Round Two

We’re back. Round Two in Hondurasland. Some say we’re crazy. Some say we’re courageous. I say we’re doing our best to follow a God who has been whispering to our hearts, “This is where you should be. I’ve got you right where I want you.”

And as always, submissive me responds, “Yes, God. Whatever you say, I will obey.” Yeah, right. A more accurate picture would be of me plugging my ears and saying, “La la la – I can’t hear you! You’re going to have to speak LOUDER.”

In other words, it hasn’t been an easy decision, this whole coming back thing. In June, when the classrooms emptied and we packed up for a summer in the U.S., I had this sneaky sense that maybe I wouldn’t be returning, maybe I could walk away from it all and go back to the easier version, Life Before.

This feeling continued as the allures of American life greeted me with arms wide open. Soft clothes, warm showers, comfy beds, smooth roads, fast internet… And movies and malls and restaurants. Plus, don’t get me started on the people. My people. The ones who know and love me deeply, the ones whose affection for me even included those ugly middle school years.

Two weeks home in Michigan and I was ready to stay forever. The very thought of returning to Honduras found me on the verge of tears. Outwardly I kept up the charade that I planned to return for another year of teaching in Central America, but inside that was not my plan. In fact, any other plan sounded good at the time.

As if there weren’t already enough reasons bolting my feet to the land of the free and the home of the brave, then came a suspicious medical check-up, which led to more tests and more doctors. And finally, the diagnosis, which went something like this: “There’s a ninety-nine percent chance this isn’t a problem at all, and a one-percent chance you’re about to die a terrible, horrible death. We can do a surgical biopsy and be sure, but that will cost you a minimum of $8,000, seeing as your Honduran health insurance isn’t valid here.” My first reaction: “Ha ha ha! – this is so funny and ironic, considering this is the only time in my life that I haven’t had health insurance.” My second reaction: “Ahhh! - we need to find U.S. jobs immediately so we can get health insurance so we can get the test so we can get the treatment so I won’t die.”

Oh, Fear. You are a manipulative little demon.

So the reasons to stay were piling up. But at some point during our summer of trekking around Guatemala, Michigan, New York and California, something inside me started changing.  It might have been the growing detestation for living out of a suitcase. It might have been the constant over-eating that was leaving me feeling like a blob of lard. It was definitely linked to the fact that all of the comfort and ease started to feel, well, kinda uncomfortable. And I stopped hating the idea of going back.

We flew back just a few days ago. It was a heart-wrenching goodbye. Mostly because I hadn’t convinced any of my people to come back with me (except my husband, of course). And also because I hadn’t convinced anyone to open a Thai restaurant in La Unión.

On the plane ride over, I felt weird. Not happy, a little sad, a lot confused. I wasn’t convinced yet that this was the best decision, the coming back.

Within a few hours of landing in San Pedro Sula, I found myself in a Honduran emergency room, clasping my fractured hand, which had managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when a car trunk was slammed. Sitting in the ER, I had a fleeting thought: this is a bad omen for our return to Honduras. We shouldn’t be here. We should have stayed. We made the wrong decision! AHHHHH!!! But then the pain meds kicked in and I could have been convinced that any idea was a great idea, and so our four-hour drive into the mountains continued.

We arrived late and it was dark and there were eight suitcases to unpack (well, eight suitcases for Lenny to unpack, seeing as I had a gimpy hand). It felt overwhelming.

But then the morning came.

As we walked to school early the next day, I was flooded by peace. Mixed with joy. I love that combo. And I was overwhelmed with the sense that I was exactly where I needed to be. That I would be okay without the soft clothes and the smooth roads. That the mountains and the students and my whispering God would be enough.

Tomorrow it begins again. Year Two, Honduras-style. Bring it.