And I'm Proud To Be An American.

As I think that all Americans should be.

We come from and/ or live in wonderful country with SO. MANY. opportunities. Literally anything we want to be or do can be achieved. We have cities and small towns and more naturally beautiful places than I could ever imagine. There is so much opportunity and so much potential when living in the States.

But I have never, ever been more ashamed to be an American than I have this past week following the Superbowl. I am going to go out a limb and assume that everyone has seen the Coca-Cola America the Beautiful commercial and its subsequent backlash.

It's disgusting and repulsive to see how hateful people can be regarding this commercial. And the sheer number of hateful people. It's becoming more clear to me that I have a tendency to assume that all people are good and wouldn't do bad things, but it absolutely blows me away to think that people can be so nasty.

First of all, because I think this needs cleared up, America the Beautiful is NOT our national anthem. I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure that anyone coming to the States and obtaining citizenship has to be able to identify the national anthem. Therefore these terrorists and Mexicans and a whole slew of other derogatory remarks are already better informed about American culture than those Americans who are hating on them.

Secondly, I'm willing to bet large sums of money that the majority of Americans ancestors are not originally from America. If an individual traces his ancestry back, I am almost certain that they will find that they have ancestors who immigrated to the States. And guess what. Those ancestors probably didn't speak English. But they still came to the States. They carved out new lives for themselves, created different opportunities. They blended their old culture with the new culture of the States.

Because that's part of what makes the States so wonderful. We are all different, but we've all taken things and learned things from each other. People are given the freedom to hold onto their old roots while creating an entirely new culture in the States.

I'm a fan of Cinco de Mayo. Am I Hispanic? No. Do I still celebrate the holiday? With a taco in each hand. And don't even try to tell me that only the Irish celebrate on St. Patricks Day. This blending of cultures is what makes the American culture unique. Americans have the opportunity to participate in some of the best aspects of so many different cultures because so many people around the world immigrated to the United States.

I love my country, I am proud to be from the States. But I wish that Americans could be more accepting of other cultures, of other countries, of people who are different than themselves. Maybe it's because I've spent the past two and a half years of my life living in abroad, but it's so embarrassing to see Americans behaving so childishly and hurtfully. And to realize that for so many people, that's the image they have of Americans.

If there is one thing that I have learned while being abroad, it's that people are fundamentally the same. Children, teenagers, adults. Across the board, regardless of language. People want to be loved, people want to be accepted. My students experience joy when finally mastering a difficult skill. The Spanish staff has experienced broken hearts in the same way that I have. The parents of my students have experienced the same elation as my parents when seeing their child walk across the stage at graduation. People experience the same emotions regardless of age, nationality, or skin color.

If there's one thing I want to my students to learn this year, it's that different is not bad. Different is different and differences are necessary in the world. We wouldn't survive if everyone was a teacher, the world wouldn't function if we were all doctors. My students love soccer, but Miss Caitlin adores baseball. Neither one is right or wrong, it's just different.

Seeing the reactions from the Coca-Cola commercial further proves to me how important it is to make sure my students understand this. Verbs can wait. Spelling can come later. But the acceptance and tolerance of individuals who are different from you? That needs addressed now. That's a lesson that learned now.

Faith.

Throughout my 23 years of life there are many skill sets that I've honed in on. Ones that I've perfected and mastered. Ones where I would confidently label myself as an expert. No where on that list of skills would you find anything remotely related to "completes a long term goal."

I've read that it takes 21 days to form a habit. Or is it 30? Either way, I haven't stuck anything out long enough to form it into a daily habit. And trust me, I've tried. I began countless years writing one sentence a day, every day in a journal in hopes of having a snapshot of that year come December 31. By the time March rolls around, my journal is usually under my bed collecting moth balls.

And don't even get me started on work out regimens. I've pinned, printed, hung up, and started more work outs that I can imagine. Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred would be perfect, right? Wrong. Three weeks in and I'm done. Sorry Jillian Michaels, but I just couldn't hack it.

So it doesn't come as much of a surprise that New Years Resolutions aren't really my thing. I think they're fantastic, don't get me wrong. But they just aren't for me. I could tell myself that I'm going to eat healthy and journal every day and work out so that I have a smokin' hot bod when I go back home, but really, I'm just setting myself up for failure. Because the reality of it is, my vegetables are going to rot in the fridge before I get a chance to eat them, my journal is going to be left blank, and my work out clothes are... still on the rack at the store because I don't even own them yet.

But then I came across One Word 365. The premise is simple.

Forget the New Years Resolutions. Just Choose One Word.

One word that you incorporate into your daily life. That pushes you, that changes you.

One word. I can definitely handle one word.

So I thought about it. For a whole two hours. I even slept on it. During my afternoon nap.

I wanted to do something cool, like "risk" or "embrace". But no matter how many times I told myself that I had found my word, I kept coming back to the word faith.

Okay, okay. I get it. Girl can pick up on hints, all right? And so faith it is. 

Which is actually way more appropriate than "risk" or "embrace", but slightly more terrifying. Faith implies that I'm not in control anymore. And coming from a girl who gave herself a stomach ulcer in the fifth grade because she worried too much about things out of her control, that's kind of a big deal. 

But the whole point of New Years Resolutions, the forming of new habits, or One Word 365 isn't to stay as you are. They're to change you, to pull you, to prod you, to make you feel uncomfortable. And, ultimately, to mold you into a better version of yourself. There are other words that would have been way easier for me to choose, and many come to mind, but they all defeat the purpose of One Word 365.

So, 2014, here we go. Faith.

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...