this is pedro (aka peter for his american friends).

he's amazing.

probably one of the coolest people i've ever met.

our team had the great privilege of working with him and two other micah boys while in honduras and their stories are burned in my mind forever.

i keep playing back the moment when nova and i were standing on a bridge in tegucigalpa with pedro, waiting for some of our other group members. we were on our way to the market where a lot of the street kids live and he stopped to point out some of the history behind some of the buildings and neighborhoods within site of where we were.

he pointed to a small shanty village on the side of one of the mountains, right where the river began to curve. "my mom lives there. she's still on the streets."
me: "do you visit her?"
pedro: "maybe once a month."

he said it with such nonchalance that it kind-of threw me off for a minute. i started to wonder what it was like for these boys that their families and friends were still roaming the streets they once called home.

then he pointed to a dark line that ran across one of the taller buildings close to the bridge we were on. "that's how high the water was when hurricane mitch hit. people were floating dead all over the place. it wasn't a good time to be on the streets."
me: "how old were you?"
pedro: "ummmm ... about 10. yeah, 10."

again, the same nonchalance in his answers. as he kept telling his story, i couldn't help but think of how miraculous it was that we were standing next to a kid who, at 10 years old, was living on the streets of honduras and defying death in the face of a natural disaster.

he tells his story as if it isn't particularly incredible. he is still the only kid in the micah house whose whole family is still living on the streets with the exception of his little sister who is now in an orphanage. i watched him interact later that night with some street kids he once hung out with and realized they all had similar stories. they had all survived hurricane mitch. non of them really had families. the 14 and 15 year old girls who came up to us when we offered food were prostitutes and nearly every kid had a bottle of glue under their shirts that they kept replenished in order to stay high.

that's their life. it's the same life that everyone else around them has.

but pedro got out. and now he's making music with marvin (another kid in the micah house) that tells his story of redemption and love.

their lives inspired me. it made me want to understand them more, rather than be understood. and for the first time in my life, i realized the selfishness of my intentions to have meaningful conversations with other people. i've always felt i am the person who no one understands and i've spent my life trying to break the preconceived notions they have about me. what a waste. i learned more about who i am and what i was created for by keeping my mouth shut and listening to someone else's story.

you know, it's so much easier to assume other people need what you have. it makes you feel like you were created to do something significant when you're seeing your talents and skills contributing to the betterment of another life. but the very people that i thought i was there to help, were the very people that i needed help from when it came time to creating solutions that mattered.

i'll never forget that moment on the bridge because it's there that i understood that we're all in this together ... each having a specific role to play that can not be refuted ...

what's new right?

so i was thinking (while on the trip and more so now) ...

why do we go to other countries for "missions trips" or "humanitarian projects?" totally just curious.

is it because it somehow validates our existence? does it make us feel better that we have a concentrated period of time to do "good work" so that we don't feel bad the rest of the year if we don't actively invest in people around us?

would we be as inclined to invest in those who have stinkingly similar issues within our own cities if we knew the same problems existed? or are we satisfied keeping those in need a plane ride away? does it seem more noble to trek to far-away lands to "save the world?"

again, just curious. because i'm starting to think there is something fundamentally wrong with me going to another country to help the homeless, hungry and underdeveloped demographic of humanity, when i've only spent a total of three hours of my life on skid row ... three blocks from my apartment.

perhaps i have a greater passion for developing countries than i do the inner-cities of america. or perhaps i'm being selective with who i think matters based on convenience. something to consider i suppose.

i know i can't wear the weight of the world on my shoulders ... i can't help EVERYONE nor do i think i'm the only one in the world who cares about the underprivileged. i guess i just want to know that i am drawn to the developing world because i was created to care about it, not because it's easier than caring about the man who sleeps in the alley next to my loft.

i've been back in l.a. for a week and my head is still spinning with thoughts of honduras. it seems that every time i close my eyes, i see the inhumanity of their condition. but when i open my eyes to seek refuge from those images, i see the same inhumanity in my own city and in my own heart.

the image below was taken at the trash dump in honduras that we are working with. some of the people who are photographed live and work here. some commute from their tents and one room shacks. there are hundreds of children who work in this place in order to contribute to the family income of $2-3 a day. they fight vultures and dogs for food. they fight each other when the trucks arrive for the "good stuff."

now ... eyes open ... the same behavior that i'm disgusted with there, meets me in conversations and in the foreground of my surroundings.

this coldness and apathy is universal. while it may be more obvious in some socio-economic groups than others, you could find it in the corner offices at enron. you can find it in our government, on our battlefields and even behind the glamorous facade hollywood. everyone is struggling to find purpose and meaning and, in the process, become engulfed in the rat race of survival.

i believe that people want to know that their lives have meaning ... that who they are and what they do is significant. and i'm wondering if, in pursuit of greatness, the depravity of significance gets the best of us and we simply fight to survive instead of fighting to be alive.

on our drive to the airport in san pedro sula, i wondered ...



if i were born in a home like the pas family, would i still be passionate about business development for the sake of economic, personal and spiritual growth?

would jj want to make documentaries if he had never seen a film before?

would jess still want to photograph people from other cultures if she had never held a camera or traveled to other countries?

would nova have a passion for educating inner-city youth if she had never gone to college?

i started to think about the ways in which we flesh out our inherent strengths and talents. when God says He gives all of us gifts/talents, do those translate differently depending on the environment you're in? is it possible that if someone becomes exposed to more options (through traveling, education, etc) that their vision will be modified accordingly? will one of the children we worked with be inspired by our film team after seeing their equipment and realizing that that's a possibility? will a part of them come to life when they see something outside of their immediate reality?

will i continue to change the way i flesh out my talents and strengths as i become more aware of the ways in which i can do so? do these kids feel something inside of them that i felt when i was a little girl in a low-income community ... that i was created for more ... that i was made to do something significant ...

i pray they do. and i pray that i continue to have the passion to make sure they actualize the potential that lives inside of them.

would i ... dream of it if i didn't know it existed?

it has been nearly two weeks since i last posted, and i should prepare you to brace yourself for the next few days in regards to the contents of this blog.

i´ve seen a lot. i´ve been priveledged to have traveled to many corners of the earth and experience both the beauty and depravity of the human species. but the culmination of the images forever burned in my mind from these encounters are haunting me.

i am responsible.

as i peered over the trash dump for the first time 12 days ago, i became numb ... almost hardened by what i saw and smelled. it was a similar scene that i witnessed in india in the slums, the same thing i see in l.a. among the urban poor and the same emotions i feel on the inside in my worst moments ...

i refused to allow myself to respond emotionally to the grotesque situation these people were facing. i was almost angry that i had one more tainted vision of reality.

now, at the end of my journey here, those feelings of responsibility are what have breathed new life in my dry bones.

stay tuned for photos and anecdotes from my trip ...

(www.awakenhonduras.blogspot.com in case you can´t wait to hear about the trip)