It seems like the moments I stop to process turn into something much more like days, and then I flip a page and realize I chose some other mindless activity rather than capture thoughts in typeface or scrawled script. So, I'm thankful for people who hear me in the spaces and even when I don't speak. :)
On to more important matters... like last Thursday after school.
I planned to have my afternoon open for whatever God might put in my lap and after the 2:45 bell rang, there appeared Carol. What a WONDERFUL way to color my day! So, after watching her get creative with an art project in the music room, listening to some of Jeny's crazy mainstream music, piling 9 students into my car for a munchie run, and the blessing of a long conversation with a recovered stateside friend... we drove Louis (my car) right over a small mountain. Well, they call them "tumulos" here and apparently it's the Honduran version of a speed bump, but I'm sticking with my first description: small mountain. Anyway, so Louis didn't respond very well to all that weight and all that mountain, but he kept on all right. Later that night when I have four students to drop off down the mountain, we start to hear a knocking sound.
Jeny thinks it's someone stuck in the trunk, Carol doesn't think it's any big deal, and Chepo and Daniela have no advice to give. Soon the knocking was accompanied by a metal-dragging-sound that seemed to happen every time I turned left (on the windy, mountain road). By the time we reach the bottom of the mountain, the knock-drag sounds have amplified to almost deafening and I managed to pray over the roar that God would keep us safe and protect the car. About 30 seconds after I finished my desperate plea, the sounds completely stopped!
I praised God, we arrived at my house, the parents came, and all was well.
Until the next day, when I looked under my car to find:
That's right, I don't have a muffler. And you want to know the funny thing? I could only break into a huge smile right there in my haula (my car's cage) because I knew there was some little boy wandering around that night with a huge, ghetto-fabulous silver muffler (because that's what I had), about to show it off to all his friends and then purchase something very resourceful and necessary like candy or new school shoes. (please don't burst my bubble, even though it's tempting!)
and now more important matters....like Sunday at Micah Project worship
Sadly, my anthems as of late have been trudging along to the same dreary rhythms. The words, I should have and I wish and why didn't I. You know the type of choruses to which I'm referring, yes?
Well, on Sunday my soul got a very necessary whomping. I might have just made up that term, but it is the sound a firm, loving hand makes when thrown solidly onto a child's rear end. And that's exactly what found my hide-and-seek soul.
I was in one of those cheap plastic chairs, tucked in with the darkness of the barrio and a bunch of boys singing out in the courtyard with sandpaper voices, "Te amo mas que a mi vida, te amo mas que a mi vida, te amo mas que a mi vida."
Miguel was standing beside me on the bench, poking me in my ribs, and someone had just put a baseball cap on my head. The song is all about claiming my inheritance in Christ. It's about singing the reality that Christ saw and loved when no one else did. It's about receiving a name from the One who spreads the heaven like a blanket when you've been discarded by the closest relative you have.
And, here's where my soul got all wound up. It's about loving Him back with every single ounce of love kept back in my hide-and-seek soul.
That night, John challenged the boys to think about what they were loving more... who they were loving more... and if they could sing about loving God more than life and be honest about it.
Needless to say, the hide-and-seek soul has been belting out this anthem like a record on repeat after the good whomping on Sunday. Maybe I think that the more I sing it (or the louder)... the truer it will be of my heart. Bummer, that it can't be true. But, I think belt-out anthems are beautiful and a very appropriate way to make a voice hoarse.
Here is a video with the song and some great pictures from Micah Project.
Here is a different version that makes me smile. Why? Because this rap in the middle is what these boys from the street breathe. When we sing it at Micah Project a few of them step out to lay it down and every time (even though I don't understand all the words) I hear their hearts.
Sorry, for the length, but it's good to be back!
go search for your hide-and-seek soul and