Why I Got Hooked......

Have you ever wondered why I got hooked on Mission work? I wrote this story in February 2000 after my first mission trip to Honduras:

The Meaning of Life Through a Smile

All I had to repay them were Dum-Dum lollipops, stickers, and hugs.
“Este es un regalo,” they said. They recognized me only because I had won the spaghetti-eating contest the night before.

I was sitting on a rock pile, taking a break from the 100-degree sun. Suddenly, a flood of school children entered our work site, entranced by the “gringos.” My hands, red and blistered through leather work gloves, hurt as I shifted myself higher to get a look at them. They wore uniforms made up of matching white shirts with a school patch on the pocket and navy pants or skirts. As they tried to help, I realized all they needed was attention.

As I cooled myself with a spray bottle fan, the children gathered around me. As their eyes tried to solve the mystery of a misting fan, I foolishly attempted to explain how it worked. Then, for fun, I pretended to forget that dirt coated my hands. As I wiped some of the water off my face, it dripped down my chin, and a mud pie formed from my sweat. The children giggled. Then I showed them how it worked and squirted them. Some of them, frightened, would back away while others cringed to hold their position best when I pulled the trigger. Without words, they trusted me.

Their thoughtless trust hit my consciousness like a stone flying from David’s sling. It killed my definition of trust, as I knew it at home. I pondered whether or not I understood real trust. I didn’t have faith in my own instincts most of the time and lost wonderful opportunities as a result.

They talked to me and told me stories of their day. Then all but two little girls moved on. Since I could speak Spanish, I had an advantage. Later, I would call it a disadvantage when I became so attached. I felt like a movie star. They wanted to know all about me. As I told them, I grew ashamed of my many material possessions.

The children in Honduras had dark hair and dark eyes with skinny arms and legs, but what I saw was on the inside. Their innocent souls were worth gold, as was their love for everyone around them. They were the teachers, I the student. When I looked at them I tried to see myself in their position but my innocence had left me long ago. I could never be them though I wished I could.

A hair clip adorned one of the little girls little black strands of hair. It was a simple but beautiful clip decorated with a small glittery butterfly.
“That’s pretty,” I said in Spanish.
The little girl looked surprised and smiled at me. That’s when she took the clip out of her own hair and slid it into my hair as gently as a mother with a comb to her baby’s head. I was confused at first, thinking she just wanted to see what it looked like in my hair.
I then asked, “Tuyo?” trying to figure out if that was the case.
“No, suyo.” It was mine. But why? She had so little, and this was probably one of her prized possessions, yet she was willing to give it to me. My eyes started to glisten with the tears about to spill over top the dam. Her simple gift meant the world to me.

“Gracias,” I said thanking her and giving her a hug. The other little girl stood in front of me and held her hand out. She opened it so slowly and tenderly, like she was holding a feather that she was afraid was going to get caught in the very next breath taken and blow away. In it was a pair of two more butterfly clips.

I was honored. To receive such a thoughtful gift had become rare even in the United States. I didn’t understand why they thought so highly of me, and it was only because I told them that they were pretty. The little girl took the clips and slid one into each side of my short light brown hair, delicately checking and moving them so that they were even on both sides.

I didn’t know what to repay them with. They only things I had with me that day were lollipops and stickers, so that is what I offered them. Their eyes lit up like the sun coming out from behind the clouds as I held the gifts before them. They hadn’t expected something in return, but to me, my gift was not a sacrifice. To give was an instinct to them. I was the rich person, giving a small percentage of what I had, while they were the poor woman, giving two pennies, their one-week’s wages.

Tears flooded my face out of happiness and sadness. I was so happy to be in that place at that very moment, but I was sad because I could not stay in Honduras forever. I wish I could have taken them with me, just so that I could take care of them. They had already taken care of me. I had never seen so many sincere smiles in my life. These people, a lot of them living in poverty, were happy with their lives. I then understood that I was not happy with my own life. I wore a permanent mask, hiding my inner being. I could gain the whole world and never be happy.

It was hard for me to express myself emotionally to those girls. When the Honduran people described me they said I was physically strong for a woman. Physically strong is the only thing I am. On the inside I was torn to pieces. My heart was scattered amongst the characteristics of my life, but never fixable in my eyes. Yet, here I was seeing a solution that I could not even put together in my own life. I looked directly into the eyes of my soul as looked into the children’s faces. I had only waded ankle deep by myself.

“Tu eres muy bonita.”
“Yo?” I asked. How? I was not beautiful. Inside, a hideous monster was waiting for the right moment to jump out and flaunt my worldliness. Before now, however, this monster was my actual self. My desire to gain back my innocence, fought to restore the child within me. To be true to myself I would have to be like the children in Honduras: blind to the world that could carry away their happiness.

As I sat in the back of the trucks as we drove away, I could not take my eyes from their faces. Our final goodbyes were the hardest for me. I did not want to leave. I was leaving my dream. I wanted to be free from all the pain of the world. It hurt to think of how I live. The stars, so clear at night here, beckoned me to explore the infinity of my soul. They painted the sky showing that I had no limits. I needed to be who I am. I was made a star, but would never be one. I could not thank the children enough for just showing me what was truly important in life. It was the way I lived my life and how I affected the people surrounding me that I needed to consider.

For the rest of my trip in Honduras, I kept those clips in my hair. I only removed them when I was washing my hair or sleeping. They were a part of me now. When I got back to the states, I knew I would not be able to wear them all the time in my hair so I put them on a shiny silver chain around my neck. I wore this necklace for quite some time. They hung next to my heart reminding me how I need to live my life and the innocence I need to have to only live. Torn between my true self and my dream, I left a part of my soul there in Honduras.When those children smiled, I felt like I had a true purpose in life.

People say true happiness can only be found if you truly feel it in your heart. I have daintily nibbled at the plate without even experiencing happiness’ taste. Happiness is when you feel as though you have a real purpose in life and you have done something to change the world even if one smile is what comes from your efforts. One smile…