The dust kicks up
on the road as the bus driver swerves to avoid another pothole. I stare out the
window as the African palms fly by in their perfect rows. Those perfect rows
mask an underlying conflict between the ordinary campesino and big business, a past
as imperfect as the rows are straight. A man steps onto the bus, trapped in a
giant basket filled with various treats. Quesadillas! Good Prices! His cheerful
voice and attitude sell, but his weary eyes hint at the other 45 buses he’s
boarded today and every day for the past 20 years.
It has been eight
months since I was last in Honduras. That time I was here for two and a half
years. I'm back for another. The first time I arrived, I was embarking on an
unknown adventure, off to a Catholic orphanage to save the world. I entered a
scene of perfection, of children laughing and playing, of joy and
Christ-centered faith. The last time I left, I left broken. I left fully aware
that some kids experience more hardship in their first eleven years than most
can imagine. I left understanding that it is all too tempting to pass that hurt
and pain on to others. I left willingly, gladly, hoping that a new batch of
missionary recruits could continue what I no longer could.
I’m supposed to be
starting a graduate degree. I’m supposed to be moving on with my life and
getting a real job and setting myself up so that I can provide for a future
family, if the right girl ever comes along. I'm actually on a bus, headed
towards a place that holds both love and hurt in overwhelming quantities. They
twist and turn together until I'm unsure of where one ends and the other
begins. I loved the place dearly, but I got out of there for a reason. I burned out and headed home, grateful
when my time was up, grateful for an excuse to leave, to recover.
Yet here I am,
sliding over to make space in the tiny seats designed for american school
children. Somehow the place is calling me back again.
Dear God,
It better
not just be the place that's calling me back. Sincerely, Kevin
Amen.
P.S. But seriously,
I hope this was part of Your plan.
P.P.S. Either way,
can You still send some of that grace this direction?
