Many years ago (decades ago) this poem by Langston Hughes moved me. I even needlepointed it on a pillow. (My first and last attempt at needlepointing.) Yesterday, the poem shook itself out of the cobwebs of deep memory and filled my heart once again. You see, I was watching Jose Luis, the construction worker, build a structure outside the back corner of the new cabin we are working on. He was explaining to me what he was doing and how it fit in with the roof structure. I understood the Spanish but not the concept. I don’t have a brain for spacial relations and the angles and the whatevers he was talking about made no sense to me. He was talking as he was building, using no drawings, just his mental image. Then he paused, looked at me and smiled and said, “I would like to be an engineer…but I can’t read.” He worked a bit more, looked up and said, “I want to learn to read.”
I had to leave, to be alone. I found a hidden corner of the building and wept. And prayed. I have known for quite awhile that Jose Luis can’t read. He is 33 and has never been to school. He grew up on the streets, making shoes out of old tires and rope. Begging for food, occasionally being taken in for the night by a kind person. He started working construction at 13. Those of us who have worked with him know him as a fun loving, joyful, patient friend. He has taught countless team members how to make concrete, to lay blocks, to assemble rebar, and other construction tasks foreign to us. He makes us feel capable, helpful, and valued. He joins us for lunch and sings along with Angel as he plays the beautiful Spanish praise songs. He is a brother to us and all leave feeling richly blessed having met him. After all this time, this was the first time he shared his dream. This grand dream, for which he is emminently qualified, is so out of reach. I wept, bent over double, and prayed. Or tried to pray. I was so overcome that I really couldn’t form words.
But here’s the thing. Jose Luis holds fast to his dreams. As he quickly figured out the labor cost for the roof on his calculator (again, I understood the words but not the concept) he explained, “My mother and father did nothing for me but God gave me a good mind. He raised me.” Fighting back tears, I smiled and agreed that he is very intelligent. That dream…so inaccessible…
Or is it? How can I forget that our God is a great God? Later that day I was talking to Arely, the director, about plans for the following week. I don’t know why but I told her about my conversation with Jose Luis, crying once again. Her eyes brightened, “Oh! Julio has been doing a project for school teaching people how to read! We can extend the project and have him teach Jose Luis!”Honestly, can you think of a better person to teach Jose Luis (or anyone) to read? One of the current team members, a teenager here for the first time observed that perhaps God brought Julio to SBV for a reason, for a special purpose. Yes, indeed.
I don’t know what will happen but I will do all I can to support this effort. Most of all, I join Jose Luis in holding fast to his dream and share his trust in the God who raised him to be the man he is.
“I want to play with the kids but I don’t speak Spanish.”
“I am so frustrated by the language barrier.”
“I don’t know how I can contribute since I don’t speak the language.”
This is how the beginning of mission weeks often begin. The team members are flustered by the cultural differences here and almost paralyzed by their inability to speak Spanish. Some brave souls leap right in and give it a shot. Some try to bridge the language gap by speaking English with a Spanish accent! “Ay ned a hammair.” Others hang back, watching, longing to participate.
But then, poco a poco, things change. Soon I hear this:
“Mas agua”
“He needs a balde of concreto”
“Cheke leke!”
“Te quiero” “We were communicating! I don’t know how but we were!”
and lots of laughter…and I see this:
and I hear this:
By the end of the week, the barriers are gone. The team members still don’t speak Spanish and the Hondurans still don’t speak English. Instead, they all speak the same language – the language of the heart. We are hermanos y hermanas, united in our love for the Risen Lord.
I did another “Amandaism” as my friend (and scorekeeper of my blunders) Amy Hill says. I lost a week in May and thought today was May 30. So, Gloria showed up this morning, arms filled with groceries, to cook lunch for the arriving guests a week early! (Dulce is at a couples retreat this weekend.) Oops. So, we had time to chat. Well, I had time to listen to Gloria talk about God. Spending time with her is like getting a spiritual booster shot! She is so full of the spirit, so in love with the Lord that it just bubbles out of her. She loves to talk about Him! I decided to get her take on something that amazes and baffles me: How is it that the poorest of the poor, who suffer so much have so much faith? I asked a Honduran pastor this question once and he responded, “Because we set our sights on the next life, not this one.” That helped alot but I still wanted to know more.
When I asked Gloria the question she took off. People suffer because they don’t know God. They love money, they don’t love God. (the Un-prosperity Gospel) They get involved in drugs and alcohol. They are greedy. She went on along those lines, indicting the government and anyone who puts earthly desires before God. I agreed with her in all this but it wasn’t what I was looking for. I asked again. “How is it that people who are so poor and suffer so much have such a profound faith?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, you mean people who suffer economically?” Then my eyes widened and filled with tears. You see, to Gloria, there are two entirely different types of suffering. The worst type, the most important type, the type we must devote our time, attention, and prayers to is spiritual suffering. That is what this devoted daughter of the Most High, this woman who until recently only had 3 walls in her one room house with massive gaps between the roof and the top of the walls where water rushes in during the raining season, this is what she is most concerned about – the spiritual suffering of people around her. She doesn’t see the gang members and the corrupt government officials as bad guys. She sees them as spiritually impoverished and suffering deeply.
About those who suffer economically? She had several answers. God sends people (like all of you who support LAMB – she calls you the body of Christ) to help. She tithes, no matter how small her salary is and, in response, God provides. (She had a job before LAMB in which she got paid $65 a month and she still tithed. “God provided and I could pay my debts, utilities, everything. I don’t know how. God provided.”) “For us, God is everything.” Isn’t that what Jesus said in Matthew 6:25-34*? Have you ever met anyone who actually believed and lived those verses? Gloria does. Everyone who has met Gloria knows what a beautiful spirit she has. She cleans up our messes everyday with a sweet smile, she is the one who cares for the sick team members staying at Casa LAMB while the rest of us go to work, she is the one who drops to her knees,wherever she is, to pray for someone in need. If we followed Gloria’s example of her un-prosperity gospel – to put God first in our lives and trust Him completely – how rich we would be. Spiritually rich.
I told her I was writing about our conversation. She just ran up to tell me to include this bit of advice, based on a vision she had in 2010. Put your heart and soul into your worship. Don’t be afraid of showing emotion and enthusiasm! Love God with all your heart!
From now on, whenever I say “Gloria a Dios” (Glory to God) it will have an extra meaning as I also thank God for bringing Gloria into my life!
Gloria a Dios!
*Matthew 25-3425 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life[e]?28 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin.29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?31 So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’32 For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them.33 But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
I have seen several articles and references asking the question, “How do we know aid works?” There are books (e.g. Toxic Charity, When Helping Hurts) and numerous articles and studies on this. (Here is a recent one: http://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2015/05/15/406757551/what-it-takes-to-lift-families-out-of-poverty) People at conferences talk a lot about KPIs (key performance indicators,) metrics, OBEs (outcome based evaluation,) etc. Believe me, I get it. I spent 29.5 years at IBM. We had “metrics” tattooed on our chests. As goal oriented Americans, this resonates with us. We treat our charitable giving as investments and we want a good ROI.
But…(you knew there would be a “but”) The truth is, in the field, measuring results is difficult. For an already overworked staff, it is a huge burden. Often the metrics are difficult to define and correlating the gains to the gifts can be next to impossible. Measuring outcomes is incredibly labor intensive. The idea of monitoring a “control group” which receives nothing seems cruel and counter-cultural to us. In reality, we are surrounded by a control group – all the people we want to help but can’t. It breaks our hearts. Engaging with them to measure how bad off they continue to be just doesn’t work for us.
However…(of course there is a “however”) We are as concerned as anyone that we are doing the right thing, using our resources wisely, being good stewards of the generosity of others, and leading as many people to a better, sustainable life. We agree that pure charity has limited application, we get the ” a hand up vs a hand out” concept. Our ministries and our organizational vision and mission reflect that. We are constantly taking stock of our programs and actions to ensure we are developing people’s ability to be self-sufficient.
Metrics? Sometimes anecdotal measures (measures that typically “don’t count”) are all we have. Here’s one for you.
Jorge, far left, and family
Jorge has been out of the Children’s Home for about 6 years. Like the others, he came from a horrific environment of abuse and poverty. Now, he lives with his mother, a dear but still impoverished woman. He finished high school and is now in University. He remains devoted to his brothers and sisters, many of whom are still in the Children’s Home. He just recently wrote this song for a CD our Praise Band will be recording. Mind you, he isn’t in the praise band! He simply felt moved to contribute music to it.
Quiero Tu Amor Perfecto – Jorge Hernández
I Want Your Perfect Love – Jorge Hernandez
Puedo escucharte hablar al comenzar y finalizar el día
I can hear You at the beginning and end of the day
Puedo escucharte sonreír cuando pongo mi amor y fe a Ti
I can hear You smile when I put my love and faith in You
Puedo escucharte cuánto me amas cada momento de mi vida
I can hear you when You love me every moment of my life
Cuando sale el sol
When the sun rises
Y todo queda en silencio me haces sentir mejor
And all is silent, You make me feel better
Pasas tu mano sobre mí para sanar mis heridas
You pass your hand over me to heal my wounds
Creas salidas donde no hay
You create a way where there wasn’t one
Creas tiempo para mí cuando no tengo
You make time for me when I don’t have any
Tu atención hacia mí es tan valiosa
Your attention to me is so valuable
Que no me quiero apartar de Ti
I don’t want to be apart from you
Déjame sentir Tu amor perfecto
Let me feel your perfect love
Déjame amarte tanto que nada más importante
Let me love You so much that nothing is more important
Solo Tu, solo Tu
Only You, only You
Solo me importa Tu amor perfecto
Only your perfect love is important to me
Tu amor perfecto
Your perfect love
Quiero Tu amor perfecto
I want your perfect love
6 years later, this young man has been able to graduate from high school, enter university and writes a song to the Lord he loves. How’s that for results?
In my faith tradition, we do Holy Week in a big way. There have been services every night this week. Holy Week has always been a special week for me, full of emotion, reflection, and worship. Living in Honduras has changed Holy Week for me in profound ways. For example, I find myself having to focus a bit harder on the solemnity of the services as we move towards the Crucifixion. You see, Easter (by that I mean the Risen Lord and His promise of salvation) pops up all the time in Honduras. You see miracles – sudden miracles and miracles in the making. You see the redemptive love of God in the faces of the children and in the dedication and sacrifice of the staff. You see Suzy following the Lamb wherever He goes…even when I wonder how she can possibly do one more thing or take in one more child. Not to be sacrilege but it is kind of like that Wack-a-mole game. You try to keep it hidden, put it aside during this week, to focus on the events that led up the Resurrection. But, POP, up jumps a memory or an image or a feeling of joy. During Lent, and especially Holy Week, we are not supposed to say “Alleluia” during the services. I am normally a disciplined Episcopalian and smirk when others forget. Yet, this week twice it has burst out of my mouth. I push it down here and it pops out there! I just couldn’t help it. Easter just popped right up and flew out of my mouth. It is just too hard to suppress! Alleluia! Monday night, we heard about Mary anointing Jesus’ feet. (John 12:1-11) Immediately, in my mind’s eye, I saw the safe house girls dancing to “Pefume a Tus Pies.” It is a beautiful song that includes:
“With all that I have and that I am,
All I’ve been, I give to you
May my life be to you as a perfume at your feet”
What moved me to tears was that the girls, just months away from living hell, were compelled to share this with a team. They had worn dresses to dinner one evening. Suddenly they ran up to me, “Amanda, can we borrow some pants???” I gave them my work pants (i.e. Target pajama pants) that were several sizes too big for them. So, in these funny, baggy pants, they shared their hearts and their love for Jesus with a group of Northamericans from Pennsylvania. They had to. Easter just popped out of them. Alleluia!
Tuesday night Gospel reading included this verse:
“While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light.” John 12:36
I am surrounded by children of light – children of God, of all ages. My mind was flooded with images of God’s precious children. Of Ronald, an Alonzo member, who told me his dream is to work with children and lead them to God. Of Jasmine who, through God’s help, traded drugs for praise songs that she sings as she mops our office floor. Of Gloria, Casa LAMB housekeeper, who falls on her knees to pray for a sick Maribel. Of Dunia, beautiful Dunia who has rediscovered that she is a beloved daughter of the Risen Lord. Of Daniel, who is becoming becoming a child of light more and more each day. Alleluia! Wednesday was Stations of the Cross in which we moved throughout the church remembering the Passion of Jesus. At one station, we remembered Mary, Jesus’ mother, and her anguish as her beloved son was suffering. At another we remembered Simon of Cyrene who carries the cross for Jesus. At another, Veronica who wiped Jesus’ blood soaked brow. Again, I am flooded with memories. Most recently, the memory of Arely’s office crowded with women to break the terrible news to one of our girls that her mother had died. We wept with her, held her, prayed for her. We rejoice with each other so often, there is so much joy in our lives. But there is pain, sorrow, fear and tragedy. We come together, crying, in agony, supporting one another in the knowledge that sorrow will not have the last word. Jesus, who lived, died, and rose again for us, Jesus will have the last word. Alleluia! Tonight was Maundy Thursday. The Last Supper. The Garden of Gethsemane. The Betrayal. The Arrest. The Beginning of the End. No – The Beginning of the Beginning. During the service we sang and reflected upon a hymn with this chorus:
“Jesu, Jesu, fill us with your love,
show us how to serve
the neighbors we have from you.
My neighbors began filing through my heart. Not the expected neighbors – my magnificent children, family, friends, parish family, co-workers at LAMB, not even the SBV children I love so deeply. No, this parade of neighbors caught me by surprise. The Lord reminded me that neighborhoods are the places you encounter God’s beloved. A neighborhood may last just a moment – the time it takes to smile at a stranger, or the time it takes to pull some lempira ($) from a wallet to give to a poor, disabled man, or the time it takes to say a silent prayer for someone in obvious need. These are my neighbors and the neighborhoods in which I live. The Lord gives me never ending neighbors in momentary neighborhoods, never ending opportunities to show Him I love him. Alleluia!
Many years ago (decades ago) this poem by Langston Hughes moved me. I even needlepointed it on a pillow. (My first and last attempt at needlepointing.) Yesterday, the poem shook itself out of the cobwebs of deep memory and filled my heart once again. You see, I was watching Jose Luis, the construction worker, build a structure outside the back corner of the new cabin we are working on. He was explaining to me what he was doing and how it fit in with the roof structure. I understood the Spanish but not the concept. I don’t have a brain for spacial relations and the angles and the whatevers he was talking about made no sense to me. He was talking as he was building, using no drawings, just his mental image. Then he paused, looked at me and smiled and said, “I would like to be an engineer…but I can’t read.” He worked a bit more, looked up and said, “I want to learn to read.”
