Progress: The road to togetherness

​On the final night of my trip to Honduras, our group was asked to reflect on the most meaningful moment of our trip. Hard as I tried, I couldn't come up with a moment.

Instead, it was a word that kept coming to mind.

Over and over, as I lay on my bed trying to come up with the one moment, it was a word I kept hearing and not a moment I kept seeing.

And that word was progress.

I visited Honduras back in 2019 - nearly four years ago. And two really important things have made a lot of progress since then.

Honduras.

And me.

I think what caught me off guard was just how much it felt like I was in Honduras to receive and not give this time around. Much of that because we received numerous acts of gratitude from the Honduran people.

We spent two hours at one shoe distribution taking in a program the people had put together just to say thank you. This included flying proudly our American flag right next to their Honduran flag in their school yard.

You could tell they'd spent weeks preparing for this chance to show us gracias.

There was the little boy who hiked from his village to our lunch spot - no easy hike - carrying a pot of coffee he'd made and brought with him a single cup.

His way of saying thank you for coming into my life.

There was the number of Honduran people who said 'thank you' and not 'gracias' - as if they felt some longing to connect with our hearts as we struggled to translate the words that might pour into theirs.

Several times during this trip I found myself receiving and not giving. Don't get me wrong; I received last time. Tremendously. But this time it felt like receiving was the purpose and not one of the outcomes.

Certainly a lot of that was because parts of Honduras have come a long way the last four years. I always hesitate to say something like that for fear it minimizes just how far there is to go.

But I think many Hondurans feel the progress. And it feels like gratitude. I know that because I too have made progress the last four years. It does feel like gratitude.

I have also had to wonder in the aftermath of that reflection if I might have a heart more open to receiving these days than I did back then. Because make no mistake, a different person went to Honduras in 2023 than the one who went in 2019.

My life looks nothing like it did back then.

In 2019, I was approaching the end of a life that had felt like a constant battle. A battle with demons. A battle with shame and guilt. A battle with worthiness. A battle with relationships.

In many ways Honduras 2019 was my white flag moment. My surrender. And maybe it's in surrender that we stumble upon discovery. The discovery of who we truly are and who we truly long to be.

I have discovered in this great surrender that when we give up fighting the world we are much more open to receiving it.

Hugs no longer feel forced; they feel like an embrace.

Thank you doesn't feel like like words; it feels like gracias.

Being human no longer feels like an eternal and hopeless battle with one's self, but a beautiful chance to struggle together.

Because that is where hope is: together.

That is where thank you and gracias are: together.

That is where progress leads: together.

I'm forever thankful for my 2023 Honduras adventure and the beautiful people I shared it with: together.

And I am forever in love with the people of Honduras. I've been there twice now, but it will forever feel like they came to me.

At just the right time.

Progress. 

​Together.