A Sign of the Times

I have a friend who has been in the construction trade for decades.  He has headed up projects constructing entire subdivisions, as well as road and bridge construction.  He is now nearing retirement and for whatever reasons the company to whom he has given his life is now treating him badly before he exits.  He has been demoted from his multi-faceted responsibilities and lately they have him working as a “flagger.”  I should say, standing around and being bored out of his freakin’ mind as a flagger.  No offense to any flaggers, but a chimpanzee—on an off day—could perform the job.  (If you can earn that kind of income--read further-- doing what you do, more power to you.)

  
I didn’t realize this but apparently the state regards “flagging” so difficult that certification is required.  Flagging 101.  “Class, we will devote the entire morning to the intricacies of turning the sign.  Write this down:  turn it to the side that says GO when traffic can resume; turn it to the side that says STOP when you want traffic to, uh, stop.  Now, in groups of two’s practice this maneuver with each other until you can do so without notes.”

He feels humiliated that he may very well finish his career in this capacity.  Maybe that’s the whole purpose of the company doing this.  One of my favorite sites for sarcasm—despair.com—offers this “demotivator:” 

I think that’s their attitude--dead wrong, but thoroughly convinced.

It gets absurdly funny.  He tells me that a flagger will start out at  around $28 an hour, some of them working 14-16 hours a day, time and a half on Sat., and double-time on Sun.  Here’s the “welcome to America” moment.  At some of the bridge or RR crossing construction sites flaggers are standing at attention with their signs for 8-16 hours but, get this--the road is completely barricaded, closed to all traffic.  There are no “flagees,” only a solitary flagger.  I think this is absolutely brilliant.  Only in America

Maybe there’s a metaphor here.  Am I “flagging” a non-existent crowd?  Do I get on any one of my personal soapboxes and provide answers to questions people aren’t asking?    Am I intersecting with the traffic of humanity around me or am I off in my own little world waving irrelevant signs?  Am I on roads no one is traveling, not because I'm so advanced but because I'm clueless?  


And why am I waving an abrasive sign in someone's face, anyway?

Disdained in Life, Discarded in Death

He was a loner, but likeable.  John was a very intelligent homeless man who stayed in one of the local shelters at night, and fended for himself during the day.  His yellow-tinted glasses gave color to his weary eyes.

I first met him a year or so ago.  Our church operated out of a small storefront and served breakfast to the homeless early each Sunday morning.  We would pack 60, sometime 70, homeless men and women into our narrow quarters.  John was anxious around crowds.  He would arrive late, and linger outside.  He seldom asked for a meal, but always asked for coffee.  I struck up conversation with him, and it became a near-weekly ritual.  I looked forward to seeing him.

He would miss a week or two but always managed to reappear. During this time I left for 3 months to work with the poor in Honduras.   Upon returning,I didn't see John for a couple weeks and asked a street person who was a buddy of John's.  He told me John had died months ago.  I was shocked.

Nobody on our "team" had heard anything.  The grapevine of the homeless network was quiet; John was aloof enough that his brothers of the street apparently either didn't know or didn't care.

How does someone die without anyone noticing?  How does a man created in imago Dei--the image of God--die and get discarded like a cigarette butt tossed out the window?  How can you become so lost, so invisible that no one notices you dying?

I don't know.  I do know this:  I miss John.  John, I wish I had known your health had been significantly deteriorating.  Maybe I could have been there with you so you wouldn't have died alone.  Maybe some family member broke out of their comfort zone and re-established contact with you and held your hand and uttered comforting words and provided loving presence as you died.  Maybe.  I hope so.

No one should die alone.

Another Angle About Our Return Home

We have returned home.  The return trip home was not without a delayed flight, a cancelled flight, the beloved airlines losing ¾ of our checked baggage, and the bus breaking down between Chicago and home.  “Other than that. . . how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?”

It is quite an adjustment to life back home.  There is so much sensory stimulation here in contrast to rural Honduras.  Noise, movement, traffic, bombardment by TV, schedule deadlines.  I forgot how difficult it is to relax here due to the constant stimulation of all our senses.  Another difference is the pace.  I’ll put it in driving terminology.   Here I feel I’m always in 5^th gear—hurry, you’re running late,  ya snooze ya lose.  In Honduras life is done in 2nd or 3rd gear.  As the director of the Mercy International, our mission base, said about a scheduled hike into the mountains, “We would like to leave at 9:00; we will leave when we are ready.”  People tend to take priority over projects.  In Honduras, time is to be enjoyed, not monitored.  As a friend put it,  “You have the watch; we have the time.”   If only I could learn to down-shift. . .  I can already  feel myself tensing up now that we’re back.

I’ll share a realization or two with you.  We take the ordinary for granted.  We assume the routine and the people in our lives are a given.  In going to Honduras we left EVERYTHING and EVERYONE that had been familiar to us.  We were transported to a culture where we knew less than 10 people in the entire country.  We know very little Spanish and the vast majority of Hondurans knew absolutely no English.  We uprooted from our entire support system—family, friends, community of faith—and I wasn’t prepared for the gaping hole that created.  Being home now and being able to call anyone anytime, being able to laugh together and embrace and hold and hug—all that I had taken for granted—I now regard as a gift to be cherished.  The ordinary is a gift.  Cherish it.  On one of our walks through the Honduras countryside Les took a picture that I regarded at the time as a waste of time and camera space.  My thoughts were, it's a stupid cow.  What's the big deal?

 Now I get it.

I also realize how spoiled and fortunate and blessed I am even when life is at its worst.  I knew about the poverty there but living in it for 3 months moved it from my head to my heart.  I’ll give just one example.  One of Mercy International’s missions is to build houses/shelter for the poorest of the poor who reside In the mountains.  These people are the furthest removed from accessing resources, medical care, and supplies.  We took a U. S. team up to a mountain village, requiring a 2 hour fifteen minute drive over an unpaved mountain road and then a 3 hour hike to get to this area. Each evening our team would fire up the Coleman gas stoves and cook dinner.  During every meal the Honduran children are standing around us watching us eat.  We can’t give our food away because we need the carbs/energy for the difficult physical labor we’re engaging in.  So, you learn to eat, in spite of these kids staring at you and your plate of food.  One night, we had food left over—rice, actually.  So we asked the kids if they would like the remaining rice.  It broke my heart as they grabbed rice by the fistful.

 I knew these children don’t have much, but had no idea they were “grab it by the handfuls” hungry.

There is much more to share at another time.  We wanted let you know we’re back and we thank you for your support, your encouragement, your friendship.

We now face a most significant decision—do we return/relocate to Honduras and serve full-time, or do we consider other avenues of serving??  Honestly, we do not have a clear sense of direction at this point.  We have allotted two months in which to make that decision.  Any insight or direction you might offer will be appreciated.  We will appreciate your prayers, as well, regarding this decision.

I’ll end with several reasons we loved the people we served.

Be thankful for what and who you have.

Grace and Peace, Steve and Leslie

We're Back in the States Where Technology Makes Life Run Smoothly

Well, we've been back home for over a week.   I apologize for the delay in getting back to my blog.  We're back in spite of the particular airlines we used.  Our morning of departure we got up at 4 a.m. to depart Honduras.  The flight to Miami was without incident or food.  The flight from Miami to Chicago was delayed, which I feared would set in motion a chain reaction of disasters in making our connecting flight from Chicago to home.  I don't know why I was worrying so much; the connecting flight was cancelled completely.  It was a special moment.  By now it's @ 5 p.m. and it's been a long day.  The same particular airline informed us that they lost 3/4 of our checked baggage and had no idea where our cargo might be.  Because our flight was cancelled they offered to toss us on a bus (or was it under the bus?) from Chicago to home, another  4 hours or so.  I asked if they would include a meal while we were waiting for the bus, but they informed me they "couldn't do that."  Another special moment.  At 7 pm. we boarded a bus and while sitting there idling, the engine died.  But not to worry, the after a couple minutes the driver got it running again.   About 3 hours into the ride home, the engine died and the driver pulled off the interstate and there we sat in the dark.  Now would be the time to worry.  He called the dispatcher of Vern's Bus and Bait Shop and eventually the dispatcher sent out another bus to meet us and pick us up and transport us the rest of the way home.  We got in at midnight and were completely surprised by some of our family and friends welcoming us off the bus.  


Soon I hope to fill you in on my reflections as I look back on our 3 months in Honduras.  We are now adjusting to re-entry into mid-upper class IL.  By the way, we did get all our luggage two days after we got home.  But I still carry an attitude about the whole affair.  I guess you carry your baggage whether or not you lose your luggage.  Know what I mean?


I hope to hear from you as I get back in my blogging routine.  If you have questions to which you'd like me to respond, let me know.

Be thankful for what and who you have.

Harris Honduras Update: Time is Flying By

Two weeks and we return home.  Can’t believe it!  It seems like it was only yesterday that upon our arrival here American Airlines lost half our luggage for five days—but I’m over it and don’t begrudge them in the least.  Right.

A team of good ole boys from Texas came down and with some help from a mason and his crew we built two concrete block houses, start to finish, in four days.  Don’t anybody mess with Texas!  Hard workers who laugh a lot.  Each evening we would return to the mission base for dinner and they’d chow down and while still at the table pull out their pouches of Red Man and chew a wad.  I got a kick out of it, but I certainly would never sit downwind of them at a picnic.

They were immediately followed by a team of @ 20 guys from Cincinnati.  We tackled a work project up into the mountains.  The typical 2 & a half hour drive on a rough unpaved mountain road and then a three or so hour hike to a little village, Agua Calliente.   We were able to pour a concrete floor for the village church and also put on a roof for a family who resides there. There was a gap between the roof trusses and the existing adobe blocks so we needed to mix some mud as filler.  Here’s a pic of the man’s wife mixing the mud with her bare feet.  Few “princesses” in Honduras.

I had a day off a couple weeks ago and went hiking/exploring further out in the country and met this family out in the sticks.  Three generations living together.

I regard Honduras as the Beauty and the Beast.  In my updates I know I tend to focus on the beastly nature of the country; here are a couple pics of the beauty.

When I take pics  I am still drawn to the children.  This is Michelle, who lives between our apartment and the mission base.  One of the most beautiful Honduran children I have met.

A few more pics of precious people.  When you look at their pic, please pray for them and, in turn, go out of your way to do something for someone you know who may be in distress.

Last and totally unrelated, the following is a pic of the inside of the back door of the bus we took from the base into town.  I guess Jesus is many things to many people.

As always, be thankful for what and who you have.


        

A Brief Introspective Honduras Update: The Look in the Mirror

We don't have a team down here this week and Easter week is typically a week of diminished activity at the base. This has allowed for more time to think and ponder, whether wanting to or not. Some random thoughts and perceptions:

Living in community sounds Thoreau-like but often plays out more WWIII than Walden. Don't get me wrong--Mercy International is not characterized by cat-fights and brawling. It's just that living in community is always difficult, regardless of the context. Les and I have lived in community on two prior occasions. Those prior occasions brought to the surface and caused me to confront my own judgmental attitude and my selfishness. This occasion is no different. I need grace to bestow grace.

Living in this harsher environment as also accentuated the strengths in our marriage, but simultaneously has brought to the surface the flaws and deficiencies. It's like a crucible. Great things are being ground out in our relationship; we have laughed more the past two months than we have in a long time. We have felt a sense of accomplishment in working together on some projects. The crucible is also making obvious and grinding out some impurities. That look in the mirror has made me see that there are times when I am more loving toward a poor Honduran than I am toward my wife. I won't unleash on one of them what I will spew upon her. I am very thankful for her patience and graciousness in living with and loving me.

I'm somewhat of a germaphobe. So here I am in rural Honduras. Go figure. For years I was very hesitant to "get dirty," meaning I hedged on touching dirty and, at times, smelly children. I am embarrassed to say this. I now experience a much greater comfortability in holding and hugging them. (I still will not share a water bottle with anyone, so if you ever come down here, bring your own.)

Though not appearing in this update, due to all my pics being on my laptop and my laptop having no Internet connection this week and therefore I am using a computer in the office-- I love taking pics. I find myself taking pics of the children predominantly more than that of the scenery or other elements of the country. I'm discovering that it's the children that capture my heart. And the Honduran women who struggle to survive.

One last introspective glance: the tension between DOING and BEING has become magnified while here. I can DO loving things without necessarily BEING loving. e.g. I can build a house for a poor family (plenty of DOING) while grumbling, complaining about the poor quality of the lumber and the lack of help (scarcity of BEING.) I trust that God will continue to diminish the seemingly expansive gap between the two and that some day I will truly BE loving and also Do loving things.

Until then I'm thankful for my wife and some close friends who love me in spite of the gap.

Be thankful for what and who you have.

Honduras Update: A Week at the Base and Home

Greetings from the two of us!  (A rare photo which includes my shy and beautiful wife)

This week we didn’t have a team come down from the States, so other than hauling gravel from town to the base we worked at the base itself.  We also dug a foundation in order to begin the next house when another team comes in next week.

Another program of Mercy International is an attempt to keep kids in school.  Education is a primary key to breaking the cycle of poverty.  So many of the girls become pregnant and drop out and so many of the boys become apathetic and quit.  Once either sex makes that choice their fate is typically sealed.  Many of the kids are raised in poor families and the father or mother cannot afford to send their children to primary school, much less college.  MI provides scholarships to kids who demonstrate a significant need as well as motivation and determination.  The program is called Hope and a Future, directed by Cindy Lowman.  People in the states sponsor a child for a school year.  (For more info you can go to  http://www.beyondmercy.com/index_files/Page391.html).

The last team interviewed some of the girls who are now going to school because of gracious individuals who have provided them scholarships.  Here is a photo of the interview and then some excerpts: (I represents  the interviewer; S,  a student)

 I: What would you tell your mom if she were sitting here? 

S:  I’d give her a kiss and tell her I love her because she never had an opportunity like I have.  She gives me the strength to go after my dream.

I:  (to another student)  How is your life different than your mom’s?

S:  The last baby my mom had was very difficult for me.  This is very personal.  My mother made a big mistake and she had a baby from a married man, and I saw that another child has come and I was afraid of what people would say.  People have always told me I’m going to be just like my mom. I can show them NOW that I am different.  NOW my goal is to graduate and have work.

I:  If you girls someday have a little girl what will you say to her?

S:  Be careful with the boys.  Keep your zipper up all the time.

I:  Why keep your zipper up?

S:  We have a goal, a dream and if we get pregnant this dream will be worth nothing.

I:  How different would your life be if you weren’t in school?

S:  If I hadn’t gotten a scholarship I’d probably have children now.  I wouldn’t be a Christian.  My brothers and sisters wouldn’t be motivated because they now see me as an example.  I give thanks to God to have a different opportunity than my family.

I will use the rest of this space to provide you a slice of life where we live, since we’ve been at the base and home all week.  Here's me at the mission base.  (Les always prefers to take a photo rather than being in one.)

Life here is full of contrast.  You can see a kid with a whip in one hand as he mans an ox-cart, and a cell phone is his other hand.  Go figure.  (Unrelated, this is the road we walk from the base to our apartment.)

The outdoor markets are lush with the freshest strawberries, pineapples, watermelon, apples, blackberries—and we can’t touch it without first bleaching all fresh fruit and vegetables.  It can drive a guy like me—who hates to delay gratification—absolutely over the edge.

The tap water is not safe to drink; we’ve also been instructed to keep our mouth shut when showering.  Speaking of the shower in our apartment, apparently the plumbers in Honduras missed Water and Electricity 101.  Notice the exposed electrical wiring running into our showerhead so that we have hot showers.  I am now very anxious when I shower and have developed a nervous tic.  One raised hand to wash an armpit and I could be fried.

Nonetheless, life is good here and the people are beautiful.

Be thankful for what and who you have.