There’s sports, and then there’s futbol.

Organized Competitive Sports.

I’ve never been a fan of playing them. Which is why I opted to run cross-country in high school. Any sport that allowed me to ‘play’ while not talking to others was something I could definitely do. I’m not a competitive person by any means. And I don’t thrive on the challenge of winning. I mean…if you want the ball so badly, here – take it. That’s the kind of attitude that got me booted from the soccer team… and the volleyball team in high school. But, anyways, I digress.

Towards the beginning of this year, a fellow non-profit organization, Sparrow Missions (check them out on FB), sent in a coach to start a futbol program with Senderos de Amor, a children’s home that I volunteer with. Twice a week, the boys practice and every weekend they have a game against a school, neighborhood, or a team from a futbol club. As important of a sport as futbol is in this country (Hondurans live and breathe the game), it hasn’t always been at the top of the priority list for this home. Things like educational materials, uniforms, food, cleaning supplies have taken precedence for money and staff resources. This became quite apparent as I watched the boys play today.

I wasn’t planning to stay for the game, however, I became aware of our visiting team’s fan club. Family and friends for the visiting team had plopped themselves on the grass next to the field.

Oh no. This cannot be. Me, the cook, the Psychologist, the secretary, and a few Tias and Tios crowded around our boys to cheer them on. As soon as the whistle blew, ‘los pequeños’, the little ones of Senderos de Amor battled up against a group of boys not older than them but clearly had more experience and practice time.

The other team had uniforms, very nice uniforms. From privately sponsored jerseys to the uniform tacos (cleats)

.

Our boys had one-size fits all jerseys sponsored by the local beer brewery and foam, Crock-like, slip on shoes for cleats.

Their coach yelled sporting-like directives (help me out here, I don’t know the lingo) like: Kick it! Go after it! Block it!

While our coach yelled things like: Open your eyes when the ball comes! Don’t eat the grass! And, your jersey is on backwards!

 When their players fell down, they looked to the coach to see if they would be yelled at.

When our players fell down, they laughed, as did our coach. Get up! Brush it off!

 When they won, they found favor in the arms of friends and family.

When we lost, we found encouragement in each other.

This is not to say that our boys are not taking the game seriously or that they are not training well. In fact, their weekly practice is one of the activities that simply allows the boys to be…boys. They look forward to it. Yet, even more than learning the game, they are learning to be humble. To appreciate and share what’s theirs because tomorrow it may not be there for them.

It’s a beautiful thing to watch these kids become. Become humble beings whose beginnings are rough, yet they continue to write their own stories into adulthood.

Sponsorship Program at Senderos de Amor!

BIG News!

The Children’s Home Project (TCHP) is starting a sponsorship program for children living in Senderos de Amor!!! As many of you know, I’ve been serving with this home since the beginning of the year. It has become my home away from home (away from home). It’s not the physical structures on the property, the tire swings, the computer lab where I spend most of my time, or the aroma of freshly made tortillas that make it feel like home. It’s the boys. All 40 of them.

These boys have stories to tell, and they are quite anxious to tell them.

Which is where YOU come into place.

Becoming a sponsor for a child living in a children’s home is about way more than paying a $35 monthly amount. I could list all the things that you could give up in your monthly budget to financially sponsor a child. I could tell you all the amazing things that will happen to your life when you sponsor a child.

But, I won’t. Instead I’ll tell you what it means to them, the children, to be sponsored.

 

To them, you have become family. They hold you, your words, and your affections in their back pockets. And when they need to, when they’ve had a rough day, or when they want to rejoice they will think of you. I’ve seen this many, many times in other children’s homes. A picture of you and them will be shoved under their pillow at night, or taped to the top of their trunk where they keep all of their belongings. Sometimes this picture will end up in their schoolwork. They will ask someone to read your letters to them over and over again, savoring your jokes and soaking in your encouragement.   To them, you are that special someone who cares. This is a big deal for children who are surrendered or abandoned. Most of these little guys have been raised with no mother or father figure in their lives. Most have had to learn how to be adult at a very young age.

So for them, you may be one of the few people who lets them enjoy their childhood. You may be one of the few people in their lives that works to reverse the lies the world has told them about who they are.

I find, that most children in children’s homes are grieving a loss. It may not be a death of a loved one that they grieve. It may have been abuse or neglect by family, they could have been separated from their family due to poverty, or they witnessed or were a victim of a tragedy in their young lives. I also find that the best way to walk beside a child who is grieving is to love them right where they are at. Your love will impact them in a BIG way.

For the nuts and bolts of THCP’s sponsorship program, click here. I will tell you that your 35$ donation will go towards all of the costs associated with caring for the children like food, clothing, medical needs, transportation, and education.

 

But the biggest impact is will be the relationship you can develop with your child.

Feel free to contact me directly if you have any questions, or take a look at our website (click here) for additional information!

35

If 40 is the new 50, and 30 is the new 40, that puts me right at 45?

Crap, I said the ‘F’ word.

35 is not a milestone.   There’s nothing so significant about hitting this mark.  Nothing, except falling into a different age category of taxes, the census, and CDC demographic surveys.   The good news is: I’m officially past young adulthood. Which means, I don’t have to know the latest dance moves – my 90’s skanking moves are just fine (whew). The bad new is: I’m officially past young adulthood. So when I do something incredibly childish (which happens on the daily), I really can’t blame any part of my developmental growth process. I’m surrounded by young, early 20 something ladies on the mission field who love to compare my life events to their birth events.

‘You started high school the year I was born!’ (insert expletives here).

The 20’s are supposed to be about discovering identity, I spent them recovering sanity. The 30’s are supposed to be about settling down, not uprooting life and being in a constant state of TRANSITION.

As my youthful years pass, I look less like my Latina counter parts in the same age bracket: Rosario Dawson, Jessica Alba, Zoe Saldana, America Ferrera.  And I begin to look more like my momma when she was around my age. My closest friends are my Tias (who are in their 60’s and 70’s).  My skin care regimen now involves copious amounts of sunscreen and the latest overly priced wrinkle deifier. I happen to be adamantly against working out.  Serious, if you don’t have a diet and exercise routine by 35, it just isn’t going to happen.  I do not want, nor will ever need a thigh gap. This year, all I want for my birthday is a chiropractic adjustment. Compression socks are at the top of my ‘to-buy’ list when I get stateside. They are FOR TRAVEL, not everyday use. As if.

The way I see it, I have two options. When I wake up in the morning and see a terrible case of bed head and squish lines on my face – I could judge myself, my life, and my attitude by 1^st world cultural and social standards. I’m not skinny enough, I’m not pretty enough, I’m not enough – enough.

-Or-

I could look at every one of my wrinkles, laugh lines, and grey hairs and think about all the emotions it took to get me here. I could feel each heart beat and know how many times I’ve over come death and how many times my heart had to be restarted. I could trace scars on my body – the little ones from tripping over my own two feet and the big ones, my battle wounds, that have roots tangled up in my heart and remember the grace and strength it took to get me through. I can whip up a mean batch of enchiladas and enjoy each bite without worry about making it to the gym (my gym involves being chased by 90 something kids every week).

So today I choose the wrinkles and the enchiladas.  I choose grace and forgiveness.  I choose life of the Kingdom calling me.  I choose love.

Yup. 35 is looking quite good.