An early start … 3:30 am alarm …everyone’s due at the church by 5:15 am. I get there about 5:00 am, and Kent pulls in within a couple of minutes of my arrival. He has recently learned that he won’t be able to join us on the trip, but has come to see us off. Everyone’s more or less on time. Kent leads us in prayer for our journey and mission, and we leave in Sean Meiers’ capable hands. He is kind enough to be driving us up to National Airport in a bus borrowed from St. George's.

Unlike many of my daily trips up I-95, this one was smooth. An efficient trip all the way up I-395. Although there was a bit of a queue for the international check-in, the check-in process also went smoothly and efficiently.

So, too, the first leg of our flight. We actually landed early in Miami, but to no avail—because of a problem at our gate, we had to be towed to a different one. We walked/ran several miles (or so it seemed) from gate A3 to gate D40. Lots of construction in the Miami airport contributed to the lengthy trek. We probably would have been late for our connection except that our flight had been delayed by a half-hour.

A quick flight into Tegucigalpa, and an impressive landing on a short runway. ( Tegucigalpa is in a mountain basin, so the surrounding mountains create a real challenge for pilots maneuvering in and out. After our safe return, Don distributed an article that illuminated the difficulty. He had read the article before our trip, but didn’t want to generate any concern amongst the group, so, at the time, we were largely oblivious to just how impressive the landing was.)

No lost or damaged bags along the way. We were spotted in the baggage claim area by a couple of boys who asked if we were looking for Raul. According to our El Hogar handbook, complete with a copied photo, we were indeed. As they commenced to grabbing bags from us, we followed a short way, where Raul and Rich, executive director of all of the El Hogar properties, were waiting to ferry us back to El Hogar, just a few minutes drive (a couple of neighborhoods) away.

Out in the parking lot, one panoramic glance around the immediate area featured lots of fast-food signs—Burger King, Dunkin’ Donuts, Church’s Fried Chicken, etc.—a blight on the scene.

Several young guys were scrambling around, putting the bags on top of the van that Raul had driven. With the bags on top, most of our group fit into the van that Raul was driving, but three of us (John, Murray, and myself) hopped in Rich’s car. On the brief walk to the car, two young boys approached us asking for money by way of saying, “I’m hungry.” Rich quietly said to us, “That’s why we have El Hogar.” He also quickly and emphatically warned against giving them (or others) any money.

As we rode, Rich provided a bit of commentary on our way, including that the neighborhood we were driving through at the time was essentially middle-class. I thought to myself that middle-class looked a lot different there than would be considered the case at home.

Rich pointed out some of the roadside fruit vendors, whose wares looked inviting, and commented that it was mango season, and Honduras has delicious, fresh mangoes. (Just soak in a couple of drops of bleach, and you’re ready to enjoy.) He also pointed out a more modern food market, which from the outside looked like one we might find in the States, with the exception that it regularly has a live DJ spinning tunes for the shoppers.

Along the way, Murray noticed a man in the middle of a street and asked Rich what that was about. Rich indicated that the man, and other enterprising types like him, fill potholes in the street, ask for money for having done so, then after the passers-by have moved on, unfill the potholes to do the same ploy again. (The country is poor, but the people are not lazy!)

Soon, Rich points to an El Hogar sign and, within a few yards, slows to a stop in the street and honks the horn. Shortly, the high white metal gate to our left gets pushed open by a boy so that we can enter—we have arrived!

We immediately sense warmth and hospitality. El Hogar is a cozy enclave in the middle of the city, which itself is a bit of a sprawl throughout the mountain basin. Raul and Rich show us to our quarters, cheerily referring to our volunteer house as the Marriott de El Hogar. We enter into an enclosed porch room running the length of the building. There were four sleeping rooms with bunks. Ours is a group of ten (10), and we have room to spread out a bit so that only those who choose to need to sleep on the top bunks.

Nestled between two of the sleeping rooms were our common kitchen and sitting room. Lunch was a nice surprise because we didn’t necessarily expect to be served lunch at that hour. But it was brought to us shortly after our arrival, a spread of spaghetti, fresh tortillas, and Coca-Cola ™.

After having lunch, Rich and Raul provided our orientation talk. Rich emphasized that we were sharing the lives of the people at El Hogar, and we let him and Raul know that we felt lucky and honored to do so.

Next, a quick tour of the campus, which is fairly compact because of its city location …

The kitchen, in a stand-alone building, is about the size of an average home kitchen in the States, yet provides all of the meals for all of the 96 boys living there. Rich estimated that 500,000 meals were prepared last year.

The classrooms are clustered in another couple of adjoining buildings and each fits about 15 students per class. They acquired textbooks about one and a half years ago. A team from Maryland provides continuing education for the teachers. El Hogar is blessed with good teachers, young, enthusiastic, and idealistic. These attributes are important because the government provides regulation and certification of programs, but cannot provide resources.

Moving on to see the boys’ living quarters, we went inside one of four (4) dormitories. The boys live in groups according to age, and the groups are designated by animals:

• Puppies in the green house
• Lions in the yellow house
• Tigers in the red house
• Eagles in the blue house

Rich and Raul pointed out that they are hoping to build new dormitory space soon. The buildings we saw were built when El Hogar was established 28 years ago, and lack safety features, such as evacuation routes other than the front door. They’re also more exposed to the elements than they would like for the boys. You can see through cracks between the planks that comprise the outer walls. Because there’s no heating or air-conditioning, one of the group asked how cold it gets there. Not below the 40s Fahrenheit, but that sounded pretty chilly to us under the circumstances.

The dorms are small, just enough space for bunk beds and small cupboards for the boys’ clothes and few possessions, but it was very tidy—beds neatly made and absolutely nothing lying around. A shower room and lavatory were at one end of the building.

Following the tour we were left to our own devices. I took to the swings (a natural affinity for me) to begin recording this journal. While there, I met, Aron, one of the boys who came along and paused long enough for me to ask his name (using my minimal Spanish) and to tell him mine, then scampered off, no doubt to more important things.

Some of the boys were playing music on a portable player … I love hearing the Latin rhythms.

Later, we met the boys in their auditorium, which includes an area for TV viewing where the boys were gathered because it was raining. (During the rainy season, it typically rains a bit in the late afternoon/early evening hours.) We each introduced ourselves by first name, after which the boys were prompted to applaud in welcome.

The boys that we met Saturday are those who don’t have homes to visit on the weekends or family to visit them at El Hogar. It was later explained to us that the timing of bringing the volunteer groups on Saturdays is done in order to help provide company and distraction for the boys at El Hogar on the weekends, who may be missing their playmates and feeling a bit lonely.

Earlier in the afternoon, I wandered over, along with Vicky and Mike, to try and send an email from the computer lab. The lab is a relatively new addition to El Hogar, and is situated next to the office. We weren’t able to get a connection, but admired the care with which the equipment was being maintained. There were about ten (10) computers, and each monitor, mouse, and keyboard was in its own little cover.

In the latter portion of the afternoon, I joined most of the group, who were chatting and reading on the porch. Amidst the conversation, dinner was announced, and we enjoyed a meal of tortillas, beans, and egg hash. [The handbook had correctly foretold the diet staples at El Hogar. Tortillas are made fresh every day and usuallly paired with beans. Plain but tasty.]

After dinner, we enjoyed a quiet evening at home, talking about books, origins of sayings, history, etc. Don led compline, after which everyone quietly wound down from our first day.

Not everyone was having a quiet evening, however. We could hear music and what sounded like party noise from the street, right outside the front gate and wall. Murrary and Erin went out to have a peek at the action. Standing on a low concrete wall, they could see a doorway across the street chock full of people, and figured it must be a cantina, except that the partying didn’t go very late. The next day, we found out it was the Pentecostal church!

First night in our quarters … lots of horns blaring, sirens, dogs barking, and other unidentifiable sounds during the night—not too surprising for being in the city … until about 3:30 am or so, when a nearby rooster started a marathon of crowing. His serenade persisted every morning, starting in the wee hours.

We noticed darkness falling earlier than at home, and dawn seemed to come earlier.

I woke early and got up—at 4:30 am, but thinking it was 6:30 am because I hadn’t changed the time on my phone clock to local. Even worse, I woke the girls two hours early! When I realized what I had done and told them, they promptly rolled over and went back to sleep.

Still getting used to the plumbing and breaking the habits from home … electric shower, washing hair in sink, careful flushing, brushing teeth with bottled water … none of it a big deal, just a matter of breaking long-established habits for a few days.

After getting up and washing up, I felt rested and wandered into the kitchen, where I joined Murray and Mike for some of Murray’s coffee. One by one, the rest of us “older” folks joined in. The younger ones came in just before 8:00 am, when we headed out to breakfast, carrying our dishes and utensils to the dining hall. Breakfast that day was corn flakes, bananas, and coffee. The coffee served at El Hogar comes already sweetened—interesting, but quite sweet if you’re not used to taking sugar or sweetener in coffee.

After eating, we engaged in an assortment of chatting, reading, and playing with the boys. I joined Mike and Robert (one of the boys) in a basketball game, and we were soon joined by Murray and Maynor, another of the boys. (Murray and Maynor bonded quickly, and, throughout the week, developed an enduring rapport and friendship.) I didn’t play too long because I was already dressed for church.

Speaking of the outdoors, the weather was lovely all week—temperatures in the 80s during the day and cooler at night. Mostly sunny with passing rain showers in the afternoons.

A few of us were hanging out near the front gate and chatting with one of the boys as we waited for Raul to pick us up for church in town. Mike was doing a good job of practicing his Spanish and helping the rest of us along. The fellow we were chatting with was small in stature but almost a man—17 years old. He seemed content to hang with us as he helped keep a watch on the gate. He has a 20-year old brother in another town far away … we told him a little about our families … for instance, in my case, “No hijos, uno gato.” Not exactly brilliant dialogue on my part.

Fortunately, then, for the young man, Raul soon showed up in a van with his son, also Raul. Raul (senior) corralled the boys who were to accompany us to church. There were 10 of them, selected for the excursion in some meritorious way. Raul herded them into the back of the van—eight or nine crammed into the back—then the rest of us piled in.

Just a brief ride to the church, but the service has just begun when we enter, so Raul ushers us into openings in the pews.

It’s hard to catch where we are in the service at first. I could follow the hymns pretty well. They’re printed on the bulletin insert. Once we got to the Great Thanksgiving, it was easier to follow. Even so, the pace of speech is too fast for me to keep up very well, but I felt as if I got better throughout the service.

I couldn’t follow the sermon at all, but Peter said that he talked about Trinity Sunday (which it was) being an important church holiday. It was a longer sermon than we’re used to, but it probably seemed longer in part because I couldn’t follow it.

At “le paz,” we stood and greeted those immediately around us, as we would at Trinity, but when we would normally be winding down and sitting, this congregation was just beginning their peace-giving! Virtually everyone moves about the church exchanging greetings, including the clergy, acolytes, etc. Giving the peace took several minutes. A hymn was being sung by those who had finished giving the peace and continued throughout.

At one point, Don tapped me and pointed behind us. In the balcony at the rear of the church were our music-makers, a guitarist, keyboardist, drums, and a mystery instrument being played by a woman.

There were quite a few announcements at the end of the service (before the recessional hymn).

After the service, we took the boys who had come with us to McDonald’s ®. They were so well behaved. The boys were directed to sit down while Raul ordered the Happy Meals ® (with superhero toys and cards inside).

Also, the little girls of El Hogar met us with hugs when we came out of the church to load into the van. We met Claudia, Raul’s wife and director of El Hogar, who had brought the girls, and they joined us at McDonald’s ®.

Raul assisted the rest of us in ordering as needed, and in fairly short order, we were all munching contentedly.

The boys went into the play area for a while. Claudia took the girls and left for another meeting.

We chatted amongst ourselves and with Raul. He related his holidays, which are usually in December and taken in Washington, DC, Miami (where he has family), and Boston. He proclaimed Boston too cold and with too much snow. No arguments from me.

We talked about demographics a bit with Raul. He was telling us that the British imported Africans as slaves, so there are blacks in Honduras, and there are several who attend the church. He said they’re happy at the Anglican church because they hear about it from their relatives. (Many Anglicans in Africa.) There are essentially no full natives (Indians) or Spanish because these populations have intermingled so much over time.

Later on, back at El Hogar, we convened around 3:00 pm in the director’s office for a planned talk by Claudia. What a powerful talk—her passion comes through intensely. She talked about God working through the children, how she sees God working in the smiles and happy faces of the children. She sees God at work not only in improving the children’s lives but also in guiding those who get involved with El Hogar. She related an example of a volunteer whose eyes teared up when Claudia talked about their really needing dentists—turns out he was a recently retired dentist and had prayed for guidance about what to do now that he was retired. (He went on to provide a dental clinic at El Hogar. More about that later.)

Claudia said she sees God in the happy faces of the volunteers like ourselves, how after working hard all day in the hot sun, they’re dirty, but smiling and happy.

She related that the children, upon seeing volunteers crying as they leave, sometimes ask if they’re crying because they feel bad for the boys. Claudia tells them “no, it’s because they love [the boys].”

“El Hogar is a blessing,” says Claudia. The boys come from difficult circumstances, but they try very hard. They’re full of compassion for others and willingly give all they have to others in need. She told us about a time when, having been asked to share with other children, they were filling bags with toys. Sometimes the El Hogar boys were giving away their only toys.

Another example of their generosity was when Claudia sent a few boys into homes to give them cheese (much needed food). The boys came back to the van without their shirts or shoes. When Claudia asked them what happened, they said that they had seen others who didn’t have any and gave theirs—even though they themselves didn’t have two pairs, just the ones they were wearing.

El Hogar has a program to reinforce having to earn things, rather than always being given to. The boys earn points for responsibilities and can “buy” things with the points, which are treated like money.

Claudia and her staff are trying to give them a good education. They’ve got trained teachers, but could still use textbooks. In answer to Murray’s question about what was needed, Claudia mentioned three things.

First, she said that the sponsorships are always needed. They currently have sponsorships for about 40 boys at El Hogar and for about 20 boys in the other programs, but they currently have a total of 96 boys, so many do not have sponsors.

Second, she indicated the “special activities” fund through the El Hogar Ministries.

At this point some of the little girls were nearby, so she told us about the girls. There are six girls, between five and seven years old. She called over one in particular, whom she introduced as Celenia Milagro, five years old. Celenia’s mother had been raped … Celenia was born … a happy, talkative child. (Milagro means “miracle” and Claudia likened Celenia to the embodiment of a miracle, having come from horrible circumstances to bring great joy to those she smiles upon.)

Another little girl she introduced as Raina. Without a mother or father, Raina calls Claudia “mama.”

Getting back to the list of needs, Claudia rounded out the list of three by indicating that they plan to replace the boys’ dormitories but need help in doing so.

After Claudia’s inspiring talk, we headed back to the house, where we relaxed a bit before dinner. Dinner was brought to us after Mike et al. went to check on the timing. After dinner, we went out to play with the children.

The grounds were bustling with activity … football (soccer), basketball—and in the same space, so sometimes you were sort of doing both.

Eventually I wandered over to where Don and a couple of boys were playing some sort of disc game against the brick wall. Don and I were at the mercy of the little boy leading us and telling us what to do when.

After one little boy did a cartwheel, I foolishly did one. I used to love this sort of backyard tumbling, but that was several decades ago! Nevertheless, I was no worse for the wear after this attempt, but it sure feels different than it used to.

The disc game leader grabbed Don by the hand and called me over to play something else. Don and I didn’t know what he said, but he managed to get across that he wanted to play tag. I used to like tag well enough, but I hadn’t played in who knows how many years (again, decades). I was doing ok, until the second time I was “it”, when part of me must have zigged while another part zagged, and somehow I took a dive. Fortunately, we were playing on bare ground, not the pavement, so I got away with a minor scrape (and a very tender knee the next day), so everything’s good! [Don later told me that one of the boys who saw me fall looked really concerned and said something that Don likened to “catastrophe.”]

I moved on to football (nice gentle game!), with John and one or two boys. Unfortunately, Vicky took a dive this time, when a football got caught up under her feet. Again, only minor damage, so everything was ok.

I got drafted to fill in for Murray on the basketball court (which I was basically standing in while playing football). Peter and a little boy (the smallest in the game) were my teammates. We were doing pretty well, especially considering that a couple of boys had colluded with the other team and were sitting on the wall over the basket so that they could catch passes and drop them in. Muy mal!

We all wandered in, one by one, worn out. The kids, of course, were still going strong. When Ashley and Erin came in, they brought coloring book pages that the boys had done with and for them.

As we were recuperating on our porch, Rich and Barbra stopped by for a visit. We had a nice chat about where the boys wind up after they leave the El Hogar Projects. Some go on to begin their own businesses, for instance, the boy who opened a popsicle shop. Some go on to school and eventually university. (They leave El Hogar with the equivalent of a ninth grade education.)

Occasionally, some wind up in trouble.

They told of several boys who stayed together after El Hogar and got an apartment. Barbra say them shopping for groceries, and they proudly called to her to let her know they were shopping, that is, making it on their own.

Rich described an interview for one particular prospective student. A single mother was making about $75-100 per month, about half of which went toward rent, the rest for food, medical, etc.—she makes too much money to qualify for the program. Having told us that El Hogar takes only the poorest cases—those who have no other options—Rich was illustrating just how bad the poverty is. Poverty is the driving force behind much of Honduras’ troubles.

Rich also explained that El Hogar is not equipped to take in disabled, disturbed, or otherwise troubled cases.

While chatting about adjusting to local ways, Barbra related an instance by way of warning to us. She told us about a lady who was selling shrimp and fish from the back of a truck. Barbra was looking at what she had and noting that none of it was on ice. She sort of casually asked, “No ice?” The lady replied, “Oh, no, in this heat, it would just melt.” Note: Don’t eat from the street vendors! Barbra said that she’ll shop from a couple of the vendors she knows in her neighborhood, but otherwise avoids food vendors on the street.

We invited Rich and Barbra to join us when we go out to dinner one evening during the week. Following Rich’s and Barbra’s departure, we had a little more conversation before some of us started turning in.

During our chat, Bob Boyd’s name came up. (Most people in the group call him Bob, but I was a child when Mr. Boyd became our rector, so he’s always been, and always will be, Mr. Boyd to me.) I related a fond memory from when I was teaching Sunday school in Ida Beck’s department. We were in the main Sunday school room before getting started and one of the little boys was walking past the door and saw Mr. Boyd coming down the hall. He ran back into the room and exclaimed, “Here comes God!”

During the conversation, others had been relating that Mr. Boyd was an affectionate person, and a hugger. Don said, “He even kissed me once.” So, after my story, someone told Don that he was lucky because “…you’ve been kissed by God!”

I awoke early, before the other girls, so got up and got ready, then into the kitchen to join the early crew again for Murray’s coffee.

Today is our first work day, but, first, we joined the children (boys and girls) for devotion in the auditorium at 7:00 am.

The boys had already gathered and were watching TV when we headed over. Looking smart in their white shirts and jeans, they were remarkably well behaved. Just a few fairly gentle headlocks and a couple of pushes off the benches they were sitting on, but relatively calm.

When the girls came in with Claudia, Celenia came straight to me for a hug and then stood with her back leaning against me as I sat on the bench. (This gesture was natural for her, but was quite touching to me because I haven’t been around children all that much, and have seldom experienced that sort of affection.)

When Claudia calls the kids to attention, they respond quickly—no nonsense! (The teachers seem to use a system of counting down in order to alert the boys to come to attention.) Claudia prompted them to form columns, standing (probably by grade level). When properly assembled, a prayer, lesson, another prayer, what appeared to be a pledge of allegiance (hands held up), then the national anthem with the flag held by two boys, one boy leading the singing in conductor fashion, and all of the boys with their right hands held over their hearts.

Claudia acknowledged our group and told them a bit about what we’d be doing during the week. Then we introduced ourselves, and Don asked Claudia to let the boys know that we were happy to be their guests, looked forward to our week with them, and that we brought lots of love from our church.

We came back to our house for breakfast at Claudia’s dismissal. This morning’s is different from the weekend breakfasts of cereal and fruit—toast, ham slices, and eggs scrambled with peppers. (The regular cooks work during the week, and others fill in on the weekends.) Following breakfast, more coffee, chatter, and final gathering and prepping for the work day.

We were lined up in our porch chairs and waiting when Raul arrived. Armed with water bottles and donning our caps, we climbed into the van. We had an interesting ride over the mountain to Amarateca. We stopped at the airport on the way out of town in order to change money from US dollars to the local lempira. At Raul’s request, a money changer came out and provided curb service while we stayed in the van. Then, another stop for supplies, where we noted a Pizza Hut trolley on the loading dock, for the workers’ quick lunch breaks.

We noticed many homes along the mountain sides … refugee projects from the hurricane near Amarateca, a Café Los Indios coffee roasting plant, and Via Oriente, an Asian restaurant strangely plopped in the roadside landscape. Turning off the main road onto the road to the institute, we were subjected to a rougher ride. The bounces came especially hard at the very back of the van—we could feel every jolt!

Upon arrival, we got the tour from Raul. All of the construction that’s been done on the property in the three years that they’ve been there has been manual. Remarkable, when you see what they’ve accomplished in a short time.

The floors are beautiful—tiles from Guatemala, which they get cheaply but which would cost us a fortune back home. They look as if they’re never trod on.

The main building, with offices, used to be a physician’s second home. In the center is a sort of courtyard effect, with a sunken feature that was likely a sunken pool when it served as a residence—painted blue in the “pool” portion and with beautiful blue and yellow tiles around the top.

We moved on to the shops, of which there are three: metal works/welding, carpentry, and electricity. They are presently adding a fourth workshop, which will be for auto mechanic training.

The first year electricity students learn how to assemble and wire a residential meter and electrical box. The second year they learn how to wire for commercial or industrial facilities, and the third year they learn how to repair. They have a stock of various appliances (e.g., drills, etc.) that they repair as part of the practical work. While we were in the shop, the students were making transformers.

The carpentry students made the furniture on our porch—Adirondack-style chairs and matching side tables. Very well done—sturdy, attractive, and nicely varnished.

They use a lot of pine, which is the national tree. The pine in Honduras is harder wood than in the US, so it’s used a lot.

When we entered the welding shop, the first year students were in the front room, learning how to draft. The older students were in the shop in the back.

In all of the shops, the students glanced our way, but continued their work quietly and without disruption.

The students work in their respective shops in the mornings, then change from coveralls to their uniforms for classroom instruction in the afternoons. There, they get academic fundamentals.

Next, we went to see, as Raul put it, “the masterpiece.” He was referring to the dormitory, a good-sized structure with wide red-tiled steps across the front. The front entrance opens into a common room with a TV nook to the left. The nook contained a modestly sized TV on the wall, and a long table with bench-style seating.

Beyond were the dorm rooms—spacious rooms housing several bunk beds and no other furniture. The boys’ clothes, etc., are stored in lockers in a locker room off the sleeping quarters.

We even toured the bathrooms, which seemed pretty spacious. The upstairs one was tiled with lovely blue tiles.

Upstairs is layed out the same as the first floor, with a large common area in front and sleeping quarters in the back.

The interior is utilitarian and spartan, but with a light and airy feel. They must encourage the students to be busy and occupied all of the time because there are no chairs to be seen in the building, only the table and benches in the TV nook.

It’s an impressive structure and one that they’re rightfully proud of—again, everything having been done by hand.

Contrast that lovely dorm with the initial situation and it’s all the more appreciated … for the first year they were on the property, the boys all slept on an enclosed porch around the admin building—bunk after bunk … crowded, no privacy, nowhere to gather.

They’re planning to build a similar dorm at El Hogar, scaled down for the smaller occupants. Not only will it vastly improve the safety conditions for the younger boys, but it will give them a place to gather, which they don’t have in the dorms now.

[Later, Claudia said that they have the caretaker unlock the dorms at El Hogar at midnight (after the boys are asleep) and lock them again at 5:00 am, but they’re still vulnerable to something happening outside of the midnight to 5 am window of time, in which case, the boys would not be able to get out of the building easily.]

The dining hall is a separate building next to the admin building. We ate lunch in the private dining room, which is next to the dining room for the boys but a separate room with its own door. Lunch was a delicious beef dish with rice and tortillas, with sodas in glass bottles. (Glass soda bottles are a treat for me.) Raul, Rich, and the director at Amarateca ate with us.

Properly fueled, we headed out to tackle our jobs. The other girls prepared for sanding and painting while the rest of us got outfitted with shovels, rakes, and wheelbarrows. Raul instructed us to level off a mound of soil near the rear wall of the dining hall, in order to prevent backsplash against the building and to promote better drainage away from the building. A couple of nearby areas also needed leveling. We commenced the excavation!

It felt really good to exert in that way; I was gladly wielding my shovel and even taking a couple of turns with the wheelbarrow. The guys were nice enough to let me run with lighter loads. A full load probably would have gotten dumped where it shouldn’t have due to lack of control.

After the leveling, we applied rubble (i.e., good-sized stones and chunks of concrete) in a layer from the wall to just beyond the overhang line, to help with the drainage.

Meanwhile, the girls got on very nicely with the painting—fresh new façade for the little building next to our work area, which functions as a refreshment stand when in service.

We were able to begin knocking back the other mounds before knocking off altogether around 2:00 pm. This was the scheduled quitting time because Raul advised that the late afternoon sun was too hot to handle. (Especially for us gringos, not used to working so hard in the intense sun.)

Sweaty and fatigued, but happy with our results, we piled into the van and made the drive back. The driveway to Amarateca is not a smooth one. Raul was trying to be gentle, but there were too many ruts to avoid them all, so the three of us in the very back got jostled a good bit. Actually, jostled is an understatement—we took some pretty good hits. On the way in, one bump sent me a good few inches clear of the seat!

We made several stops coming and going for gasoline and/or oil at the nearby Esso station. (I remember when the Exxon stations at home were called Esso.)

Beelines to the showers when we got back home. Others, including me, make a beeline to the snacks. That Hershey bar never knew what hit it.

We indulged in a bit of relaxing and admiration of our efforts before dinner. Dinner comprises our standard beans, eggs, tortillas, and sweetened (very) coffee.

Most everyone seemed pretty content to have a quiet evening in the volunteer house, which was reinforced by some rain in the early evening. The rain sent the boys into the dining hall instead of outside to play.

Vicky, Erin, and Murray set out to look for the children, but when they found them assembled in the dining hall, opted to seek out someone to let them into the computer lab. Over an hour later, they were still trying to send email—very slow connections.

Mike, Gene, and I headed over to see what the delay was about. Mike and I persisted with our waiting and rejoined the group in the midst of a discussion that had been sparked by the service.

I woke up very early (about 3:30 am) and never really went back under, but waited until about 5:00 am to actually arise. After getting ready, I joined Murray in the kitchen. Actually, I beat Murray into the kitchen, so decided to practice a little tai chi outside before coffee. I’m a beginner, so had to leave off the last portion of the form because I couldn’t remember the sequence well enough, but was glad to get a little practice in, anyway.

Then, I joined Murray, who had the coffee going by that time. After a few sips, Murray and I retreated to our respective spots for journal writing. I wound up seated on the low wall next to the house, with the sun directly left—a beautiful spot. Yesterday morning was more overcast and hazy, but still quite pleasant.

Pancakes for breakfast this morning, served with a jar of honey. After breakfast, we hung about, waiting to visit the classrooms. Claudia came to retrieve us in a short while, and we were able to split into twos and threes to observe the classes. I sat/stood in on art class and science class.

In art class, they were drawing houses, with instruction to draw them in the middle of the page, and erasures and correction when they didn’t. Then they cut out windows and doors and were going to place colored tissue paper behind the sheet of drawing paper to show through the apertures.

In science class, there was a picture of a fish on the white board, with the gills labeled. I couldn’t follow the lesson, but the teacher had a pad in her hand that she would notate. This seemed to be a reward for good participation and/or correct answers because she tore one of the slips off and gave it to one of the boys after he had correctly answered a question that had been put to all.

The young man who was the art teacher offered a stack of completed artwork that the kids had done for us to look through—some good stuff.

Found the girls and one little boy in a gathering outside the classrooms and took some pictures of them. Some of them are little hams J It’s good to see them enjoying the attention.

Claudia showed us the dental clinic, which is a fairly large room containing two dental chairs and concomitant equipment. That room is air-conditioned when in use. They are hoping to have dentists come about four times a year for about a week at a time, to examine and work on the boys. They all need dental help quite badly. At El Hogar, they must brush their teeth after every meal, and do so in a small washroom directly off the dining hall. However, before getting to El Hogar, most had had no dental hygiene practice, so there’s a lot of decay. The current clinic was furnished by a dentist who was part of a work team and responded in a big way when he learned of the need.

Next, we convened in the computer lab to see a PowerPoint ™ presentation by Claudia. The presentation featured a lot of pictures of individual kids and their stories, including some video footage of a home visit to the home of two of the boys. Appalling conditions for several children and adults. This testimonial effectively illustrated why El Hogar is so badly needed. I felt my eyes filling with tears several times during Claudia’s talk, not unlike during her welcome talk on Sunday. Others said similar. Claudia has a gift for letting her passion for the kids shine through in a way that is inspiring.

Directly after our time with Claudia, it was time to go to work at Amarateca. Good timing—we got there just in time to work for about 15 minutes and then eat lunch. (Can you tell I enjoyed the food in Honduras?)

Another great meal—chicken with rice and vegetables (cauliflower and carrots). So far, the fruity drinks offered are not a big hit, too sweet. The Miranda banana in bottles and berry-flavored juice in a pitcher are sampled because they’re there, although admittedly not by me.

Back to work. The painting crew is still at it. Ashley also helped with the rock crushing in the back. I split my time between shoveling dirt off the mound in the to-be-grassy area (really dense and threaded with wiry grass, not to mention the concrete chunks throughout, so I didn’t last long there) and as part of the gravel crew. The latter retrieved and raked gravel to cover the rubble in the back and as a layer on the apron of ground beside the dining hall and in front of the refreshment building.

I admit I was relieved when 2:00 pm came. Same as yesterday once we’re back at the house … snacks and showers all around.

After dinner, we congregated outside, expecting to be driven to the girls’ home. The girls come to El Hogar for school every day, but live in a house a little ways from here.

Claudia’s held up in traffic, so we had some time to spend with the girls, who were with their teacher, Maria, outside the office. As usual, they were mugging for the camera, especially Celenia. They were pretty well wound up by the time Claudia arrived. We all piled into the van (it’s amazing how many children can cram into the very back seat) and off we went. Just a few minutes drive through town before we arrived.

It was dark when we got there, but it appeared to be a very nice neighborhood. The house is lovely, with a great view from the tiny balcony off the main floor.

The girls’ sleeping quarters are downstairs from the main floor. Four bunks in one room and two in another. Very neatly kept, just like the boys’.

The girls were wild, running from room to room with their stuffed animals and piling on top of each other on the sofa. Sisi was nearly in danger of being suffocated by other girls and animals at one point, but bravely giggled her way out.

Claudia and Raul served watermelon, which was deliciously sweet and juicy. After our snack, the children adjourned outside while several of us joined Raul in the living room for a chat. Raul was telling us a bit about his business. He runs a tile operation catering to upscale residential markets. For example, Julio Iglesias has been a client. Tiles typically cost around $1.20 each, and Raul’s go for about $5.00 each.

He also talked about many of the promising young people wanting to go to the US. His son is among them. The boy’s uncle has offered to let him live with them in Miami and go to school.

Meanwhile, the girls had been running full steam in the back garden, with Claudia and others looking on and Gene playing a menacing lion giving chase. We collected Gene on our way to the van for the trip home.

Back at the house, we relaxed on the porch until 8:30 pm, our designated time for observing compline. Peter led that session.

Following the service, we discussed various topics, including various aspects of worship that some of us related had been particularly meaningful or that had had some influence along the way (e.g., transformative powers during Eucharist, confirmation, first communion, etc.). It was interesting to hear about the experiences with Roman Catholicism and other Protestant denominations that some of the folks had either grown up with or had practiced earlier.

This was our final work day at Amarateca, so we loaded up as usual with Raul.

Before that, though, an extra lodger was discovered in the house. Murray and Mike had had a couple of sightings before I joined them in the kitchen. Eventually, I saw him, too … a little rat face peeking out from the stove area.

Mike proposed that we sit on the porch in the event that the little furry lodger wanted to scoot out to his outside hole, but had been thwarted because we had been in his way. Sure enough, we had been on the porch a short while when he ran along the porch wall and out at the far end.

A bit later, a bigger rat was spotted down at that end of the porch, so some of the guys got serious about plugging the entry point. It seems to have worked, although Mike saw one little guy eyeing the blocked hole the next day.

We got an early start at Amarateca (at least earlier than our afternoon stints the last couple of days). Mostly gravel work for me this day. The painting crew was still on, finishing the side of the dining hall building and moving to the back wall.

Gene continued chopping away on the large and densely packed mound of soil at the back of the area behind the dining hall. Raul told me that the next work team, who were expected two weeks after our departure, would finish that task and seed it for grass.

Yet another delicious lunch, this time fish, with rice and French fries. I even had a second piece of fish when Rich offered.

We migrated to two different gravel piles on this third and final work day—one behind the dining hall, between that building and the dorm. Once that was gone, we started in on a pile by the new shop being built. We were quickly steered to the smaller of two piles at this location by one of the workers in the vicinity. (Raul had ordered another load of gravel, but the worker may not have known that and was concerned about our using so much.)

A few of our guys had met David previously. David is local to the area where Amarateca is located and was working at the institute. When some of our group first talked with him, David was sifting sand by shoveling it from one pile against a tilted screen to form a sifted pile. On this day, he was using the wheelbarrow to haul cinder blocks, etc., to the building site for the new shop. David is lean and wiry and obviously conditioned to the physical labor, so his fast hauling of impressively heavy loads contrasted with our more amateur hauling.

While we were taking turns shoveling our gravel and hauling it back to the area for spreading, a little girl came by and stopped to watch. Mike was able to converse fairly readily with her, and Murray and I took stabs at it. Her name was Marjorie, and she was 10-years old, with a birthday that next Saturday. A pretty little thing, she hung with us for a good while, quietly watching unless spoken to.

We called it quits shortly before 2:00 pm, having accomplished a reasonable amount in our shifts over three days. Once again sweaty and worn out, we felt good about what we had contributed as we set out.

Raul was gracious enough to heed our previous hints and offered to stop at a place for cold beverages before returning to the house. It was a nice outdoor spot and the cold drinks tasted wonderful. Naturally, we had beans and chips, too.

Once back at the house, the usual routine of snacks and showers ensued, then dinner. Some pronounced storms and rain came through in the late afternoon and early evening, so the boys spent their free time in the auditorium rather than outside. Even though it wasn’t raining by that time, the grounds were pretty wet.

The day before, Raul had stopped at the mall on the way home from Amarateca so that we could get some art supplies for the children (e.g., drawing paper, paints, coloring books, etc.). Wednesday night was the perfect evening to bring these over to the auditorium for the boys.

When we walked in, they were watching Pirates of the Caribbean. The teachers then called them to order, and they sang a few songs, accompanied by guitar, played by one of their teachers. We were all struck by how enthusiastically the boys sang.

After the music, some of the boys were ushered out. The remaining ones then showed some interest in us. They descended on us, taking plain sheets of paper and tearing away the pages of the coloring books that they liked and wanted to color. Crayons were divided up amongst the clusters of boys coloring. Sharing never seems to be an issue for these children. They readily do so and seem grateful for whatever they wind up with.

For a while, I watched one boy (he told me his name, but with the din all around, I couldn’t make out what he said), who had been working on a piece of cardboard. He had done a border of twisted, colored tissue paper. Inside was drawn a cartoon fish character (Nemo?), and he had used small rocks for the outline and evergreen needles off the trees out front to mark the tail fin. When I approached him, he was coloring in the drawing. Very nice work.

I then walked over to the benches on the side, where Vicky was coloring with her friend, who, it seems from what Vicky had shared, had bonded early because they both wear glasses. Next to them, John was letting a couple of the smaller boys take pictures with his digital camera. I became a photo object once I entered the immediate area. The first picture cut off my head, but the second try kept me intact, at least above the shoulders.

I moved on to sit next to a little boy who was intently coloring on his own. He told me his name when I asked, but, again, he was so soft-spoken that amidst all of the other noise, I couldn’t make it out. Later, Gene asked again for me, and we learned that his name was Jesse.

After I had been there a few minutes, complimenting his work, Jesse handed me a page and one of the three crayons he was using and pointed to the area of the page that he wanted me to color. We continued quietly working this way, me under his direction, until Gene joined us, and Jesse put him to work, too. Such a sweet child.

When the teachers gave the signal for end of session, they all scurried. Many were clutching their coloring pages. A few were holding on to the crayons. Jesse pointed to the crayons he had and then to himself, asking if he could take them. So polite. He put them in his pocket to line up in formation for the exit. I noticed several others doing the same.

Seeing my own coloring page in my hand, Rich told me that I showed promise, having stayed in the lines!

We had invited Barbra McCune, the missionary doctor who works with El Hogar, to speak to us Wednesday night, and she and Rich had arrived for this. After a few of our group helped see some of the kids off to bed, we all headed over to the house to hear what she had to say about her work.

She started by relating her personal call to mission, which at the time surprised her friends and colleagues. Her talk with us was akin to those that she makes for fundraising to keep herself and her work going. As a missionary, she receives no funds as stipend or salary, but must raise her own funds. To do so, she takes a trip to the US every year, keeping to the East Coast in order to keep travel expenses as low as possible.

Rich asked her to explain the hospital/insurance system to us. The hospital for the poor and under-insured is Hospital Escuela, which is huge, containing around 1,000 or more beds. The conditions are deplorable, but not free. Family members accompany patients and do most of the nursing for them, including transport of specimens and/or patients to various departments for testing.

Barbra’s clinic is outside Tegucigalpa, about 45 minutes travel by “chicken bus.” It is next door to a church. Basic set-up. Barbra had seen 16 patients the day that she spoke to us. They’re always in need of drugs, both over-the-counter (OTC) and prescription. We indicated that we wished we had known so that we could have brought along some OTC supplies. [When we were preparing to leave on Saturday morning, Barbra was there, having come with Rich, so Don offered some of the medication that he had with him. I offered her the clindamycin that I had brought along as a general precaution.]

It’s around 6:00 am when I ventured into the kitchen. Murray is the only one there and is writing in his little journal when I bring my coffee over to join him. He looks up and confides that he’s “having a meltdown.” Eyes glistening as he talks, it is clear that the plight of these children has deeply moved him. The visible effect of this experience showed how much heart Murray has, and I tell him so. (I wouldn’t write about it here, except that Murray has already shared openly some of this experience with our group.)

Murray steps out for some fresh air, even though it’s raining a bit. The house is still, so I take advantage of the quiet to write in this journal. (Each day, I take a few moments here and there to describe our experiences, but it’s difficult to keep up because there’s so much to try and record.)

This morning seems more leisurely than the last few have been. Around 9:00 am, Rich arrived to take us to the farm. He explained that we’d be riding through parts of town that weren’t pretty—including a refuse site that people picked through for “recyclables”—but that the scenery would get better as we drew nearer.

All of the sights are interesting because the city’s look and feel are different from those we experience back home. Rich was right, though, the rural scenes are more pleasing to the senses.

When we pull up in front of one of the buildings and climb out of the van, there are a few people working on the roof and milling about.

The director was not in, so Rich began our tour himself. On the way, we ran into one of the teachers, Jonny. He demurred that he couldn’t speak English, but Rich corrected him, indicating that he doesn’t like to but can. Jonny accompanied us as we toured the teachers’ office, student dormitories, and kitchen. At Rich’s request, Jonny willingly led us on a tour of the rest of the farm operation. He was a lovely guide, and between his English and the collective efforts at Spanish, especially of Peter, Mike, and Erin, we managed just fine.

We toured the fields to see the growing areas, where they rotate crops, and the nursery, where they start seedlings. At one point, while traipsing through the fields, some folks wound up in a nest of fire ants, but got sorted out pretty well after moving on. Vicky was having a bit of a rough go at that point, so she and Rich returned to the buildings by way of the road that we had come out on. As a result, she got an early one-on-one introduction to the student whom Trinity sponsors! More about him later.

On our way across the farmland, we passed a grapefruit tree, where Jonny plucked a few ripe ones for us to sample. Deliciously sweet! I was so impressed, I took a photo of the tree. (Murray and John were our official photographers, amassing hundreds, nearly a thousand, digital photos between them. Like some others, I just had a disposable camera with me for the odd shot here and there.)

We walked by the corn fields, which rely on irrigation and supply the farm with corn for the daily tortillas, etc. Rich had explained earlier that the large pond nearby was the irrigation source, but that it’s use by the farm was jeopardized by a company who recently acquired the property adjacent and whose activity was causing the farm’s portion of the pond to decrease in volume.

Returning to the farm buildings, we toured the animal husbandry side of the operation. They regularly have dairy cows, pigs, chickens, goats, and horses in residence. When we were there, they had 28 producing cows. Jonny showed us the cooling tank (freezer, he called it) for the milk storage. Three times a week, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, the company who buys the milk comes to pick it up.

They happened not to have any chickens on premises during our visit because they had recently been taken to slaughter. Soon, they were expecting 1,500 new chickens. Jonny indicated that each student who tends chickens is responsible for 500 of them.

After our tour concluded, we headed to the dining hall for lunch, simultaneously with the boys. On our way to the dining hall, Rich met us and introduced us to Cesar, our sponsoree! Rich shared with us that when Cesar first met Vicky, he gave her a big hug, thinking that she herself was his sponsor. Then Rich explained that there was an entire group of sponsors to meet, but even we were but a sampling because the whole parish participated in the sponsorship. Cesar had declared that it was like a dream come true to meet the people who sponsor him.

Cesar ate at the table with most of our group. Erin, Ashley, and I visited the lavatory first, so, by the time we got to the dining hall, we were seated at the second table, with Rich and Jonny. Once again, the food was delicious—incredibly tender roast pork, rice and vegetables—and, of course, tortillas. To drink, a fruit juice, sweet and tasty. Because the dining hall ladies dished the food for us, it was almost too much, but I persevered!

After carting our dirty dishes to the service window, we all congregated on the lawn outside, where Rich indicated that Cesar would sing for us. Rich asked Mike, who apparently sings in a quartet, to go first. Mike crooned parts of a couple of classic barbershop quartet songs for Cesar, which was somewhat amusing because the songs were on the romantic side. Cesar was good-naturedly attentive and received the serenade graciously.

Cesar sang beautifully and with much feeling. His performance was all the more poignant when Rich told us that Cesar had written the two songs that he sang for us.

A little more brief chat as a group, and then it was time to head out, so that we wouldn’t be late for our home visit, scheduled for that afternoon at 3:00 pm. Surprisingly, I felt a bit emotional as we left Cesar. I hadn’t had any personal interaction with him (except for the brief good-bye handshake, like everyone else), but just thinking about his being our (Trinity’s) sponsoree accentuated the sense of a bond. It is gratifying to know that we have contributed to such an earnest, poised, and gracious young man’s opportunities.

Time to pile into the van and make the trek back to El Hogar. We had a bit of time to re-group, change clothes if we wanted, etc., before Claudia was due to collect us for the home visit.

Close to 3:00 pm, we started wandering out of the house. The children were sitting on the steps outside the office, singing as a group with the teacher accompanying on guitar. It’s such a pleasure to listen to them sing because they do so exuberantly, not at all tentatively.

Before long, Claudia corralled us into the van with her and the driver, and off we went. She had explained that we’d be visiting two homes. In one home, the mother of the El Hogar children had suffered from alcoholism and had turned at one point to prostitution to try and make ends meet. The boys did not accompany us on the trip because the home circumstances were not good.

The other home belonged to the grandmother of two of the boys, who accompanied us to their home. The grandmother was not in good health and previously had appealed to Claudia to take her granddaughter to El Hogar when she died. She also told Claudia that she feared that others would try and take the little bit that she had and wanted Claudia to help ensure that her meager possessions went to the grandchildren when she passed. (The woman’s daughter—children’s mother—had died some years ago.)

The neighborhood that we were visiting presented quite a challenge to get to in our van. Nearly straight up a hillside (very steep) and on two corrugated concrete tracks, rather than a proper road. We suffered one jam when we ran off a track while making a turn, but got righted within a few minutes, after off-loading a few of our passengers to walk the rest of the short distance left to go.

Neither of the homes that we visited were the worst scenarios seen by El Hogar leaders, but they certainly made an impression on our more naïve group. A few planks of wood nailed together and a sheet of metal thrown over for a roof … dirt floors, tiny rooms just big enough for a couple of pieces of furniture and a few bodies. Although the homes we visited had water and electricity, many don’t. Plumbing is makeshift and doesn’t include bathroom facilities.

The first house had a simple latrine. You could smell it on the approach, behind the “house,” so I didn’t venture close enough for a look inside, but Mike bravely had a peek and confirmed that it was literally a hole in the ground, covered by a waste bin when not in use.

Turning away from that, I saw a couple of scrawny kittens not far away—at once a hopeful sight (new life persevering) and a disheartening one (more hungry animals—so many of them, echoing the poverty in the communities). Regardless of the circumstances, though, kittens (any baby animals, really) are so cute that they bring smiles, and the mother chuckled when we pointed them out.

Because the rooms were so tiny, we had to take turns going inside. While some of us waited, a young woman approached us and spoke, smiling. She was neatly dressed in a blouse and skirt, and looked very nice, a bit out of synch with her bleak surroundings. Yet, we had been told that, despite not having much, perhaps even because of it, many people take great pride in their appearance, and tend to dress up, by our standards.

Erin complimented the girl on her earrings. In response, she promptly took them off and offered them to Erin. Erin demurred, but the young woman insisted, so Erin returned the gesture by exchanging her earrings for the girl’s. This was just another first-hand example of the generosity of the people, made more poignant because they are not giving out of abundance. That is, not material abundance, but unequivocally out of abundant respect and kindness.

As we were navigating our way to and fro the van, I marveled over Claudia’s gracefulness in making her way up these hillsides in heels (with a little help from the guys, but still). After someone else commented on this to her, she confided that she is advised to wear heels, at least for a while, because of a condition of her foot. It certainly doesn’t keep her from going where she is needed, treacherous ground or not. She is an admirably determined woman.

The next house belonged to the grandmother of two boys at El Hogar. We had brought the boys with us, so they played contentedly outside during our visit. Their sister still lives with her grandmother, but Claudia would like for her to come to El Hogar. From what I understood, the grandmother wants this, too, especially in the event of the grandmother’s death; however, the girl, who I believe was about nine years old, doesn’t want to leave her home and grandmother. Claudia spoke intently with the girl and her grandmother for a rather good while.

Here, too, we took turns going in the house because of the size. We entered the main room of living space, which had a bed that doubled as sitting space during the day and a small television mounted in an upper corner and which was droning as we visited. There was a smaller room with bunk beds, and a couple of cubby-like spaces. Outside, a simple outhouse, but with a commode rather than just a hole in the ground.

Lots of foliage around. In fact, the boys were occupying themselves by retrieving canoe-shaped pods of some sort from the thick vines that created a screen between their home and the lane beside it.

The crude lanes made it difficult to navigate the van all the way up the hill; therefore, when we left, we had a bit of a walk back to the van. As we walked, I was vaguely conscious of a woman loudly calling out a little ways behind us, but didn’t think much of it. I even became aware of her calling out “gringo,” but, for some reason, didn’t associate what she was saying with us, that is, until she was actually passing us up, and it was clear that she was bitterly name-calling.

By this time, we had made it to the van and were climbing in. Just as well, because the small group of people we saw her with as we pulled out and headed down the lane were non-too-friendly looking. Their hostile glares made it clear that we were intruders and not welcome. The girl appeared to be drunk and was being held onto by a young man as we drove by.

Other curious stares and unsmiling countenances along the way had also signaled that we were unwelcome, or at the very least, viewed warily. To underscore how unfriendly our circumstances had been, when we made it onto a main road, Claudia turned to face us and said, with genuine relief, “Thank the Lord!”

The home visits were a sobering experience, a real contrast to the uplifting experiences at the beginning of the day (farm visit and meeting our sponsoree) and at the end of the day, when we had a group dinner in town. It was an important part of our experience, to see first-hand the poverty and its consequences and to understand more viscerally why El Hogar was created.

Raul had scheduled to take us to Valley of the Angels this morning, but before the scheduled pick-up, I spent a bit of time in the sunshine catching up my journal. (After the second day, I was never really caught up, but kept plugging away. Mornings were an especially good time for me to focus on my journal entries.) Friday morning, I was doing so while seated on the low wall that surrounds the plantings in the middle of the entry courtyard. While I was there, the science class walked by with leaves that they had plucked during their outdoor lesson that morning.

Valley of the Angels is a small village about a half-hour’s drive from Tegus, known for its concentration of merchants selling handicrafts and wares, much of it made in Honduras. It was good fun wandering in and out of the little shops, all with plenty of genuine bargains to be had. Everyone had a few gifts in mind for family and friends back home.

We started with the largest market (cleverly positioned right next to the parking area, of course), and then fanned out amongst the little grid of streets in the town, before eventually converging adjacent to the community square, where we took a rest with a cold drink and showed off some of the gifts that had been purchased for loved ones.

A bit more meandering on the way back to the van, during which time Ashley decided on a Honduran-made hammock, and off we went with our parcels, back to El Hogar.

Following one of the suggestions from the handbook, we had arranged to treat the kids to a pizza dinner that evening, to be catered by Domino’s. The pizza party was to begin at 5:30 pm. When the delivery arrived, we realized that the preferred delivery vehicle was a motorized scooter. This works great for a pizza or two—but, we had ordered 33 pizzas!

Needless to say, the driver had not packed 33 pizzas on the back of the scooter. Scooter capacity apparently tops out at nine pizzas. Looking ahead to three more deliveries, it seemed the first pizzas to have arrived would be stone cold by the time they all got there. Oh well, nothing to do but wait patiently.

Presumably, Domino’s’ status as preferred pizza vendor is due at least in part to proximity because the next delivery came pretty quickly. Fortunately, on the third trip, they doubled up on scooters, so two scooters made the third and final delivery.

In the meantime, the teachers had been gathering the children and lining them up for orderly entry into the dining hall.

I’ll digress from the pizza for a moment. Up ‘til now, I haven’t said much about the teachers at El Hogar, but they deserve a special mention. They are far more than teachers, in the way that we in the US are accustomed to thinking of teachers. These young women and men give virtually the whole of their attention to the children at El Hogar. They teach lessons during the school days, but then supervise the children in the evenings, and at least some stay over, chaperoning the kids in the dorms and on weekends.

The teachers are always in control and are not afraid to expect and demand good behavior. Their affection and caring are evident in their authoritative interaction with the children. It is clear to guests like ourselves that El Hogar is indeed a family in its own right.

Back to the pizza … as we were about to set up, Claudia had given explicit instructions on portions—two slices for the younger children (where the smaller drink cups were set out) and three slices for the older boys (where the larger cups were placed). The lot of us in our group placed pizza slices on plates and poured from 2-liter soda bottles.

As with every meal, the boys queued up to wash their hands (in the washroom directly off the dining hall) prior to being seated. Mealtimes are quiet because the boys are discouraged from talking while eating.

Our group hung back at a table on the side, making sure there was enough of everything for the kids. Eventually, Claudia came in and urged us to eat. She joined us for some pizza herself.

If the pizza was on the cool side, they didn’t seem to mind. Soon, the kids were queuing again, this time to wash up and brush their teeth (also a ritual after every meal).

Both before and after the pizza, there was some down time to get in some more play with the children, or whatever else was needed.

That evening, we had a farewell program to look forward to. We weren’t sure exactly what to expect, but knew that there was a program planned in our honor—a bit of a festive send-off by the children.

The program was held outside, effectively on the patch of ground that also serves as basketball court, football pitch, rollerblading course, etc. Claudia opened the program, for this talk relying on her eldest daughter, Taki, to translate Claudia’s Spanish into English for our benefit. Eloquent as always, Claudia thanked us for caring about El Hogar and urged us to carry our message for further good works.

[Taki’s given name is Takerly, but she goes by Taki. She is fourteen years old, bilingual, and quite friendly. We had become acquainted with her during our stay, and, in particular, she had gravitated to and befriended the younger girls in our group. Taki goes to the bilingual school, which is on a schedule similar to our school schedules in the US, so she was out of school while we were there. The Spanish schools follow a February to November schedule.]

Next, we were treated to musical performances in our honor. First, some boys on the marimba. Earlier, when I had seen it being wheeled out to the program area, I had called it a xylophone, but Gene informed me that it was a marimba, which, as it turns out, is sort of a specialized xylophone used in Central America. It was wooden and built into a stand, so that the boys played it while standing. A delightful, uplifting sound.

Flutes (more like reeds, I suppose) were next, also pleasing to the ear. Capping off the musical performances were the guitarists, who played a beautiful melody.

The next portion of the program featured several of the boys, each of whom spoke to us, some relying on Taki for translation. As each boy finished his spoken message, he brought over a hand-made card and gave it to one of our group. They appeared to be given out at random, but so that each of our group received one of these cards crafted by the boys to take with us. Mine reads, on the front, “Thanks. I love you.” and is adorned with a picture of a turtle. Tucked into a pocket made into the front of the card is a separate sheet that reads, “We love you with all our heart. Have a nice trip.” The teachers probably helped with the very neat lettering, but the cards are cherished keepsakes of the children’s warmth and affection.

Our group were invited to speak to our El Hogar hosts, and several of us, including myself, did, most of us with at least some help from Taki. As our designated group leader, Don delivered a message on behalf of all of us.

Once the speeches were done, we were invited to dance and make merry while the music resumed. I was thrilled to immediately be whisked onto the “dance floor” by one of the boys. It didn’t take long for virtually everybody to be on their feet.

At home on a dance floor anyway, I was relishing these joyful moments with the kids. The music and dancing were a perfect, upbeat send-off.

I’ve come out here, to the low wall surrounding the trees in the center of the entry court, to do a little more recording and soak up some morning sunshine. This has become a good morning spot because the sun faces it and feels delightful.

The children are just now gathering for their morning assembly. We had been routinely joining them during the week, but weren’t sure if they had one on the weekends. This one is a half-hour later than the weekday ones, which begin at 7:00 am.

We’re all (except for the younger ones in our group, still sleeping) stripping beds and packing. I never really unpacked, so I don’t have much packing to do, hence, my retreat to do a little writing.

Pretty soon, we face the hard part—actually leaving here. Although I will be glad to get home, there is a touch of sadness in leaving such a special place, full of such special people.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, what the dynamics would be, how much quiet reflection or emotion would show through in the group. In reality, the bustle of packing and straightening the house seemed to have maintained a practical tone to the preparations.

Rich and Barbra stopped by to issue farewell greetings, and wound up helping transport us to the airport, similar to our trip in, when Rich brought some of us.

Once at the airport, Raul helped guide us to the areas we needed to be in, for ticketing, paying exit taxes, etc.

Mike and Peter had accompanied us to the airport, but instead of leaving with us, they were awaiting Patricia’s arrival. She was coming in (probably on the very plane that we would then take back home), and the three of them were heading out for another week of adventure, staying overnight in Tegus, then taking a bus to Guatemala and touring Mayan ruins, etc.

We took turns saying our good-byes to Mike and Peter, and to Raul, Rich, and Barbra, then headed up the escalator. A few of us indulged in one last Honduran beverage to toast our experience, and then on to security.

Fortunately, the flights were uneventful. Plenty of other mission groups on the flight but not quite as pronounced as on the trip in, when we counted at least five other groups that were obviously mission teams. (Many of them wore tee shirts identifying themselves. We all agreed that this was a good idea for any future Trinity groups.)

After some miscommunication about how and where to meet up in Miami, we caught up with one another and went in search of food. Most of us wound up at the sit-down restaurant (the only one relatively near our gate), and the girls opted for quicker fare. One last meal more or less together--smaller groups within our group.

By the time we landed at the airport in DC, we were exhausted. Thankfully, Sean was nearby with our ride and collected us within a few minutes of our emerging from the terminal. It was a quiet ride back.

Once at the church, well after midnight, there were good-bye hugs all around. Not too much lingering, though, because we were worn out.

We knew in time we would want to come together to talk about what we had just experienced and to figure out how to keep the El Hogar spirit going.

+++

This journal was intended to capture the essence of the events during our week at El Hogar and to provide some sense of our experiences. Throughout our trip, we were mindful of the fact that we were in the midst of a very special, shared experience. Knowing that I could not adequately relate the myriad reflections and insights that the week evoked, I didn’t attempt to do that here. My hope is that, by recording some of the activity, this record will serve as a way of reminding us of our collective experiences and respective sensations, and that, in turn, remembering will help to further serve the people of El Hogar.

I am most grateful to have been a part of Trinity’s first mission trip to El Hogar and hold the team, El Hogar, and all those who serve it in my prayers.

KLS