Life with the Lansfords

I had such a blast with the Lansfords while I was in Texas.

I have known Lisa and the girls—Linsay, left in the picture, and Rochelle on the right—since I taught Linsay 15 years ago. (WOW! How time flies.)

And I love staying with them when I am in Texas because:

• The girls make me laugh until my sides hurt, and I feel as if I will BURST (quite literally)!
• Linsay remains one of my all-time favorite students—I loved having her in class, and I love hanging out with her now that she is an adult.
• Lisa’s husband is one of the nicest men I know. He understands the importance of “girl time.” AND he makes breakfast when I am staying there (the best huevo rancheros—yummy!!).
• Lisa is a true friend.

No matter where I go or where I live—a part of me will always call Texas home—and it is because of my friends.

Memorial Day

Having spent time in a warzone, I understand, somewhat, the sacrifices that our brave men and women in the military (and the civilians who support our armed services) make each and every day. Some, of course, make the ultimate sacrifice by giving their lives to protect our freedoms—these men and women we remember on this day.

During my Iraq experience, tragedy struck close to home on two occasions:In November 2004, my dear friend, Doug Thomas was killed. The picture above is the last time I saw Doug alive. We were readying to convoy from FOB Danger to Camp Speicher. I was stopping at Speicher to catch military air to Baghdad to depart for my first rotation. Doug was continuing on to Anaconda for a mission. During his return convoy from Balad to Tikrit, a roadside bomb exploded and a piece of shrapnel hit Doug, killing him instantly. Though Doug was a defense contractor, I remember him this day for he was providing direct support to the military when he was killed.

U.S. Marine Lance Corporal Phillip George was the son of my colleague Carson George. On Aug. 18, 2005, Phillip was killed in an ambush in Afghanistan—he was only 22. Phillip joined the Marines on the first anniversary of the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks, yearning to see the world and aching to make a difference.

An interview with Mrs. George, Phillip’s mother, was recently published in the Houston Chronicle where she states that not a day goes by where she does not think of her son. I am sure that Doug’s wife and children think of him everyday, too. And even though I may remember the fallen occasionally, there are others who acutely feel the loss daily. Please pray for the families of not only Doug and Phillip but for all the families of the 4,971 American servicemen and women that have lost their lives in Iraq and Afghanistan.

To remember those who have sacrificed visit MilitaryTimes.com's Honor the Fallen, Washington Post's Faces of the Fallen, the Iraq and Afghanistan Pages, or Legacy.com.

God bless our service members and God bless America.

Happy Birthday Stock and Buck!

While in Texas, my former “team”* and I were able to get together for a nice Pappasito’s (carry out) dinner to celebrate Stockman’s and Buck’s birthdays.

My favorite food…and some of my favorite people. Life is GOOD.

*LOMS used the team concept (a team of teachers—math, science, history, and English—taught the same group of students).
Front row:

Me (holding my dog, Skip), Preacher’s Wife (former library aide at LOMS), Bonnie (history team teacher), Stockman (math team teacher), Buck (former librarian), Tom (science team teacher)

Back row:
Ray (Bonnie’s husband), Jodie (science team teacher after Tom retired), Nicole (not on our team, but I hired her to teach at LOMS—truly one of the best hiring decisions I have ever made.)

Honduras...another home visit

80% of Hondurans live below the poverty level—

50% live in extreme poverty.

Unlike the homes in our earlier visits (extreme poverty), our final visit was to a family that lives in an area where most homes are constructed of cinder blocks and have cement floors.

This is the home of the family we visited.

I snapped this picture from the open window. This is the view of their neighbor's home.

The small house had two rooms. A small living room (with a small sofa and wooden bench for seating) and a bedroom which sleeps six (the parents and four children). The green wall is the bedroom wall.

This family has the luxury of an older television and stereo system.

The little girl of the family standing outside the bedroom door.

The mother and three of her four children. The father works at a produce market.

The home does not have indoor running water. There is a cement sink with water spicket outside the home.

We were able to get a glimpse into their daily lives and even had an opportunity to “help” prepare a meal. Of course for those who know me, know that I am not comfortable in a kitchen—any kitchen—so the extent of my help was husking a couple ears of corn. (I cannot even imagine what they must face preparing a meal during the rainy season!)

Food is cooked over an open fire.

The ever present fowl!

View from the backdoor.

Another view from the back door. The children were chasing chicks.

The kids were not only totally adorable, but also HILARIOUS!

For some reason they could not understand why I refused to hold their cute fuzzy chicks (no really—I barely escaped swine flu—do you really think I want to chance it with bird flu???)

or the little puppies (What? Get nipped by the angry mother and have to endure rabies protocol in Honduras????).

When we heard the universal sound of childhood summer happiness (the ice cream man), we treated all the kids in the neighborhood to a cone (at 5 lempiras each—approximately 25cents—it was well worth every penny to see their smiles). However, our refusal to eat this delectable treat made them question our sanity—what type of people were we? We disliked downy chicks, cuddly puppies, and ice cream on a sweltering day! (Our guide strongly suggested that we not eat the ice cream.)

He is smiling on the inside. :)

Buddies!

After ice cream some of the neighborhood kids gathered inside.
This little girl even sang a song for us.

It was time for us to head back to the project.

Beautiful flowers camouflage
A not so beautiful home.

I took this only because I could not believe the number of wires!

Honduras Home Visits One

I had seen poverty—but only from a distance.

The pictures of African children with distended bellies and gnats flying around their eyes and noses. The literature containing pictures of children who gazed into the camera with lifeless eyes. The endless infomercials letting me know how “for less than one dollar a day,” I could change the life of a child.

I saw poverty while flying low in a Blackhawk over war-torn Iraq…I saw children play on trash heaps…and watched them run from the heap as we tossed them soccer balls in a small humanitarian gesture.

However, like many Americans, I had never really seen extreme poverty…up close and personal.

Never had seen it, that is, until I went to Honduras.

There, I saw poverty…extreme poverty... up close.

I looked into the eyes of poverty.

Held the hand of poverty.

Heard the “white noise” …dogs barking…hens clucking…the murmur of voices…the sound of cars…a distant radio blaring…children playing…laughing…a baby crying…creating a hypnotic static.

Smelled the repugnant odor of sewage and trash along the roadside.

Poverty permeated my senses…

Walking…trancelike…trying to wrap my head around all the sights, sounds, smells…unable really to take it all in…

Reaching our destination, standing in a dark, dank “home”—not more than a shack really—made of roughly hewn wooden planks where the cracks between the planks allowed small ribbons of sunlight to play on the damp, dirt floor. The main room furnished with only two 50’s diner type chairs with rusted chrome legs, a sheet separating the bedroom that sleeps six, and a “kitchen” out back behind the home. No running water in the home…no bathroom…just a lone community spicket several yards away from the cooking area.

We were introduced to the family that lived in the home. As the mother spoke through an interpreter telling what a blessing the sponsorship has been to her daughter…my mind drifted…the mother’s soft murmur followed by the quick cadence of the interpreter…words lost their meaning…for the pounding in my head…bringing me close to tears…was the thought that the seven month old little girl that she held in her arms would learn to crawl and eventually take her first steps across the damp, dirt floor in that dark, dank shack.

I thought of LJ and how vastly different his life will be from this little girl’s. I thought of the many times that we have played with him on the living room floor—something so simple that I have taken for granted—and the oh so many other things that I have taken for granted.

How many times have I complained about minor inconveniences or nuisances…never realizing the hardships that so many others around the globe face each and every day?

After each home visit, I would board the bus…gaze out the window as we pulled away…trying to wrap my head around what I had seen and experienced.

Usually, I was speechless…silenced by the thought that I have failed…as a Christian…in my obligation to the poor.



*Thanks to all who shared pictures. Included in this are pictures from 2 of the 5 home visits that we made. The final home visit will be in a separate post.

Making our way to one of the home visits. For each home visit we provided a bag of non-perishable food and toiletry items (that is the black bag our guide is carrying).Six people live in the home below. Their kitchen is in the front of their home.

This mother has three children.
This is her home.

This is her third child. He is sitting in the "common area" that three homes shared. Beside the wooden table is their water spicket.

This is the grandmother's home; it is adjacent to their home.

Random pictures...