FIJ Honduras: Foro Internacional de Jovenes

*Quick Disclaimer, then I’ll let you be on your way. I wrote most of this post on July 10, but haven’t had time to post it until just now. Stay tuned for long overdue updates from IYF (Missouri), SPEC and World Service Corps debriefing*

Decorating La Buena Fe for IYF! 

Buenas tardes, hermanos, y aquí son mis últimos saludos de Honduras.

Right, so if you don’t speak Spanish—Welcome to my last post from overseas as a World Service Corps volunteer. It’s weird, right? In less than 18 hours, we’ll be aboard a plane, to begin our last leg of The Great Migration. It’s weird.

Regardless, let’s recap.

Friday afternoon we headed out for La Buena Fe to start getting everything in order. There was much hanging of decorations and petty bickering over insignificant details, which is how I imagine many camps start. Eventually curtains were hung, cardboard letters were forcefully stapled into the cement wall and night fell as Katrina and I carefully selected what we estimated to be the best beds in the women’s dorm, which was two, giant connected rooms, stuffed with roughly 60 beds.

With Saturday came the slow arrival of the campers. We impatiently waited as people from El Salvador, Honduras, and Nicaragua trickled in, registering them and dishing out multicolored bracelets that said the weeks’ theme “Valor Para” (Courage.) In total, we ended up with about 60 kids, ages 14-28, with the grand majority of them being 16-18.

These boys were absolutely hilarious--never a dull moment. 

From there, the week began to fly. Apostle Barbara Carter flew in to deliver classes based on the week’s theme. The kids also attended classes that specifically focused on elements of Community of Christ, like Enduring Principles and Priesthood. I have never seen such dedicated students. The kids showed up to every class early with their bibles and notepads in hand. They took avid notes and there were moments when I looked up to realize that I was the only person in my entire row doodling in their notebook (guilty as charged.) They asked questions, even when they knew it would make class run late. My friends, these kids are a teacher’s dream.

My favorite part of our daily routine was small group time, because it gave me a chance to know eight of the campers really well. During this time, I was continually impressed by how open and willing these kids are to sharing their personal testimonies. It was touching to witness how these

kids started the week and where they ended up—they were living proof that camps and forums like this make a difference in people’s lives.

My kids in my small group--I'm so proud of them!

Every night, the kids hit the showers, put on their Sunday-best (for the women this included menacing stilettos) and we had a dynamic church service—and I don’t think you quite understand what I mean by “dynamic.” I feel like every “cool” church in movies is always some Southern Baptist congregation in the middle of nowhere Alabama where everyone is fanning themselves with a program, but there’s a fantastic preacher screaming, people nodding and rumbling “amen” and a triumphant, energetic choir decked out in shiny graduation-esc robes. Honduran church isn’t quite like that—but it’s by far the closest I’ve ever gotten to it. There’s a lot of passionate hand raising during the songs, spontaneous prayers mumbled aloud to one’s self and series of questions where you get to yell “Gloria a Dios!” or simply applaud and cheer loudly. The preachers were a mix a local leaders and leader’s from the World Church, each with distinctly different styles and tactics for delivering their message. 

Perhaps the most picturesque church moment was during Luis Dias’ sermon, which rivals anything you’ve ever seen depicted in a movie. It was a marathon of passionate yelling and I honestly have no idea how Luis was breathing, because it was an endless, energetic flowing monologue without pause or falter.  When he started, the room was thick was the day’s sweaty air, but as he continued a chilled breeze swept inside, ruffled the curtains, and eventually thunder rolled and lightening flashed behind him—it was seriously like something out of a movie. The part they don’t show in the movie is that at this point, the front two rows have to move because there’s a hole in the roof and everyone’s starting to get wet.

Ladee and Ana "helping" clear some brush.

The week was also loaded with special events—a talent night, a campfire, a service day where we cleared brush on the new grounds and, perhaps my personal favorite, an excursion day where we visited a local park that had a beautiful waterfall. 

By the time we hit talent night I had a grand realization—I have lost all shame that I once possessed (which honestly was never that much.)  One of the camp leaders mentioned to me I should sing a song for the talent show—I politely declined and told her I have no vocal skills. An hour later, she told me it was my last chance to add myself to the list—and that was all the “convincing” I needed. Before Katrina knew what hit her, I had signed her, one of the translators, one of the campers, and myself up to sing “The Funky Chicken” which is “El Pollo Loco” in Spanish. Despite not knowing the exact lyrics, we performed it for everyone and when it came time for “ la cucaracha” (cockroach) we were the only ones in the building rolling around on the floor (myself, shamelessly.)

Luis (wearing a Christmas tie) delivering his sermon. 

Campfire night presented us with another shameless opportunity to sing out of key, as we attempted to lead two songs, one of which (a round of Kum-Ba-Ya) was an absolute disaster (although the boys did get a kick out of the chanting version and yelled it at random moments throughout the rest of the camp.) Immediately following that would-be embarrassment, it was my turn to give a testimony about my journey with World Service Corps. Under a five-minute restriction, it was a bit of a challenge—not to mention the fact that it had to be shouted as I walked around the giant circle we’d formed around the campfire; however, I think it went well and I hope it at least spoke to a few of the campers listening.

Our last day of camp is perhaps the day that stands out the clearest in my mind--the day we spent swimming near a huge waterfall. Because swimming levels varied, the kids stayed in a shallow area playing games, building human pyramids, pushing eat other in the water and singing. I spent half the day talking with the girls from Nicaragua and half the day swimming with the rest of the kids. While the  afternoon’s bonding time was amazing, the best part of the day came later that night during worship.

The fantastic waterfall near where we swam. 

Things started with some fantastic music, including a few more songs from the rich voice of Guillermo then concluded with a sermon from Hermana Digna—but the main even turned out to be the time allotted for testimonies. Things started out slowly with a few reluctant hands, but built momentum as the night went on. There were apologies to family members for conflicts, stories of struggle and depression and talk of spiritual transformation. A number of kids mentioned originally not wanting to go to camp, only to arrive and have their lives changed. One boy shared a story of fasting for two days, just to decide if he should attend camp or not. Carlos Mejia tried to wrap up the testimonies multiple times, but the kids refused to be silent—they wanted their stories heard. With a slew of late testimonies, the service ran well over three hours long, later than 11 p.m. with the most genuine and touching testimonies I’ve ever heard. These kids are courageous and pour their entire hearts into IYF—and the result is huge, transformational experiences.

And just like that, the week that had began so slowly had ended so quickly. We were given a little over an hour to socialize and say some goodbyes after the testimony service, since many of the kids were leaving at different times early the next morning. Katrina and I headed out before 8 a.m. and we drove home from La Buena Fe reflecting. 

With Geri, the fantastic translator, Darywn and WILFREDO! 

When we arrived back in San Pedro Sula, we were greeted by Wilfredo, Darwyn (from Bolivia), Jaenette (from Colombia), Gustavo (from Chile) who were in Honduras for some meetings with Carlos. It was amazing to see Wilfredo one last time before heading home to the US and weird to think that we didn't know when we would see him again. After the headed out for their meeting, Katrina and I spent the remainder of the day with the Mejia family, packing, uploading photos and, of course, eating one last round of baleadas. The next morning came too soon and before we knew it we were bidding yet another family goodbye and heading to the airport.

See ya, David Enrique!

And that my friends, is the jist of Honduran experience. For a while, Katrina and I didn’t know if we were excited to go to Honduras or not—it was a weird state of being in limbo between leaving Peru and returning home. Yet, looking back, I wouldn’t have done it any other way. Honduras was, in some ways, just as rich of an experience as Peru was. It was a different viewpoint of the Community of Christ and a reminder that just because two countries speak Spanish, doesn't mean that they have much in common. 

And now--limbo is over, and it's time to remember what Community of Christ is like in the United States. 

**As mentioned earlier, I’m writing a few more posts before I retire from blogging (for now anyway.) Check back in a few days to hear about IYF in the US!**