A moving, shaking experience

We all seem pre-occupied lately with fears about the value of 401(k)s, the effects of state budget cuts, or job security. These are real worries—I don’t mean to diminish them—but last month I took part in a medical mission trip to Honduras with my 9-year-old daughter, where our experiences quickly, stunningly put our problems into proper, sobering perspective.

Our Baton Rouge team of church volunteers and medical professionals ventured to remote villages to provide free medical and dental treatment.

The largest country in Central America, Honduras is also one of the poorest in the Western Hemisphere. Millions live in poverty and squalor, often lacking even basic healthcare. We expected to see hardship and knew we would be moved. But what happened not only surprised—and even frightened—us, it moved and inspired us more deeply than we imagined.

The first day we hiked for an hour from our base to a school where we set up a one-day clinic. In reality, the school was a shack. Grateful parents queued for hours in the hot sun with their malnourished children, their teeth rotten for lack of a mere toothbrush, and beset by a variety of untreated infections and parasites.

Our hearts broke to see such rampant malnutrition and illness.

The dental team spent hours pulling teeth, often four or five per patient. After a day’s work we hiked back down to return to our compound.

The next day we drove four hours deep into the jungle and mountains to a village never before visited by a medical mission like ours. En route we saw snakes, exotic birds, horses, pigs, cows and even iguanas. Our plan was to camp there for two days and treat as many people as possible. This village had no electricity, no access to healthcare and only limited sanitation and running water.

The people had nothing but the land and the place they lived. When we arrived, our teams got started: the medical teams set up treatment stations, while our cooking team set up a gigantic pot to serve pasta and Louisiana jambalaya.

Hundreds waited in line for medical attention. One mother I met walked six hours to bring her child—and to think I complain when I must wait at a red light. After we put in a solid 10 work hours, the sun started setting, and we needed to pitch our tents for the night.

We would have camped in a nearby field, but it was infested with ticks and fleas. Neil Jackson, one of our lead volunteers and resident “Rambo,” swept out an old brick shed with a tin roof, and we set up there.

As soon as the sun went down, the whole place plunged into total darkness. Lots of thoughts ran through my mind, like wondering what these folks do at night. There’s no television, radio, electronic games, restaurants, malls, ice cream or reading material. It was tough to fall sleep, but by 11 p.m. I finally started to drift off.

Around 3 a.m., in a deep sleep, we felt the ground shudder and heard what sounded like gusting winds blowing right at us. I woke instantly, but I assumed it was just a storm and lay my head down again. Less than two minutes later the ground began to shake, this time violently, the walls and the tin roof rattling noisily. This time, it sounded like a tornado and a freight train were headed straight at us in the pitch-black darkness.

I instinctively covered my little girl with my body and grasped at the flashlight. As quickly as it had begun, it stopped. Everyone ran outside, and we realized it was an earthquake. Not surprisingly, most of us couldn’t sleep again.

In the morning, we found out it was a 7.1 magnitude earthquake that shook the whole country. The sun rose at 5 a.m., and soon dozens, then hundreds of people from nearby villages who’d heard about our team were lined up.

They arrived full of hope, and our team was ready. We hit it hard for eight hours, but then it was time to leave. As we began to pack up, an elderly man pulled me aside and asked me in Spanish to gather the team because he wanted to share something with us. After we finished packing, everyone gathered and listened to the man. His tone was humble and grateful. He thanked us for leaving families and friends in the United States just to come and help his. He took out an old Bible and read a beautiful passage from the book of Psalms. Lastly, he said, “We are poor and I have no money to give you, but I do have a gift to give all of you.” Then, he sang us a song.

Some of us wept, realizing this man was giving us the most valuable thing he owned, a piece of his heart. It was not the most valuable gift I’ve been given, but it was the most precious, and I will never forget it.

When I returned, I realized I am blessed to live in America, where we have so much! Even the poor here are far better off than so many of those we saw in Honduras. While life here may be tight financially these days, we are reminded that yes, we can do with less. More importantly, we should not only appreciate what we have, but be prepared to share it with others, who may truly need it more than we do.