Homeward Bound

August 8, 2012

In the quiet misty morning when the moon has gone to bed,
When the sparrows cease their singing and the sky is clear and red,
When the summer’s stopped its gleaming and the corn is past its prime,
When adventure’s lost its meaning, I’ll be homeward bound in time.

Bind me not to the pasture, chain me not to the plow.
Set me free to find my calling, and I’ll return to you somehow.

If you find it’s me you’re missing, if you’re hoping I’ll return,
To your thoughts I’ll soon be listening; in the road, I’ll stop and turn.
Then the wind will set me racing as my journey nears its end,
And my steps I’ll be retracing. I’ll be homeward bound again.

Bind me not to the pasture, chain me not to the plow.
Set me free to find my calling, and I’ll return to you somehow.

(“Homeward Bound” by Marta Keen Thompson)


Our adventure has come to a close. This morning we bid farewell to Honduras. After staying up late last night to weigh our suitcases (they can’t be over 50 lbs.), redistribute the loads, and ballast the extra, we were up early this morning to finish the last couple things before we left. We were done right on time. Reiniery and Carlos Julio (another Zamorano driver) drove us to the airport, passing by the adobe houses, viveros (nurseries), pine-filled mountains, crazy re-furbished school buses, and ramshackle roadside markets for the last time. To be sure, our cars were filled with delight as we set off on the trip we have been looking forward to for weeks. There was some sense of relief to know that we finished our time here, and we were about to return to our own familiar and comfortable country.

The children have earned our respect and gratitude for their awesome attitudes toward this time in Honduras. They have been willing to try new things, to endure foreign ways, to learn a language and make new friends. Not once has anyone complained about or questioned our decision to come. And I believe they will reap what they have sown, with new goodness revealed in the coming weeks and months as they reflect on their time here.

We have had several happy times this past week or so, gathering with friends to talk and play and eat Honduran food and say good-bye. We have had the blessing of being able to recognize the friendships we have formed here and the goodness of the people we have come to love.

Last night Stuart and I stopped by the Martinez family’s home to drop off a few church books. The Martinez are the proud and happy new owners of our stove. Hermana Martinez has wanted an oven for years. She, like many people, has been cooking on a little two-burner electric counter-top range (just the burners, no oven). She plans to do a lot of baking. So we sat and talked about baking, and I gave her my recipes for bread, chocolate chip cookies, and pizza. She was excited. The five of us (Stuart, me, Hermana and Presidente Martinez, and their daughter Blanca) sat and visited for a nice long while. The conversation was easy (and, as far as I was concerned, the zenith of my Spanish skills). We joked and talked, and I understood the entire conversation—even the jokes. And, I spoke more fluently than I have ever before—even making jokes. How nice it was to feel able to sit and converse as friends. How exciting to do it in Spanish! For me, it was the completion of one of my main goals in coming to Honduras. No matter that it happened on our last night here. I feel satisfied with what I’ve been able to learn.

The young women at church planned a nice going-away party for Stuart, complete with games, a spiritual thought or two, and refreshments. It was a fitting tribute. He has tried hard to teach and share with them things of the gospel and things of life. The young women came to our nursery class on Sunday to serenade me with my favorite Spanish hymn (Oid! El Toquin del Clarin). Sunday night the branch gathered for a going-away party at the Martinez home. The party was sweet, with the adults visiting on the porch, overlooking the youth and children playing soccer in the yard. The small yard could comfortably fit a game of solitaire soccer, but that night it somehow made room for about 30 people, all playing and laughing. The goodness hung in the air. It felt like family.

We enjoyed a going-away party with the people from Stuart’s department. We enjoyed stopping by the house of Mr. Carlos the art teacher, riding in the Terceros jeep home from church on Sunday, and dropping by a family In Jicarito whose daughter was in my nursery class. And we enjoyed visiting with Arie and Namig and Oliver the past couple days. They are decent, honest, intelligent, and thoughtful people.

By far the hardest farewell to say was to Miriam. She has been such a cheerful part of our home these last months. I am wonderfully grateful for her housework. I am happy she fulfilled so well her responsibility to help me learn Spanish. I will always hold in high regard her exemplary character. I will be bound to her in friendship forever because of the project we commenced to help her learn to sew. Yesterday afternoon Stuart, Miriam, and I drove a pick-up truck crammed full of things to deliver to her house. Miriam lives out in the country in a tiny house with a sizeable back yard. I was curious to see it, and found it just as I expected: clean and orderly, basic and sufficient. But one thing I hadn’t counted on. From her back yard, all you can see are mountains all around, with one vista composed of layer after layer of mountains looming above her narrow valley. The view is inspiring.

Oh, to be able to live as Miriam does—with a tiny house without a lot to clutter it, to bathe and wash dishes and clothes outside in the back yard with the mountains and wind and that amazing view for company! Oh, to live so simply, without the distractions of too many things to do or too many extra things to take care of or too many places to go or too many options to choose from. Life here for most people is like a continuous campout.

I am thinking about that simple Honduran country life as I sit in our Embassy Suite tonight, climate-controlled and sealed off from the outside world. With curtains drawn, there is nothing even to see of the world unless it comes in on the television, edited and doctored. Here the shower is warm, the water is potable, the walls are clean, the beds are soft, and geckos, spiders, scorpions, and centipedes are unheard of. Such comfort and luxury—such sanitation and protection from harm. But no mountains. No fresh air. No gentle breeze. No inspiring landscape. Not so much quiet freedom. But then again, Miriam’s home is in danger of the thieving neighbors, disease-carrying mosquitoes, flood, and the perils of an open sewer. Life in modernity or life in the rustic campo—each is a trade-off. I know I will at times be wistful for the simplicity of life here in Honduras. (Maybe at those times I’ll go camping.)

This morning one of the last things to do was stop by our house (we’ve stayed the last two nights on Zamorano campus at the home of our friend and Stuart’s colleague Arie), where Miriam had already started washing windows and walls and floors. Stuart settled our account with the landlord and Miriam and I had our last conversation. She instructed me on how to make nacatamales (the Honduran special tamales made at Christmas, Easter, and other special occasions). She presented me with two new potholders that she must have made last night with her sewing machine (now located at her own house). Oh, that good friend! I gave her the card I had prepared for her. Miriam was overcome with tears as we parted. I was sad to leave my friend so sad.

And now we are in Miami, tomorrow we’ll arrive in San Francisco. We feel satisfied with our time in Honduras. We accomplished our goals: 1. Learn Spanish, 2. Learn about the world and its people and deepen our understanding of life and the things that are most important, and 3. Draw closer together as a family. We have traveled, seen places and things, met good people, learned how to make good food, and we have not wasted time procrastinating any of the things we wanted to do while we were in Honduras. We leave satisfied and happy to move on to the next chapter of life.

Calla and Abe were delighted to take a bath in the hotel bath tub (bath tubs are basically non-existent in Honduras). As I typed tonight, Jack talked in his dream, ““Oofmmfmd. . . Sharon. Bye—don’t forget me! N m n m mdmdng vos.” The children are happy and eager to go home tomorrow.