Fear and Hope: A Gradual Conversion?

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?