Beginnings

Travels went without a hitch although I was exhausted by the time the plane was landing, and I was taken by surprise that rain was coming down from dense, dark clouds.  The passenger next to me commented on the white caps on the water and I realized we could be in for a change in plans.  One of the supporters of MEI has a condo in one of the upscale tourist portions of Roatan that he allows Larry and Sheila to use form time to time.  What a blessing to have a night to get some rest before making the trip to the island; it would have been a long day otherwise.  

The night before I left I went for a run.  The path I was on took me through a rather expensive housing community at one point; I was thinking how strange to be in a place one minute where the trees in the yard have their own night lights, and in the next 24 hours to be somewhere without electricity.  And now here I was at the fancy condo; it felt strange when I’d been gearing up for the island that first night, but I did savor a hot shower and pesto gnocchi.  On both occasions, the run and the resort, I was thinking of Paul’s words about being content in all situations, in plenty or in want.  And that through God, we have strength to be so content. “I can do all things through Him who gives me strength” is in context of being content. That takes trusting the goodness of God and recognizing his grace.   

Bojangles.  Yep.  What would a trip to Helene be without first going to Bojangles for fried chicken.  If you’ve been, you know what I mean.  If not, well you should go.  I can’t explain it.  It then so happens that while eating the aforementioned chicken, Sheila notices some folks at another table who they know.  So we go over for hellos and hugs as is expected.  The woman asks about the lady to work with Irma’s baby and Sheila says “this is her”, and all eyes come to me.  Come to find out Irma has been praying for the last four months that I would come back to help her little girl.  I suddenly felt like a little kid standing in their dad’s shoes. Big shoes; tiny feet.  That’s heavy; and thrilling.  

So with all the errands finally done, we headed to the boat. The sun shown out through large cumulus clouds as our van turned off a winding road surrounded by dense foliage.  There sat the 18 foot panga - a simple fiberglass hull of a fishing boat with slats for seats and a big diesel outboard on the back.  Inside we piled 7 adults, 2 barrels of diesel fuel, 2 cylinders of butane, 1 barrel of gas, 9 suitcases, boxes of food and other household supplies, and 1 baby walker.  It just felt right to be sitting in that boat again. Past colorful houses on stilts that looked the worse for wear on their perch over the water’s edge, we made our way out of the cove towards Helene and a darkening sky.  Small white caps appeared on the top of 2-3 foot swells as the boat rose and fell, the driver pulling in through little passes between reefs and mangroves to find calmer water.  Soon stinging bits of rain were falling from the dark pewter sky and I thought to remember being so chilly when the weather turns hot. We were greeted at the dock by a group of islanders who graciously helped carry all the supplies to the clinic. A surreal moment: to cross the dirt road by the big spreading tree, and in gently falling rain, pad through the grass, past the front of an old white-steepled church, and up the wood steps of the clinic.  I came into the main room, plopped down in the main room and literally kissed a wooden floor board.  

So while Larry and Sheila moved into their house out back, I dumped my stuff in my new room, located the apron I’d packed and headed to the kitchen.  With gypsy jazz playing and pasta primavera cooking, I started making myself at home. 

9:00 and the generator just went off; thus it’s time for my little battery lantern and no more electric lights.  The crickets are in rare form.  I’m the only one in the gigantic clinic building tonight, except for perhaps a bat or something I hear every now and then in the rafters.  I’ve put most of my things away and made my space as pretty as possible; nonetheless there was one little sniffle as I was putting things away and came across a smell that wrapped up friends and family and my old home all in one sad instance.  But now I’m writing to you about it all and if I don’t think about it too hard, you don’t seem far away at all. Couldn’t you just stop over for a bit?  Come sit on the prayer deck and look at the stars?  Oh please do!  Off to tune the guitar and drift off to sleep with a song. 

Thanks for your prayers.  Tomorrow we start cleaning up the place.

Tuesday: Well it’s “tomorrow”. Internet is finally up, the generator is running, and I’ve spent the day cleaning the grime covered kitchen.  There’s a pretty breeze blowing and I was just handed a packet of flower seeds.  Now to scavage for some sort of pot.  I’m beginning to meet people and forget a lot of names; trying very hard not to do that though. Then there is the family “bush” of this island.  (A tree would be too neat a mental picture).  Eventually I may get a handle on it.  

This morning we had our first “team meeting”, including Teddy.  Ted is an islander and a wonderful man that is part of the team, oversaw the clinic over the break, and gives precious insight into how to work within this culture.  He caught the team up on recent issues, feuds and happenings. We discussed as a team the best way to handle certain relationships, problems, and issues.  Trying to learn as much as I can and not forget anything.  

I’ve been put in charge of evening meals for the week.  On one hand this is great because as some of you know, Larry and I have very different ideas about what constitutes a good meal.  The only problem is that I was asked to make dinners after Larry did the grocery shopping...so canned pork and beans, American cheese... Nah, it’s not that bad.  He might of found it a little weird that I put broccoli in my eggs this morning, that being the only green veggie on hand right now.  We’ve been discussing gardening possibilities a little.  Big vote for such things as collards and kale.  

By 2:00 I’d hit a wall and was just worn out.  So parked in the corner of the lower deck where the breeze is best to read for a while with a make-shift iced coffee.  LD (resident dog) joined me; something about having her around just makes it feel all the more home-like.  People stop by from time to time, and at no time is it just “me” time.  Enjoying that though.  Community changes us, exposes us, grows us.  This will be good.