. I am excited to join the church’s efforts by making it my home church while I am here.

The day I arrived back to Honduras from the States, I undertook a journey to another part of the country. As a Calvin student, I had the pleasure to meet a family in the Olancho department, with whom I spent several weekends during the spring of 2006. My travels to reunite with old friends led me to meet new ones. Disclaimer to this story: I had already been traveling for two days. When I woke up on that early Saturday morning to head out to the bus station, I didn’t expect to run into God so much.

The little town of Guanabano rests one hour from Catacamas, an almost-in my case at least- four hour bus ride from Tegucigalpa, my departure city. As many of you know, I am not exactly a slave to the clock; actually, I don’t even own a watch.

Fact: There is “ direct” service to Catacamas, but that doesn’t mean you still won’t make stops along the way. Each day only two buses leave Catacamas for Guanabano. I missed the first bus, and was two hours early for the second.

Speculation( mainly mine): The buses at the Catacamas market go into Guanabano. They don’t. I asked.

Then the kind taxi driver asked. Then the store owner and his wife asked. They don’t, they confirmed. I was in a pickle. How was I to get to this town? The kind taxi driver drew me a map. I am terrible with maps. The kind taxi driver lent me his cell phone to call my friend Ondina, who was expecting me. Wait, her number was in my cell phone, which was conveniently in a friend’s car in Tegucigalpa. Next option? Take the next bus and pray. Eventually, the thoughtful taxi driver left. I thanked him for all his kindness to which he responded, “ I figure the next time I am in Peru, you will return me the favor.” I sure hope so Carlos. He also did me another favor by introducing me to two acquaintances: Enrique and Maria.

Maria told me that when she first saw me she thought I was Japanese. Her good natured commented turned into a conversation about how the former President of Peru, my mother country, was Japanese. She told me how she received her ( equivalent) associate’s degree, and she would have kept studying, but then she got married. “ Then comes the family,” she stated, and then with a broad smile, pointed out her young daughter to me.

Enrique was curious what I was doing in Honduras. He had heard that Machu Picchu was beautiful, and wanted to travel there one day. He told me he’d met many Peruvians when he was imprisoned in a Houston, Texas prison. His calm demeanor did not provide any evidence to the true difficulties that must have come along the way on his trip to the United States. Once caught as an illegal immigrant, Enrique told me, “ It’s plain luck how long you stay in jail. I was there for three months.” I sat there listening about the times when the other “ illegal immigrant” inmates saw other, and how they would quickly figure out who was from where. “ There were Brazilians, Chinese, Peruvians ( huge grin from him at this moment), Hondurans, and Mexicans; we were all there for the same reason,” he explained quietly. He says he now prefers living the quiet life here in Catacamas with his family.

These beautiful people shared their life stories with me- a mere passerby. I saw so much of God and humanity in them that I couldn’t understand how both could be shining through so clearly. Here I was thinking I could bear witness to them when all the time God was telling me, “ Listen. They are showing you, a stranger, the love of Christ.”. When I finally got up to leave, Maria told me, “ We are just a humble family, but in whatever else you need, we are here for you.” Have you ever been thankful for getting lost and confused? That day, I was.

More angels in disguise showed up later. One was one the bus, and told me to get off at the house of Ondina’s father in Guanabito, where I could call her. Ondina’s father and family turned out to be many more as they let me into their home, and wait for Ondina to arrive. Finally, I believe Ondina herself was God to me that weekend. She walked the 5 kilometer dirt road stretch from Guanabito to Guanabano as the sun was setting- we had a little time to catch-up. The visit was much too short as we simply ate dinner, talked with Osman, Ondina’s husband who is working in the States, on the phone, and then got ready for bed. The next morning I caught the 7:00 am bus back to Catacamas, hoping to make the 8: 15 bus back to the capital. Well, of course, as the theme of this story goes, I didn’t make it. Waiting is big part of living here in Honduras, I am learning a lot about waiting. What I have begun thinking is that waiting shouldn’t be seen separately from the rest of life, as though you life was “ interrupted” and now you have to wait. Perhaps, waiting isn’t “waiting” but living, just a continuation of living.

It is not in me not to seek answers, solutions, and next steps. Well, maybe that is why God asks us to empty ourselves before we can work. Below is a quotation from a now beloved book of mine: Henri Nouwen’s Reaching Out. Along the way, I have taught myself to live to find out, to understand, and to accomplish. These words are most heartening to me as they remind me that maybe the point is to live everything. Silly me.


Letters to a Young Poet
by Rainer Maria Rilke

“ I want to beg you as much as a I can… to be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves. Do not now seek answers, which cannot be given [to] you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answers… take whatever comes with great trust, and if only comes out of your own will, out of some need of your innermost being take it upon yourself and hate nothing.”

Love, Love, and more Love,
Grace