cuentos de aventura

June 27, 2007

My fellow lovers of laughter,

It is Tuesday night here at the Farm, and extremely difficult to believe that our time here is almost halfway over. I am quickly beginning to realize that two months is not nearly enough time to even scratch the surface of this labor of love which has already captured our hearts.

Atop a greenish chalkboard in our 4th grade aula is written, "A day lived for God is a rare adventure." So many adventures, both big and small. The adventure of this summer, the adventure to give love away, the adventure of true openness to walk with God. I am learning what it means to live God's adventure with a heart that is completely and beautifully free.

A few snapshots of my free-spirited adventure:

My running shoes and chaco sandals carefully dodge stones, splash through rivers and sink into sandy beaches as I run, hike, and carry 4-year-olds through the lush, cloud-topped mountains. My stomach has held up remarkably well as I indulge in baleadas, topagillos, and plenty of rice and beans. Despite plentiful bug bites and a few strange rashes, my body serves me well and even enjoyed its first bucket shower this past week :) My "mente" (mind), though often tired, is stretching and growing rapidly, and was put to good use on Friday as I served as a translator for an international medical brigade from Arkansas.

Last weekend, I had the joy of attending my very first Honduran wedding, as the entire Finca community was invited just a few minutes down the beach to celebrate the "boda" of an old vol and her new husband. Dogs and two-year-olds plopping down in the aisle, totally off-key singing and a gorgeous sunset made for an experience that was pretty "diferente" but totally beautiful. Afterwards, joined by the oldest Finca boys, my fellow vols and some only-moderately-sketchy local Honduran men, I shook my gringa hips under the bright starry sky until the wee hours of the morning. I dance with light feet and a light heart.

Last night I wrote by the light of a single candle and listened to the sounds of explosive laughter and harmonies of voices singing alleluia resonating through our house which is so filled with geckoes and love. I joined the oldest boys from House 5 as they taught me to fish and hunt "cangrejos" (crabs) by the light of the moon. I sat by a campfire on the beach, was dragged into the sparkling water (fully clothed) and floated on my back with my Honduran brothers, looking at the stars and the cloudy sky illuminating the tops of mountains in the distance. Yesterday my soul sister Cassidy and I ran on the beach during an afternoon "tormenta" (storm), letting the cold rain pelt our faces and soak our clothes, diving head-first into the warm, choppy waters, yelling out to the mountains until explosive thunder sent gringa free sprits running, shrieking, laughing inside for cover.

And although my Spanish is far from "completa", I am learning to speak a far more beautiful language… the language of love. What does it mean to love as God does? What does it mean to love a child? It means immense vulnerability… and relentless forgiveness. I speak the language of love as 2-year-old Rosita runs to me with open arms and points to the moon… as little boys plop down in my lap… as I have a spontaneous post-dinner bachata-style dance party with 6-year-olds. They are my greatest teachers and the best part of my adventure.

And so my prayer is to be open to the ultimate adventure of dancing with the King, to learn what it means to love with reckless abandon, to allow my soul the freedom to sing of His marvelous light. I pray to seek His fingerprints in all faces and moments, to let my heart beat with the quiet reminder that this life is not my own, to pour out day after day after day, again and again. I am a work in progress, broken and poured out, yearning to sing long and loud and beautifully the melody the great Composer has placed in my heart.

Sing well.
Erin