The rain began on Oct 14. It hasn’t stopped. 24 hours a day for 14 days straight it has rained in the mountains and valleys surrounding the town of Belen Gualcho. The storm has been named Storm #16. Nothing exciting or memorable about that name. It didn’t even qualify for one of the alphabetical names reserved for tropical storms and hurricanes, but Storm # 16 has made it’s mark in the history of Honduras. And what’s worse is it’s not even close to being done. Forecasts predict at least 5 more days of constant rain.

Yesterday I went out with one of my counterparts from the Belen office of Project Global Village to survey the damage in some of the outlying villages. We barely made the first village due to the landslides, mud and a partially washed out bridge, so we decided to leave the truck there and walk to the other villages that were within reach. At each village we met with the village leaders and families that have been affected by Storm #16.

We heard stories of lost crops, damaged homes, sleepless nights listening to mudslides and an overarching theme of helplessness and uncertainty.

One family, the Lenin Bajurtos ( a family of 12) were hit hard by #16. Their house is still standing but is totally unsafe and will have to be rebuilt. They are spending the days inside their home to escape the rain and sleeping in the 2 room home of Lenin’s brother. (Lenin’s brother has 8 in their family, so that’s 20 people in 2 rooms). Because much of the family’s corn and bean crop has been destroyed, they have no idea how they are going to eat in the coming year. Also, because they have no way to earn a living up here in the mountains they have no real way of rebuilding their home.

None of this is the worst of it.

The worst of it is the fact that their land has been heavily impacted by the mud slides. About 2 acres of Lenin’s land has slid down the side of the mountain, and another 4 acres is poised to do so at any time. Only about ½ of an acre seems to be safe, and this ½ acre will not allow Lenin to grow enough food to feed his family.

Before #16 Lenin’s family was poor. They were poor but they had enough to eat, secure shelter and enough land to subsist with a certain amount of dignity and security.

Now they wonder what will become of them.

They can’t stay with their family forever. Will they have to move to the city and live in a squatter town in a cardboard shanty? How will they eat next year, and the year after that?

What will become of their children who now have no land to inherit?

Tomorrow we head out again to survey more villages, to meet more “Lenin Bajurtos” and to record their pain.

Please pray we could bring some hope.

Pray that, even in these circumstances they would sense God’s love for them through our actions and words.

Please pray that as I see these things and hear these stories, I would believe that God loves them.

I can’t do it without your prayers.

brad

This blog comes to you from high up in the mountains of Western Honduras. Just 7 years ago there was no electricity here in Belen Gualcho. Now, thanks to this week’s installation of satellite internet, I can communicate with anyone in the free world almost instantaneously. The best part is I will no longer have to drive the 1 and ½ hours to my home just to send or receive an important e mail. One time I had to do this twice in one day.

The weather here in the highlands has been pretty ugly over the last several days. On Tuesday there was even a bit of sleet mixed into the rain. This has slowed our progress on the main water project, as the conditions are just to rough for working in the difficult terrain, not to mention sleeping out in it. The water sources for the project, which are up in the Celaque Mountains, are about a 2 hour hike in some really rugged country. Add to that the carrying, by hand, (too rough for mules) 20 foot sections of 6” pipe and 100 pound sacks of concrete and weather can play a big role in the progress of the project.

The village that is the “base camp” for the main water line is called Rio Negro. This village is a 3 hour walk from the nearest access by truck. The living conditions in Rio Negro are very bleak, even by Honduran standards. Because the village is inside the boarders of the Celaque national park no resources like roads, electricity, etc. can be developed. This is to protect the parks eco system and cut down on illegal logging that has damaged much of Honduras. Without access to resources, the people of Rio Negro (about 45 families) subsist on their meager corn crops and by harvesting coffee. Coffee harvest provides about 10 weeks of solid work, and a good coffee picker can earn about 3 dollars a day. According to a recent survey of the village, the average household has an annual income of around $200. Yes that’s annual. It always breaks my heart to be in Rio Negro. I have had the chance to make friends with a couple of families there. They are so humble and open. But malnutrition has reaped its horrible harvest and the light in the children’s eyes burns very low, if at all.

I wish I could change things for them. I wish I could play god in their lives. But for now, I’ll let God be God and I’ll try to learn from their humility.

Blessed are the poor in spirit.

This morning I read again the passage in Matthew 19 about the rich young ruler and I can’t stop thinking about how rich I am and how painfully applicable the passage is to me. Real, down and dirty, physical poverty is so close that I can literally hit it with a rock from my back deck. Our family gets lots of pats on the back for the “big’ sacrifices we have made to come “here”, but I‘ve got to be honest, we have no idea what it really means to be “here”. The “here” we live in includes almost all of the physical comforts we call necessities in the U.S. The “here” we live in is carefully separated from the real here.

From “here” we take fieldtrips to the poverty. It hurts to see it, but usually a nice warm meal or a change of clothes can get us back to our comfort zone. Sometimes all it takes is a baby wipe.

Like the rich young ruler I want to “do” something for Christ. I bet if Jesus would have asked him to work with the poor he gladly would have said yes. It may have been the very thing he was eager to do. Take it from me there is great personal reward and glory in working with the poor. But Jesus didn’t want another worker, another “doer’. What He wanted was another poor person. And not just a poor person, but a person who was poor by choice. He was looking for a person who was able to yield his physical condition to the condition of his soul. Blessed are the poor in Spirit.

Unlike Paul (Phil 4:12), I have not yet learned how to be content with plenty and I don’t have a clue what it is to want.

Please change my heart Lord. I’m tired of sadly walking away from you invitation to be poor and blessed. I’m tired of being a camel looking at you through the eye of a needle.

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.

My wife, bless her heart, asks me about 6 times a week “did you blog?” “I’ll get my best man on that” is my usual reply. The truth is I think of profound and interesting things to blog about every day. The problem is these things always come into my mind while I’m driving. I am, appearantly, quite brilliant when I drive. I can’t count the number of world problems I have solved, the depths of theology I have plumbed, not to mention the time saving kitchen gadgets I’ve come up with. But, as soon as the truck comes to a stop these whirling nodes of brilliant thought turn to so much vapor and I return to the mild manered simpleton so many of you know and love. Maybe this is why I love (and always have loved) cars the way I do. We all tend to love the things that improve us. Advertisers know this and it is one of their primary means of getting us to direct some of our limited money resources into their pockets. I wonder how often I have fallen for this ploy. Countless times I’m sure. As rediculous as a car making me smarter sounds, I bet it less rediculous than other messages I’ve believed.

Lets start this out with a quote. Not that I’m trying to set an agenda with it. It just resonated with me at the moment. Besides, I never say things this well anyway… “Work is a sorry god whose reward is always strangely empty. It never pays the wage of love that is anticipated. Yet our faith in that god is not discouraged by its dead proffer. We still feed it our highest concentration and our finest energy though it devours… always more” Adoration, Martha Kilpatrick