Honduras 2010

Last week I had the incredible opportunity to travel to Honduras with the First Presbyterian Church of Grapevine. I had taken this trip before, back in 2005, and was looking forward to a chance to travel there again and spend time serving others. So almost exactly 5 years later I found myself back in the same (albeit much improved) Tegucigalpa airport, ready to board an un-airconditioned school bus to travel to the same ranch where we would stay, and to ultimately be at a remote village to do the same work I had done before. It seemed to me that this trip would be something of a repeat of the one before.


Boy was I wrong.


While the logistics remained the same, and the purpose remained the same, and even some of my team members remained the same, this was not the same trip. Not even close. What followed in that week was an intensely powerful experience.

We arrived at the Ranch on Sunday and were unable to visit the Village that day, as was usually the custom, since there were 3 groups staying at the Ranch and there simply was not enough transportation for that to be possible. We all wondered if it would be a detriment to not be able to go to the Village for a quick introduction to the people that we would work side-by-side with for the rest of the week. The people that unbeknownst to us would become more than villagers, that would become our friends.



When we arrived at the Village on Monday, after an hour's drive on a very, very, very bad road (I'm fairly certain that the majority of us sustained some sort of bruise or whiplash type injury from that repeated drive, but that's another story) we were greeted by the people of the Village who had come to the soccer field that served as the center of their tiny community. Except greeted might not be the right word. Yes, they had come to meet us, but the apprehension was evident. And it was so on both sides. There was almost a palpable feeling of tension as they wondered what our motives were, and we wondered if we were being met with resentment or with an open heart. After a quick introduction from our group leader we split into teams to begin working on the projects that were assigned for completion that week. My team's first job was to make 2 concrete floors for a young family. We walked with them to their house and got right to work mixing the concrete and taking it by the bucket-full to the owner of the house who was carefully pouring and leveling the floor. You could see the pride he took in such a process by his careful and deliberate work and it was truly moving. We worked hard until lunch time, and there was very little interaction between "us" and "them." It wasn't the language barrier that was keeping us separate, it was the same apprehension and uncertainty. Luckily we were able to finish the floors before lunch and were able to join with another group after lunch to help them finish up the floors they had to do. That's where I met Rosa, her son Alexa and Alexa's wife Trixie. Alexa and Trixie were 18 and had a 1 year old little boy. They were living with Rosa and her husband, along with Rosa's other young son. 7 people in a house no bigger than an average living room. But there was no need to pity them. It was evident right away that this was a joyful family who valued one another and who was doing just fine. And Rosa was one of the hardest workers I have ever seen. She carried those 80 pound bags of concrete up a hill with bare feet and with a skirt on, no less! Rosa did not speak any English, but she didn't need to. She communicated with smiles and those smiles said everything.

The next day we were to put a roof on a house that stood only as a frame made out of sticks. It wasn't until we got to the house that we realized it was Alexa and Trixie's house. We were putting a roof on their first home. The home where they would raise their precious baby boy and any other children they were blessed with. We also got to "mud" the house. This means we literally scooped up mud from the ground and packed it in between the stick frame. In essence we built the house from the ground up. The mudding was hard work. Really hard work. But if you ask anyone on that trip I think they would all agree that it was also the most rewarding project we did all week. Its not very often that you get to build a young couple their first home, and we weren't building it for them...we were building it with them. I think that's what made this trip so special. We didn't go down to Honduras to build some things and then just leave. We were working hard, but so were the people of the Village. Not a moment went by where they were working and we were not, or vice versa. There is an unparalleled sense of teamwork and of bonding that takes place when you work, usually in silence, right next to someone. We weren't there to do "charity" for them. We were there to work with them. And I think that made all the difference.

We continued to work on a few other projects during the week. A bible school was held 2 of the mornings. 2 latrines were dug. 2 more houses were mudded, and many more floors were completed. But what will always stand out in my mind and in my heart was that opportunity to help provide a first home. To work along side a community as they strove to make this couple's dream a reality. Not a single one of us can take any more credit for building that house than the person who worked next to them, whether that person was a member of our team or was an elder in the Village. We all worked together to make sure it got done.

But above all, what I will never forget was our last day when the Village had a fiesta to send us off. Gone were the two separate and distinct groups who barely made eye contact. Instead there were friends who exchanged tools, handshakes, and hugs. Gone were the children who timidly hid behind the windows of the school. Instead there were children full of smiles and joyous laughter who gave more hugs than I even knew was possible. Gone was the apprehension. Gone were the concerns. All that remained was a feeling of mutual respect and of pride. Pride in the hard work that was done. Pride in the amazing things we were all able to complete in such a short time. Pride in being brothers and sisters in Christ. The preacher and another man in the Village sang us a song that was so moving and so powerful that we didn't even need to know what they were singing. Grown men who had said very few words all week were moved to tears. Rosa was moved to tears. I was moved to tears. A week ago we were strangers. Now we were united by something much bigger than ourselves.

This was definitely not the same trip I took 5 years ago. God allowed my heart to be transformed on this trip. To be humbled. To be grateful. Not for how many possessions and luxuries I have in comparison to the people of Honduras, but rather grateful to see His love at work.

No, this was not the same trip.