The following blog was written before Project 541 was started - at the beginning of Kayla's dream.
- Heading Home
- Well folks I’m gearing up to make the journey back to the US for the first time in 6 months. I am very excited to visit with friends, be with my family, and have a little time to myself while I am there, although to be honest, the idea of highways, WalMarts, and sleeping in a bed alone without Esteban cuddled up next to me sounds a little intimidating. However, a week at home, a week on the beach, and a wedding with my whole extended family together makes me very anxious to be home. I can remember when I was little, the few occasions that my mom had to be gone for a week or so, the extensive planning that was done in preparation for her to be away. I feel that way now. Arranging caretakers, explaining that I will be gone for 2 Wednesdays before I return, writing lists of souvenirs to bring back with me, and starting to set aside what I want to pack, and what to leave behind. I look forward to a Keurig coffee maker, a deep tissue massage, air conditioning, fresh lettuce, and hot showers. However, thinking about being away from this place, from these kids, from the dust, and from the desperation makes me uneasy. This is what I have made for myself. When I am here, I almost forget what it was like to live in that other life in the States. It’s like I was a different person, in a different story, living for something totally different than what I am living for now. Heading back to the US places me back into an environment where the sheer abundance of things makes me queasy. I am praying for safe travels, a restful few weeks, and a joyful return here to La Moskitia after long overdue hugs, and conversation with the people I miss everyday while I’m here.
Exhaustion, Triumph, and Stewardship
Little Anabel
First and foremost, I apologize for the lengthy absence from my blog. Things here in Puerto Lempira have been nothing less than insane. Sadly, one of our babies passed away the other week. Precious Anabel Talia was 6 weeks old when she came to live at the House, fought an unknown illness for about 2 weeks, and finally passed away at 2 am in the arms of her father. Losing a child is never easy for anyone. We feel a certain attachment, and responsibility for each child who comes through the gates to live with us. I felt confused, disheartened, and sad that we had not had more time with her. One of the hardest realities here is that unfortunately, things like this happen often, and people here have become accustomed to death. A typical family will experience at least one death of a child. As awful/strange/terrible as it sounds, it is kind of normal. I got the news that she had died, helped her father pick out white clothes to bury her in, passage money to travel to his village for the funeral, and he was on his way. I looked around me and things were normal. Classes went on as normal, the kids were running around as normal, it was as if nothing had happened, and yet this sweet little girl wasn’t here anymore. I struggled with the simple way that every one moved on from this. In the US if a baby had died like that there would have been tears shed, arrangements made, meals cooked for the family, and heartache. On the outside I didn’t see any of this when Anabel died. But after a few days I started to realize that in fact there was heart ache and grief, it just wasn’t on the surface. I could see the emotion deep within the people who loved her, but it took time to find it.
In the past few weeks the co-volunteers that I have lived with, and grown close to in the past year have all made their way back to the US. One by one the kids and I said goodbye to them, wished them well on their journey home, and begged for promises of their return. I kicked solo for about a week with all the kiddos. It meant an early rise every morning, and a late bedtime every night. The work that had been split between 4 of us now was my responsibility alone. The kids were actually very well behaved, and understanding that I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off. They were helpful, and self sufficient as much as possible.
Esteban lives with me full time now. He has been a full-timer for about 3 weeks now. He’s learning some sign language, getting fatter by the day, and even starting to form new syllables when he babbles. He’s starting to be able to crawl by pulling himself in an army crawl across the floor. His toy cars are great incentive for exercise, and when is crawls now you can see his muscles! Speaking of muscles, I have them! Caring for him has changed both my heart and my body. I am physically stronger from toting him around everywhere, mentally stronger from problem solving with limited resources, and spiritually more patient, loving, and able.
The progress on Arnold’s Visa is… slow. His mother does not have an identity card, and until we can get that, things are at a stand still. I am working with the mayor, and the governor to try and speed up obtaining the card, as it can often take over a year. Once we have the card, it is mostly smooth sailing to the interview at the Embassy. I will not lie and tell you that I am not frustrated and beat down. It bothers me that it is so hard to do a good thing for someone, but I will not give up, will not lay down and die, and will not stop working for this incredible chance that Arnold has in for his life. If there are any prayer warriors out there, get on your knees! We need all the help that we can get.
I am coming up on the 5 month mark quickly. I am planning a trip back to the US in May to visit with family and friends for a few weeks. I am VERY excited to see everyone, get a little rest while I’m home, and return to Puerto Lempira to finish up the summer before heading back to school in the US in August.
Thank you all for your prayers and support. Here in La Moskitia, we need as much of both as we can get!
First and foremost, I apologize for the lengthy absence from my blog. Things here in Puerto Lempira have been nothing less than insane. Sadly, one of our babies passed away the other week. Precious Anabel Talia was 6 weeks old when she came to live at the House, fought an unknown illness for about 2 weeks, and finally passed away at 2 am in the arms of her father. Losing a child is never easy for anyone. We feel a certain attachment, and responsibility for each child who comes through the gates to live with us. I felt confused, disheartened, and sad that we had not had more time with her. One of the hardest realities here is that unfortunately, things like this happen often, and people here have become accustomed to death. A typical family will experience at least one death of a child. As awful/strange/terrible as it sounds, it is kind of normal. I got the news that she had died, helped her father pick out white clothes to bury her in, passage money to travel to his village for the funeral, and he was on his way. I looked around me and things were normal. Classes went on as normal, the kids were running around as normal, it was as if nothing had happened, and yet this sweet little girl wasn’t here anymore. I struggled with the simple way that every one moved on from this. In the US if a baby had died like that there would have been tears shed, arrangements made, meals cooked for the family, and heartache. On the outside I didn’t see any of this when Anabel died. But after a few days I started to realize that in fact there was heart ache and grief, it just wasn’t on the surface. I could see the emotion deep within the people who loved her, but it took time to find it.
In the past few weeks the co-volunteers that I have lived with, and grown close to in the past year have all made their way back to the US. One by one the kids and I said goodbye to them, wished them well on their journey home, and begged for promises of their return. I kicked solo for about a week with all the kiddos. It meant an early rise every morning, and a late bedtime every night. The work that had been split between 4 of us now was my responsibility alone. The kids were actually very well behaved, and understanding that I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off. They were helpful, and self sufficient as much as possible.
Esteban lives with me full time now. He has been a full-timer for about 3 weeks now. He’s learning some sign language, getting fatter by the day, and even starting to form new syllables when he babbles. He’s starting to be able to crawl by pulling himself in an army crawl across the floor. His toy cars are great incentive for exercise, and when is crawls now you can see his muscles! Speaking of muscles, I have them! Caring for him has changed both my heart and my body. I am physically stronger from toting him around everywhere, mentally stronger from problem solving with limited resources, and spiritually more patient, loving, and able.
The progress on Arnold’s Visa is… slow. His mother does not have an identity card, and until we can get that, things are at a stand still. I am working with the mayor, and the governor to try and speed up obtaining the card, as it can often take over a year. Once we have the card, it is mostly smooth sailing to the interview at the Embassy. I will not lie and tell you that I am not frustrated and beat down. It bothers me that it is so hard to do a good thing for someone, but I will not give up, will not lay down and die, and will not stop working for this incredible chance that Arnold has in for his life. If there are any prayer warriors out there, get on your knees! We need all the help that we can get.
I am coming up on the 5 month mark quickly. I am planning a trip back to the US in May to visit with family and friends for a few weeks. I am VERY excited to see everyone, get a little rest while I’m home, and return to Puerto Lempira to finish up the summer before heading back to school in the US in August.
Thank you all for your prayers and support. Here in La Moskitia, we need as much of both as we can get!
From the middle of nowhere, to farther in the middle of nowhere…
- Last Monday I took a trip with my co-volunteer, Lauren, to a village called Ahuas, in an attempt to obtain more documents needed for Arnold’s visa. Arnold is originally from the village Paptalaya, which is on the outskirts of Ahuas, and I went with the intention of getting a death certificate for his father. As is common here in Honduras things went absolutely NOT as planned, and my flexibility/patience was tested once again.
Lauren and I arrived at the pier ready to leave at the scheduled time of 10:30 AM……. so at about 1 PM we left the dock. Ahuas is about a 2 and a half hour boat ride from Puerto Lempira. Keep in mind, the “boat” is more like a dug out canoe with a motor tied onto the back with a rope. After crossing the lagoon, it became very clear to me that we were headed into deep, deep jungle. As the minutes passed, the water way got smaller and smaller until we were creeping our way through thick jungle. The canopy was so dense that the sun was limited to little patches here and there. Monkeys were swinging in the trees above our heads, and crocodiles swam along on either side of our boat. Needless to say, the two Americans had our mouths open, and eyes turned upwards, in complete awe of where we were.
When we got to Ahuas, we climbed off the boat, up an embankment, and took a look around…. nothing. For miles. And miles. We both looked at each other, a little perplexed, and leaned down to the driver of the boat and asked, “Where do we go from here?” He very calmly said, “Go that way, a car will come for you” and pointed in the direction of nowhere. Looking around and seeing that there were no other options, we took off on foot in the general direction that he had pointed. After a short 5 minute walk, we came to a sudden stop. Mud. Thigh-deep, thick, smelly, cow manure mixed with dirt. Mud. With no other options, we dove in. If you didn’t know, walking in mud higher than your knees is not an easy task. But we did just that for more than a mile before reaching what you could call a “road.” By this time, most of the other passengers had loaded up a truck on the way to another village, so Lauren and I were left to wait for a car with the boat driver.
After waiting for 2 MORE hours (still on Honduran time, you see) a truck finally came and picked us up to bring us into the village of Ahuas. A 30 minute ride in the bed of a truck, and one pack of Ritz Bits later (we still had not eaten since breakfast), we finally arrived at our destination. A good friend of mine from PL named Kimberlyn is a leader in the YWAM school in Ahuas, and offered us free housing and food there at the base.
We spent the next 3 days tracking down Arnold’s family, walking all over the place, and making extraordinary progress with Arnold’s visa. I got to spend time with his family, see his horses, and look at pictures of his relatives, from recent pictures of his sisters, to old, old pictures of his great grandparents. It was incredible.
We headed back to PL dirty, exhausted, and sore, but so SO content. On the boat-ride back, I caught myself looking around at where I was, who I was with, and thinking, “Who would have thought I would end up here?” HERE, of all places. I’m 19 years old. 2 years ago I was a high-school student, worried about football games, and spring break plans. And now… I’m here. In the middle of the jungle, living with a tribe of Indians, caring for a cerebral palsy child. What a miracle it is that I am here! I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I love being able to travel around to different villages, meet different people, and learn things every single day. Every day I’m learning more language. Every day I’m learning how to be a better Miskita. Every day my limits are pushed a little bit further, and I have the ability to fail, or to prove to myself that I have got what it takes to live in one of the most extreme environments on Earth. What an incredible life it is!
Desperation: A state of hopelessness that leads to rashness
- Desperation is a staple here. In this place it seems sometimes that everyone is desperate. Desperation is defined in 2 ways. The first says that desperation is loss of hope, and surrender to despair. The other definition states that desperation is a state of hopelessness that leads to rashness. Both are equally and respectfully true. I went with one of our teenage girls to her home a few days ago to ask her mother about her birth certificate, in order to properly enroll her in school. I have known this family for a few years, and yet I never expected what this trip would turn out to be. We walked to her house, and while deep in conversation I her suddenly say, “Where is it?” It took me a minute to register what exactly this statement meant, but upon looking up I realized that in fact, her house was gone. Not damaged, not burned down, nothing. There was just… nothing. Not a single board was left on the ground in the place where her tiny, ram shackled old house used to stand. I looked at her and at a loss for words I could only get out, “Where is your house? Where is your family?” and she answered with a simple, “I don’t know, Kayla. I don’t know.” We had no other choice but to turn around and start walking back home. Just like that her whole house and family were missing, and we couldn’t do anything but leave in silence. From there we walked to her grandmother’s house, where we indeed found her family living in a slum, ankle deep in muddy water, swarming with mosquitoes and flies. Her brothers and sisters were naked, swimming in what was supposed to be the well, which had turned out to be nothing more than a place to throw away your trash. Upon seeing an American, her grandfather quickly got me a chair outside, and sent Elisa inside to talk to her mother and grandmother about her birth certificate. I patiently sat in my little chair watching the other children play, listening to the hell that was evolving inside. All I could hear was a bunch of yelling in Miskito, and when my friend emerged she was teary eyed and asking to leave. “Not without your birth certificate” I responded, and marched my happy butt into her house to ask her mother what the problem was. To make a long story short, we got the birth certificate, and on the walk home, she started telling me what her mother had said to her. This mother, to her first born child, had told her that she was going to kill her if she ever came back, that she was a dirty, lying, stealing child, with a few choice words and not so nice names thrown in there as well. Elisa then went on to tell me about the night in 2010 when her mother had sent 3 men to kill her, she had been raped by her uncle, and had run to the House of Hope for safety. Desperation. As she explained in detail these events, showed me the scars on her neck, and cried about how she wanted her mom, but her mom didn’t want her, I could only think one thing. Desperation. Elisa is desperate. Her mother is desperate. I wanted an answer as to why she seemed to hate her daughter so much, but the answer I was searching for was simple. Desperation. Her mother is a desperate woman, hopeless enough that it has lead to rashness. But Elisa has opportunity now. That life is not her only option. She will be educated, healthy, and most importantly she will confidently know that she is loveable and beautiful, and that she has a family here at the House of Hope forever. This is why I live here. To be able to love on girls like Elisa, so that she can know boldly that she is worthy of love is what I get to do every morning when I wake up. And what a beautiful life that is!
This is Esteban!
He is a precious 10 year old boy with cerebral palsy that I have started caring for during the day. I have known Esteban since 2010, when I visited his house and happened to find him padlocked inside alone, naked, and with ants crawling all over his body. As you might know, cerebral palsy is a disease whose effects vary from case to case. Much like autism, cerebral palsy has a wide range of severity, some people high functioning, and some people completely disabled. Esteban, unfortunately, is one of the most severe cases of CP that I have ever witnessed. His legs are almost completely useless and atrophied, his muscle movements in his arms and hands not controlled enough to even put food to his mouth. He is 26 pounds at 10 years old, so not only does he have a severe disability, he is malnourished and neglected as well. As is sadly common in situations like this, the disabled child becomes a burden, and a source of hatred for their parents here. When talking with Esteban’s older sister, she told me that if Esteban points to food, her mother responds by telling him that if he can’t walk and go poop by himself, he has no right to be begging for food. It is here that I want to tell you that Esteban is one of the most JOYFUL people I have ever been around. He is intelligent, loving, funny, and to say the least easily entertained. He communicates mostly with his eyebrows and laughter, and we are working on some signs for him to tell me when he has to use the bathroom, when he’s hungry (he learned that one very quickly), and when he wants to watch our favorite movie… BBC’s Planet Earth! It is not easy caring for a child like this. The diapers, drooling, dressing, and transporting issues are nothing that I have experienced before. Sure, I’ve dealt with baby poop and drool, but as one can imagine a 10 year old definitely produces more of both (although I have seen some babies that could compete in both quantity and quality). He has taught me the meaning of “the least of these”, and however frustrated, exhausted, or unable I feel I am, I can look at him and see grace that comes from a face that has seen so much hurt, and love from a person that has been so unloved in his life. He just has to look at me and I know that the problems we face here in this world will not be forever. I know confidently that there is a just God that holds a very special place in heaven for people like Esteban. I feel honored to be able to know him, happy to spend my days with him, and grateful for what he has taught me these past few weeks. I spend my days with an angel here, and what an incredible gift that is!
He is a precious 10 year old boy with cerebral palsy that I have started caring for during the day. I have known Esteban since 2010, when I visited his house and happened to find him padlocked inside alone, naked, and with ants crawling all over his body. As you might know, cerebral palsy is a disease whose effects vary from case to case. Much like autism, cerebral palsy has a wide range of severity, some people high functioning, and some people completely disabled. Esteban, unfortunately, is one of the most severe cases of CP that I have ever witnessed. His legs are almost completely useless and atrophied, his muscle movements in his arms and hands not controlled enough to even put food to his mouth. He is 26 pounds at 10 years old, so not only does he have a severe disability, he is malnourished and neglected as well. As is sadly common in situations like this, the disabled child becomes a burden, and a source of hatred for their parents here. When talking with Esteban’s older sister, she told me that if Esteban points to food, her mother responds by telling him that if he can’t walk and go poop by himself, he has no right to be begging for food. It is here that I want to tell you that Esteban is one of the most JOYFUL people I have ever been around. He is intelligent, loving, funny, and to say the least easily entertained. He communicates mostly with his eyebrows and laughter, and we are working on some signs for him to tell me when he has to use the bathroom, when he’s hungry (he learned that one very quickly), and when he wants to watch our favorite movie… BBC’s Planet Earth! It is not easy caring for a child like this. The diapers, drooling, dressing, and transporting issues are nothing that I have experienced before. Sure, I’ve dealt with baby poop and drool, but as one can imagine a 10 year old definitely produces more of both (although I have seen some babies that could compete in both quantity and quality). He has taught me the meaning of “the least of these”, and however frustrated, exhausted, or unable I feel I am, I can look at him and see grace that comes from a face that has seen so much hurt, and love from a person that has been so unloved in his life. He just has to look at me and I know that the problems we face here in this world will not be forever. I know confidently that there is a just God that holds a very special place in heaven for people like Esteban. I feel honored to be able to know him, happy to spend my days with him, and grateful for what he has taught me these past few weeks. I spend my days with an angel here, and what an incredible gift that is!
Meet Marisol!
She came to the House of Hope about a month ago at 7 months, and a whopping 7 pounds. At first glance she might appear to be chubby, but she is in fact swollen. When a child is denied proper nutrition their tissues swell up, and they are distinctly swollen, experience hair loss, lethargy, and skin abnormalities. As you can see in this picture, Marisol portrays all of these symptoms. For the first time in my life I watched an IV be given to a child, and no blood come out. The nurses and doctors gathered around to watch, most of whom had never seen anything like it. “Puro agua! Puro agua!” they said, which means, “Pure water! Pure water!” There was so little blood in her body, that when poked with a needle, instead of blood, there was just water. The necklace that she wears is a Miskito tradition. They believe that wearing a red bracelet or necklace keeps the evil spirits away, and in hopes of a quick recovery, her mother keeps one around her neck at all times. This picture was taken in the hospital, but she has now come back to the House, her swelling is going down, and she seems to be getting stronger every day.
She came to the House of Hope about a month ago at 7 months, and a whopping 7 pounds. At first glance she might appear to be chubby, but she is in fact swollen. When a child is denied proper nutrition their tissues swell up, and they are distinctly swollen, experience hair loss, lethargy, and skin abnormalities. As you can see in this picture, Marisol portrays all of these symptoms. For the first time in my life I watched an IV be given to a child, and no blood come out. The nurses and doctors gathered around to watch, most of whom had never seen anything like it. “Puro agua! Puro agua!” they said, which means, “Pure water! Pure water!” There was so little blood in her body, that when poked with a needle, instead of blood, there was just water. The necklace that she wears is a Miskito tradition. They believe that wearing a red bracelet or necklace keeps the evil spirits away, and in hopes of a quick recovery, her mother keeps one around her neck at all times. This picture was taken in the hospital, but she has now come back to the House, her swelling is going down, and she seems to be getting stronger every day.
I would like for you to meet Arnold!
I have some great news to share with all of you who have supported me in my missions here in Honduras. After many obstacles, lots of research, and even more prayers, my parents and I have come to the decision to pursue bringing this young man home to live with us in the States, and attend school on an Education Visa. He is an enthusiastic, intelligent, and FUNNY 10 year old, with so much love to give to everyone he is around. One of 10 children, his family is very poor and at the age of 8 he took to the streets of Puerto Lempira, hustling his way out of starvation. This is the fate of far too many boys here in PL, when there is no food at home, they are often forced to become “street boys”. After coming to the HOH he proved just how intelligent he was in the classroom, and quickly became one of our outstanding students. It has been a difficult process already, and it is far from over. However, as a family we are 100% committed to trying to make this dream a reality for Arnold. The first steps are out of the way now, and it is time for the legal process to begin. After talking with Arnold’s mother, we are in agreement that if educated in the US, he will be more prepared and capable to one day come back to this place, and help the community that we both love so much. The road is just now beginning for Arnold, and if any of you are interested in helping with the process, learning more about him personally, or have extra time in your day to pray for this young man, please do so! If you would like to contact me about Arnold’s situation, you can email me at kayla-austin@mocs.utc.edu, or at kmaustin0592@yahoo.com. Thank you all again for your support over the past 2 years, I will keep you updated on Arnold’s visa process. We are well on our way to having a new member of the Austin family!
I have some great news to share with all of you who have supported me in my missions here in Honduras. After many obstacles, lots of research, and even more prayers, my parents and I have come to the decision to pursue bringing this young man home to live with us in the States, and attend school on an Education Visa. He is an enthusiastic, intelligent, and FUNNY 10 year old, with so much love to give to everyone he is around. One of 10 children, his family is very poor and at the age of 8 he took to the streets of Puerto Lempira, hustling his way out of starvation. This is the fate of far too many boys here in PL, when there is no food at home, they are often forced to become “street boys”. After coming to the HOH he proved just how intelligent he was in the classroom, and quickly became one of our outstanding students. It has been a difficult process already, and it is far from over. However, as a family we are 100% committed to trying to make this dream a reality for Arnold. The first steps are out of the way now, and it is time for the legal process to begin. After talking with Arnold’s mother, we are in agreement that if educated in the US, he will be more prepared and capable to one day come back to this place, and help the community that we both love so much. The road is just now beginning for Arnold, and if any of you are interested in helping with the process, learning more about him personally, or have extra time in your day to pray for this young man, please do so! If you would like to contact me about Arnold’s situation, you can email me at kayla-austin@mocs.utc.edu, or at kmaustin0592@yahoo.com. Thank you all again for your support over the past 2 years, I will keep you updated on Arnold’s visa process. We are well on our way to having a new member of the Austin family!
- Hello friends! It’s been a while since my last blog update, and we’ve been VERY busy! The new school year started this week which means lots of new kids, new schedules, and of course, new challenges. We have exactly 60 kids enrolled in school here at the House of Hope, so we are full to bursting! With almost 40 living in the House now, and so many coming from outside for most of the day, us volunteers have had to adjust as well. Here in Puerto Lempira, not everyone gets to go to school. Kids are starving to learn, and so a new school year for them for them means opportunity and hope for a future. It has been fun to watch children being given this chance for the first time, so excited to finally be going to school.
More good news! Yesterday, precious 5 year old Osorio came to live with us here at the House of Hope. Seen running the streets, smoking cigarettes, and drinking beer we quickly realized that he was a perfect fit for the House. He is just ADORABLE, and though it will definitely be a process getting him used to the rules here, I certainly enjoyed picking out new clothes for him!
Those are just a few highlights from around here, and although there is much more to tell, duty calls! I will try and update more regularly now that we have more of a set schedule.