Article

 My second historical article was published here.

Back...

... in the US of A. I do know how lucky I am.

On the first, my host family made me a lovely going-away meal. Vilma and Sofi made chicken parm, baked potatoes, and arroz relleno. For dessert, Valeria served us an apple flan she'd created.

So sweet 🥺

Apples are expensive because they're all imported,

so you know it's a special occasion when they're served!

So grateful for a smooth travel day on the 3rd.

About to take off from SAP

I traveled through Houston and fortunately had no delays or problems.

There were these strange, shrink-wrapped restaurants in IAH.

During my layover, I was able to find an open restaurant and order my first real salad in many months. There were iPads at each seat in all of the restaurants, even the shrink-wrapped ones. Seems rather extra...

... as are the airport prices, no surprise.

Guess we know where all that extra revenue goes.

The salad was yummy, though.

Safely on the ground in Denver, thankful for the warm welcome from my fam ❤️

No words, just ❤️❤️❤️

Over the past week, I've reconnected with the kitties, the fam, and Indian food; baked blueberry pie; journaled; finished up one last translation for MCC; unpacked; slept; sunbathed; jogged; sang. Elieth's first article that I translated got published (do you recognize one of the images?); the one I translated last week is queued as is my second historical article. The job search begins.

Connecting with nine other SALTers on Friday evening. We played "Jeopardy" but each question was a prompt to tell a story from our SALT experience. I answered Church for 500: "most bizarre church experience" (see national youth retreat)

I'll keep an eye on the LACA blog and notify here when those last two pieces of MCC Honduras content I had a say in are published.

Thank you all again for your support and prayers this year!

Last Weeks

Well, friends... somehow I've arrived in my last week in Honduras... for now. In some ways it feels like not much has happened since my last post. At the same time, it feels like ages ago. And really, a lot has happened.

Keyla and Sarah have both gone back to their home countries. I'm so grateful to have been able to say goodbye to Keyla in person on the 3rd.

Hasta pronto, hermanita

I've created some things. In addition to writing another historical article and submitting it to the LACA blog (I'll let you know when it gets published), I made some tangible things, as well.

Lamps in my life, not quite the light of my life

I made the pink lampshade out of an electric kettle box and some lining fabric that I cut out of a shirt that didn't really need a lining (especially when worn in a place as hot as SPS). I haven't seen it receive any visitors, though, unlike the lampshade in the living room.

Colorado Pie

"Es la primera vez que he probado pie, y es la primera vez que me encanta!"

On the 5th, MCC had a baking party to "raise some dough" for MCC. (I go into more detail on my Instagram, but basically it's a way to raise awareness about the financial hardships caused by the cancellation of so many relief sales, which is one of the COVID-implicated reasons that the office here in SPS will be closing.) My plug is: as MCC continues peace and justice work around the globe, including COVID response, please consider donating where needed most... contribute the cost of what you'd normally buy at the relief sale, whether that's a bierrock or a quilt!

I decided to make one of my favorite comfort foods, Colorado Pie, for my host family. My host sister Karinita (center) said, "It's the first time that I've tried pie, and it's the first time that I love it!" Turns out, baleada flour doubles well as pastry flour.

Valeria and I made sure it wouldn't be the last time Kari tried pie. A couple weekends ago we banded together to make peach pie.

I think Vale says it best... 👌🏼

🤤🥧

I've also made some virtual things. And virtual... people? Yep, Vale, Kari, and I have had some fun with the Sims 2. We made ourselves of course. Our last name is literally "Crazy Family" (yes, in English). We went on a vacation to Japan. And of course lived other things vicariously through our sims, like going to work and school.

Yay, sister time 💖

Here's another virtual thing I've made: a photo slideshow for our despedida yesterday. We all gathered on Zoom for our official end-of-year ceremony.

Calling in from Cortés, Cundinamarca, Indiana, Maryland, Texas

It was good... We listened to poetry, played charades, did some guided sharing led by Elieth, watched the slideshow, had some time for open reflection, and received awards. I got the award for investigation 😊

Everyone got an award, but it felt good to be recognized for something unique, especially since I'm pretty proud of how I was able to jump into journalistic interviewing this year.

Let's see, what else has happened? The SALT year usually ends with a re-entry retreat in Akron in early July, but this year it was held last week and virtually.

It was great to be able to reconnect with some of the other SALTers and IVEPers who I met last August

I was a little skeptical about doing re-entry while still in country, but I'm grateful it happened when it did. It was a very rich time of sharing and reflection, and it was helpful to get some perspectives from those who had already returned home or are on a similar timeline to me. It's helpful to be able to know what to expect from air travel during COVID and from reverse culture shock, and it also felt good to connect with people who are in the same phase as I am of anxiously awaiting their flight.

Welp, if all goes as planned, I'll be home this weekend. The Honduran government continues to add weird new circulation restrictions, which meant Elieth wasn't able to leave for Nicaragua by land today, but I think I should be able to get to the airport. I appreciate your prayers!

More Skiing

As I was preparing to go out on my bike last week for the first time in almost two months, I expected that exercising with a mask would feel strange... "Not something I've ever done before," I thought. Wrong—as I biked along, wearing a helmet and feeling the wind hit only my eyebrows, I realized the sensation was strangely familiar. I've compared my experience in San Pedro Sula to skiing before, but this time the similarities were more corporeal.

Hi church/office... it's been a minute...

And, speaking of the office, guess I should just get the bombshell out there: the MCC Honduras office is closing. They don't like us to use the word closing; they keep saying, "It's not a closure, it's a consolidation," and, to be fair, MCC will still continue working with partners and funding projects in Honduras. But that doesn't change the fact that the MCC Honduras office is closing, and the administration of all MCC's relationships in Honduras will take place from Managua.

I've known for a while. We were actually told a month ago, today. We were asked not to share the information with more than our closest family members until the comprehensive press release came out. Reasons given included wanting to share the information directly with the partner organizations first. I can imagine it also had to do with wanting somewhere official to point folks so they could get all the information of cuts being made worldwide, so it wouldn't seem like Honduras is the only program experiencing this. But I'm relieved that I can finally tell you all... my supporters, my prayer team, my cloud of witnesses.

So, as the press release says, "Administration of MCC programming in Honduras and Nicaragua will be consolidated in July 2020," meaning I'll be coming home in July, not October as I had started to imagine back in February. I wasn't blindsided by this on April 22; after the first couple weeks of lockdown and an idea of what was happening with the MCC budget, I was pretty sure the centennial celebration would be canceled and my extension along with it. I was, however, pretty shocked to hear that all personnel would be leaving Honduras in July.

I had really been looking forward to getting a taste of life as a service worker, but at least it's not a huge change from what I had thought when I signed up to serve with MCC. Our re-entry will be virtual and a little earlier than I expected, but I'll still be flying back to the states in early July, the day after originally planned (well, if there are flights). I'll just be going straight to Colorado—already "re-oriented"—instead of to Pennsylvania with a week of re-entry ahead of me.

It's really my teammates who have been affected the most severely. Jenny and Joél came here expecting a five-year rep term. They'll be leaving after less than a year here. They'd gotten rid of all the kids' winter clothes—of course they would have outgrown them in five years! Ditra, who had signed on to a three-year service worker term to do some of the financial and planning, monitoring, and evaluation work that currently falls to Rudi, had sold her house in Mexico and was only able to join the team virtually in March after getting stuck in the US after her orientation in Akron was cut short to try to get her here before the borders closed, but her flight was scheduled the day after Lars' on that fateful weekend in March and they weren't letting non-citizens/nonresidents in anymore. She's already been laid off, and they got Rudi to extend from her end date in April to stay through July to close out the books. And Dayna, who I haven't met (not even over videochat) but would've been taking over Lars' role as CPCer in August, thought she had a role all lined up after graduating from university and now will have to find something else. And in this job market...

And to look at that list of countries in the press release and know we're not the only team affected by these changes... and even hearing some stories from country programs not mentioned but which are still "reorganizing" some of their staff... and knowing there's a human story behind each decision about each position...

Seven of the 11 of us SALTers who are still on assignment are in programs mentioned. My second cousin Caleb, a SALTer last year and now on a yearlong extension in Vietnam doing similar historical communications work to what I've been working on here in Honduras, has also had to deal with the awful feeling of withholding information for several weeks. In a note to him, I reflected that our situations are somewhat bittersweet... in a way making our work documenting the legacies of our respective country programs even more important...

On that note, the first of my anniversary articles was published today. Give it a read for an idea of just part of the wonderful history of teamwork between MCC and Honduran Mennonites.

Touch

you can ask me, but the truth is that nothing much has changed

if I'm already fasting, it heals me a little to have companions

in this hunger strike

as they say, misery loves company

but, think about it, what if mercy loves company too?

an opportunity

since it's impossible to pretend that everything's okay

for anyone

to finally reveal the rest of what hurts us

- 2020/03/23

My primary love language being physical touch had become, to a certain extent, the primary thing I'd be teased about in the office. Not in a mean way, just in a friendly, poke-fun kind of way. "Lily, do you want a hug?" one of the team members—one I know isn't a hugger—would ask.

Honestly, no. I mean yes, I would love a hug—need a hug—but the thing is, it doesn't really work if the other person doesn't also want the hug.

And it doesn't really work at all, now.

Rosita posted something on her WhatsApp status back in early January that I took a screenshot of because I loved it so much:

The best feeling in the world: hugging someone and they hug you back even harder.

Honestly, I'm not even sure I'd be able to say physical touch is my primary love language. They all are important to me. Quality time and acts of service also suffer, to a certain extent, from physical distancing measures. How I miss the spontaneous interactions in the moments before, between, after. The gifts that we want to give can't all be given under these circumstances... and yet, a simple, unexpected, and perfectly-timed one can still make my heart melt. I guess we still have words of affirmation, but when only 7% of our communication comes through with the literal meaning of the words we type... sometimes they fall flat.

This is easier for me to write about in this season because it's something that everyone is very publicly dealing with. For the same reason, I've been able to make great strides over the past seven weeks in the amount of compassion I'm able to have for myself... especially when it comes to productivity. The sense of solidarity and not being alone in the struggles of quarantine... it's so important.

And yet, there is still that feeling of being alone. Because we are. It's not called self-isolation for nothing.

But at least we're all feeling alone, together.

Maybe this feeling is pandemic sonder. I'm grateful for the windows into others' experiences. Even (or maybe especially?) those of strangers.

My first year of university, I remember counting the months it had been since I'd hugged anybody. Everybody else seemed to be making friends so quickly. No sense of others going through the same, although I know there must have been. At least this time I have global solidarity. And my host family... Valeria still gives good hugs. But many people I care about are out of my reach for now... ones who would squeeze me back even harder. Some of them are two thousand miles away. Another is in Tegucigalpa. Perhaps most painful are the ones only a neighborhood away. A mile might as well be two thousand.

Elieth posted this a week ago 🥺

We live in the "most connected" age humankind has ever known, right? So why are we still lonely? This was a question we were asking even before global lockdown. Virtual connection is great and all, but it's no substitute for frente a frente... and society was already grappling with the realities of the loneliest generation. Our symptoms are an acute manifestation of the chronic ones we were already seeing... brought on by this triggering event.

Another thing I don't want to go back to "normal" in the aftermath of the pandemic. Let's go back to human, instead.

Don't get me wrong. I'm so grateful for technology right now. For the solidarity, for the otherwise-unavailable spaces, for the connections over video complete with inflection and even a window to partial body language. But it's no substitute for the real thing.

"There is still at least one thing missing: that moment when your mutual darting attention comes to rest and you make real eye contact, not the off-kilter kind that comes from peering at a screen located a few inches from a camera, but an actual meeting of actual eyes transmitted through the air..."

- Gary Greenberg, 2020/04/23

And it's so hard, even with grace for self and others... to reach out virtually.

Sometimes, when your chest is too tight for words, you just need to be able to go to that person who you know will hug you back.

"I will not kill off my yearning to touch you. I will let it guide me. I will fantasise about it. I will write about it. ... I will feel the fire of rage in my belly and the impossible sorrow in my throat. And I will learn over time how to translate this hunger ... into the making of this most necessary new world." - V, 2020/04/21

Gustavo

I haven't been looking forward to posting about this and to some extent it seems pretty futile to do so since most of you probably already know about it. But it wouldn't be right to omit it from my blog. So, here goes...

My host dad Gustavo passed away at the age of 68 on Wednesday the 15th at approximately 3:50pm from what they’re saying was a heart attack. He’d gone to the hospital early on Monday the 13th (like midnight/1am) and later that day they found water in his lungs and gave him meds to help with that and he seemed to be responding well. They also found that his heart was somewhat enlarged so after being in observation on Tuesday, he was going to have a catheterization for diagnostic purposes on Wednesday. He died just before the procedure. He had been just fine before Sunday the 12th when he'd just felt really tired… so it was a shock to the whole family because we'd really thought he'd been getting better on Tuesday and Wednesday. He was diabetic, but even in the hospital all his sugar and blood pressure levels were looking really good until the end.

He was buried the next morning at 11am. Due to the measures being taken in Honduras for all deceased persons—whether the doctors suspect they were infected with COVID-19 or not—no one was allowed to see his body and only 10 people were allowed at the burial: his wife (my host mom, Aurora), his grown children, his sister, and a couple other close family members. His grandchildren and I, along with his children-in-law and many neighbors and friends, were among those who could not go. This was a man who likely would have had hundreds of people at his funeral under other circumstances.

Things in the house are... weirdly normal... well, pandemic “normal.” Aurora has expressed trust in God’s timing and gratitude that it happened during a time when her children don’t have to go to work and her grandchildren don’t have to go to school so the family can be together and support each other. Although I don’t entirely agree with her theological perspective, I too am glad that she’s not home alone after such a loss, especially when her children’s employers may not have been sensitive to requests for bereavement leave.

I’m doing alright, I think. I’m finding time to grieve and remember with my host family, time to talk it through virtually with people close to me including my family in the States and my MCC Honduras team, and time to escape and have fun both with my host family and virtually with others. I'm appreciating it when people reach out to me. And I am very grateful to be with my host family right now... I cannot imagine how extra-painful it would have been if I had left a few weeks earlier and then this had happened. I still feel like the safest thing for me to do in my current situation is continue sheltering in place with my host family and doing what I can to continue the work of my position remotely.

Gustavo's hammock has been conspicuously empty these past two weeks. His chickens are also gone; he'd had someone lined up to inherit them. They came to take them away on the 17th. I'll sign off for now with a picture I took the day of the burial and shared on my Instagram with the following reflection.

Grietas

Curse the cracks that open up and swallow.

We were keeping a safe distance from the pit, or so we thought

But the ground shook, yawned wider, and we fall prone

Supported by the new precipice only up to our shoulders

Forced to peer down in

It was a hot day, but the miasma that emanates chills to the bone.

Careful! These clay jars are our inheritance

Stop putting them so close to the edge of the table

They're already cracked

The twelve o' clock news of ten at eleven? Curse the cracks that forbid goodbyes

But the jars have sunlight inside

And their cracks let them share and receive it

And they can still hold food, we almost forgot

So in the first hour of a strange new day

Unexpectedly

There is laughter.

Bless the cracks.

Tombs

I was affirmed a couple of times for this devotional I offered during our Thursday office meeting. Here's a slightly modified version.

Something I’ve been thinking about over the past week is how we as Christians would usually be celebrating the end of Lent this weekend, but in a way, we’re heading into an extended season thereof. We won’t really get to physically emerge from our tombs until an unknown date in the future. Our next doughnut will not be next week.

I could wax philosophical about emerging from our metaphorical tombs, but I don’t really want to go down that road right now.

A passage of scripture that has presented itself to me multiple times this week is:

There must be no competition among you, no conceit, but everybody is to be humble: value others over yourselves, each of you thinking of the interests of others before your own. Your attitude must be the same as that of Christ Jesus:

     Christ, though in the image of God

     didn't deem equality with God

     something to be clung to—

     but instead became completely empty

     and took on the image of oppressed humankind:

     born into the human condition,

     found in the likeness of a human being.

     Jesus was thus humbled—

     obediently accepting death, even death on an execution stake.
Philippians 2:3-8

I appreciate this translation because it highlights Jesus’ solidarity with humanity, especially those who are oppressed. It portrays Jesus as the image of God, as we all are (Genesis 1:27). And it speaks to some of the most frightening parts of being human—the human condition, in all its uncertainty, and the knowledge of our own mortality—and that Jesus faced all of this, too.

When Jesus was crucified, his friends were not expecting him to rise on the third day.

They hid from death in locked rooms.

Their uncertainty over what to do next must have been crushing; they didn’t know if they had anything to move toward or look forward to. They were paralyzed.

I’m going to read John 11:17, 21-24:

When Jesus arrived in Bethany, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. When she got to Jesus, Martha said, "If you had been here, my brother would not have died! Yet even now, I am sure that God will give you whatever you ask."

"Your brother will rise again!" Jesus assured her.

Martha replied, "I know he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day."

I feel somewhat like Martha in this situation, having faith that coming out of the tomb is in the cards, albeit far in the future. What I want to highlight is the uncertainty of the time within the tomb. Even though we will be in a Lenten season for more than 40 days and we are in our tombs for more than three or four days, those four days must have felt like an eternity to those who loved Lazarus, those three days forever to those who loved Jesus.

What happens during the eternity of the tomb? How do hearts change? How does the uncertainty of the resolution change the responses to life restored, since it wasn’t clear if and when it would be?