Ugly Americans

It's always shocking to me how willing white people are to comment on there being eight or nine black players on the court with one or two white players white watching a basketball game. 

Is it our own ignorance that makes us notice and comment on this? Or our jealously that we didn't live out our own dreams of being basketball players and astronauts and doctors? Or our internal struggle, knowing we wanted to be those things because of the joy we imagined those professions would bring - being able to play a game, travel through the stars, or help our friends and neighbors - and not having any idea of the financial benefits? 

You often hear white people say they don't color as a way to say they aren't racist, a way to say they see everyone as equals. The problem with not seeing color is that you ignore the the past struggles of other races. We must learn from our history. We must see the world as children, caring more about joy and the idea of a happy life rather than always trying to have more and be "better." 

I have a feeling those same people commenting on a basketball game don't think twice about the ten people next to them in church all being white. Or nine of the ten people around their board room table being white. Or all of their friends being white.

I write this hypocritically. But I also write this with a great sense of hope that our youngest generations will teach us how to truly be better.

I am not Trayvon Martin. I am not Michael Brown. I am not Charlie Hebdo. But I must stand up for them. I must stand next to them or i'll never be "better." 

Friends, Faith, and Deep Fried Turkey

Last night, my group of friends held our annual Friendsgiving dinner. We all make food separately and come together to share that food. We sit and we talk, we laugh, we tell the same stories we always tell that always make us laugh, and we genuinely enjoy being together.

As we were eating last night, my friend Zach told me he wanted us to go around and say what we were thankful for. I responded with a, "Really?," that probably wasn't as nice as it should have been, but the thought of doing this hadn't even crossed my mind. As someone who doesn't like attention or talking in front of people, I immediately got a little nervous that this might actually happen. I also started thinking about what I might say I was most thankful for.

It didn't take me long to know what I was thankful for. As I looked across the room at 12 friends sharing a meal together, I knew that those 11 people were who I am most thankful for always.

The last couple years of my life have been interesting, to say the least. Two years ago, I was aggressively applying and interviewing for youth director jobs at churches all over the country. I had found a passion for youth ministry and was ready to pursue it full-time. Since then, I've left the church and given up religion and faith almost completely. I still believe that God exists because I know my own faith was real and I see a similar faith in my friends and family, but, at this point in my life, I find I'm better off depending on myself and the people around me rather than my bedtime prayers. 

It's a fascinating thing to lose your religion. Along with the personal change, there's the outside world having a perception of you that no longer exists. It's an awkward thing to tell someone that you don't go to church anymore or that you no longer have the faith you once had. For a long time, the church was my home and that's all changed. I'm not upset about it and I don't think another path that might have maintained my faith would have been the right one for me. 

And because of the friends I have, I was able to stay somewhat sane throughout all of this. Even though they are so invested and involved in their respective churches, they talked with me when I was filled with rage and anger over something they love so dearly. They allowed me to be myself and not judge me for the choices I've made. For that, I am so thankful.

I was literally *this close* to moving hundreds or thousands of miles away two years ago to chase my passion. And the thing that didn't allow me to leave was my friends. It's a rare thing to find friends like this and I'm not giving that up.

So, to Tara, Leslie, Sally, Ashley, Erica, Amy, Lee, Zach, and my brother Jeff, thank you. It's a privilege to call all of you friends.

______________________________

There are hundreds of you that I could thank for being there for me over the years, as well. If you're reading this, you're one of them. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

In the place at the time.

My Wednesday went as planned for most of the day.  I took my brother to work, went to work myself, where I actually got more done than I expected I would, picked Jeff up from work, and headed home to prepare our dishes for our Friendsgiving get-together.  Jeff was making hash-brown casserole and I was going to make a pork roast.  I had to make a last-minute run to the Piggly Wiggly to bum some butcher's twine to tie my roast, but other than that, things were going smoothly. We had a feast fit for kings and queens.  Or at least ten friends who have all found their way to Nashville.  

And then we left to go home.

As we were turning onto the main road that goes from our friend Tara's to our apartment, Jeff noted that it was 9:45.  He is usually in bed by 9:30 at the latest, depending on what symphony or chorale on YouTube performance might have him stuck to his chair, so his note of the time didn't mean much to me other than he was up later than usual on a work night.

And then we came around a bend in the road.

Jeff said, "What's that in the road?" and my eyes immediately tried to find what he was seeing.  I slowed down a little and soon saw a large black lump laying across the far right lane of a four-lane street.  As we got closer, I started to make out the shape of a man's hips, shoulders, and head.  I don't remember which curse word came out, but I know I said one, followed by, "That's a person!"

My mind stopped working.  I still had control of my car, but I couldn't think straight.  I know I asked Jeff if we should stop, like it was even really a question.  He forcefully said we should and was already dialing 911 by the time I could come to a stop about ten feet passed the fallen man.  I knew things were serious when Jeff, whose least favorite game is when you let off the brakes a little while he's trying to get in the car, was already opening his door and getting out before I could come to a complete stop.

By this time, my heart was racing and I still couldn't think very clearly.  I struggled to find the button to turn on the flashers in my car and, when I finally did, jumped out to see what I could do to help.  There was a car in the left lane that had stopped when I stopped.  I began to make sure all of the cars behind us were stopped as Jeff attending to the man laying on the pavement.

Thankfully, he was breathing, but very heavily.  I began waving at cars to stop and having them go around us, not wanting to create a traffic jam on an already fairly busy street.  Several people stopped and made sure we were okay, asking if they needed to call anyone.  I told them we had things covered and that they could go around.  Each one of them asked if I had hit them before they drove away.

The 911 operator told Jeff to hold the man's neck and head up and steady, which I soon found out was my new job in our new situation.  Trying to divert traffic around us and hold this man's head was more than I'm used to when asked to multi-task.  My spreadsheets and emails suddenly became fairly trivial.

I don't mean to be gruesome, but I'll never forget how warm the blood was that was seeping from the back of this man's head.  I was hesitant to touch him at first, but only in my mind.

Within a couple minutes, the police and paramedics had arrived.  Several men and women quickly surrounded the man and Jeff and I were pushed back closer to my car.  Without realizing it, we had gone from willing strangers to possible suspects.

And that's as dramatic as I'll get in this post.

The paramedics took the man to the hospital to have him checked.  He never stopped breathing and the doctors think he had a stroke and fell into the street.  Jeff and I were held for about 70 minutes until this news came in so that a hit and run or assault could be ruled out, in which case we would have either be suspects or witnesses.  

It was a long night, especially the parts of it standing out in the chilly evening air, but with my heart racing for the first twenty minutes, it went quite quickly.

While we were sitting in my car waiting to hear an update from the police, Jeff said he thought it was funny that I had told the passing cars that my brother works at a homeless shelter and that he deals with these situations often.  I had realized I had said this, but I had mentioned it to two or three people.  I was initial embarrassed for the ramblings that had come out in my panic and desire to create calm, but after thinking about it overnight, I knew what I was saying.

And then I realized that many people might not.

Before I moved to Nashville to live with my homeless shelter employee brother, my view of the homeless was just like most people's views of them probably are.  I saw the homeless as a group of people who were out of work and spent the money they did have on beer and cheap whiskey.  And I saw the shelters they visited as soup kitchens and a place for some of them to spend the night.  

I didn't see the mental illness and disease and disabilities that are rampant in the homeless population.  I didn't see how society casts these people to the side of the roads where the rest of us want to drive as fast as we can, leaving them all in the distance.  

And I didn't see the efforts put forth by the volunteers and workers at these shelters to help these people, many of whom have now become some of my closest friends.

In his seven years working with some of Nashville's best people, my brother has seen and done some extraordinary things.  He's held men having seizures while waiting for an ambulance, he's broken up violent fights that I wouldn't dream of stepping in the middle of, and he's dealt with drug overdoses and alcoholism beyond what I can imagine.  

And because of these things, the things he's dedicated his life to doing, his work at a homeless shelter might be the reason there's one more man alive in Nashville today.  

It might have sounded crazy at the time, but I knew what I was saying when I told people we were okay because my brother works at a homeless shelter.

__________________________________

Room in the Inn is an amazing place with amazing people, both their employees and their participants.  They offer a variety of services and programs to help the less-fortunate in Nashville.  And they provide a warm place to stay for many, many people each night during the winter months.  I'm privileged to be associated with this organization and the work they do.  I would encourage each of you to get involved in some small or large way; you'll be better for it.

I look at the world and notice it is turning

It's funny how no matter what happens to you or your community, the world keeps turning.

During the first weekend of May in 2010, the flood in Nashville occurred. I can remember tweeting about how I wanted to scream, "MY TOWN IS UNDER WATER," while the world was posting about nonsense. I can remember friends posting things on Facebook about trivial things after the earthquake in Haiti and the tsunami hit Japan.

I'm guilty of it myself. I worry more about whether or not Jersey Shore and Worst Cooks in America was set to record on my DVR than the issues that truly matter. I'm concerned with how clean my shoes are when I walk out the door instead of the millions of people in this country who have no shoes, no home, or both.

But there are moments in this world when we stop caring about those things that don't matter and truly focus on what does matter. Those times are special. Those are the times we should hold close, for they are what we're made of.

A few days ago, a friend of my youth group, Sophie, had a massive stroke and was hospitalized. Sophie is only 19. I've met her a few times at various youth events and at her schools musicals that both her and many of my youth performed in. She has a voice that gives you chills. I'll never forget her as Belle in the production of Beauty & the Beast from two or three years ago.

I didn't hear first hand about Sophie's stroke, but I began to notice my current and former youth posting things on Facebook about her. I began to snoop around a little to see if I could find out what was going on and through her Facebook page and my youth's pages, I was quickly caught up on the situation.

In this time of trial for their friend, my youth have shown what they are made of. Countless posts letting Sophie know she's loved; pictures and videos and quotes from books and song lyrics and memories posted to show her how much they care. She won't see all of this love until she wakes, but God knows she can feel it.

My youth make me overwhelmingly proud when they act like teenagers, but when they act like children of God, they humble me. They make me want to be better: better as as youth advisor, better as a friend, better as a man.

If you pray, I'd ask you to pray for Sophie and her family. I'd ask you to pray for my youth and all of Sophie's friends as they deal with her situation scattered across the country at various colleges. And if you don't pray, good thoughts will mean just as much.

"And the world turned and the world turned and the world turned..."

My Perfect Sunday.

This past Sunday, I saw the face of God a thousand times.

I saw it when Emily, a senior in my youth group, let down her guard for two minutes and was able to put her appreciation for the church she was raised in into words.

I saw it in Isaac, an intelligent and clever junior, as he took charge of preparing and serving the Lord's Supper for his congregation, making sure that everything was as it was supposed to be.

I saw the face of God in Merritt, a senior who can't wait to go to college and realize her potential, as she conquered her stage fright and spoke the most wonderful sermon from her heart.

I saw it in Lyndon, a seventh grader with the energy of a seventh grader, who spilled water from the baptismal fount with such abundance that her gasp was followed quickly by laughter. And shortly after the laughter came prayer, just as God would have wanted.

I watched Henry, a senior with wisdom beyond his years, speak from his heart. With nothing more than an outline set before him on the pulpit, he spoke the words that preachers want to preach, professing his faith and admitting his questions and doubts.

I saw John Franklin and Max and Catherine and Avery and Jesse and Mattie and Web and Lucy and India and Ben and Emery and Margaret and Anwen and Canon and Rebecca and Rachel and David and Caroline and John laugh and pray and laugh some more. These are the faces of God.

And I saw Nate.

Nate is a seventh grader with autism. He loves iPhones, movies, television, and doodling. He wears sweatpants and red Keds. When he laughs, he laughs; his head falls back and his mouth is wide open. Nate is shy in new situations and around new people. He calls me Mr. Brian and makes me laugh.

On most Sunday mornings, Nate attends church with his parents. They sit in the balcony of the sanctuary and Nate draws pictures and listens to the children's moment. Usually about two-thirds of the way through the service, Nate grows tired and restless and the family has to leave.

This past Sunday, this most perfect Youth Sunday at Second Presbyterian in Nashville, Nate sat in the front row of the church between two of his fellow youth group members. His parents were nervous, I was nervous, but the youth never worried. To them, Nate is Nate; he comes and goes once in awhile, but they're never nervous around him. He sat so quietly through the service that I forgot to keep my eye on him from my chair next to the door of the sanctuary. And then came time for the offering.

One of the youth sitting next to Nate, Web, was supposed to help carry the communion elements from the back of the sanctuary to the communion table during the doxology after the offering had been collected. Nate often follows Web since they've grown up going to Sunday School together, so naturally, when Web got up to help with communion, Nate was right by his side.

As I was sorting out who would take what chalice and which plate of bread to the front of the church, I suddenly had Nate asking to hold a chalice. Not knowing how this situation might play out, I handed him the one empty chalice in hopes that this would reduce the risk for a grape juice catastrophe. He held it for a few seconds and then changed his mind, he wanted to carry a plate of bread. I exchanged anxious glances with a few of my youth and we all quickly and silently agreed to allow Nate to carry a plate with a large loaf of bread, cut into two halves, to the front of the church.

The offertory was nearing a close and I was trying to sort out 11 youth who between them held two large pots of non-perishable food we had collected, an offering plate, a pitcher of grape juice, one empty chalice, three chalices full of juice, two loaves of bread on plates, a plate of gluten-free communion bread, and an in-home communion set.

And I was trying to make sure Nate was okay. After I quietly told him that he was going to take the bread, walk down the aisle next to Isaac, and put it on the communion table, he started to panic slightly. Knowing this was natural for Nate and having worked with him for seven months now, I knew to ask him if he was okay. He said he was, calmed himself down, and told me he had a sniffly nose.

The images going through my mind at that moment were hilarious. I had gone from worrying about the possibility of a spilled cup of grape juice to a loaf of communion bread covered by the sneeze of one of my seventh graders. Thankfully, Nate's father, Mike, had come to save the day. He blew his sons nose and double-checked with me to make sure I was okay with the situation and returned to his pew.

Literally seconds after Nate had blown his nose, Isaac looked at me and then looked at Nate. Isaac calmly, but firmly, said, "You can walk right next to me." Nate didn't have time to respond as they were already walking down the aisle. He walked next to Isaac, who carried the chalice and empty cup, making sure to keep them together so they wouldn't be placed too far apart on the communion table. Nate placed his bread down on the table, made sure it was okay with Jeannie, our associate pastor and head of the youth program, and returned to his seat in the front row.

After Jeannie had led us in the Great Prayer of Thanksgiving and invited us to the table, she called the communion servers to the table. The church Session had approved our request to let the youth serve communion since it was Youth Sunday, so we had selected seven of our youth to help Jeannie serve communion. The seven youth stood up and gathered around the communion table. And before I knew it, Nate was back at the table.

Jeannie and the other seven never questioned Nate joining them. Jeannie gave him a half-loaf of bread wrapped in napkin and told him to say, "The bread of heaven," as each person took a small piece to dip in the cup of juice. I saw Nate mouth the words, "The bread of heaven," and I'm sure my mouth was wide open.

Nate stood by Jeannie and served communion to the congregation. He served his parents. He served one of his fellow youth group members who has severe physical and mental disabilities. Nate served communion. And I saw the true face of God.

My youth astound me. They are smart and funny and loving and wise and intelligent and reverent and perfect. They are children of God. They love the people Jesus loved. The speak their minds. They stand up for those who need a voice. They help without being asked. They are children of God.

And this is why I work with the youth of the church. I couldn't wait to get up at 6:30am on Sunday morning to witness their miracles. I couldn't wait to let the rest of the church witness their imperfect perfection. I couldn't wait to see Lyndon overflow the baptismal fount. I couldn't wait to see Emily, Merritt, and Henry overcome their fears and share their wisdom with the world. And I didn't know it, but I couldn't wait to see a young autistic man serve the Lord's supper to the Lord's people.

This past Sunday, I saw the face of God a thousand times...

Belief can.

To live in a world where guns and the designated hitter are banned, a world where we apologize and mean it, where I'm not scared of what might happen and am instead excited about what could happen, where I can close my eyes and go to sleep at night without having to think about what worlds I could have changed and haven't yet, where we aren't afraid to be ourselves because we might get picked on or made fun of, where we trust one another, where love reigns with no room for hate or fear, where I know that my children will have a better life than mine, where I'm inspired by music and art and other people.

A world that doesn't put labels on people, where gay and straight and black and white and Christian and Muslim are afterthoughts, not first impressions, where I'm not afraid to fall in love, where no one gets left behind, no one, and everyone is cared for, where AIDS and SARS and cancer are things we read about in history books instead of the morning paper, where we're free to express ourselves and our opinions and still be respected.

A world that doesn't tell us who we're supposed to be from the time we come home from the hospital, world that lets children grow into their own skin and become who they want to be instead of who we decided they should be all while telling them to reach for their dreams, where failure isn't scary and success isn't either, where we're not afraid of ourselves but instead afraid of what might happen if we aren't ourselves.

A world I can write too much and erase it too many times, where a passionate personality isn't scary, where the things we have don't mean as much to us as they do, where we aren't afraid to speak up for someone who is scared to speak, a world that praises educators and coaches and mentors more than we do athletes and movie stars, where our motivation isn't money, where all are open to the same opportunities, where we support one another in times of need, where our enemies no longer exist, where we can wait to grow up and then keep waiting some more.

These are the things I want. These are the things I hope for. These are the things I need.

Let us all be leaders.

I woke up this morning and, as I do almost every morning, looked at the previous few hours worth of tweets from the long list of people I follow on Twitter. I scroll them fairly quickly on my phone, knowing that I have to be at my desk sooner rather than later, often scanning through them so quickly I miss the text of many of them.

But this morning, one tweet caught my eye that normally wouldn't have. It was retweeted by someone, someone I didn't even think to check who it was, about the United States Congress proving themselves inept once again. In my opinion, I don't think Congress is inept or incapable, I think they're misguided and using their emotions instead of their minds to play the political game.

The tweet caught my eye because it was almost too ridiculous to be true. It said that the United States Congress, one of our three governing branches, had declared pizza to be a vegetable. Upon reading further into the linked article, I came to find out that this was not a ridiculous article by The Onion, but something that had actually happened yesterday. Congress, in reviewing a school lunch bill put forth by President Obama, declared that the sauce on frozen pizza that is served to students would count as a serving of vegetables.

I've had my fair share of school pizza in my day, having eaten lunch in the cafeteria almost every day from 6th grade to 12th grade, and certainly throughout elementary school on pizza day and other select days. A normal school lunch for me during high school would consist of a slice of pizza, french fries, perhaps a bowl of pineapple that had been canned in a surgery syrup, some kind of dessert, and a glass of Dr. Pepper or Coke.

At the time, eating healthy wasn't too close to the front of my mind and I thought nothing of it (while I still eat pretty terribly, I at least know that things I'm filling myself with are bad, so give me a little credit here...). I had no idea that school lunches were government mandating on the amount of certain things that had to be served each day. But I think I would have known that the sauce on my flimsy piece of pizza was not and should not be considered a serving of vegetables.

While this measure passed through Congress after much urging by frozen pizza companies, potato growers, and the salt industry (three organizations that exude the thoughts of healthy eating...), President Obama's jobs billed remains on the table. A bill that would put hundreds of thousands of people back to work and help our country dramatically.

While the jobs bill is held up, Congress also took the time to reaffirm that "In God We Trust" is still our national motto after President Obama mistakenly said it was "E Pluribus Unum" several weeks ago. So, not only are they taking the time to pass measures that will, in the long term, harm our youth, they're also taking the time to be jerks by making sure our President, our leader, is set straight on something that most people probably don't know.

Its only been in the last three or four years that I've come to enjoy politics and really become interested in who I was represented by and what their opinions were. In that time, I've also come to absolutely adore The West Wing and the idealist view of the federal government it often projects.

In the last four years, my political views have shifted dramatically. My learning about the political system and the hot-button issues, along with growing in my own faith and love, have helped me come to my current views and opinions on the world. While those views most-times side with the Democratic party, the two-party political system in this country infuriates me.

Along with our elected Republicans and Democrats not being willing to compromise on most issues, we have also allowed corporations to control legislation with way too much power. Money has always, always been where power stems from in the political arena, but now we're too the point where a group of frozen pizza companies and potato farmers can get processed tomato paste to be declared a serving of vegetables.

"Government, no matter what its failures in the past and in times to come, for that matter, government can be a place where people come together and where no one gets left behind. No one...gets left behind. An instrument of good."

The Occupy Wall Street movement started for this very reason. A group of people got fed up with corporations securing legislation and finding loop holes to continue to do business the way they wanted to instead of the way that was best for all people and the legal way to proceed in a fair market economy. As the protests have grown and more Occupy movements have begun around the country, their message has become scattered and misconstrued, but the fact that dollars can not be votes is the core of their message.

"If our job teaches us anything, it's that we don't know what the next President's going to face. If we choose someone to inspire us, then we'll be able to face what comes our way. Instead of telling people who's the most qualified, instead of telling people who's got the better ideas, let's make it obvious."

In determining who our next President will be, who our next Governor will be, our Mayor, City Council, and who every elected official we'll vote for will be, we have to look at who is best for us, the people that will be represented. We have to find the representative who inspires us and who has the better ideas so that she or he can lead our cities and counties and states and nations into the years to come. We have to leave our emotions and our party affiliations at the door, and vote for who is better for we the people.

My favorite teacher from all my years in school is beginning his political career next week by announcing his run for the Indiana House of Representatives. I was so excited to vote for President Obama in 2008, so excited and so proud, but being able to vote for Mr. Mann would make me just as proud.

These are the kinds of leaders we need; the kind that make us excited to get to the polls and cast our votes so that they can represent us and lead us; the kind that inspire us and have the better ideas.

We can do better, we must do better, and we will do better...

(that's from The West Wing, too!)

Who I am loves who I've been.

An old friend and I were reminiscing about our childhood on Facebook today. I had posted that I was starting to get excited for Christmas and she brought up a futuristic Christmas musical we did at church when we were 8-9-10 years old. I don't remember how far into the future this musical was supposed to have taken place, but our view of that random year was terribly skewed. All of us made hats out of tinfoil and we used Game Boys to make electronic sounds. My guess is the future in our minds was the year 1999 and 2011 wasn't even a glint in our eyes.

Looking back on that musical was great, both because of how much I enjoyed my childhood and because of how funny the situation we put ourselves in was, looking back on it at least. As I look back at the last 20 years of my life, almost nothing has turned out as I thought it would. I might not have been as far off as thinking we'd be wearing foil hats and robot noises would dominate our ears, but very little of what I thought my life would be has come to be.

As a child, our family was huge. Four grandparents, two parents, an aunt and uncle, us three kids, and several great aunts and great uncles and cousins coming in and out of town over different holidays. There would be some Christmas mornings that we would spent two or three hours opening presents, taking the time to let each person open one gift at a time, one by one, no matter how many gifts there were or how many people were in our perfect circle.

As the years have gone by, our family has changed dramatically. My aunt and uncle, who I consider some of my largest influences, are now divorced. Three of my grandparents have passed away. And none of the three children in the family live in our hometown.

The thoughts I had about what my future was going to look like were idealistic to say the least. I still have my idealistic personality, but what I want isn't as picture-perfect as what I used to think I deserved. I used to think I would be married and have kids by the time I was 25. I used to hope to be a millionaire by the time I was 30.

As I've grown, I've realized you can't just put a certain age on goals like this. If you do, you're only setting yourself up for failure. I still have goals and I will always have dreams, but they aren't nearly as selfish as my dreams used to be. I still want a wife and kids and a house and to have enough money to not have to worry about it, but most of all, I want to be happy. I want peace and equality for all persons. These are my new ideals.

I've now been in Nashville for more than four years. I love it here. I have friends whom I adore, a church that fills me completely, a job that I'm still learning, but am very good at, and a life to call my own. I've learned that I like to cook. I've heard my call for youth ministry. I've started to take risks I didn't used to take. And I'm so happy.

Though the person I am today is in some ways completely different from the person I was five years ago, I am still the Midwestern guy I was raised as at heart. I am growing more and more like my parents every day. The future may have changed from what I thought it would be, but that's not as scary as it used to be.

Honduras - Day X

As I was writing my daily recaps, I was surprised at the amount of detail I could remember from each day. Our trip to Honduras had a huge impact on my life. I worked harder than I ever have, I was given responsibilities that I've never dealt with before, and I was forced to be more caring than I have ever been.

Though my writings were long-winded and detailed, I also forgot a few things that, at the time, seemed note-worthy. On our first night at the ranch, all of the girls screamed in unison after finding a huge moth outside their room. I heard them scream, but could tell it was not a fearful, "we need help" scream, so I stayed in bed. They then proceeded to lock themselves out of their room and had to wake us up to unlock their door. After our long day of travel, this was a minor blip in my memories of the day that was.

On Wednesday morning at the ranch, we all gathered around the cross for a quick devotional with the ranch staff. Then, on Wednesday night, after we had practiced singing "Light the Fire," I picked up my guitar bag without having zipped it securely. My guitar fell out and made the worst sound a guitar can make as it hit the solid concrete porch. My heart raced for five minutes afterwards, both in fear after the initial drop and in relief that, somehow, it wasn't damaged. With a long workday and a long night up taking care of Emily, neither of these moments stood out in my memory.

The moments like these were fun and scary and important at the time, but as the impact of our trip absorbed itself into my heart and soul, these inconsequential moments faded away. Yes, I still remembered numerous other details that probably didn't matter much either, but this is the nature of the human memory.

Since I've been home, I've had some kind of dream almost every night that I was back in Honduras. I might not have been in a familiar setting from our trip, but I knew I was in Honduras and I was always with at least one of our group. After these dreams, I wake up and it takes me several seconds to figure out where I am. My bedroom looks foreign as I wake up thinking I should be in my bed at the ranch.

I take these dreams as a sign that I'm holding onto our experience, that my body and mind refuses to let go of our eight day trip to a new land. I also see these dreams as a sign that I can not allow myself to revert to the life I lived before I made the trip. That's not to say I led a terrible life three weeks ago, but I now am able to see what is truly important in this world and what isn't.

Most of our group shared part of our stories in church today. I started the presentation by introducing the youth and adults and telling the congregation a brief summary of our trip. Several times, I emphasized how proud I was of the youth for the work they had done and the way they represented Second.

My heart has been heavy since we arrived back in Nashville. I miss spending my evenings sitting in a hammock and joking with my friends and my youth. I miss going to bed at the end of the day knowing that the work I did that day made a difference in the life of many people. I wonder what is my place in the field. I hope that I'm serving God to the best of my ability.

I'm not sure where my journey will go from here, but I do know that I will never again take the luxuries that this country offers for granted. I know that I will never again complain about having to work hard. And I know that youth ministry is my calling; it makes me go.

Honduras - Day 8 - I miss my friends.

Saturday morning began around 8am for me. I had enjoyed seven hours sleep in our wonderful hotel room. The floor of our room was covered in pillows and luggage. David was still asleep when I got up for the first time on our trip. I got up and took a shower and then got dressed.

Once I was packed and ready to leave for the airport, I went around and made sure all of the kids on our floor were awake. To my surprise, they were all awake and ready to go to breakfast. I went back to the room to see if David was ready yet, which he almost was, and then went to breakfast while he finished packing.

A few of the youth were still in the restaurant eating when I arrived. The long buffet tables had large dishes of pancakes, plantains, rice & beans, and fresh fruit. A chef was standing behind part of the table and would make omelets to order. After a week of limited food options, being able to choose what we ate was great. Knowing today would be a long day in airports, I decided to leave my granola bars in the room and have a bigger breakfast of pancakes and fruit.

As 9am, the time we had to meet Ali and our drivers in the lobby to leave for the airport, grew closer, we all went back to our rooms to gather our luggage. I double-checked with all the youth to make sure they were packed and had them start making the trip down the elevator to the lobby.

When we all arrived in the lobby, the same bell hop that had taken our bags the evening before grabbed our bags and set them in a corner. We weren't sure he knew where we were all going, but Ali told us we could trust him to make sure they were put in the proper van. After we turned in our room keys, we said goodbye to the group from Georgia who was staying another day to see more of the city.

We piled into the vans for one last drive together. The drive from the hotel to the airport was fine, with traffic thinner than it had been the morning before and the streets wider than they were in the downtown area. The morning air was cool, but we could still feel the thick pollution that covered the city.

We drove by a Chili's, a Burger King, a Wendy's, a Dunkin' Donuts, a Church's Chicken, and a Domino's Pizza on our way to the airport. As we approached the airport, I felt a sense of sadness that I would have to leave this country that I had just grown to love. I was still broken hearted after not being able to say goodbye to the village two days earlier.

We got to the airport, unloaded all of our luggage, avoided the men who tried to help us with our luggage who were in search of American dollars, and started to head into the airport. I shook Ubaldo's hand and thanked him several times for all of his help throughout the week. He smiled at me and thanked me back. This was the first time I had seen him smile all week.

We got in line to check-in with our airline and had to say goodbye to Ali. As one of the airline employees checked our passports, we would enter the check-in line. Ali stood by the back of the line and gave us each a big hug as we left her care.

I can't not say enough about how big Ali's heart is and how much she cares about her job. Her passion is infectious. Her joy overflows. God pours through her.

I was last in line to make sure that all of our youth got through the line safely. After all of the youth had told Ali goodbye, it was my turn to do the same. Standing more than a foot taller than her, I bent down and hugged her for several seconds. I thanked her for everything she had done through the week, for helping us in the village and especially helping us when Emily was sick, and told her how awesome she was. She smiled at me and said goodbye. She walked away, ready to welcome the next group she would host that would land in a couple hours.

We went through the line fairly quickly and David made sure that he and I secured exit row seats on our first flight. This meant we would be separated from the rest of our group, but we would have more leg room, so I was fine with the change.

We gathered in a small group while David went through the line to pay our exit fees. In order to leave Honduras, you have to pay about $38 per person. I had never heard of an exit fee before this trip, but I thought it was a small price to pay to get back to my home. While David was in line, we let the kids have 20 minutes to go get breakfast and do some last-minute souvenir shopping.

I stayed with their backpacks and talked with the two or three youth that had decided to stay as well. We watched the people come and go, some of them Honduran and many of them American. Within 20 minutes, everyone was back and we went upstairs to go through security.

The security check in Tegucigalpa was much more thorough than anything we experienced in Nashville. Nashville had run us through the full-body scanners, but this morning they checked our bags by hand twice before we boarded the planes. They took my aloe vera gel that I had forgotten to put in my checked luggage.

Once we had all made it through security, some of us taking longer than others, we made our way to our gate. In order to get to the gate, you had to walk through a large store that sold perfumes, wine, top-shelf liquor, and many other expensive items that I hadn't seen anywhere in this country until now. Thankfully, we made it through the store without any of the youth stopping to look at the expensive goods around us.

We found the gate and sat down to wait for boarding to begin. A little girl who was maybe six years old was brought to our gate by an airline employee and seated next to some of our female youth. She had dark skin so our group started to speak to her in Spanish, hoping to comfort her since she would be flying alone. She sat silently for a minute looking at them and then said, "I speak English." This brought a huge round of laughter to our group and helped ease any nerves for the flight that waited for us.

We soon boarded, with our 12 youth and Tara in the back of the plane and David and I in the middle exit rows. I was seated between a college-aged girl that looked just like a girl I used to date and a former Methodist minister named Scott. The girl had been in Honduras doing mission work for the last month and was ready to go home. Scott had been on a pastor's retreat for his new church, some kind of monk-like organization I was unfamiliar with.

We all talked for the first thirty minutes we were on the plane. I talked with the girl, whose name I never got, about the work she had been doing and the work I had been doing. I talked to Scott about the work both of our groups had been doing and about the Methodist church, since we both have ties to the church.

One we took off, our row grew silent and we all threw put in earbuds to drown out the noise of the plane. I was in a a very somber mood this morning, not wanting to leave this great country and still heavy-hearted over not having been able to say goodbye to Carlos and Alex.

As our flight continued, I got out my journal which had gone untouched for five days now. I started to write whatever came to mind. I wrote a quote from a John Mayer song. I wrote a quote from a Tony Campolo sermon. I wrote about my anger. I wrote about how selfish I was for being so angry and sad. I wrote.

I realized how crazy I must have seemed if either of my seatmates had been reading what I was writing and quickly turned the page of my journal. I had been listening to the saddest music I had on my iPod. I was torturing myself.

And then I realized how selfish I was being. I had wrote about possibly being selfish five minutes earlier, but they were nothing more than ramblings. Finally, my words had hit me. I was focusing so much on what I had missed that I ignored all of the things I had done.

I spent three days in El Rodeo. I met Carlos, Alex, and their families. I worked alongside them for two days. I threw my frisbee with their children. I laughed and prayed with them. How could I forget all of this and focus on my own sadness?

In this moment of realization, I was filled with joy. In this moment, I became a better person. I realized that the sacrifice I had made in staying at the ranch on Thursday was my responsibility, not my downfall. I realized that the things I had done that day made me a better man. I was caring, compassionate, loving, and forgiving on that day. I had never had to take care of someone like I did with Emily that day; I'm better for having not gone to the village that day.

If David had not suggested to me to ask for an exit row on this flight, these thoughts might have never crossed my mind. I might have never pulled out my journal and started writing the random things that were in my head. It's funny how life works sometimes.

Once we landed, David and I exited the plane and waited for the youth. We were back in America. With the time changes from Honduras to Miami, it was just past 5:00 in the evening. Once everyone had deboarded from the plane, we stopped at the bathroom, and began the long walk to customs.

The Miami airport goes on forever. We walked for 10 minutes, took a two minute ride on a train, and walked another 10 minutes before we finally reached the customs desks. We filled out the appropriate forms and took our places in line. Once we got through the lines, we had to collect our luggage, wait in another line, and then hand our baggage to the airline employees to be scanned through the customs scanners. This process seemed to be more confusing than functional. All we did was pull our bags from the baggage claims and drag them about 75 feet to be placed in a large pile of luggage that would be heading to Nashville.

We headed towards security for the last time. We had to wait about 15 minutes in line, but it was no big deal. None of us were stopped for a random check and all our carry-on luggage made it through the scanners with no problems. One of our girls aunt and uncle lived in Miami, so David went with her to meet them so they could take her out to dinner during our four hour layover. The rest of us headed to our gate to meet David when he caught up with us.

The walk from security to our gate was almost as long as our walk from our plane to customs had just been. We walked for ten minutes, took another ride on the raised, electric train, and then walked for five minutes before finding our gate. Some of the youth started complaining about having to walk to our gate before we let them go to have dinner, but I knew it was better that they know where they needed to be before we let them go. It's good to be in charge sometimes.

Once we had found our gate, the very last one in our terminal, I started to tell the youth their instructions for our stay in Miami. We had a little over three hours left before we our plane would start boarding, so I told them they had two and a half hours to do whatever they wanted in the airport. As I spoke, everyone within two of three rows of where I stood got quiet and was watching me. I didn't think I was yelling, but there must have been some sense of authority in my voice as I spoke. These moments crack me up.

The youth left the gate quickly in two groups and Tara and I sat to wait on David. He found us two minutes later and we started to look for a place to eat dinner. Having watched the cooking show the night before, David was in search of a hamburger for dinner. Tara and I just wanted somewhere that we could sit down and relax for a few minutes.

We decided on a restaurant that had a cheeseburger on the menu and featured an island theme, appropriate for Miami. It felt odd, once again, to not have any youth around us, but it also felt great. We ordered our food and talked about the week that had been. We talked about how proud we were of the group. We talked about what they did that made us laugh. And we talked about life.

I had a chicken sandwich and fries for dinner this night. It was overpriced and on any other occasion would have been average at best, but tonight it was one of the best meals I have ever eaten. After dinner, I ordered a piece of key-lime pie to-go that I would eat at the gate later. It wasn't great pie, but it was good and I ate it quickly a couple hours later.

Once we had finished dinner and enjoyed a few more minutes without our twelve teenagers, we headed back to the gate to charge our phones and relax for the last hour before our flight would board. About a third of the group was already back at the gate, huddled in a tight group reading a magazine that one of the girls had bought. The rest of the group wandered back within a few minutes and we all waited for our flight to board.

Knowing we only had two more hours in the air before we would be back home, we were all anxious to board our flight and head home. We all used the restroom one last time and started to gather our things as our boarding time grew closer. They finally called for our flight to board and we headed to the door of our gate.

This was a regional flight, so we would be boarding the flight via stairs after walking onto the tarmac. The walk from the gate to our plane took about three minutes and it was a fairly warm night in Miami. Everyone who was going to Nashville stood in a long line while we waited to board our flight. All of the youth were fairly wound-up at this point, so they were singing songs and making everyone laugh.

After we stood on the tarmac for about 10 minutes, we started to wonder what was going on. An airline employee was standing with us, but he didn't know what was going on either. After ten more minutes, they told us to go back inside. We made the long walk back to our gate and were all seated close to the counter so we could hear what was going on.

It turns out that the captain for the flight had gotten sick and was not able to fly. We all let out a good humored boo as we heard this news and settled in for what we hoped was a short delay. As every flight came in or left from our gate, we asked anyone who resembled a pilot if they could captain our flight. They must have known what was going on because they all apologized and said no with big smiles on their faces.

After about an hour of waiting, our captain had arrived. Re-energized by this news, we anxiously boarded our plane and were more than ready to take off. Almost all of us were seated together on the small plane, so we talked as we prepared for our departure. I had a window seat for the first time in our travels.

As we took off, I watched the lights of Miami engulf my view. You could see the beach and ocean in the distance and everything else was covered in lights. Everyone who could see out of a window watched the bright lights in awe as we rose higher into the sky.

Once we were outside of Miami, the flight grew very quiet and almost all of us fell asleep one by one. I had not been tired when I boarded the flight, but the dark night sky out my window and the dim lights in the cabin lulled me to sleep.

I woke up about 90 minutes later as we were flying over the southern suburbs of Nashville. My eyes were tired and dry, so dry that the view through my contacts was blurry. I tried to take them out and put some water on them, but my eyes were so tired that it didn't matter. We were close enough to home and my brother, Jeff, would be at the airport to drive us so I didn't need to see the worldly clearly at the point.

We finally landed and made a long trek across the runways at the airport to find our gate. We got our things and got off the plane. I waited for one of the employees to get my guitar from underneath the plane while the rest of the youth headed towards the gate. Once I had emerged from the doorway, the youth took off quickly towards the baggage claim area to meet their parents.

As we walked up past security, we could see the parents of our twelve youth standing and anxiously waiting for us. One of them was taking pictures of us as we walked and another held his arms out with gifts for David, Tara, and I. The gifts were very much appreciated, but certainly not needed.

Within five minutes, all of the youth had found their parents, collected their bags, and left the airport. It was well passed 1am by this point, so we were all too tired for proper goodbyes and thank yous.

Jeff led Tara and I to the parking garage to load our bags into the car and make one last journey home. We dropped Tara off, made sure she was safely inside, and started out for home. I got home, took my contacts out, and was in bed within two minutes. It had been a long day, but a good one. I was glad to be home, but I missed Honduras so much.

Honduras - Day 7 - The long road back.

Friday morning came fairly early for all of us after we had all stayed up later than normal the night before. My alarm went off at 5:45, but I had been awake for a few minutes prior. We all woke up nervous today knowing that our day would begin with a six hour drive back to Tegucigalpa on those same bumpy roads we remembered from five days earlier.

I changed my clothes for the day, not bothering to take a shower knowing that I would just need another one after six cramped hours in the vans, and finished packing all of my stuff. About five 'til six, I woke all of the kids up so they could put their bags on the porch to be loaded into the back of the Land Cruiser.

To my surprise, everyone woke up immediately and carried their own bag outside. I woke up Emily to see how she was doing and to give her another antibiotic. She took the pill with a few swigs of water from the bottle that sat next to her bed and immediately put her head back on her pillow.

We had 30 minutes before breakfast and an hour before we had to be in front of the other dorms for the ranch's Friday morning devotional before we left. Not knowing how long or how rough the ride would be, and knowing that one of our group felt terrible and another four or five were battling stomach issues, I was extremely nervous this morning. I felt like there was no way of avoiding me getting sick since other people had started feeling ill one by one.

Thankfully, my nerves were the only thing making me feel sick this morning. I forced myself to eat one of my last granola bars while the rest of the group walked over to the dining hall for a big breakfast of pancakes, fresh fruit, and ham. The group looked tired this morning, mostly because of the long week of work we had just finished and partly because we were all dreading the ride to Tegucigalpa.

Once breakfast was finished, we grabbed the last of our bags and left our dorms for the last time. I did not say goodbye to the frogs in the bathroom.

Our group, the group from Georgia, the group of vets, and most of the ranch staff all gathered around the large cross on the ranch. We all stood in a large circle and the ranch chaplain led us in singing two songs. They had passed out song sheets, but the words were all in Spanish so they weren't much help for most of us. I knew the second song we sang, so I was able to hum along with the music.

After we sang, the ranch director thanked us all for coming and passed out missionary certificates to each of our groups. The chaplain then thanked us and apologized for not being able to pay us for our work. I appreciated the sentiment, but I felt bad that he thought he needed to say that.

After we all prayed together, the director and chaplain did their best to shake every one's hand who would be leaving the ranch this morning. The group of vets was staying for a second week, so it was our group and the group from Georgia that would be going to Tegucigalpa together.

After we all used the bathroom one last time, our group gathered around the cross with Ali for a group picture. We started to hand different people all of our cameras, but finally decided we could use one person's camera and share the picture. Once the photo had been snapped, we started to head to the vans.

Our van held me, eleven of our youth, Ali, our security guard, and Ubaldo behind the wheel. We were slightly cramped, but it wasn't too bad. As we drove on the dirt roads of Olancho, we had the windows up and the weak air conditioning from the van did its best to keep us cool. If we tried to open our windows, Ubaldo would give us one of his stern looks and the window would quickly close.

After about 45 minutes driving slowly through the small villages near the ranch, we started to get into the mountains and the roads, thankfully, turned from dirt to pavement. We were able to roll our windows down and the cool air felt amazing.

On our drive six days before, I didn't remember more than a mile of paved roads, but not having to drive through Juticalpa we were on paved roads for 80% of today's trip. After about an hour and a half of driving, we stopped at a nice gas station in a larger town. We all went to the restroom and sat down in a corner of the gas station that had several leather chairs and a television. An armed guard with a revolver in his holster walked past our group several times as we sat in the chairs. I didn't feel like we were in any danger, but the man with the gun still made me nervous.

After our 20 minute break, the vans were refueled and we were back on the road. Thankfully, everyone who had felt sick earlier in the morning or the night before was feeling fine. Emily still felt tired and weak after not having eaten much for the previous day, but she was okay in the front seat of the van.

We piled back into the vans knowing that lunch was coming at our next stop from the Mennonite bakery we had stopped at on our way to Juticalpa earlier in the week. I was seated on a fold-down metal seat on the right side of the van directly behind the security guard. As the ride continued, he slouched down further in his chair and his belt began to twist around slightly, bringing the butt of his gun between my legs. I knew the gun was secure in his holster, but this still made me nervous, especially when I would make a movement and accidentally bumped the weapon, which happened nine or ten times in our short trip.

As we drove, the youth had put on another Harry Potter book and played it loudly on their iPod dock. Having enjoyed the calming voice the day before, I didn't mind and tried to listen to the words as we drove on the winding roads, but with the windows down it was impossible to hear anything he was saying.

The person who was enthralled with the book on tape was our security guard. He would stare at the iPod dock, looking like he was in amazement at the sounds coming from it and also wondering what the words were saying. Anytime Carolyn or Jesse would turn the volume up or down or shift the position of where the sound dock was placed, the security guard would stare at it like a child.

The second portion of our journey seemed to go quicker than the first and we were soon at the bakery for lunch. We had the option of fried chicken, fried tilapia, and tamales wrapped in banana leaves, along with several side dishes. Keeping with the theme of the week, I had chicken, rice, and a Coke.

After we ate, we all sat outside around picnic tables talking about how the trip was going and discussing what trinkets looked appealing from the many vendors selling things outside the bakery. Most of the guys wanted to buy machetes, but thankfully thought better, and all of us eyed the hammocks that filled the back of one man's truck. If I hadn't already been carrying a guitar with me, I probably would have bought one.

We got back in the vans, anxious for the last 90 minutes of our trip be over so we could relax at our hotel in the city. One of the girls switched seats with me for the last leg of our trip so I could have some relief from the small, uncomfortable seat I had been sitting in for the last four hours. I was gracious that Anna was willing to do this for me.

As we drove, I talked with our three seniors who would be leading the devotion that night. It was great to hear how excited they were to lead their group for one last time before they went off to college.

After about 75 minutes of driving, we started to see familiar sights from the week before. Certain restaurants and homes along the side of the road that stood out among the others helped us know we were getting close to the city.

We pulled off the main road we had been on and were greeted with a majestic view of the city. We were high atop a mountain and were literally looking down on the city. Small buildings covered most of our view with a few large churches and high buildings scattered across the city.

As we got into the city, the roads became very narrow and cramped. Cars were parked on either side of the road, people filled the sidewalks, and our van passed by them all with just inches on either side to spare. Driving in the country had made me nervous enough, but this was chaos.

We passed several used clothing stores that had huge signs in English in their front windows. We passed bakery's that smelled amazing. We passed through several intersections that seemed to have no rhyme or reason to who had the right of way. Ali pointed out the capital building, which was beautiful.

After we made several turns down smaller and smaller streets, the road finally widen and we pulled up to our hotel for the night. It was a huge building that looked like any American hotel. Bell hops were waiting on us and immediately had all of our luggage unloaded and stacked on carts. Ali checked us all in and within minutes we were ready to head to our rooms.

Once we got inside, we noticed that most of our faces were dirty from the dust and exhaust that had come in the windows of the van as we drove. This was funny at first, watching people take off their sunglasses and look like raccoons, but shocking when we realized how dirty the air we had been breathing was.

Our rooms were spread out across the 7th and 8th floors of the hotel. David and I were rooming together again. We got to our room and immediately were back in American mode: the television was on, we were checking our email and Facebook, and the air conditioning was on high to cool off our room.

We relaxed for about 45 minutes and unpacked the few items we would need for the night and gave everyone else time to do the same. I went and found most of the kids and we decided to explore a little of Tegucigalpa. We knew there was a shop across the street that HOI missionaries received a discount at, so we headed there.

The shop was full of souvenirs. There were tshirts, machetes, toys, artwork, jewelry, and all kinds of random Honduran goodies. I bought a keychain for Jeff and I to add to our ever-growing keychain collection we keep with the key to our mailbox. The rest of the group bought some gifts and mementos from our trip.

Next door to the gift shop was a very small store that sold snacks and drinks. Since we were still not able to use to the water at the hotel to brush our teeth, most of us bought bottles of water. Other than the cake on Thursday, this was my first opportunity to eat anything sweet during the week. The kitchen at the ranch sold ice cream bars, but always having been full right after our meals, I never bought any.

I got some Skittles and a chocolate bar and we all headed back to the hotel. We could have explored the city more, but in the 75 feet walk from our hotel to the two shops we had already been asked for money and offered goods for sale enough times for one day. We decided it was safest if the whole group stayed at the hotel for the remainder of our stay.

We had about an hour an a half until dinner, so we all headed back to our rooms. David and I watched a cooking show where a lady was making huge hamburgers. I think both of us were drooling as we watched. Dinner couldn't come soon enough.

After we had both showered and ironed our polo shirts for our nice dinner, we made sure all the kids were dressed and ready for dinner. We headed downstairs to meet Ali in the lobby and head to the restaurant in the hotel.

After a week with everyone dressed in either work clothes or shorts and tshirts to relax in in the evenings, it was kind of odd to see the guys in khakis and polo shirts and the girls in dresses. Once we were all there, Ali led us downstairs where dinner was waiting for us.

We were seated at a long table outside, with the group from Georgia at a slightly smaller table inside. A woman came around with a cart and served us Cokes or whatever drink everyone wanted. The dinner buffet had chicken, fish, rice, roasted vegetables, cold cuts, cheese, salad, soup, and dessert spread across two long tables.

We all filled our plates and then filled our bellies. As we ate, the youth were all seated towards one end of the table with me, David, and Tara between them and the ranch staff that had made the trip with us. I was seated across from Ali and next to our security guard, with our two drivers next to him.

We talked about the week that had been during dinner. Ali emphasized, for the second of third time, how great our group had been and how much work we had done. She even went as far as to say that we were the best youth group she had worked with in her four years at the ranch. Hearing her say this made me, once again, extremely proud of my 12 youth.

Once we had finished our meals, we moved on to our seemingly simple dessert of strawberries covered in whipped cream. This was so delicious that David interrupted our conversation as he took his first bite. Strawberries and vanilla whipped cream have never been so good.

With dinner finished, the youth were anxious to enjoy their free evenings playing games, exploring the hotel, and taking advantage of the hotel's two swimming pools and hot tub. I went up to our room to get the last group of letters for the kids and our devotion would start as soon as I got back.

When I got to the pool area, the youth had gathered in a large circle to start our devotion. I sat down and our three seniors, Anna, Carolyn, and Bryan, began leading the group. Instead of giving our highs and lows for the day, they asked us to share only our favorite moment from the trip.

These next ten minutes were perfect. We went around the group and one by one shared our favorite moment from the past six days. Everyone was quiet while anyone else was talking and we smiled and laughed with one another as we shared. During my time to share, I spoke about how much I had enjoyed working with Carlos and Alex and the bond that we had formed. As I spoke, every person in our circle had a smile on their face. To see them find joy in my joy felt amazing. This moment now rivals my work with Carlos and Alex as my favorite moment from the trip.

After our time of sharing was over, the seniors began to speak to the youth about the impact youth group had on them in their time at Second. They spoke of the importance of supporting one another and striving to do more. They thanked David, Tara, and me for chaperoning the trip and for being their friends. They spoke from their hearts.

The group then discussed what youth group meant to them and how they could continue to serve one another as the new school year started. The talked about their favorite events and which events needed more support. They showed that they care about youth group.

We finished the evening by holding hands and praying together. After the prayer, the youth scattered quickly and left me and my two friends sitting by ourselves. Other than our time in our room at the ranch, these were the first minutes we had shared without the youth there for the six days of our trip.

We talked for awhile and watched as the youth went to and from their rooms and the pool area, all of them in pairs as we had asked them to stay for safety. A few of the youth came over and sat with us and we talked for awhile before going to explore the hotel ourselves. We all went up the ninth floor of the hotel to the concierge lounge that overlooked the city.

The view from the lounge was amazing. The lights from the houses in the city seemed to go on forever across the mountains that the city sits upon. On the mountain to our right stood a large statue of Jesus, which was a one-quarter scale replica of the huge statue in Rio de Janerio. After several minutes of looking out the window, Tara and I returned to the poolside to enjoy the cool evening weather.

After our long week of work, it felt odd to have nothing to do, but it was great. We sat by the pool for awhile, with our youth coming and going from our table, making sure to take a drink from our water bottles or steal some of our snacks as they walked by. After awhile, the girls retired to their rooms for the night and most of the guys stayed by the pool to play cards.

We played hearts for about an hour before we all went to bed ourselves. David and I headed back up to our room and laid in our beds for awhile. Our project for the evening was to write thank you letters to Ali for all of the work she had done for us that week. The television was on and turned to whatever movie we could in English, but there were no other sounds in the room. We both wrote for several minutes before bed.

Knowing the next day would be long and tedious, as would once again be confined to airports with our twelve youth, we settled in to bed hoping the next morning would take oh too long to arrive so our trip wouldn't end. We had fallen in love with Honduras.

Honduras - Day 6 - Today was the longest day.

I slept until 6:30 on Thursday after having been up half the night. I knew today was going to be a long day. Before we had gone to bed, David and I had been talking in the bathroom, with a frog attached to the door and another on the wall above us, about which one of us would have to stay at the ranch with our sick child. I knew it was my place and I said so, but it tore me apart having to say those words.

Realizing we were already late for breakfast, I got out of bed and brushed my teeth, not bothering to change my clothes. I went to the girls bedroom, knocked on the door, and went inside to check on how everyone was doing. They were all still asleep and I went over to check on Emily (I was trying to protect her name, but there should be no shame in what happened, and it makes writing a whole lot easier).

She was hungry, but knew she shouldn't eat much. I sat on her bed and let her wake up for a minute. And then I told her she wasn't going to be able to go to the village today. I told her I would stay with her and take care of her. I'm thankful that she felt so tired and weak that the news didn't hit her as hard as it could have.

Having to tell her the bad news, knowing that it was bad news for me too, was terrible. I'm still not sure how I told her so calmly and firmly. I don't know what I would have done if she would have started to cry.

I gave her some antibiotics, made her drink a little water, and put her back to bed. After we asked the doctor if it was okay for her to eat, one of the girls had gotten her a couple pieces of watermelon and a couple dinner rolls to try. By the time her plate of food arrived, she was already back to sleep.

The next 45 minutes were grueling for me. Watching everyone else change their clothes and pack their backpacks to get ready for the last day of work and the fiesta that followed was like torture. I asked one of our guys, Max, if he would play guitar for the song we were going to sing and he agreed.

As the morning went on, I learned that one of our other guys, Mackenzie, wasn't feeling so well either, so he was going to stay at the ranch as well. Merritt, one of our female youth would be staying along to take care of Emily in case she needed something that I (a man) couldn't take care of.

This act of friendship can not be overstated. Merritt's care for Emily both the night before and throughout the day on Thursday was amazing. If Emily needed anything, Merritt had it for her before anyone else could even think about where it was, no matter what it happened to be. Words can not express how thankful I was to have Merritt by my side on this day.

As everyone boarded the vans, I stood on the porch and watched them get inside. Since there would only be 11 people from our group traveling to the ranch, everyone piled inside of our cozy blue van. Seeing Ubaldo, Ali, and David smashed together in the front seat was funny. Before they left, I leaned my head in the door and told them to work hard.

My heart broke as they drove away.

After they were gone, I made sure everyone was okay. All three of them were asleep, so I went to the porch and attempted to sleep in my favorite hammock. Staring at the bright morning sky, I couldn't help but be filled with sadness and anger that I wouldn't be there to say goodbye to my new friends, especially Carlos and Alex. We had only worked together for two days, but the bond I felt with them can not be put into words. I miss them.

After an hour of overthinking my current situation, I went into my bedroom and hoped the cool breeze created by the strong ceiling fan over my bed would put me to sleep. Thankfully, it did. I slept for more than an hour and felt refreshed when I woke up. I checked on my youth again and they were all still asleep, so I took my shower for the day and returned the porch.

Tara had been thoughtful enough to leave me a book and a magazine to read throughout the day. The book was about Honduras and the magazine was about cooking and clothes. I read through most of the magazine, noticing the small note that sleeping in hammocks is 20% better for you than sleeping in beds and a small paragraph about a new ice cream chain that had recently come to Nashville.

By the time I was done flipping through the final pages of my magazine, it was almost 11:45. Lunch would be in 15 minutes and I wanted to make sure anyone who wanted food had a chance to eat. Mackenzie was not in his bed, so I assumed he was okay (yeah, I'm a man), and the girls were still asleep.

I woke Merritt up to see if she wanted lunch, which she did. I woke Emily up just to check on her and see if she wanted anything. The kitchen had offered to make her soup, but she didn't want any. She ate a little of the rolls that were left from breakfast and drank some Sprite. The rest of us had fried chicken, rice, and tortillas. It was nice to sit on our porch and eat lunch for a change.

After lunch, I offered to take a mattress onto the porch for Emily to lay on, hoping some fresh(er) air would do her good. She came outside and laid behind my hammock; Merritt and Mackenzie sat in rocking chairs above us. We all sat on the porch and enjoyed the afternoon together.

Merritt and Mackenzie were both listening to their own iPods and Emily had brought out the girls iPod dock and was listening to one of the Harry Potter books. Having never read any of the books and having been forced to watch a couple of the movies, I still don't get the fascination with Harry Potter, but on this day in Honduras, the man who read from the pages of that book had my full attention. Well, my full attention for the 15 minutes before I fell asleep.

Ron was having his first practice with the quiditch (spelling? I refuse to look it up.) team and his robe was from someone with broad shoulders, but it fit him well enough. And then Harry saw a face in the fire. And then I fell asleep.

When I woke up, Emily had gone back inside to her bed and I could no longer hear the British voice that had been reading to me before my eyes closed.

It was almost 2pm by now, so the rest of the group would be back within a couple hours. I sat in my hammock until they arrived. To get to our drop off location, you have to drive by the back porch where the hammocks were to the front porch. Seeing that van drive up was both great and terrible. I either wanted to hear every detail of their day or hear nothing at all, hoping that meant I hadn't missed anything.

I met the vans before they had a chance to open the doors. The youth piled out like any other day and walked to their rooms. One of them stopped for a moment and gave me my gift from the villagers, a small clay pot with a house on the outside. This made my day.

The people of El Rodeo had thrown a true fiesta for the people of Nashville, Tennessee. They had cake and Coke and sang songs and gave us gifts. David quickly got out his camera and showed me videos of the children singing and the Honduran youth who had dressed up in masks and women's clothing. There was a video of our group singing "Light the Fire" and another of some of the families thanking us for our work.

Tara told me how hard it was reading the letters that Emily, Merritt, and I had written for her to read to the village. They asked me how my day was and the only thing I knew to tell them was, "It was long."

I went back to the porch and sat with the few youth who were there. I asked them to tell me about their day, but they were all excited about the ranch store being open and were anxious to get there quickly.

After David and Tara had showered and changed, the three of us walked over to see what we could find at the store. The store sells handmade crafts from the neighboring villages. As we walked, they told me about the day and the work they had done. One group had constructed another mud wall for a home and another had dug a ditch to bring water into a home. They said the work was exhausting this day. I felt bad that I couldn't have been there to help.

Once we arrived at the tiny store, we all started to pick out trinkets for ourselves and gifts for our families. We made sure to get a few things for Emily since she was still in bed. I bought a hand-carved Christmas ornament for my brother, a bracelet made with hand-made wooden beads for my sister, and a woven bracelet for myself.

As we started to leave the store, it started to rain, so we stood on the porch with several people who lived on the ranch. One of the men from the other group staying with us was on the porch painting the faces of the children. Earlier in the day, this man had probably been carrying 75 lb. buckets of concrete and this afternoon, he was carefully painting a ladybug on a little girls cheek.

The rain eased and we began to walk back to our dorm. We were surprised to see Emily awake and sitting on the porch when we returned. One of the other girls in the group, Annie, had taken Emily's camera to the village to take pictures for her and they were looking at them together. It was so nice to see these two girls looking at pictures together, with one explaining all of them to the other, knowing how badly it hurt for her not to have been there to take the pictures herself.

With Emily feeling slightly better and wanting to eat, the entire group headed to dinner. We were once again greeted with a fantastic meal of chicken, rice, beans, and tortillas. Since we had not been able to be at the fiesta, the group and everyone in El Rodeo had been careful to not cut one of the cakes so it could be sent back for us. So after dinner, I got the first piece and we ate cake.

David, Tara, and I were in charge of leading the devotion this evening and they had asked me to plan it since I had a day to myself. I had spent most of the day flipping through my bible hoping to find the perfect passage. And somehow, I had.

As our devotion started, we went around and had the group share our highs and lows for the day. My low was not being able to say goodbye to my friends and my high was seeing Merritt's friendship towards Emily. It was great to hear the entire group echo my sentiments. Once we had all shared, I started to read from the bible.

As I read, the entire group was quiet. After I finished reading, the entire group was quiet. I asked for comments and after a few more seconds of silence, Max just said, "That's pretty much perfect."

I'm not normally a biblical scholar, but it made me feel so good to have found the passage that fit our week perfectly. I wanted to be so angry and sad. I wanted to be jealous, but this group and this bible wouldn't let me. They pointed me to this passage in Matthew that helped show me what was important. I'm very thankful that I had this day to find this passage; it made all the difference.

After a few other comments were made, Tara read a prayer that one of her friends had given her before the trip. I passed out letters from our pastor and youth leader, Jeannie, and our evening continued.

Emily was feeling better and the group was excited after their fun day at the village. We all stayed up until about 11pm this night talking and laughing together. We had to be up at 6am the next morning so our bags could be loading into the vans for our return trip to Tegucigalpa. We made sure everyone was 95% packed before we headed to bed.

We also prepared a sign for the ranch's sign post tonight. The ranch has three posts along one of the walkways between the dorms and the dining hall that holds an arrow for different groups that have visited over the years. There was only one other Presbyterian church on the sign post, so we were excited to put Second Presbyterian's name up for all to see.

Figuring out how many miles we were from Nashville was more difficult than it seemed though. We had a wireless internet connection at the ranch offices next to our dorms, but no GPS or Google Maps service could locate our position. This was a nice reminder of how far we had traveled and how far away from home we were, even if we did have access to local election results and sports scores.

After we had finally figured out that we were 1540 miles from Nashville, Carolyn, one of our seniors and a fantastic artist, wrote our church name on the sign along with the PCUSA logo. We all signed the back to commemorate our experience. In the morning, one of the men who worked at the ranch nailed our sign to the post.

Once we had finished our sign and finished packing our bags, we all headed to bed. We were nervous for our six hour journey in the morning, not knowing what vehicles we would be in or how bumpy the roads would be. All we could be at this moment was glad to be in our beds and thankful to have been able to make such a magnificent trip.

In four days working in El Rodeo, we put concrete floors in three homes, roofs on four houses, walls on one house, brought water to two houses, built latrines at two houses, and installed chimneys at two houses. And that is only the physical labor that we did: we also spent endless hours playing with children, laughing with everyone, praying with one another, and thanking each other.

These four days changed our lives, all 15 of us from Nashville and, I hope, all 75 people from El Rodeo. We became friends and we became family.

"Therefore, I say to you, don’t worry about your life, what you’ll eat or what you’ll drink, or about your body, what you’ll wear. Isn’t life more than food and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds in the sky. They don’t sow seed or harvest grain or gather crops into barns. Yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Aren’t you worth much more than they are? Who among you by worrying can add a single moment to your life? And why do you worry about clothes? Notice how the lilies in the field grow. They don’t wear themselves out with work, and they don’t spin cloth. But I say to you that even Solomon in all of his splendor wasn’t dressed like one of these. If God dresses grass in the field so beautifully, even though it’s alive today and tomorrow it’s thrown into the furnace, won’t God do much more for you, you people of weak faith? Therefore, don’t worry and say, ‘What are we going to eat?’ or ‘What are we going to drink?’ or ‘What are we going to wear?’ Gentiles long for all these things. Your heavenly Father knows that you need them. Instead, desire first and foremost God’s kingdom and God’s righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore, stop worrying about tomorrow, because tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." -Matthew 6:25-34 (Common English Bible)