One of Those Days

Yesterday I cried in front of three of my bilingual boys.

Not just like one, single tear rolling down my cheek, but flat out cried. Lose your breath, stomach contracting, can't talk kind of snotty cry. It wasn't pretty. All three just stared at me with blank, "what the heck just happened" and "what do we say" kind of looks. I kept trying to get it together, but the fact was... yesterday was just one of those days.

For me, I don't really have many of those days... like ever. I'm a pretty tough cookie. It takes a lot for me to cry, but one thing that always does me over is when I get my feelings hurt. Here in Honduras things are different - culturally, I mean. People will say you look like you're "fatter" or that your hair looks "dead/old/ugly" or point out your blemishes on your face. They never mean any harm, but they are just a very blunt culture. They see things for how they are, and they let you know their opinions. This has taken some getting used to. Part of me really was offensive towards the beginning, but now I know I have to remember they don't mean any harm.

Yesterday was one of those days when I let it get to me.

Several of the older boys I don't think really understand why I am here. They probably think its because I live here for free, eat for free, and am just "having a good time". WRONG. I have a nice bed at home. I have great family and friends at home. And I'll go ahead and make a bold statement saying I could probably find some sort of job at home. NEWSBREAK: that's not why I'm here... like at all.

Without rattling on with details, several of the older boys have been ignoring me for pointless reasons. We use the word here - "malcriado", which technically is like selfish, spoiled, ungrateful. Sometimes they just decide to write you off - for no reason whatsoever - leaving one feeling useless and unworthy of their company. Again I should not let my feelings get hurt, but this time I did. They were sent/made to come apologize, but it was clear to me they didn't mean it. Only one of the three really seemed like he was sorry, and I let the other two have it. I kept asking them why they treated me like that... what I had done to deserve it...etc. Their only response was that I had done something to tick them off, even though I had apologized "for whatever I had done" several times. Sidenote: this has been going on since the day I returned.

My heart literally broke as I tried to tell them how much I care for them, and that they all are brothers to me. One specifically acted like he could give a rat's *@$, and it just blew the top off for me. I started crying while I was trying to tell them how much they had hurt me, and I didn't even get choked up to begin with - just straight bawling. I was in the yellow house at this point - and I feared for all the young ones to see me, therefore I rushed into the homework room with my three little ones and let it all come out. Unfortunately we didn't resolve anything, and I just tried to go on after about 10 minutes of sniffles and tears.

The little ones asked me why I was crying, and all I could think to say was something they unfortunately will have to learn one day... "that people can be really cruel sometimes, even when you don't think you deserve it. But we must remember we never know what someone else is going through". Lessons for the third graders... I pray no one ever makes them cry. They are so innocent.

I went back to my room and clung my Jesus Calling to my chest. I thanked God for the conversation, even though it made my heart hurt. Who knows, maybe I gained some ground with those boys?

After eating dinner alone, crying a little more, and really missing home, I decided I had to stop feeling sorry for myself. I marched my little butt over to see my little ones again while they got ready for bed. I found all the boys in their bedrooms, studying for their upcoming tests and chatting about family and best friends. I got to tuck in a few boys, help them change into their PJ's, and I had 18 good night hugs. It was just what I needed. Some love. I needed to know I was loved and appreciated. Here I am trying to give these 5-18 year olds love, when in turn I still crave that affection at 24 years old. Will it ever end? Probably not. But last night I was grateful for those sloppy kisses and smelly hugs more than ever.

Thank you, Jesus, for each day... even if at times it is one of those not-so-great ones.