One thing we have had to get used to living here in Honduras is noise, especially at night. All throughout the night, every night, the sounds of chickens, dogs, people and the occasional firecracker (I hope) ring out in our neighborhood. At first these noises mercilessly kept us awake. Rainy nights were our only respite. With the rain came the soothing patter on our roof as well as a blessed decrease in the sound coming from the usual list of perpetrators. Over time however, our brain’s built in filter has adapted to its new surroundings. We now sleep like babies through all of the “normal” noises.
Today, driving into work, I saw a lot of pain. I saw a badly deformed child sitting in a wheelchair on the edge of the highway. There he sits every day, placed there by his family to do his share, begging for money from passers by. I saw a dog get hit by a truck. She had wandered out just as I was passing by and the truck behind me was unable to stop in time to miss her. I saw a little boy of about 7 or 8, who’s mind stopped developing somewhere around the age of 1 or 2. Today he was sitting in the middle of the road throwing dirt on himself. He did not notice my truck, and I literally had to stop, get out and move him over to the side so I could pass. I saw a little girl with no shoes and a torn dress carrying half her weight in firewood passing in the opposite direction of the children headed to school in their white shirts and blue slacks.
With that I began to cry.
These were not new sights. It was a rather typical commute. These things are a common part of life here, much like the noises at night. But today the filter on my heart was not working.
