my heroes

Jesus Christ, the Newmans, anyone who has ever had to leave home to know where home is...Emily Castle, because she is the glue that holds everything together for me. She taught me to share, she taught me how to love unconditionally, she taught me to have fun, and she taught me what it means to handle life with grace and beauty. And she continues to do so. my dad because people should follow him around and write books about him and sell them to every dad in the world who is trying to raise a high-strung daughter. without my dad, i would never have learned to be brave. my dad taught me that anything is possible, regardless of who may tell you differently. all of my friends who are now mothers. they amaze me and inspire me every day.

where your deep passion and the world's deep hunger meet....

Someone once told me that my mission in life should be where my deep passion and the world's deep hunger meet. In the beginning of anything, something else has just ended. And i find myself kicking and screaming at any beginning and end. Maybe it's because the middle is always filled with good and bad, and even if the bad outweighs the good, i still have a hard time letting anything good end, even if it was just a glimpse of what it could have been. The hardest part about being so optimistic is the disappointment that seems to always follow. Like how easy it is to be in another country that is poor, where every detail of who you are is pushed and stretched and you become something only God knew you could be. Then you come home and wonder what happened to that person and why did they not come home with you? I hate it. And i don't understand how to be that person all the time. Maybe it's because vulnerability is such difficult task for those who are never hungry and even if they were, they would never admit it. Why do we live in a place where it's a negative thing to ever depend on anyone else? Even when most of us finally ask for help, we apologize and are constantly trying to even the score somehow. We don't want to owe anyone anything. We refuse to be weak, and we fight so hard to disguise that we are all human and need so much more than we realize. This is my problem. The constant circus of trying to earn everything when there is really no need. Doesn't God own everything? And doesn't he have me written on his hand? Still, I am so frustrated with those that walk around with a sense of entitlement that usually is preceded be laziness. It was nice to do things for free for the poor and have them just be grateful. They can't pay me back, and they know the only reason I did what i did is because my faith in God is not limited to evening up the score between me and God or me and anybody else. I will never get what i really deserve and i'm really glad because i know the gates of hell would welcome me with open arms. with humility and on my knees I am grateful this earth will be the closest i ever get to the gates of hell. Although i am very proud of our country and believe in my heart God blesses the US on purpose, I fear there will be far more poor people in heaven from so called God-forsaken countries than there will be from where we live. We make it so much harder for each other. I do it every day, and I have no excuse. We may not need food or shelter or money or healthcare, and we definitely have warm places to sleep and plenty to entertain us, but how much do we hide behind all of those things hoping and praying no one will see our vulnerabilities or vices? More importantly, why? In poverty, nothing is clear, but there is plenty of room for miracles. the next meal is a miracle. In the land of opportunity, the clearest thing is where to get in line for the rat race, how to take care of yourself, and the underlying message that do-it-yourself is the only attitude that is truly respected. This obviously doesn't apply to everyone, but it is a struggle to not fall into a place where miracles are difficult to see because too many people are willing to take credit for their own hard work. "if i speak in tongues of men and of angels but have not love, i am nothing but a resounding gong or clanging cymbal. If i have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if i have faith that can move mountains, but have not love, i am nothing. if i give all i possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, i gain nothing." I cor 13 I never understood this verse when i was young because i thought it was saying something else. now that i know what love really means, i understand. the things we respect in each other in society are knowledge, intelligence, work ethic, and self-sacrifice for the improvement of ourselves and others. but why do we strive to achieve things in these categories? Ideally we would be doing it to show the unfailing love of God to the vast number of souls who do not know him. If we take credit for everything and believe it had anything to do with us, then why would we ever recognize God's love for us? and if we don't recognize it, how will everyone who doesn't know God ever meet him? The biggest superpower in the world and i live in the middle of it. and i've traveled all over the world. every time i come home i face the dim reality that we may be winning every race there is and we may be helping more poor than we can count, we may be moving mountains and fathoming all mysteries. and we all know there are plenty of bodies being surrendered to the flames to protect us and give freedom to others. but if we don't enter the race of how many souls will stand at heaven's gates with us, then we have gained nothing.

surgery in the dark...

I am leaving for honduras on saturday morning and i'll be gone for a week. i go every year. a lot of my pictures are from those trips. my responsibilities while on this mission trip will be countless. in a way, it is what i live for because every God-given talent i possess is in great demand when i am there. it is a surgical trip where i will spend 10-12 hours a day in the operating room making sure the patient's operation is clean and efficient. it is my job to assist the surgeon, put in stitches, pass instruments, and protect the sterile field from contamination. it is also usually my job to communicate with family members and staff that don't speak english. i speak spanish fairly well, although i have never formally studied it. so when we go anywhere as a group to eat or shop or when we order breakfast at the motel in the morning i have to translate for the other members of our group who go to foreign countries without learning the language. Standing in the operating room using my medical mind and stepping out and using my spanish mind, then seeing the poverty and hopeless environment these natives live in every day brings out my emotional side and breaks my heart. it's like stepping into a war zone with no one really on your team. as my close friends know, i am not needy. i am self-sufficient and confident and usually the one helping everyone else. when i am there i barely sleep and when i do, i dream terrible nightmares of what could go wrong. last year we saved a woman's life. she had a gallstone in her common duct, which basically means if we hadn't operated that week, she could have gone into acute pancreatitis and possibly liver failure. it was an incidental finding we did not anticipate. she was our first patient, first surgery, first day. so none of the kinks were ironed out at all. most of the surgeries we do are laproscopic which means a few small holes like little stab wounds, a camera, and laser surgery. during this woman's surgery, the power surged and the lights went out, as did all of our equipment. the surgeon decided to open her up since you can't monitor a patient without electricity near as well. i had never seen a patient opened up and had no idea what i had gotten myself into. all the sudden i am elbow deep in this woman's abdomen reaching for surgical instruments to hand the 2 doctors trying to fix her. of course those instruments have ridiculous names that no one knows but surgeons and really old nurses. people were yelling all directions and i looked to the surgeon beside me, my mentor and friend, and said, "i don't think i'm ready for this. do you want me to step back?" he simply said, "I need you beside me, her life is our responsibility, and i can't do it without you." he is 66 years old and besides my dad, the greatest man i've ever met. we spend 3 1/2 hours putting this woman back together. the power came back on 5 minutes after it went out, but by that time we were all soaked in sweat. She made it. i stayed in the operating room and held her hand as she slowly woke up from the anesthesia. I looked straight in her eyes, smiled and said in spanish, that she was ok and we were done. she nodded. i walked out of that operating room, spoke to no one, went out back alone and cried. one of the teenagers in our group followed me, stood till i had cried alone for a few minutes, then sat beside me and said. "You did good. i could have never done that. I'm really proud of you." I looked up with my tear streaked face at this 15 year old boy and said, "without hearing that from you, i don't think i would ever have the courage to go back inside and do it again." Here's the kicker. my mentor, the surgeon, has a steadfast rule of praying with his patients before they go to sleep for surgery. he does it in the states as well as on mission trips. he prays in english and gets a translator if the patients only speak spanish. this woman was our first case and with all the chaos he forgot to pray with her. everyone was asking him questions about everything right before the surgery and he just forgot. i noticed he was busy and had memorized a prayer in spanish identical to the one he says in english. while she was in the holding area, i prayed with her in spanish. speaking spanish and praying in spanish are very different. prayer is so personal that it's more difficult to communicate your heart in a different language. my first prayer in spanish. maybe God just never wanted me to forget. my mentor apologized to me later that week and said, i didn't pray before that first surgery and that may be why everything went wrong. i'm sorry. so i looked at him and said, "I did pray with her before the surgery." he said well maybe that's why she's still alive. long story, and intense on so many levels. the point is this. i leave in 7 days. i will have anxiety and fear looming over me between now and then. it is satan working on me and all my insecurities. he plays with my mind and takes me through worst case scenarios, like what if i die there and never make it back or worse, what if someone dies because i wasn't smart enough or courageous enough to save them. i am scared. bc i am willingly going into a place of spiritual battles. my job overall is to give a poverty-stricken country hope. and hope is something they don't know anything about. am i ready for what's before me? if you read this far, please comment or call me and encourage me. i need it. i can feel when things are about to fall down all around me. and when they do, i don't want to feel like i'm alone. my mom is going with me this year. it will be her first mission trip. so i can't tell her i'm scared bc she's scared too.

you have cancer...

so i put on my profile one of the things i hate the most is tellin someone they have cancer. today i met a 79 year old woman who will probably be in heaven by christmas. and i had to confirm what she already knew. she has cancer. her entire right breast is a malignant tumor that has metastasized to her bones, liver, pancreas, and colon. i asked how long she had noticed a lump in her breast. her answer surprised me... 3 years. we could have fixed it 3 years ago, maybe even 1 year ago, but now it is just too late. so you wonder why did she wait? Her husband has alzheimer's and she is his primary caregiver. she wanted to keep him out of a nursing home. the lump didn't hurt and she was so caught up in caring for him, she did not get it checked. she cried today when she asked me the question those in my profession dread, "how long i will live?". i tried to be positive, but my eyes teared up. she knew i couldn't look at her and lie. i just held her hand and said, "i think you have plenty of fight left in you, most of your time depends on your will to live." and then tears suddenly rolled down my face. as i looked in her eyes willing her to believe my words, although, my intelligence tells me the opposite, i wondered who told my grandmother she was dying. my grandmother, creath hughes, died this very same way, 2 years before i was born. breast cancer, metastasized to her bones, too late to fix. the moral of the story is take care of the women in your life. good women will put themselves behind everyone else. they will forget to eat because they cooked dinner and started cleaning up in one smooth process. they go to bed last and wake up first. they work full-time and still are excellent mothers. they wear high heels every day. they love with all that they have and leave nothing for themselves. when they have nothing left to give, they sacrifice their futures and their own health to meet the needs of the ones they love so much. take care of the women in your life. they know how to take care of you, but they see themselves as the last priority. the woman today was not crying because she is dying. she was crying because her husband will be in a nursing home soon and he will feel more alone there than he does now. he is trapped in a confused mind where the only stability is the feeling of home. that sense you have when you walk in your mom's kitchen and somethin about it is just right and safe. he will lose that when she dies, probably sooner, and she blames herself. what would it be like to have someone love you that much? do they make marriages like that anymore? take care of women like these because they are rare and beautiful. make them go to the doctor, get mammograms, take medicine, give them a chance to get their nails done, or get a massage, let them laugh with their girlfriends and sit down at dinner sometimes. these women are the foundation for the rest of us. they are rocks, solid and unshaken by life. but they are human and need someone to reach for their hand and dry their tears every once in a while. what would you do without the woman in your life who is and has always been the rock you stand on?

what does it mean to be beautiful?

what does it mean to be beautiful...? (and what I am learning from working for the poor for free…) I don't know exactly what it means but I think is has to do with grace, to have it, and to give it. There are few times in my life where I have acted beautifully. It struck me today as I looked at a patient and said, "Don't give up, we can handle this. I believe it will get better from here." He looked at me with tearful sincerity and said, "I hope so." For the first time in a while, I felt the tears too. I was leaving the room when I made the first statement, but after looking at his face, I paused. He wanted to believe me, and he could tell that I believed my own words. I should do that with all of my patients. Hope is the promise of grace. Extending hope that is believable is beautiful. That man was on a bridge ready to jump last week. He may be on the news this week, but for that moment, he wanted hope, and I stopped just barely in time to give it. 1. extending hope. 2. being vulnerable enough to be honest with the person before you. 3. hold someone's hand that needs it. 4. dry the tears of a child. 5. pray with an earnest heart 6. have a desire to see other's succeed, regardless of what they have done to you. 7. smile often and earnestly. I saw a homeless man today, who was so dirty and smelled terrible. He smiled a toothless grin and had simplicity that would be easy to attack. He was uneducated, illiterate, and in many ways a burden on society. Still, the simplicity got me. That simple trust without skepticism. Odd for me to say how refreshing that simplicity was for me, but it was. 8. don't guard yourself too much. 9. don't hide tears just so people can't tell you are moved by something. 10. give more than you receive 11. hospitality 12. availability 13. mercy 14. being filthy dirty because you worked so hard to help someone else become clean 15. stand between the weak and the danger that waits for them What beautiful is not… physical appearance 2. sarcasm 3. pride 4. selfishness. 5. anger 6. too busy 7. cranky 9. rude 10. planning your week around Friday and Saturday night. 11. resentment. 12. bitterness 13. revenge. The reason a truly beautiful girl is so hard to find these days is because we (most girls) have stopped trying. Sure we can dress up, put on the makeup, accessorize appropriately, go to the right places, and make phone calls or send texts that are entertaining at best, but hardly reflect what we really should say (or not say). Guys don't know what beautiful girls are anymore because a lot of us have stopped showing it. Whatever happened to knowing 5 facts about someone before you kiss them or at least their middle name, or opening doors, or flowers, or scheduled dates, or respect in general? This would be easy to blame on the boys, I know, but I don't think it's their fault. It's us. I know I have learned to play these silly games and I admit I don't regret all of them. But what have I traded? The beautiful girl for the fun girl? The honest girl for the girl with a brick wall hedged around her heart? Have I traded me for someone I don't really want to be? Any girl who has complaints about the way some guy treats her should ask herself what she expected him to do with the way she treated him, or more importantly, the way she presented herself. If anyone ever tells me they think I am beautiful again, it better be someone who knows what they are talking about. And the next person that kisses me better know my middle name… and my favorite flavor ice cream…

Thunder and lightning

thunder and lightningEveryone who knows me knows I worked in Colorado. Hawk and RyanO say it best when we all are together and realize people don't like to hang out with us because all we talk about is "one time on trail...". Still, it is a part of me and the stories I retell over and over remind me so much of the person I was and the person I became because of that job.The week I became a guide...I was with Bert Paddock and Daniel George, and Midlothian, the infamous group that was always somehow cursed. The first day, the Rock, the kid that wouldn't go, and the hour I spent 200 feet up holding a rope waiting for this kid to conquer a fear of rapelling. The hike to low camp and sleeping on a slant...The hike to high camp, and the ridge i made the group gain that was not the right ridge. The phone call to Tommy, "can we just climb Crystal?" --"No Rachel, get where you are supposed to be..." and then asking myself, where is that exactly. I chose to tell the group i got them lost. it was my decision, and i could have lied, but that's just not me. The next day, we started out to get where should have already been. Then the youth minister with chest pain... and later kidney failure... It was interesting, because we were closer to the road because i had gotten us lost. It may have saved him, maybe not. but he made it to the ER just before a big fat MI. And i got stuck carrying the watermelon that was hidden in his pack... great. So we kept going. and on this bluff on a fairly small trail, some kid tripped and began tumbling down the mountain. dropped my pack and took off after her. rocks were rolling after me as i tried to go at an angle to cut off her tumble. she sprained her ankle and cried. didn't tell her how much worse it could have been. We made it to high camp on atlantic and rested. the next morning... summit day... no one ever gets to atlantic unless its me bc i know where the keyhole is to avoid the big ridge. but still, it is so hard to reach. and not as safe as i would like. At 430am i woke up and got the kids up. we started hikin at 545 and at 615 there was mutiny. the kids refused to go. i was almost glad bc i was so tired. but another piece of me wont ever give up that easy. gave the best pep talk i could and said i was goin to hike. i would either see them when i got back or share my sundrop with them at the top...They hiked. We did terrible on time, and were pushin clouds all morning. we got to the point where i could have summitted myself in 20 minutes, but this group was exhausted. so i made a decision to continue to gain elevation after 100pm. not a good idea and now i know why. we summitted at 200pm and started back down with big clouds everywhere. then the rain started, then the hail, then i realized two kids forgot their raincoats. there went my fleece and my jacket and my pants. so in a tshirt and shorts i kept hikin. I was cold and tired and all of the sudden very uncertain. comin off atlantic you can see pacific to your right, and pacific's ridge seems far away until you see a lightning bolt hit it, then it seems real close. i turned around and saw this girl's hair standing straight up from the static electricity. my ice axe and the zippers on my backpack were humming. i could see bert hikin with his ice axe in his hand. -- good lightning rod if necessary. I stopped and gave him mine too. he put his hands on my shoulders and said, "flip your radio off and get them to the trees as fast as you can." we had an older man in the group bert had to stay back with. This is when a game face is important. and trust is even more important. i had been honest all week, and these kids trusted me with their lives. now there really was a threat to those lives. was i ready? the sound of the thunder and the pop of the lightning did not leave much time for gathering courage. i got the kids close and said, "stay together, move as fast as you can, and don't say anything unless you are talking to me" i could see that they were dependent on me. and i was scared. one girl broke her finger, but other than that we made it to the trees. she didn't even tell me about it until we stopped. i dropped my pack and went back up to help bert. one of the younger boys came with me. Bravery shows itself in strange ways, so i didn't send him back.so was i a hero that day or not? could have protected them better, and could have even stayed in camp.or is a hero the one that steps into a situation with faith that God has an idea of what is in store, and will hold your hand as you climb and as you descend...still, who wants to run from lightning?Tommy said i was now officially a mountain guide. and i guided the rest of the summer with lots more emergencies but never with the doubt i carried that week. i left all that doubt on atlantic. mountains have a funny way helping you unload your baggage.

who your friends are

who your friends are... Friends are the ones who have heard you laugh, heard you cry, and tried to make each moment for you better than the last. They listen to your confessions and laugh at your jokes. They mean what they say and their honesty is always with the best of intentions. They know your birthday. They are there to welcome new members to your family and stand beside you as you bury those you've lost. They feel your pain and you feel theirs. And they are always just a phone call away when you feel the world closing in around you. They celebrate life with you and are often times the reason to continue celebrating. They support you in all of your endeavors and make each success easier to attain. And they each have their own role in the story of your life. The older you get, the more each friendship is tested. The value of the friends that are there through each chapter is one that should never be taken for granted. I think God put us all here together to take care of each other. And I realize more every day that I am well taken care of.

miracles..

during my pediatric rotation, a little boy came into the clinic with his parents. he was dark skinned, which made it hard to tell how sick he was. if he had been white, he would have looked blue. this little boy at 9 months old was knocking on death's door. a med student saw him first and came out of the room waiting for the pediatrician. he hadn't been around kids much and asked me if i thought it was odd for a 9 month old to lay lifeless on an exam table and not really move. my eyes got big and i said go get the doctor even if she's with another patient. i went in the room by myself and the parents were from another country and were less than conversational. i can translate spanish pretty well, but what about the slang dialects of sudan? those of you who know about kids know that 9 month olds don't like strangers and should be a handful even if they are sick. he was barely awake. his hands and feet were like ice, and i could not feel a pulse anywhere. the doctor arrived and immediately took the boy down to the ER. we worked on him for 3 hours trying to get IV access to rehydrate him. nothing seemed to make him better, but he never lost consciousness. they stuck him with needles so many times,but his dehydration was so severe that he didn't even bleed. his parents were just there, and didn't seem to understand how serious this could be. he was on an exam table in the ER and looked so small and alone, that my heart just hurt. i was on my knees in the ER with my hands on this child holding his little arms and passing tourniquets, needles, gloves, or whatever else the staff asked for. nothing was working.and he still wasn't crying. after 2 hours, i took it upon myself to ask for blankets from the warmer to warm him up, but that didn't help either, so i just got on the table with him and held him close to my chest while everyone kept workin on him. he got down some pedialyte, but threw it back up all over my white coat, my pants, and my hands. so i just took the coat off and threw it on the floor. and continued to hold him as close as i could to warm him back up. and i prayed. i didn't know if god would let this child die, but if He did, at least he would not have to die feeling alone. it was funny to me that i didn't think of that first. the hug from the educated white girl,was ironically the 1st thing that helped. i will never forget him looking up at me with big black eyes and squeezing my little finger. finally, he responded to something. they finally stuck a huge needle threw the bone in his leg to get fluids in his little body. 5 minutes later he cried, and i think the 15 of us that had been workin on him wanted to cry with him. he was transferred to vandy and discharged 3 days later. the only thing wrong was dehydration from a stomach virus. kids in third world countries die of dehydration every second. it was totally preventable if someone would have explained to those parents that kids need a lot of fluids when they are sick. if they had kept him at home 3 more hours, he would have died.it's a miracle they brought him in. i know that all of us have opinions about illegal immigrants and those who enjoy our country, but don't speak english, and likely don't pay taxes. if those with such harsh criticism had seen this little boy knock on death's door the way i did, i believe their hearts would soften. if we as a country spent as much of our breath teaching english as we do making jokes about those that don't speak it, i bet we'd all be better off. maybe less children would die every second from just not getting enough water. racism still exists, but i would like to think that in my country, it will not cause such a barrier that innocent children lose their lives because the educated won't teach and the poor can't ask. "too much is given, much is required." it's in the Bible.

what is hard about honduras

I have gone to Honduras every year since 2000. One year in preparation for our trip, our mission team had a meeting where those who had gone in previous years shared what they felt was the most difficult aspect. i sent the following story out in an email, and every time i read it, it improves my perspective on life. Subject: what's hard about hondurasFor all of you who don't know me that well, i'm long-winded at times, sothis could get wordy. but it's important. I need to reanswer the question of what is hard about honduras. everyone had good answers i know, but i must confess i barely listened. i kept thinking about what i was going to see, and surprisingly i know, was at a loss. In the meeting, i said i didn't know what was hard and went on to say a bunch of stuff i don't really remember. Today i was talking to a friend of mine andrealized what's hard, so i guess i will just have to tell you now. the first year i went to honduras, i had no idea what to really expect.each day was a whirlwind of events and honestly, i just tried to cope. iwant to tell you the story of my weakest, most frustrating moment. wewere somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and the biggest thing iremember was the millions of steps it took to get the the smallestchurch i've ever seen and the lack of bathroom facilities. i was apharmacy person that day and still rather clueless as to what to do. ispoke literally NO spanish. it was around 1:00 and the line of patients outside and down the stairs was more than overwhelming. it was so hot i felt sick. it seemed like everyone needed something and there was nothing i was doing that helped. every prescription i filled i needed help on and noone seemed to be in a good mood. the kids were terrible to deal with and even the people who never complained were frustrated already. i was about to reach a low point and wanted to just be at home in the states with people i could talk to (in english). on top of everything, i had to go to the bathroom and as mentioned earlier,in terms of facilities, there was a lack thereof. i needed some air. i went outside feeling unneeded, unwanted, useless, stupid, and weak. Ihate to be weak. so is sat down on the dirt next to the steps hoping forsomething, but i didn't know what. Whit and Linnea (2 american high school kids)were outside too, chasing kids. there was a honduran man out there preachingwith church flyers in his hand.the line of sick patients was ridiculously growing longer and i began to realize that a lot ofthose people would not get seen that day. i knew we weren't coming back.i almost started crying. all i could think about was why had i comehere? And the picture i was living in at that moment redefined the phrase "God-forsaken country". Then i saw this old man about 12 steps down from me, sitting down. helooked terrible. he was dirty, without teeth. his shoes were more holesthan shoes. his feet had cuts and scrapes that i knew would never reallyheal. he had no socks and his ankles were so swollen, they looked likethey had been broken more than once. he'd already come up so many steps,i couldn't believe he'd made it that far. it was just the icing on mycake at my own little pity party i was having for myself abouteverything that's wrong with the world that is seemingly out of mycontrol. To be completely honest, i was disappointed when he spotted me in myscrubs. they think we're all doctors, and i knew he would ask me forhelp. not only would i not be able to give it, but i wouldn't even beable to talk to him at all! No spanish. I'm crying now just remembering. He looked at me and started asking mequestions and pointing to his ankles and feet. Whit tried to translate,but the man had no teeth. i was so frustrated with everything, and i'm surei snapped at whit for not understanding. we all just sat there. it was adefining moment for me. i told the man not to move. i went in the clinic(which i affectionately remember as the shoebox) and found two ace bandages. i asked dr. roberston forsome strong ibuprofen for the man. Dr. robertson did hesitate at first, but i'msure the expression on my face deterred him from asking why this mandidn't have to wait in line. i got a package of baby wipes and a waterbottle. and i went back out. i sat down on the steps in front of thisreally old man and washed off his feet. i felt ashamed of myself and i tried to sniff back my tears, but it was too late. i wrapped up both ankles as goodas i could with the ace bandages. i took off my socks and put them on his feet and put his shoesback on. i asked whit to tell him how often to take the ibuprofen, butwhit couldn't because he was starting to cry a little too. the honduranpreacher was there with us and everyone had stopped in line to watch me.even the kids were still. Tears were rolling down my face and i wantedto crawl in hole for all the socks and shoes i knew were in my house athome. i was humbled beyond my imagination. the man told me his name andpointed to the sky trying to talk to me about God. he blessed me overand over and had tears in his eyes of gratitude. but i didn'tunderstand. the preacher and whit finally understood and told me what hewas saying. but i was crying too hard to say much back. whit told himwhy we were there as best he could. the man wrote his name down on oneof those flyers and gave it to me. i still have it. He started to walkback down those millions of stairs. i couldn't even watch him. Whit and i bonded that day. i knew to everyone watching i haddone something really great. but i felt sick inside because 15 minutesbefore i had been selfish and childish enough to want to go home and runfrom all the opportunities i had there to bring glory to God. that's thegreat thing about god. he doesn't mind how weak we are. in our lowestmost difficult moments, he defines himself in us. That day, God gave mea small taste of all the crap jesus saw when he walked among us. That day ended up being my best day in honduras. after that, i stayedoutside. the kids just flocked to me. Mrs. Lindsay always tells thestory about the day i taught all the kids even though i didn't speak anyspanish. it embarrasses me when she tells it, because i remember why ifirst went outside. That all happened the same day.I think about all of that when i don't really want to pack meds or idon't want to sing anymore spanish songs. i think about it when i'mtired of soliciting medical supplies from rich pharmaceutical companies or rushing to meeting at 8:30 only to getdone at 11:00 and have to get the next day for school or work. It reminds me that i am not entitled. but i have been given much. and too much is given, much is required.it is in our weakest moments that either god or satan make a mark on theworld with us. it can either end up really scary and depressing orreally amazing and motivating.I'm sorry this was so long, but that's what i think is hard abouthonduras. the same stuff that makes it hard, also makes it worth it,which makes it great. But the hardest part is hearing God above my own selfishness and then acting on it. and my selfishness can get really loud.but i now believe you can even tithe with the socks you are wearing. and that can be enough -rachel Malachi 3:10 "Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this," says the Lord Almighty, "and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have enough room for it."