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."