Today marks four weeks and six days of our stay here. One third done and I speak for us all when I say it has flown by. Each day feels familiar, the routine the same, the news the same, the food the same. Mornings at 5:30 are foggy and the mountain tops are still sleeping. At 8:30 the ridge line becomes visible and the perfect sun has declared day. There is the mopping of the floor and the rinsing of dirty mops and thirty girls lined up to pick up small pieces of trash around the yards. This being their long break from school, there is plenty of play time and going down slides backwards and playing jacks with rocks and marbles. 

Some days it is possible to get blinded by the singing and braiding of hair and hand clapping games, and for a moment I relate this place to a summer camp. Bunk beds and friends and little girl bracelets all the way up both arms. All of that just speaks to the goodness and happiness that is here. It is possible to forget that this is home. Home to thirty girls who have been neglected, abused, abandoned, left. Girls who have survived massive trauma. 

I caught Veronica’s arms right as she was going in swinging to Perla’s head. Perla had taken Veronica’s marble. The rage in Veronica’s body was so strong that her skin was hot. She broke out in a sweat. Her whole frame shook.  I remembered that her carefully tuned ‘fight or flight’ instinct was in full fight. For most of the day that is how she operates. Unable to turn off survivor mode she is unable to focus, unable to relax and believe she is safe. Suyappa is 7 years old. She wears the same dirty sweatshirt days in and days out.  It is her security blanket- along with miscellaneous toys and plastic bags and small scraps of paper that she carries about. Where she is so is a bag of trash. Except it is her’s. So it is a treasure.  Angela laughs too often for too long which is fine for an 8 year old, except if you listen closely she only has few words. She laughs in response to simple questions. I search her eyes to see if I have missed a joke. Sometimes her eyes are empty.

And I am not trained to deal with these small girl’s heart aches. I can barely speak the language. But I can say with my mouth and my body an important message that children need to know. I am here because you matter, you are loved.

All kids that live in this place know how to stuff. Everyone has a story and no one talks about it, so for years it is stuffed into the heart and deep in the brain until they become big girls who run away if I catch a tear in their eye. Esta bien. Esta bien. It is fine. It is fine. It is fine. So many days we don’t talk but we play and we sit and we color. We pass time in the slow incremental way that is only possible to notice when you have nowhere else to be. 

Last week we celebrated New Years Eve. We had tamales for dinner and at six was a firework show that some volunteers put on. We headed out in a line with all the girls and set out blankets and prepared to watch shooting light rockets. Many girls in the Little Girl house  watched this spectacle for the first time. One half loved it. The other half was terrified. There was hiding and shaking and crying and quaking. And not enough mamas to hold all the children. Angela was crying, holding her head and rocking back and forth. 

The Little Girl house left early and when we got back to the house we counted the girls lined up outside of their rooms. Angela stood with her back to the brick wall sobbing and peeing. I found the keys, took her in and showered her and dried her tears and dried her feet. I was filled with compassion as I washed her and God forgive me for all the opportunities I have missed to love my neighbor. 

And that night with fireworks and confetti New Year came. Every human loves New Years because we all know that we are talking about hope. And I have to believe in the hope of the promise that one day, all will be new. There will be no more orphans or pain or loneliness or poverty or life stories that cannot be told. 

And so we wait. And with the opening of the New Year I feel as though this 2015 should sit me down and give me a talk. A reminder. The exact same one   I give my children before every Sunday morning church service should work.
“Okay, here’s the deal. This time is important. It might be long, it could get boring. That’s fine-try to learn. Sing if you feel like singing. Don’t bug your brother or sister. Try to listen with a quiet heart... God is here you know.”

  

And I’ll nod my head like a six year old, I know I know. 

I still always forget. It is possible to be sure of something and still forget. Then playing with Suyappa or Angela or Perla or Veronica or Elena in the yard there will be this pause in the chatter and I remember- God is here. And my heart then flips for joy that we get to be here too.

More great new! I don’t have lice. I thought I did, but one of the older girls promptly went investigating into my hair and turns out I don’t. I just have itchy dirty hair. Hurray! Things are going well here. We are still fighting off some sort of a head/chest cold but Guy ended up being the only one who got stomach sick two days ago.  We celebrated Christmas- and listened to fireworks go off that whole night long. It was impossible to sleep Christmas eve- constant BOOM noises from town, which was at least different from the occasional gunfire going on. It sounded like EVERYONE was celebrating with fireworks though! 

It was so fun to see the Little Girls on the 26th, they were overflowing with special presents from their sponsors (every girls is sponsored) and it was obvious how special they felt. I was touched to witness the quality of goods that were received by the children. Brand new clothes, high quality toys, scooters, toothbrushes, hairbrushes, new books, etc. Many people sent photos of when they had been here to visit, as well as handwritten letters. These Little Girls were BEAMING! The house mom Elizabeth worked so hard to make Christmas special. She bought new outfits and had them all shipped here so the girls all matched on Christmas day. They woke up early and prepared a special breakfast on Christmas Eve, on Christmas Day they got peanut butter and jelly as a treat for lunch and then had a traditional Honduran dinner. She made individual stockings for each one of the girls (Little and Big) and filled them with small gifts. 

[Side note on the house mom(s): The Little Girl house is run by two women. Carelia, who is a Honduran woman who grew up here and then went to school to become a nurse. She is now married and has five children of her own. She is a constant presence at orphanage Emmanuel and many of the Older Girls know, love and trust her as the role model in their lives. Elizabeth is the other house mom. She is American, about my age and has lived here for about three years now. She is bi-lingual and also runs the sponsorship program and works in the office. Every staff member here is also ‘double booked’ working as a house parent, or on the farm, in the school, or in the office. ]

We had a Christmas tree too! Granted, it is only the bottom two tiers of a three tiered Christmas tree- but it is beautiful. Well, it’s actually kind of ugly, but Joe hauled it down from some building’s attic and carried it all the way here and there are lights on in and my kids love it and there we go! It’s great. 

I opened the packages from my parents and my sister (which I made them mail back in November!) best presents?- My mom sent a brand new towel, and my sister sent me an amazing DRESS!!! Win!! The kids got some board games, an American football, card games, and some legos! We also opened peanut butter, granola bars, peanut butter crackers, brownie mix, jelly and goldfish. Oh and Honeynut Cheerios. Needless to say we are all very happy campers. 

In other news, Husband Joe wants me to tell you that we did not have an albino salamander like I previously stated. He wants to clarify that it is a normal gecko. Whatever.

Also, I walked into the bathroom at midnight the other night and saw TWO of them. Horrifying. Gecko or Salamander or albino or just pale, still weird and creepy! But not as gross as the cockroach in the Little Girl House. I’ll post that picture too : )

Much love to you and yours, 

Kate 

All-orphanage picnic lunch for Christmas. This is part of the Little Girl House

Our friend Krista stopped by to bring over a surprise stocking for our kiddos!

Christmas Morning getting ready to open our family gift.

The gecko is creepier I promise, but this guy was half a hand length. Eek!

Feliz Navidad! Today is December 24, the day that Christmas is celebrated in Honduras and especially here at Orphanage Emmanuel! We were so looking forward to this day. Breakfast in the Little Girls house was planned to a huge traditional Honduran Breakfast (fried plantains and more), then a movie and hours of doing little girls hair and dressing them in specially ordered matching outfits, then House pictures. Then everybody in the orphanage will gather for fried chicken (YES!!!) for a picnic lunch all together, then go to the church where they call each child’s name up (550 ish) and hand out wrapped Christmas gifts. Many volunteers fly down to Honduras just to be here to celebrate this day with the children. It is said to be filled with excitement, joy and love. A real celebration! 

So naturally Guy spent all last night throwing up. Yup. Only he didn’t wake us up to tell us because it was “too dark”. So this morning we all woke up to the stench of dried vomit (and more vomit) and a sick kiddo with a 101 fever. I wish I could say I was gracious about it. But I wasn’t. Out of Guy’s earshot I complained  that this ruined our whole fun two days. I asked Joe to take off from his scheduled work so I could still go up to be with the little girls. I wondered if anyone would notice if I brought a limp kid that was literally green to the fried chicken picnic. As I scraped the sheets I was so disappointed and whiny about how this ruined the plans we were looking forward to for weeks. 

Guy showered and lay on the couch. At 6.40am I decided that Joe would stay home with the kids for half the morning, I could still catch the breakfast if I hurried (forget about germs- we’ve been sharing cups and spoons with everybody for weeks- every virus is already shared). Then I could come back and pick up the kids while Joe went to work, etc.. I had a plan and headed out the door. I ran up to the Little Girls house. I quickly explained my kids wouldn’t be with me because they were not feeling well. The woman in charge of the house was concerned and asked more about Guy. I explained how sick he was. Well go home! She told me. Be with your family! A child needs his mother when he’s sick!

And clarity hit me like a brick. My children are not orphans. They have a mommy. And with repentance and thanksgiving I raced home as fast as I could to hold Guy on my lap and stroke his hair. He is my baby. Joe was taking wonderful care of him but I wanted to be there too. These children are my first precious gifts. They are living examples of God’s great love for me. And to think I almost missed the chance to hold one of them for the millionth time and say with joy thank you thank you thank you that I get to be his mom.

 

 Elena now has a belly ache. The foam mattresses are hosed off and are now drying outside. I have more laundry to do and more puke to clean. Most likely we will miss the whole day of celebrations. And disappointments are there. Some minor, like our change of plans, and some major, that cut to the marrow. 

But the Good News of Christmas does not change. In an orphanage, in America, in poverty in plenty, with abundance of gifts, abundance of health, in death or in sickness, excitement or disappointment, for those of us who celebrate Christ at Christmas the Good News is the same!! And for those of us who don’t celebrate Christ, the Good News is the same!

The Lord has come to earth. He is here. And his Kingdom is Love and His gospel is Peace. He has come to Love all. The most inclusive invitation there ever was. Come all. Where you are, as you are. Orphans into the family of God. Oh come let us adore Him.

Everyone loves the Little Girl House. What’s not to love? The favorite color is purple and there are ribbons in hair and sitting on laps and lots of giggling and every little girl is adorable with silver teeth in their smiles, and even sad eyes still glint at possibilities. They are loved here and they are safe here. And here is starting to become their home. 

There are six older girls in the house. 16 years old and up they are spending their last days in the Orphanage in charge of the little ones. English is the ticket to a life in Honduras and I’m desperately trying to learn Spanish as a ticket into their lives, so we speak together all day. As we sit in the park or in front of the tv (Frozen is just as big of a hit down here!) or serve the soup or mop the floors. 

I only know a few verbs in all the tenses so I mostly ask those. Tener- to Have. Years to their lives, or years in the orphanage, sister and brothers. Querer- To Want. I ask about what they want. Want to do. Want to be. Want to live. What they don’t want. Hacer- to make. Vivir- to live. Necesitar- to need. Trabajar- to work. Ser/estar- to be.

  
Orphanage Emmanuel(OE) provides refuge and care to many truly distressed children. Many have been abandoned. Some have not. Some are removed from their homes from the government and considered ‘at risk.’ Some have family, and like an indefinite foster care system OE cares for the children until they graduate then release them, and some return to their families. 

All are scared to leave. Honduras is a beautiful country and is also currently the deadliest country. It is lawless. Gangs and drugs are lord. People are fleeing.  Poverty is king. There are so few jobs. Transition out of the Orphanage is intense. Although there are transition classes and small opportunities, for a child that has been institutionalize perhaps their whole lives, the freedom is immense, and the country is crushing. Some die right away with bullets. Some come back with babies. Some make it. 

I talk with Yolani, an Older Girl that works in the Little Girl House. Two more years left here. I ask if she wants to leave. Yes, she tells me. One day maybe she will live in Costa Rica. I tell her to visit me in los Estados Unidos. She laughs loud and tells me that sure, when she is very rich she will. Speaking Spanish, she tells me she wants to be a secretary. She will work hard. I encourage her; I tell her she is smart, (I don’t know if she’s smart). I say she is hardworking, (I’m hoping she is hardworking). In a too-high pitched voice I brightly ask her how excited she is to leave. She looks at me and answers in English so I understand. She is not excited. Life is not easy for us here in Honduras she says. 

And I know. I mean I don’t know. I don’t know what it is like to fear from going from three hot meals a day to maybe none. Going from guards on the outside and sleeping in safety to being afraid to walk down a street. Zero safety net. A high risk, low reward tightrope.

It is after dinner and I am watching thirty Little Girls play in the yard. They are laughing and running, their black hair glints in the sun. I speak with Carmen. She is sitting on the side of the yard, it is the best position to catch older boy’s attention as they walk by. She is 20. She has been here 12 years. She has stayed two years after graduation because this is her home. As we talk a seven year old girl sits next to us. Carmen takes the small toy plastic drum the child was playing with, she twirls it and taps it. Carmen has worked in the Little Girl house for many years. She is like a big sister to them. A kind, sweet, manic big sister. She tells me she will leave here soon. She is sad to go, but she wants to go, she wants to make a family. She wants to be a translator. She will work hard. She tells me she has family a few hours away. She hasn’t had any contact with them in over three years. Esta bien. She tells me. It’s fine.

 I look down and realize that during our conversation she has punched through the toy drum’s plastic face. She flatly shows it to the Little Girl and tells her it is broken. Esta bien. The Little Girl says softly. 

Within three days of being here I was given keys to different buildings. A key also to the pantry. Still a stranger, the adults in charge entrusted to me access to a closet that holds shampoo, ibuprofen, tomato sauce, lice combs, toilet paper, powdered milk, rice, pasta. 20 year olds that have been here 12 years still don’t have keys. The adults know that being from America I have no interest in the goods in this closet. They’re not worth anything.  To others, those who had to hoard food, those who never get shampoo, these are important properties. The past dictates what we determine valuable.

Our past and our paths are different-these 6 Older Girls, these 30 Little Girls, Elena, my girl, at home in her bed. I leave Yolani in the kitchen, Carmen on the steps and the Little Girl playing in the setting sun. I head home to my family. I feel all the keys in my pocket. I say each verb on my way. Verbs I thought I knew.  My steps echo each one and I say 

Tener. Necesitar. Querer. Ser.  
To have. To need. To want. To be.