Kids

I love kids…

(I guess if one is going to be a teacher, he/she should love children—though I must admit I endured my share of sadistically mean teachers causing me to what had compelled them to spend their lives with children.)

I love children because they make me laugh. My niece was hilarious as a kid (and even moreso as an adult). When I was a teacher, there were myriad occasions when a student blurted out something so incredibly funny (usually unintended) that I laughed to the point of tears!

I miss that.

I love children for they are often the best teachers. During my years of teaching I believe that I learned as much from the kids as they learned from me. When reminiscing about students, I invariably remember something about each that I enjoyed or how my life was made better simply by having this child in a class (though I know God brought some into my life just to test my patience—like the year I taught Devin—an extremely gassy 8th grader—whose emissions made our eyes water and had the other students begging me to evacuate the classroom).

Over the years, I have thought back on the many children I have had the opportunity to teach (or know such as church children and friends' kids) and I have sometimes wondered why God brought a particular child into my life—but I know there is a reason—for nothing—absolutely nothing (right down to each name listed on my class roster)—is by chance.

So it is with my sponsored children. Even though "I chose" the children (Kimberly, Eskarleth, and José)—I know there is a reason that God directed our paths to cross.

Immediately upon meeting Eskarleth, I knew one reason why God brought us together. She is very much like I was as a child—in fact both she and José are.

Energetic—

Pushes the boundaries—

Stubborn—

If told, “No” she replies, “Sí” …if told, “Sí,” she replies, “No.”

I will enjoy getting to know these two as they grow.

Kimberly, on the other hand, is the opposite of what I was as a child—quiet, somewhat shy. But when she told me that she loves school and wants to be a teacher when she grows up, it wasn't difficult to figure out one reason God brought her into my life. Who better to encourage her in her educational pursuits than someone who has taught? (I was very impressed with her report card for there was NO grade lower than a 98 and most of the grades were 100.) Oh, but she did show a little feisty side as she informed me (through an interpreter), “You must learn Spanish for I want to talk to YOU—not an interpreter!” Ha! Maybe she is more like me than I initially thought!

Each of these children has blessed me already in the short time that I have known them…if you feel so led, I would so appreciate if you would pray for Kimberly, Eskarleth, and José.

The following pictures were taken May 21, 2009, San Pedro Sula, Honduras.

We met at a water park, and spent the first part of he day floating down the lazy river.

José loved playing on the stairs.
Eskarleth
The girls (L to R): Eskarleth's project director, Eskarleth's grandmother, Eskarleth, Anita, Kimberly's little sister, Kimberly, Kimberly's mom, Kimberly's project director.
Eskarleth, Anita, Kimberly, Kimberly's new friend, Kimberly's sister, Pam
The SLIDE. Kimberly's mother would not go on it.

So Kimberly and I went—about 15 times!

Ice cream!

My plan was just to dip him into the pool afterwards.

Sweet Kimberly

José acting silly.
José smiling for a nice picture.

Eskarleth crawled under the table to see me.

Eskarleth being told it was time to go home. Can you guess what she is saying?

Eskarleth was crying (and I did get a little misty eyed).

Spicket

spicket

spick·et [ spíkit ] (plural spick·ets)
noun

Definition:

regional Same as spigot
[15th century. Alteration of spigot]

http://encarta.msn.com/dictionary_561508076/spicket.html

For those who have pointed out that spicket is spigot—yes, I know (I do have spell check:)) BUT I chose to use the term that was used when I was a kid…

For my OCD friends who couldn’t quite get over the fact that I used the word SPICKET (and one even tried to shame me for using the word)—former English teacher or not—for my friends' sanity, I will henceforth and forever use the word SPIGOT. Regardless if the writing is casual or formal (I just might someday have to produce a business/professional essay or correspondence which requires the use of the word SPIGOT)—I will use SPIGOT!

But more than likely, I will never have to use the word spicket/spigot ever again—unless—of course, I visit another country that lacks indoor plumbing.

In which case, if I blog about it, I shall use the word SPIGOT.

For I would hate for a little spicket to come between friends!

Thanks KK—I truly admire you—for your command of the English language is much better than mine.

Christopher

One week ago, Christopher was wondering how long it would be until he could play football again.

Today, he is wondering how long it will be until (or if) he will walk again.

As I stated here, there were complications during Christopher’s surgery. His spinal cord is still swollen, and he has yet to regain movement in his legs.

Please continue to pray for Christopher and his family.

2 Corinthians 4:17: For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.

Prayer requests and MORE Honduras

Three prayer requests today:

Swine flu!

Just received word that 4 of the 6 projects our group visited in Honduras have been closed because of H1N1. The projects are scheduled to reopen 1 July. Please pray for the children and the projects during this time.

(On my side of the world, Q*atar health officials confirmed its first two cases of the H1N1 virus. There must be some hysteria for I have just received the following text from Q*tel, the Q*atari government Supreme Council of Information and Communication Technology licensed telecommunication service: The Supreme Council of Health denies the occurrence of H1N1 case in a restaurant, and calls for getting information from the right sources.)

Second, KCBI’s Days of Compassion are June 17-18. Please pray that God will bless this campaign and that children will be sponsored. (Check out Compassion’s site by clicking the button on the right of my page.)

Finally, earlier this week, a friend of mine requested prayer for his 17-year-old son who was scheduled to undergo major back surgery to fuse 7 vertebrae in the thoracic region of his spine and insert two titanium rods in his spine. I just received word that the surgery was stopped mid-procedure for Christopher lost feeling in his legs. He has gained some sensation in the legs but no movement as yet. The next two days are critical. Please pray for Chris.

AND...

I have added more Honduras pictures. You may check them out here!

Does anyone really believe....

“I will not raise taxes…”

“The check is in the mail…”

“Of course, I will respect you in the morning….”

“I am not a Socialist….” B*arak O*bama


Just wondering. :)

Happy Flag Day!

God bless AMERICA!

Artwork by Donald Zolan.

Never Forget!

She would have been 80 today.

Please pray for Linda

I first shared about Linda here. Today, I received an email, and Linda has breast cancer. Please pray for my friend.

More great wisdom from our Founding Fathers

Thank you, American Spectator, for the great article, and Samuel Adams’ quote:

No people will tamely surrender their liberties, nor can any be easily subdued, when knowledge is diffused and virtue is preserved. On the contrary, when people are universally ignorant, and debauched in their manners, they will sink under their own weight without the aid of foreign invaders.

Sunday Morning Smile

What BO’s FB feed might look like…

Read it all at Slate. (Click image to enlarge.)
Joe Biden's post...and Levi Johnston updating his work info to "Baby-daddy" literally made me laugh out loud.

Thank God for our brave SOLDIERS!

I have stood in awe on sands of Omaha Beach thinking of all the American blood that was spilled.

Gazing at the steep cliffs—overwhelmed with emotion.

Unable to fathom the bravery of those young boys (average age early 20’s) who stormed the beach that morning. So, so grateful for their sacrifice.

I have seen a very small glimpse of war, and it is still impossible for me to comprehend in any small way what these men experienced. The American Digest D-Day post attempts to capture the moment and bring it forward to today…I especially like the last few lines.

Today your job is straightforward. First you must load 40 to 50 pounds on your back. Then you need to climb down a net of rope that is banging on the steel side of a ship and jump into a steel rectangle bobbing on the surface of the ocean below you. Others are already inside the steel boat shouting and urging you to hurry up.

Once in the boat you stand with hundreds of others as the boat is driven towards distant beaches and cliffs through a hot hailstorm of bullets and explosions. Boats moving nearby are, from time to time, hit with a high explosive shell and disintegrate in a red rain of bullets and body parts. The smell of men fouling themselves near you as the fear bites into their necks and they hunch lower into the boat mingles with the smell of cordite and seaweed.

In front of you, over the steel helmets of other men, you can see the flat surface of the bow’s landing ramp still held in place against the sea. Soon you are in range of the machine guns that line the beach ahead. The metallic dead sound of their bullets clangs and whines off the front of the ramp. And the coxswain shouts and the bullhorn sounds and you feel the keel of the LST grind against the rocks and sand of Normandy as the large shells from the boats in the armada behind you whuffle and moan overhead and the explosions all around increase in intensity and the bullets from the guns in the cliffs ahead and above shake the boat and the men crouch lower and yet lean, together, forward as, at last, the ramp drops down and you see the beach and the men surge forward and you step with them and you are out in the chill waters of the channel wading in towards sand already doused with death, past bodies bobbing in the surf staining the waters crimson, and then you are on the beach.

It’s worse on the beach. The bullets keep probing along the sand digging holes, looking for your body, finding others that drop down like sacks of meat with their lines to heaven cut. You run forward because there’s nothing but ocean at your back and more men dying and… somehow… you reach a small sliver of shelter at the base of the cliffs. There are others there, confused and cowering and not at all ready to go back out into the storm of steel that keeps pouring down. And then someone, somewhere nearby, tells you all to press forward, to go on, to somehow get off that beach and onto the high ground behind it, and because you don’t know what else to do, you rise up and you move forward, beginning, one foot after another, to take back the continent of Europe.

If you are lucky, very lucky that day, you will walk all the way to Germany and the war will be over and you will go home to a town somewhere on the great land sea of the Midwest and you won’t talk much about this day, or any that came after it, ever. They’ll ask you, over the long decades after, “what you did in the war.” You’ll think of this day and you will never think of a good answer. That’s because you know just how lucky you were.

If you were not lucky that day you’ll lie under a white cross on a large lawn 65 long gone years later. Weak princes and fat bureaucrats will mumble platitudes and empty praises about actions they never knew and men they cannot hope to emulate. You’ll hear them, dim and far away from the caverns of your long sleep. You’ll want them to go, to leave you and the others to their deep study of eternity. Sixty-five years? Seems like a lot to the living. It’s but an inch of time. Leave us and go back to your petty lives. We march on and you, you weaklings primping and parading above us, will never know how we died or how we lived.

If we hear you at all now, your mewling only makes us ask, among ourselves, "Died for what?"

Weak princes and fat bureaucrats, be silent and be gone. We are one with the sea and the sky and the wind. We march on.

Happy Birthday LJ!

I was so happy to be Stateside for LJ’s first birthday celebration. I so love this boy and did not want to miss this. He loved his truck.

After a couple hours of festivities, he was ready to go home.

Several times during the party my mind wandered to Kim, Eskarleth, and José. When I think of them, it is not with a sense of guilt for it is useless to feel guilty over something one cannot control (i.e. where one is born).

When I think of them, I am usually overcome with two extremely strong emotions/feelings: thankfulness that I was born in the United States of America and determination to do what I can to make their lives better.

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!