Let The Waves Hit Your Feet...

...and the sand be your seat.

I don't know what it is, but you can ask anyone and they will tell you that it's true. I LOVE the beach. Not love as in I enjoy spending time there once in awhile, but love as in I actually can't live without it. CEE is the only school I applied to teach at that isn't within thirty minutes of a beach-- figures, right?

I need the beach. I need to be there. I need to feel the sand between my toes and hear the waves crashing on the shore line. I need to walk through the water (however frigid it may be) and have my biggest worry be whether or not I'm going to drop my sandals in the water. Regardless of weather and duration of time spent at the beach, I leave the beach a better, happier, more rejuvenated person than when I arrived. I need it, I crave it. I physically, mentally, and emotionally cannot live without it.

That being said, it comes as no surprise that I started counting down the days until we left as soon as Sarah and I started to walk the walk and not just talk the talk when it came to planning a trip to Roatan.

We'd been talking about it for almost as long as we've been together in this country. We just never had enough time. Any time that we had a long enough break, we were required to leave the country (tragic, I know) and the time that we had previously planned to go got botched when Sarah was told she had to go to the Grade 11 graduation. But this year we were determined to make it happen.

We both spent a short amount of time in North America before returning to Honduras for New Years Eve and then our long anticipated trip. It was a whirlwind week of airport travel, a late night ringing in the new year, and early mornings to catch ferries and make the drive to La Ceiba. Which resulted in a decline of proper/ adequate sleep while also showing an incline in an incredibly erratic pattern of sleeping in cars/ buses/ other modes of transportation and an overcompensation of lack of sleep at odd times of the day. Needless to say, we were so ready to be in Roatan.

The original plan was to wake up early the morning of the 1st, drive to La Ceiba, catch the 4:30pm ferry, spend the 2-3 in Roatan, and then take the ferry home on the 4th. Did that happen? Of course not. Were we surprised? No. We ended up staying a night in La Ceiba due to the ferry not running on the 1st since it was a holiday. But ironically enough, we stayed in the EXACT SAME ROOM that we stayed in almost exactly a year ago when we went to La Ceiba. I'm sensing an annual anniversary trip in the works here.

We finally make it to Roatan and its fantastic. Everything I could have ever hoped for in a vacation on a tropical island with some of my best friends. It happened to rain the ENTIRE day we were there, so we didn't get to actually do many beach-y things, but it was so. nice. to be forced to relax. We napped, we hung out, we read books, we watched TV, we laid in the hammock. We didn't have a choice. And it was wonderful.

The rain let up for a couple hours in the afternoon, so Cristian and I took a lancha to West Bay. Where we snorkeled. At sunset. With fish. But not sharks. That I know of.  The water was so blue, I couldn't get over it. Nor could I get past my fear that I was going to snorkel over some coral, slash my leg open, and die right in the Caribbean. I didn't, obviously.

Sadly we had to take the 7am ferry back to the mainland the next day, so we didn't really get to experience too much of Roatan. Which, tragically, means that we'll just have to go back sometime. Where snorkeling, the underwater museum, a dolphin tour/ boat ride to Cayos Cochinos, and a glass bottom boat tour are all in order.

It might not have been the trip to Roatan that we expected. (And really, you'd think we would stop expecting anything on any of our vacations because something seems to go awry every. single. time.) But it ended up being the exact trip to Roatan that we needed.

'Cause This Christmas I'm Home.

Maybe you've heard this song, or maybe you haven't. Maybe you're familiar with the regular version, or maybe you're not. Regardless, I stumbled across the Christmas version while spending some time in Ohio and I couldn't even handle how much it put into words how I felt.

Especially this part:
I can close my eyes and see the angel on the tree,
A blanket of snow outside
And all my friends and family
And though I know that you're no farther than a call away
I need to see your face
A call could never be the same.

I know that I can talk to anyone in my life at anytime. Facebook, email, iMessage, MagicJack, etc all make this possible. Anyone I want to talk to is literally just a phone call away. But a phone call, or even a FaceTime, isn't the same as physically being with someone. I can't reach out and hug a person through my phone. A call could never be the same.

So I spent eight wonderful days actually visiting with some of the people who mean the most to me.

Did I want to go to Mongolian BBQ with my little, grandlittle, and BFFs? Absolutely.

Did I want to give my best friend the biggest hug in the world because only seeing each other for 48 hours a years just doesn't cut it? Without a doubt.

Reunited and it felt so good.

Did I want to spend some time at Headlands Beach with my Daddio while trying to not complain about how stinkin' cold it was? 100%.

Did I want to go to the Christmas Eve service at church with my family? Of course.

Did I want to be the only girl at a giant sausage fest and then be able to recreate this picture from 2007? For the most part.


Did I want to be reunited with the friends that I may not keep in touch with super well while I am gone, but can always pick up right where I left off with when I come home? You bet.

Been friends with these goons longer than my students have been alive.

Did I want to stuff my face full of bacon wrapped cocktail wieners? Um, is that even a question?

Did I want to smooch my mama under the mistletoe? Yepp.

Did I want to slide down the stairs while wearing matching sweatshirts with my sister? With my whole heart.



God knew exactly what He was doing when He gave me her as my sister.

Did I want to take this family picture just like we have every year for the past 23 years? More than anything in the world.

And guess what? I actually got to do all of those things. I didn't have to want and wish, I could actually do. I didn't have to be the person missing family events or dinners with friends. I didn't have to by Skyped in to anything to be present. I ACTUALLY got to be present, I actually got to be there.

I could have been anywhere in the world. I didn't care, as long as I was with all of these people who love me and support me. Who so clearly pour into me and encourage me when I need it. Who I love with all my heart and don't have nearly enough opportunities to tell them so.

I could have been anywhere in the world, but I had the added bonus of being in this beautiful town.

As Blake Shelton and Michael Buble so eloquently stated "It'll all be alright when I'm holding you tight. Cause this Christmas I'm home."



Home.

A word that has become more difficult for me to describe in recent years. Is my home in Chardon where I was born and raised? Is home in Ashland where I set out on my own for the first time? Is home in Rio de Janeiro where I officially realized my calling in life? Is home here in Siguatepeque where my life has been changed within the walls of my Grade One and Two classroom?

I honestly don't know.

To me, each one of these places is home. Each one of these places holds a very real piece of my heart. Without each one of these places, I wouldn't be the person who I am today. Longevity has nothing to do with it-- I spent 18 years in Chardon and only 3 months in Brazil.

Every day my heart longs to be home. To be in Chardon, to be in Ashland, to be in Rio, to be in Sigua. Every day I feel like a piece of me is missing. Like I'm not completely whole. The unfortunate truth is that since my heart has made it's home in so many places, it never feels whole.

Going home is always a tricky blend of happiness and heartache. Joy to be seeing the people that have always meant the world to me (and joy to be eating Taco Bell again, if I'm being completely honest), but sadness to be leaving the people who have become regulars in my daily life.

While I don't particularly love always feeling like a piece of my heart is missing, I cannot help but know that this means I have been more abundantly blessed than I could have ever believed possible. I've loved people in many places, I have so many people and places that are hard to say good-bye to. And for that, I am grateful.

I'm going home tomorrow. While doing so, I'm leaving another home behind, but I'm coming home tomorrow.

Thankful.

thank·ful [thangk-fuhl] adjective 

feeling or expressing gratitude; appreciative. 

Sometimes I get in really cranky, wallowing in self-pity moods and think of all of the things I've had to give up to be here. I play the victim, portray myself as such a good person who sacrifices so much for others. But let's be honest here for a second, I'm not. And I haven't.

We spent a lot of time in Grade One and Two talking about all of the things that we are thankful for. Which really reminded me of all of the blessings that came into my life the second that I stepped off the plane over a year ago.

Starting here, with Grade Two and all their crazy adventures.



Continuing here with my twenty-four blessings in Grade One.

And ending here with all of the people who have enriched my life inside and outside of the classroom. 

Being here is hard. There are things that I have given up to live here. But what I have gained has more than made up for the things that I have left behind. My life is more abundantly blessed because of all the people who have walked into it throughout the past two years.

On a more lighthearted note, Cristian and I gave our students the real American Thanksgiving experience by playing a little football on Thursday afternoon. It involved a lot of shrieking, a lot of  "hey, run that way!", and a lot of laughter. None of us may be headed to the NFL, but there's always next year.

Karen and I could never seem to decide if we wanted to high five or fist bump and accidentally ended up combining the two. All while saying "gobble, gobble". In true Thanksgiving tradition, we gobble gobbled all day long.

I am so thankful. I am so blessed.

On Living In The Most Dangerous Country In The World.

Let me just preface this entire thing by saying that I am speaking solely on my own experiences. I am well aware of the danger that comes with living in Honduras and that Sigua isn't the most dangerous community to live in while in here. There are dangerous places here, I get it. But we don't go there. Because, well, they're dangerous.

As it seems to happen pretty often, I came across an article that became a springboard for my own thoughts. An individual found themselves living in Copán, a city in northern Honduras that is famous for the Mayan ruins and speaks upon his own experiences living in Honduras. Personally, I felt that the author was trying a little to hard to sell Copán, but it's not my blog and the author didn't ask my opinion. I also completely understand being so in love with a town, and a country,  that others are quick to turn up their noses at, so I can see where the author is coming from.

When I first told people that I was moving to Honduras, I was met with a variety of reactions. Things ranging from "Wow! You'll be so fluent in Spanish" to "I've always wanted to visit  Africa!" But the most common reaction was some variation of "But it's so dangerous!"

Yes. It is. And so is being an elementary student because a gunman could come to your school and start shooting at you, your classmates, and your teachers. So is running in a marathon because someone could have planted bombs at the finish line. So is attending a movie because someone could open fire there, too. And so is returning to my own high school because three students could take their last breaths there after being shot at close range.

Despite the fact that these horrendous acts of violence occurred in our own towns in the United States, I'm willing to bet that there are still people in each of those towns who are singing the praises of where they've set down roots. Chardon is a more unified, more proud community after what happened. Those in the Sandy Hook community came together to support each other when violence hit too close to home. The entire nation boasted #BostonStrong in the wake of the marathon bombing.

Yes, violence is prevalent in Honduras. Armed guards man the door of every bank, grocery store, and hotel. Barbed wire lines the walls and fences of every establishment. Hondurans subscribe to the theory that "Good fences make good neighbors." When you Google Honduras, you will inevitably come across the statistics of violence, drug and gang activity, etc. I'm not saying that these things don't exist in Honduras because they absolutely do.

What I am saying is that there is a side of Honduras that doesn't get as much air time. The beautiful sunsets that I watch from my front porch every evening. The hilarity of laying in bed and hearing a cow chewing on grass right outside my window. Realizing the crush I have on this country every single time I drive past the lake. The breathtaking glimpses you can catch of Comayagua when driving from Sigua. Jaw dropping views of the mountains every where you look. Beaches that just don't compare to those anywhere else in the world. These things exist. These are the things that most of us in Honduras are encountering every day, not the statistics that can be found online.

So for those of you who want to hear the worst about Honduras, here you have it. "Every day I wake up, shivering with fear, hoping I’ll make it to see the light of another day here in Honduras. I live behind doors enforced with triple bolt locks and I barely dare to go out on the street. I trust no one, I never go out at night, instead I lock myself up, turning up the volume of my TV to drown out the sound of gunshots. If that’s what you want to hear, there you have it. But the truth is quite different."

But the truth is quite different...

Parcial One and Done

The beginning of November also marked the end of Parcial One, as well as the 50th day of school. We wrapped up our exhilarating units on living things and pronouns with the hope of more exciting units ahead. Spent some time cleaning up the classroom under the guise of getting all the bad germs out because Miss Caitlin is persuasive and tricky like that.

In Grade One Science the kids had to identify a living thing and then create it out of construction paper and then we pasted it onto our "Tree of Life". Holla at all the scientists in Grade One.

Grade One Language included creating their own word walls. Wahoo. As a culminating activity, each student was assigned a letter and then had to come dressed representing that letter and present a short memorized sentence. Super precious. Check out them cuties.

 

In Grade Two Language we became gardeners and created our own Pronoun Gardens. I also can't figure out how to rotate the picture, so you have to deal with that. They had to write a pronoun in the yellow center and then write an example on each petal. Some of us have green thumbs and some of us do not.



 Parcial One-- that's a wrap.

La Vida Está Llena...

..de oportunidades.  Tomálas.

We embraced one of those many opportunities today when we packed up the pick-up truck and headed towards San Pedro. As in, six in the front, five in the back. Honduran style. Those opportunites? Oh, we're tomando-ing them.

In a belated celebration of Teacher's Day we went to Zizima and spent the day lazying around the river and bobbing around the wave pool in anticipation of the waves. We also found a snazzy skull bracelet (of the authentic black rubber variety) as well as 5 lemps. Time bobbing well spent.

But next time we're checking the filters because we watched the salvavida, AKA the life guard, find 5 DOLLARS. Lesson learned.

  

After Zizima we went to the mall because we figured we'd all be happy at the food court. Which we were. Ke Pack from KFC? You have no idea how long I had been waiting for you. Followed by going to see 2 Guns in a theater that didn't smell like a musty shoe. San Pedro can be such an upgrade from Sigua sometimes.

The next morning we woke up at the un-Godly hour of 6:30am and laced up our tennies in preparation for the COLOR RUN! Five whole kilometers of Kool-Aid flavored powder, sweaty bodies, Spanish music, and a little bit of laughter here and there.

Oh, I ran some of it. Did I mention that?

Despite that fact that I basically despise running, it was quite an awesome endeavor. I'd do it again, should the opportunity arise.



Super catracha.

Packed up the truck to make the two hour drive back to Sigua. Which wouldn't have been complete without a torrential downpour or the purchase of lychee while stopped at a stoplight. Still taking all those opportunities. And embracing all things Honduran, one day at a time.

Oh yes, and we celebrated Halloween. Created those costumes two hours before the party. Don't ever tell me that we aren't crafty.

And speaking of tomando the opportunites that fill your life-- I bought two turtles while in San Pedro. Named them Penny and Leonard. Don't regret a second, or a lemp, of it.

My life is full. My life is blessed.