@#$%!

There's a certain four-letter word that I've using far too much since we moved to Honduras. I use it in traffic. I use it when shopping. I use it when I have to deal with paperwork. I use it on behalf of other people when they run into cultural conflicts. I even use it when I talk about life here with friends and family in the US.
I excuse my use of it because, hey, a lot of the Americans down here use it. Some of them use it a lot more than I do. Then I remember that I'm a pastor and I'm supposed to be an example or something.
Okay. I'm going to tell you what it is. I'm gonna write it out leaving out no letters. Sheild the children's eyes.
Here it is: "they." Sometimes I even say "them."
Yep. They. What's the problem with "they?" "Them?"
There are a couple of problems with these words. Much of the time it is not followed by anything complimentary. It is not as though most of us are saying, "They are so friendly down here" or "They really know how to do x well here." No, we say things like, "They don't know how to drive here!" And, "They have no sense of customer service here!" Sure, I recognize positive cultural features occasionally, but far more often I'm painting Hondurans with a broad and distinctly uncharitable brush.
Even if what I followed "they" with was nice, I think it could still be problematic. "They" divides us into US and THEM. (And far to often that US is us as in U.S. which further complicates the issue.) How can I hope to live, love and serve a people that I regularly categorize as something other than myself?
It seems to me that a significant part of Jesus's ministry and a fair bit of Paul's ink were spent trying to drive home to us that there is no US and THEM, not in the church ("No Jew and Gentile") and not even outside of it ("and such were some of you...").
Do you suppose I'd learn this lesson if I wash my mouth out with soap?

Piñatas and product placement

Having a 6 year old means going to lots of birthday parties. We've (or various percentages of the family) been to several recently and it is interesting to compare the features of different ones. Ellyn's palette of friends is pretty diverse given that her school is populated by people from a variety of embassies as well as local Hondurans. So far we have been to parties hosted by United Statesians, Canadians, and Hondurans. 

Today's party was for one of her closer friends from school and neighborhood and had a few of its own distinctive features. It offered us a variety of ways to, let's say, "appreciate" cultural differences.

There was a clown, games, music (not too loud, actually). Both Debbie and Ellyn got roped into games for which they did not understand the rapidly issued instructions. 

After the obligatory bludgeoning and dismemberment of a cherished cartoon character (a Lalaloopsy doll in this case) and the concomitant scurry for candy, things proceeded to cake. This was one of the odder moments. The assembled guests--native Spanish speakers to the last one (present family not included)--began to sing "Happy Birthday to you." So what? you say. But they were actually singing it in English, that is heavily accented English. As it turned out, because she hadn't caught what was going on, the only person singing in Spanish--"Feliz cumpleaños a ti!"--was Debbie. It...they...what?!

Then the choir launched into the second verse: "Ya queremos pastel..." which means "Now we want some cake..." Added to the end of this was a brief refrain "Y un Coca-cola." I can only imagine that the people at Coca Cola would be thrilled to find their name so naturally associated with the most oft repeated song in the world. 

Feathered neighbors

Since moving to Honduras I have become far more attentive to birds. This is in part because the range of bird song even in a neighborhood as urban as ours is often astounding. It is also because the birds here are so colorful. My experience of birds in the places I lived in the US is that neighborhood birds come in two colors: light brown and dark brown. This is unfair, of course. Some neighborhoods have cardinals. But birds in Honduras are so colorful compared to the species I tended to see in the states.

Here are some species that we have seen just in our neighborhood. Maybe in a later post I can show some of the species we've seen out and about. (The pictures are taken from various websites; they are not our photography.)

Bushy-Crested Jays

Great Kiskadee

White-eared Hummingbird

White-Throated Magpie Jay

And a species of oriole. I'm not sure it's this one, but it tends more orange than yellow. It might be this one, the Altamira Oriole. 

He's back?

In the event there is anyone out there still following the blog, you are likely surprised at this renewed activity. After all, as I see it, I have not posted for almost two years.
There were good reasons for stopping and are probably questionable ones for restarting. Indeed, I make no commitments as to the frequency of posts at this point.
But, I was asked recently about the blog and the questioner gently inquired whether I had any intention of taking it up again. This prompted a couple of thoughts and 'reasons' to return to it.
1. I enjoy writing and the blog gave me an excuse and outlet. I have others, of course. Articles for church, the odd book review. Those are fairly well-defined. The blog gives me a space to write freely just for practice about anything that interests me.
2. It also occurred to me that after three years here in Honduras what I see has changed. That first year blogging was filled with the oddities and excitement of first year experiences of life and ministry. The blog gave us a place to process some of those and share them with those of you who care about us. The number of quirky things we notice has dwindled with time, as one would expect. But with that and the passing time, we are in a position to see other things better, things about life and ministry that we didn't see before. And we still benefit from having a place to process through them, whether or not anyone is reading.
And so, we're back. Maybe. We'll see. I don't have a plan or a schedule for the blog. I may drop it again soon. It may change focus. We'll see. Either way, you're welcome to tag along.

Home is...where?

We recently returned from a trip to the US and Canada. At the US/Canadian border I was asked where we live. In the past I probably would have answered "Nebraska", since we receive mail there and that's what our driver's licenses say. I've even put "US" on the line for "Country of Residence" on the immigration forms for the last couple of years. (I hope that admission doesn't get me in trouble with those government agencies that are trolling the web for terrorists).
However, I decided that honesty was no more complex than ambiguity and just said, "Honduras", whenever the question arose.
Honestly, this has only added to a problem I've experience for years. Where am I from? Where is home?
In the frequently changing international and expatriate community where we live it is a frequent question, "Where are you from originally?" I usually semi-deflect the question by saying, "My mother." This rarely puts people completely off the topic so I say that it's kind of complicated. At this stage in my life I'm not really sure where "home" is. What are the options?

• Well, I was born in Buffalo, NY and lived 13 or so of my first 18 years there. (We had a 5 year sojourn in Florida). But, I haven't lived in NY since then, really, and my parents no longer live there. (Besides, they left my childhood home when I was a freshman in college). 
• My parents live in Nebraska and my wife's in New Jersey. That's fine, but except for a year we haven't really lived in Nebraska and my in-laws are in the same town but not Debbie's childhood home. Besides, who wants to say they're from New Jersey?
• Then there's Wisconsin. We lived in Wisconsin for 14 years, the bulk of our married life so far. We have longstanding friendships and church relationship there. We try to visit when we can. But we have no family where we lived there, no official ties.

I suppose ours is a typical story nowadays.
There is a final option. We could be from here. Honduras could be home. From the beginning we have tried to live that way. The clearest evidence of this is that we brought most of our books. ("Where your treasure is there will your heart be also"?).
But as others here will tell you, it is difficult to speak of this as home. Not so much because we don't feel it is home but because others in our lives don't think of it that way. So when we are readying ourselves to return to Honduras after a visit in the states, we think and speak about "Going home." But our friends and relatives think we have just been home and are going back on a trip to Honduras. It is almost as if they regard our time in Honduras as an extended vacation, a long visit.
I just don't think that is a psychologically healthy option for us. This is where we are. This is where we are living and making life now. It is not vacation. It is not a trip. This is our life.
Will it always be this way? Probably not. We will someday move somewhere else, probably stateside. But not because it is home but in order to begin the processing of making it home.