"So, what do you do on a typical day?"

The question in the title of today's blog has been asked often during my trips to the States.   It is, perhaps, the hardest question of all to answer, mostly because I rarely have "a typical day."   Today, though, was fairly typical, so I thought I'd share it with those of you who have asked (or thought) this question.

I got up early, fixed coffee, spent a few minutes in my Bible and in conversation with Jesus, checked my emails, and then woke up Sallie and Elsa for school.    Sallie would not get up.   I finally gave up, got Elsa ready, and Mary, Elsa and I headed out the door:   Mary to university, Elsa to first grade, me to work.   On the way into the city, Mary shared with me that a little girl has been bullying Sallie at her new school.    It all started last Friday on Sallie's birthday.  I took cake and ice cream to her classroom for a little celebration, and as a special surprise for Sallie, I invited her birthmom, Margarita.   Until then, Sallie had been the new, popular second-grade girl.  After that, however, a little girl in her classroom declared that Sallie's mom was "poor, fat and stupid, and so Sallie must be, too," and began to encourage the other children to exclude her from their play and conversations.   So when I dropped Elsa off, I went inside the school and shared our dilemma with the school principal.  We are awaiting a response. 

From school, I went to buy dog food at the feed store, and then I drove up to our ministry office for a 9am meeting.   When I got there I signed a letter authorizing one of our ministry workers to receive a pick-up being donated to us by USAID (hurrah! -- if it runs), and a letter of recommendation for a couple in the process of adoption (hurrah! -- if it's approved).   The meeting had to do with a ministry worker whose job became obsolete in September, and who should have then been given her severance pay.   However, there was a pretty big disagreement about how much was owed, and both sides contracted attorneys.    I was not here when this happened, or it would not have happened because we never ever win labor disputes.  Ever.   However, our Honduran staff, eager to save us some money, and perhaps show me that a victory was possible, threw themselves into what always ends up being a nasty fight.   By the time I got back to Honduras, the fray had turned into a lawsuit.   At the meeting with the woman and her lawyer, I asked the woman's forgiveness, explained that our staff was trying to protect our resources, but had made a hasty decision in contracting an outside attorney (who turned out to be corrupt), and that I hoped she would accept our apologies and a check for the full amount of her severance pay.   She did, thanks be to God, and we parted reconciled.    I spent a few minutes with our legal guy, encouraging him to be careful when seeking outside help, that when it was necessary to do so, we should be as certain as possible that the person shares our Christian values.   He then asked my forgiveness.  "I messed up," he said.  "Sorry."   We hugged.   The entire encounter from start to finish lasted 45 minutes.

From there I went to Children's Court.   Lucy's birthmom had requested to see her three older children, and she had asked me to go along.   Because of the other meeting, I didn't promise, but since it was over quickly, I took off for the court.   Guess what -- it had changed location!   ugh.    I finally found it, and thankfully was able to find Maribel pretty quickly.  She was understandably anxious and tearful.   She had not seen the children in five years.    Only two of them were there; the uncle had placed the seven-yr-old girl in a children's home.   He was telling the social worker that he wanted to place the boy in the children's home as well.  

Since Maribel has been in prison, and has run with thieves and gangs, she does not have a lot of credibility at Children's Court.   However, for the past year, she has been trying to live a different kind of life.   She isn't doing drugs, and she is looking for honest ways to make a living.   She has placed her baby, Fernando, in our daycare in Flor.   She was very glad to see me, as she was there all alone trying to get permission to visit her children, but without anyone to speak for her.    I sat with her as we had an interview with the social worker, a very nice lady who spent a good bit of time encouraging Maribel to be hopeful and to continue to get her life on track.   Maribel is only 25 years old, but is understandably depressed and insecure.    After the interview, we left Children's Court and went somewhere to talk for another hour or so.   I wanted to give her some more encouragement.  

After that, I went to the grocery to get some food for our house, and then stopped at the bank to pay the light bill.   When I was about the third person in line, all of a sudden a well-dressed lady broke out of the line and stomped up to the window ahead of everybody else.   Nobody said anything, but the body language and facial expressions were priceless -- and loaded.   While "the rich lady" was at the window, an older woman came in, and she also went to the front of the line (senior citizens' privilege).   I quietly remarked to the lady in front of me, "One day we'll either be rich or old, and then we can go to the front of the line."   She looked at me and laughed and said, "Your Spanish is very good!"   

 After the bank (and a chocolate milkshake), I picked up Elsa.   We stopped on the way home to look for the things I forgot to get at the supermarket (old, forgetful people have to do these things!), and to get some poster paper for Elsa.   Only pink was available, to which Elsa emphatically said no (she does not like pink!).

We came home.   I am sitting at my computer writing this blog.   It is 5:00pm.   My typical day is not yet over, but this blog must have an early ending.

My thoughts are swirling around Maribel and her children.   Maribel can't stop beating herself up because of the damage she has done to her children by her behavior.   She said, "I told myself, 'The world has treated me badly, so I'm going to do all I can to hurt the world, but I didn't mean to hurt my own children.'"      This is a young woman who was given away as a baby, sexually abused from the age of eight by her own father, and then picked up by a father-figure pimp at age twelve.   By age fourteen, she'd already had her first baby.   And yet she only blames herself. 

Please pray for Maribel, and for all those who need to know that Jesus is for them.    When I dropped her off, I put my hand on her head and said, "I love you.   And Jesus loves you, too.  Keep hoping."   "Really?" she said.  "I don't know."

I leave you with the desperate uncertainty of the brokenhearted.