home at last.

I've already been back in Indiana for two weeks, and it feels all too normal. The year behind me already feels like a whirlwind passed. I'm still somewhat in shock at how slowly it seemed to crawl by yet how quickly it now seems to have passed.

Hands down, I miss my kids more than anything. But home feels so good. I have experienced little to no reverse culture shock in this transition, which is somehow surprising as well as expected. I think I envisioned and longed to come home so badly that I somehow surpassed the shock. I go back and forth between how wonderful home is and this gaping hole I now find in the pit of my heart. I'm so happy, but I miss them so much it hurts.

I had requested to our church's music director that we sing a Brooklyn Tabernacle song on my first Sunday home, and I was excited to worship with church family, but when my request was granted, I found myself fighting back tears because I had taught "Days of Elijah" to my class. They loved that song, and I loved hearing and watching them sing it, and in those moments that we sang together at church, I was flooded with the memory of my beloved students.

My time with them already feels like a fleeting memory, and I'm so desperate to remember everything and forget nothing. I know I will never forget them, not one, but I'm so scared that just as all other moments in life, the memory of them will begin to fade and become more dim with time. I can only pray that it doesn't.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for supporting my journeys. Thank you for learning my kids through my eyes and loving them in any kind of capacity.

This concludes my writings about my year teaching, living, and loving in Honduras.

a difficult goodbye.

In my mind there is a jumbled confusion that spans between the time when I committed to come here and now. My feelings then of ignorant excitement and exuberance in the spring of 2009, rejoicing and squealing on my college campus about my near future, don't compare to what I'm feeling now: exhaustion, frustration, sadness, love, nostalgia, regret, disappointment, relief.

Never have I been so tired. I'm exhausted. My job became increasingly exhausting up until the last day. So much emotion wears one down. I'm sure I've aged more than I should have in the past year.

I've never felt more frustrated with an organization as a whole, especially one that bears the name of Christ. Unnecessarily exerting authority, mistreating employees and parents based on gender, economical status, and false pretenses, and lying to students in order to provoke certain behaviors are not actions that imitate those of Christ.

Harder than anything I've faced this year, or at any point in this life, however, was goodbye to my fourth graders. I've never been so desperate to cherish the last moments, memorize the warmth of their hugs, burn the image of their faces into my mind, remember each of their laughs, or desperately show them, if I had failed at some point, just how much I love them. I've never loved other people in this capacity or to this extent or with this much depth, and I've never been so utterly heart-broken. These children are so precious to me, and it pierces the heart when tears roll down their faces, and they fall into your arms. I could feel their heaving sobs, and all I could return were tears. There was no consolation in those last desperate embraces.

Approaching the end of this year, my anxiousness to return home far exceeded my sadness in leaving, but that no longer holds true. Saying goodbye is so hard. I think a good measure of love is the difficulty of the goodbye the ensues.

joke.

My student's father told me a joke yesterday:

"St. Peter was at the gate of heaven monitoring who entered and who was cast into hell. On one table there was a Bible and on another table there was money. He who chose the Bible was admitted into heaven, and he who chose the money was sent to hell.

"A man approached and chose the Bible, and St. Peter opened the gate to him and said, 'Welcome to heaven!' A second man came and took the money, so he was sent to hell. A third man approached, and after taking a look at the two tables, he reached out both his arms and grabbed both the Bible and the money.

"St. Peter wasn't sure what to do with this man, so he called God. 'God, there is a man here that took both the Bible and the money. What should I do with him?'

"God replied, 'Oh, that's Pastor Evelio. Cast him into hell.'"

Pastor Evelio Reyes is the founder of the school for which I worked this year, Vida Abundante.

never has the end been so bittersweet.

I love my kids. So much.

Laura Beth worked for weeks with the kids on goodbye songs for the 1st through 5th grade teachers. My "surprise" was yesterday. I was doing all right during the song about "forever friends" until I looked over and saw Irma in tears. Then they started streaming down my cheeks, and within seconds, I saw Lesly and Ana and half the class crying.

Saying goodbye to the school will be so easy. I'll laugh in utter happiness at the thought of never seeing Mr. Calderon's face again.

But those children have burrowed their way so deep into my heart that I can hardly maintain composure just at the thought of not seeing their ornery faces every week. I can't believe we've spent an entire school year together, and all that's left is one week to say goodbye.

Coming home has never been so appealing. But leaving has never been so hard.

my parents are here!

Darrel, Barb, and Maria came to visit! It's so refreshing to have my parents around and a change of pace. I am so looking forward to going home (less than 12 days now).

Mom and Dad enjoyed what Gracias had to offer. They loved my kids (Who couldn't really?), and now we're at the ruins checking out one of the coolest parts of this country.

nearing the end.

My kids recently realized that school was nearing an end. Only because I told them. They seem to only have a developing concept of time, so I thought I'd help them along so that it didn't hit them too hard. Shortly after their realization and excitement that a long vacation was in sight, they realized that the end of school meant the end our face-to-face relationship.

I've been receiving extra long hugs lately. Today from Fátima, Maria José, and Jasson. And I found Maria José crying while everyone else was playing checkers and Hungry Hungry Hippos. When I asked her what was wrong, she said, "I no want you to go to da United States."

I have a feeling these next few weeks are only going to get harder.

my kids are beautiful.

Ana Maria:
Sarahí:

Maria José:
Marvin:
Kimberly:
Miguel:
Lesly, Paola, Kimberly, & Jasson:
Paola:
Deyssi:
Mario:
Lesly:
Fátima:
Héctor José:
Lorean:
Edgar:
Tito:
Fausto & Jonathan:
Levi:
Irma:
Manuel:
Fausto:
Maylim:
Oscar: