Shhhhh. Do you hear
that? No, really, wait. Hear it?
That’s silence. Like what’s been
going on with the blog for the last 6 months.
My apologies! Time has certainly
flown by, and now the leaves are changing color and I’m going to be 50 years
old in 10 days and I’m really wondering just where all the time has gone?
Yup, 50. It’s really
kind of freaking me out. That’s a half a
century after all, and with me being the analytical, statistical type you know that I know that means 2/3 of my life expectancy has already passed
by. Poof, gone, just like that. My mother always used to tell me that time would seem to
speed up as I got older, that the years would not always crawl by like they
felt they were doing in my teens, but that someday I would wonder where it all
had gone. She was right, like moms
sometimes (usually) are. I mean
seriously, I qualify for AARP? Are you
kidding me? Those discounts aren’t
enticing me, though. Well, maybe a
little, but not enough yet to sign up. But hey, you didn’t come here to listen to me complain about
turning 50 or to witness a midlife meltdown.
You probably wanted an update on Honduras and our transition home and
just what is going on with all that. So
I’ll do my best to bring everyone up to speed on what’s been going on over the
last 6 months.
Most of you know that we moved back to the States, to
Tigard, in June. Getting the things that
were coming with packed and out was a challenge as we were unable to find a
shipper taking domestic cargo from Honduras to the states. So, we rounded up a bunch of less than 62”
boxes, packed them to the 50 lb weight limit, and started sending them home as
passenger cargo with teams and people visiting from the states. I think we are down to just 5 boxes still
stranded in Honduras but they’ll get here eventually.
The majority of our household items were given to Ana, cook
and teacher at Micah. Many of you
participated in helping to build her a house in Villa Linda Miller which she
was able to move into in July. Ana
stopped me the day before I left Honduras and asked if we could talk. I assumed she wanted to say something about
the furniture, but what she said instead completely blew me away. She told me that she had been at Micah when I
had shared my testimony (about 9 months earlier, I had no idea she was there)
and that by hearing how God had rescued and restored me from the sexual abuse I
suffered as a child, she was given hope of healing. She said that for the first time in her life
she did not feel dirty, or like she was a “bad” person. She went on to say that she wanted us to
understand what the home furnishings really meant. You see, she and her 2 children had lived in
Barrio Buenos Aires for years. And for
years they had prayed that the Lord would find a way to get them out of the
danger that the barrio is. As each year
passed by, her children lost a little more of their faith in God, until they
had almost none left. Pray, why
pray? God isn’t going to do anything to
help us. Then teams came, and a house
was built, and now they each had their own room, with their own bed, and for
the first time in their lives they weren’t going to get rained on at night while
they slept. God did provide, in His
time, and the faith of her children had been restored.
Do not underestimate the impact you are having on
others. Give with abandon. Share your
story transparently. Leave the results
up to God. The blessing that Ana gave
me, by sharing a 15 minute conversation of how her life had been impacted, is
immeasurable.
The next day I boarded the plane with 3 of our 4 kids. Brian had left a couple of days earlier with
Jake and flown to Albuquerque New Mexico, where they drove Jake’s truck and a
U-Haul trailer to Oregon. Traveling with
a dog, a 10 year old, a 14 year old, and a 17 year old girl that can’t speak
English was, uh, interesting. Oh, and
the 16 bags we had with us. Yah, that
was fun.
We arrived to our home in Tigard on June 12th and
for those of you that weren’t in the house when we did, Pastor Steve shot a
short video of my complete break down.
We have always known how incredibly blessed we are to be a part of such
an amazing group of believers. But when
I walked in and saw this house, this perfect house for our family, filled with
furniture, and dishes, and spaghetti in the refrigerator so I didn’t have to
cook that night, it was so overwhelming.
The burdens and stresses of the previous 6 months preparing to come back
burst the damn and I was a sobbing, snotting mess. Mary Hunter had the mucous laden shoulder on
her sweater to prove it. And just to
echo what I said previously, do not underestimate the impact you are having on
others. Your generosity, in time and
possessions and prayers blessed us beyond anything we could have ever hoped or
dreamed of.
That’s when “transition” began. I think that’s a strange word for it,
though. Webster’s gives the definition
of transition as: movement, passage, or change from one position, state, stage, subject, concept, etc., to another; change. To me that conjures up an image of a flowing
type of change, which is not what the first 6 weeks here in Oregon proved to
be. I had convinced myself that while it
might not be a piece of cake, coming back and settling in, that transition
would be no problem. Instead, it was
more of a jarring, abrupt, smack in the face, and I found myself wandering
around in a fog, a very unrealistic kind of reality, wondering if I was
dreaming or if the last 3 years had been a dream. It was very disorienting and unsettling and,
well, I didn’t like it.
But life doesn’t stop when you’re in the middle of a
meltdown, so here we were opening up a business on July 1st, just 3
weeks after our arrival. Technically the
shop, 3G’s Automotive, wasn’t open until August 1st, but cars began
rolling in from day 1. We’ve been busy,
steady, and that is a good thing. The 8
am – 6 pm grind is another challenge to get used to, as I have been wired for
several years to be at home with my kids.
Being here this summer knowing they were at home by themselves was a
little tough. But they’re older now, and
it is what it is, you know. All in all
we really can’t complain. There could be
worse things than having work to do, right?
Like not having work, or a way to make an income. Thankfully I have a husband that has a trade
that can earn us a living anywhere. And
God is good. He has blessed us with
smooth sailing and work when we need it.
Now 3 months after our arrival back in the good old U. S. of
A. (and it is so good) the fog is beginning to clear. Reality doesn’t seem so unrealistic anymore,
and I’m starting to get into a rhythm of life.
The kids are back at school, loving it but beginning to see the benefits
their time in Honduras gave them.
Ministry is not finished, Micah is not finished. I am still involved almost daily with the
Mama Jo’s Bakery, trying to smooth out the bobbles and bumps they’ve
experienced. We will continue to support
and advocate for Micah as we believe in the work being done there. The Lord has given us a daughter in Nohelia
that stretches me and my understanding of the world quite a bit (give me a
break, I have 3 boys!). And now Marvin
Morazan is here living with the Gellingers getting ready to see what God has in
store for him. It’s all very amazing,
very humbling, and yes, somewhat unbelievable.
We spent just a little over 2 ½ years in Honduras and a lot
was accomplished. Micah Tech was built
and is a huge success, with Franklyn in charge and 22 students enrolled this
year. The bakery is up and running and we
hope to see it become a viable business that will change the lives of these
single moms. Nightstrike was modified to
include elements we practiced at Bridgetown.
Feet were washed. Houses were
built. Tears were spilled. And we were forever changed.
If you were to ask me to summarize what I learned from
Honduras it would be this question I have for you.
Do you know Jesus?
A week before we left we attended the funeral of Emerson, a
14 year old boy that had been a part of the tech program for awhile. He had been murdered the day before, shot in
the back of the head and found in a field outside of town. I had never gone to any of the funerals
before, but I made myself go to this one, and I observed and took in everything
I could from that scene. From the soccer
coach who told me of Emerson’s great talent that was now lost, to his brother
who was completely stunned; the sister brought in by 3 armed policeman in
handcuffs, freed from jail for a few minutes to pay respect to her dead brother’s
corpse; to the street kids high on glue claiming they were the one that had
killed him, to Belen high on glue sleeping on a bench in the funeral home
instead of in the dirt on the street.
As I looked at Emerson’s body I thought about all that had
been “accomplished”…the Tech school, the bakery, Nightstrike. All of it.
I thought of all he had done, or possibly done in his life, from robbing
people to using drugs. And as I stared
at that pale face I realized that none of it mattered. None of it.
The only thing that mattered was whether he had met Jesus before the
bullet.
He had. One month
before his death Stephen Kusmer (Micah missionary) had the joy of seeing the
Holy Spirit break down the walls of Emerson’s heart and make him a new creation
in Christ. Knowing that I could truly
say Rest in Peace, Emerson.
So we’re back and like I said, ministry hasn’t stopped, I
doubt it ever will. We are developing an
idea for Tech Night here at the shop reaching out to at risk youth. I was taking some pre-req’s in the hope of
returning to school, but that will have to be on hold for now. And we’re waiting. Waiting to “transition”, to heal, and to see
what God has in store for us next.
We are so thankful for each and every one of you that has
prayed and paid for us to do the work God had in Honduras. Thank you for your faithfulness. May God pour out His blessings on you all.
Peace