Five Years Of Spanish Classes Led Up To This Trip

Please forgive me if I messed up the Spanish part. Yes, it's simple, but five years of Spanish class did not prove nearly as helpful as I anticipated.

   En el año 2013, mi abuela y mi abuelo, los padres de mi madre, se murieron. Unos meses después de la muerte de mi abuela en octubre, mi mamá me dijo que ella quiso ir a Honduras en el mayo próximo  por un viaje de la iglesia. También, ella me dijo que  me quiso ir con ella. Le dije sí.

  Pero durante del segundo semestre de este año, tuve estrés porque tuve problemas con la clase química y un trabajo nuevo. No sentí que pude creer sobre el viaje. Había otras cosas más importantes.

   Unos meses luego, tomé los exámenes finales, y repentinamente,  era el mes de mayo. Estuve saliendo por el país en solamente unos días. No pude creer o ajustar. No había tiempo. Estaba en el aeropuerto en Columbus, y Atlanta y finalmente San Pedro Sula, Honduras.

   Conducimos por tres horas a un lugar que se llamó Las Conchias. Deshacemos el equipaje y organizamos la medicina en los arcones.  Todos los arcones tuvieron un tipo de medicina como vitaminas, dolor o antibióticos. También, había bolsas llenadas de provisiones dentales y lentes.

  La primera aldea era la iglesia hermana de Liberty Presbyterian de Powell. Se llamó El Olvido, y el edificio de la iglesia de El Olvido había construido por miembros de Liberty. Después de la clínica, servimos la cena a la gente de la iglesia, y asistimos un servicio de iglesia.

  Por una semana, viajamos a aldeas diferentes. Cada aldea era única . La segunda tuve una escuela buen.  La tercera tuve arboles de coco y un hombre lo escaló. La cuarta tuve una iglesia casi como una de los estados unidos, y la última era más pobre de todos.

  Había cosas que yo quise como mi teléfono celular y mi enamorado. Pero Honduras era una experiencia que no puedo describir. Vale, no puedo describirlo en español. Lean el resto y probaré describirlo en ingles porque es mas fácil.

   In the year 2013, my grandma and my grandpa, my mother’s parents, died. A few months after the death of my grandmother in October, my mom told me that she wanted to go to Honduras on a mission trip. She also told me that she wanted me to go with her. I told her yes.

   But during the second semester of this year, I was stressed because I had problems with chemistry and a new job. I didn’t feel that I could think about the trip. There were more important things.

   A few months later, I took final exams, and suddenly, it was May. I was leaving the country in only a few days. I couldn’t think or adjust. I was in the Columbus airport, Atlanta, and finally San Pedro Sula, Honduras.

   We drove for three hours to the place in which we stayed called Las Conchias. We unpacked the luggage and organized the medicine in the bins. Every bin had a type of medicine like vitamins, pain, or antibiotics. Also, there were filled bags of dental supplies and glasses.

   The first village was the sister of Liberty Presbyterian of Powell.  It was called El Olvido (The Forgotten)  and the church building had been built by members of Liberty. After the clinic, we served dinner and attended a church service.

   For a week, we traveled to different villages. Each was unique. The second had a good elementary school. The third had coconut trees anda guy scaled one. The fourth had a church almost like one from the United States, and the last was poorer than anything else.

   There were things that I wanted, like my cell phone and my boyfriend. But Honduras was  an experience that I cannot describe. Okay, I cannot describe it in Spanish. Read the rest and I will try to describe it in English because it's easier. 

   The only time I have ever been out of the country was to go to Nova Scotia a few years ago with my family. And though the Canadians were very nice and kept apologizing for the 70 degree F "heat", it really didn't feel like another country. Honduras definitely did.

   I had about three days to get excited about the trip. I was on tenterhooks about my chem grade, and was working in the lab, so little time was spent thinking about it between moving out of my dorm and leaving.

   Now, I haven't really mentioned religion at all in these blogs, mainly because it hasn't really mattered. I also haven't mentioned it because I have been doing a lot of questioning over the past few years. I know I believe and trust in God and Jesus, but I have had some struggles with the church. I hoped that this trip would give me the opportunity to forget all of the struggles and just feel and share the love of God through service. 

   And it did. About sixty times over.

   As I mentioned previously, we visited different villages each day. I was on the pharmacy team, so my main job was to count and bag pills to hand out. That included antibiotics, parasite meds, ibuprofen, Tylenol, and four 28,000-count boxes of vitamins. So by my estimate, our team counted and bagged approximately 125,000 pills. Thankfully for the vitamins, we estimated using cups. But if you divide the total number vitamins by the approximated 90 per bag, that is still 1244+ bags of pills. 

   Since I was in the "pharmacy" during the clinics, I didn't get to work with the families very much, but my mom did. She was the assistant to one of the doctors on the trip. Each team consisted of one doctor, one assistant, and one translators. And side note, our translators were incredible young men who made the trip very, very enjoyable, and we probably would not have had such a good time if they hadn't been working with us.

   Luckily for me, I did not have to wait until the last day or so to have a "God moment". That happened at out first village. 

   It's been almost six months since Dahgo passed away, so though I miss her a lot, I don't find myself getting teary very often. The exception is when my mom starts talking about it. Then comes the waterworks (for both of us). In this case, my mom and I both offered to give testimonies as to why we went on the trip and our journey and stuff. She went first. 

    She spoke how when she lost her mom her heart broke,and she went to Honduras in honor of her mother (cue crying from both parties). She also mentioned how seeing the families at the clinic, specifically the grandparents bringing the children, made her think about her own mother and how Dahgo was so vital in raising us. But it was the end of the testimony that truly made the trip.

   She asked for the church to pray for her, which is to be expected. What we were not expecting was for the entirety of the church to stand and lay hands on her. They called me up too, and we stood as they began to pray. But they didn't just listen to the pastor the way we do at Stonybrook. Each person began to pray out loud, quietly at first and then stronger and stronger until my mom and I were standing midst  a crowd of raised voices calling upon the Lord.
   I probably could have tried to catch bits of what they were saying (as they were all speaking Spanish), but I was crying too hard and the only thing my brain could process was this is God, this is God.

   As the week went on, we saw many different villages and people. Twice we set up in schools. The first one was a lot nicer, with colorful walls and drawings. My favorite things about it was that there were drawings of the Earth on the wall by students in honor of Earth Day, but instead of a drawing of North America like we're used to, there was a drawing of a strip of land running vertical through the ocean. I realized that that must be how they see Honduras on a map. 
   The other school was in a lot worse shape. The rooms looked unused and dirty. The highlight of that day was when I tried coconut water for the first time, straight from the coconut. A man climbed straight up the tree, no harness or anything, and then pulled a machete up on a rope. He used it to chop down a bunch of coconuts and then other men used their machetes (everyone has a machete) to break them open for the kids to drink. 
  The fourth clinic was made of a better stone and had a pretty decent bathroom as well. I could tell it was a village that had a more money as the church had a few speakers and an amplifier. That day I took a lot of pictures, mainly of the kids and families. Momma particularly liked taking pictures of kids wearing Batman t-shirts and frequently said that she wanted to bring hers, but wasn't sure if it would be culturally appropriate.
   The last day was a half day clinic, but by far it was the poorest place we went to. The place in which we set up was a tin roof held up by two-by-fours. Dogs, chickens, and children were everywhere in Honduras, but in this village, we kept having to shoo dogs out from under the tables. The two pastors daughters were hanging around, so I asked them to put the labels on the bags, and eventually they were helping me to count the pills. This was also the day in which I got over my embarrassment of speaking Spanish. It must have been the fact that they were kids. 

   By the end of the week, I was ready to see my friends and family and to use the internet. But there is something about Honduras that draws you. Part of it is the people. Part of it is the beauty of the landscape. But I think most of it is delving into a different culture. We had many conversations with the translators about different ideas and objects and how different and how similar our cultures are. To quote Albus Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire: "though we come from different places and speak in different tongues, our hearts beat as one."But something I believe and that this trip has emphasized is that we are all humans, and by that we are all God's children. And I hope that that is something other people think and live by too.