February 21, 2013 Mercedes Is Buried And I Am Sad

This is my friend Dra. Mercedes Gale Lemor de Argueta.

See that HUGE smile it was always on her face 

except when she was mad at me accusing me of 

"NOT FLOSSING".

Behind you see the Suyapa Church.  She was placed in an above ground tomb in front of the church.

Hundreds of people showed up at her wake and hundreds more at her funeral.

But there were those who could not attend and yet loved her and appreciated her.

Mercedes was not only a dentist but a humanitarian.  

She went into the prison with me to work on the 18th Street gang boys teeth.

Not many would have done that and in true Mercedes style she gave them a hard time for not brushing and flossing.

She literally fussed at them and not many people can fuss at 200 gang members and get away with it.  She was always so full of life in everything she did.  Even with cancer in  her lungs and brain, she worked up until the Wednesday the 13th before she passed away yesterday the 20th and fussed at every patient about "not flossing".

Her husband Rene center grey hair and her handsome son Fernando Rene with the red tie.

Mercedes' funeral was like everything in her life, full of class.

Goodbye my friend. Someday I will see you again and hug your neck!

The Goodness Of God And The Wickedness Of Man

The Goodness of God

Sometime around 1979, I was living in Raytown, Missouri and a newlywed.  I went a few blocks to the corner grocery store and while I was purchasing our food for the week, the Lord spoke to me to buy two heads of lettuce and not one.  I argued with the Lord, but He insisted.  I purchased two heads of lettuce.

I arrived home and about that time my Tupperware lady called and told me that she had just received the order from the party I had held for her the prior week.  I have tried and tried to remember her name, but I don’t remember it, I guess it has been too many years and too much water under the bridge.  Anyway, she called and asked if she could deliver the Tupperware right then, because they were going out of town for vacation to visit the family and she didn’t want to leave the order hanging.

She arrived at my door and as she walked up the steps, I saw her four RED (flaming red) headed boys and her husband in the car all packed and ready to go to visit the folks.  Her husband was in Nazarene seminary at the time to become a pastor.  As soon as I saw them the Lord said to me, “Give them the head of lettuce.”  I began to argue with the Lord as she walked up the front sidewalk with all the Tupperware in hand.  I told the Lord that she would think I was ridiculous if I gave her a head of lettuce.  Anyway, I fumbled around and finally I went to the refrigerator and handed her the head of lettuce, still not understanding why! Just being obedient!

She said, “Thank you!”  Then she said, “Isn’t it interesting how God answers children’s prayers.”  It seems as though that morning she had gone to the grocery store with the kids in tow and bought sandwich supplies to make sandwiches for the road.  When she came to the aisle where she had to buy the tomatoes and the lettuce she had to make a decision.  They were on an extremely tight budget and she could only buy one or the other but not both.  The sandwiches were for the road trip, where they didn’t have to stop at a restaurant and spend a lot of money which they didn’t have. 

She asked her four boys what they preferred, “Lettuce or tomatoes?”  One wanted lettuce and the other 3 wanted tomatoes so the lettuce boy lost out.  Rather than being upset, he said, “I’ll pray and God will send me lettuce.”  He did and God did. 

As she stood inside my door telling me the story, she and I both marveled at the goodness of God.

God does care about each of us!

Since that time, I try NOT to second guess when I hear that still small voice of the Lord telling me to do this or that.  This is one of the reasons that I love being a missionary in Honduras.  I can listen to the Lord and do things to help others every day!

The Wickedness of Man

Daylight gave way to darkness as I talked to neighbor after neighbor and heard how the MI-04 police car along with a police motorcycle had headed into Colonia[1] Habitat this morning at 6 AM.  This had started as a beautiful sunny morning, now it was 6 PM April 14, 2012 before the dew had dried off of the grass this morning, Boli and Peewee were dead.  Long before the other police cars and motorcycles arrived, the police from MI-04 had chased Boli down and killed him.  While he lie, dead in the grass covering a barely used path to another colonia, the police threw a very alive, but injured Peewee over the back of the motorcycle seat and drove him a click[2] further down the path which runs close to the Penitentiaria Nacional[3] and finished him off, shooting him in the mouth and blowing his brains out of the back of his head.  All this done where they could later say he was running, stopped and then committed suicide.  As the Police Patrol followed behind, they drove through the weeds and when they saw they were close to the chicken farm and almost to the other road, they stopped the motorcycle and killed him.

I breathed in the unique aroma of chicken poop as I stood on the road in front of the chicken farm.  When I had pulled into Colonia Habitat, I was a very suspicious looking white woman with blond hair and blue eyes very out of place.  I had called Ana when I first received the call that the boys were dead and several more missing, injured and arrested.  In Honduras everyone is open game when the police have a hunger for blood.  This idea is so foreign to my United States and Arkansas viewpoint of the world, but after so many years in Honduras, I find myself cringing when visiting on furloughs, when I see police cars driving down the road.  It is a fight or flight response, which is not easy to describe unless you have been in a precarious position where your life floated somewhere between life and death.

My paradigms have shifted.  I used to date a police officer, Detective Allen Quattlebaum in Little Rock, Arkansas where I grew up; he was a wonderful caring individual and was a real Baptist gentleman, except for the fact that he always raced to claim his chair first when we went out to eat; back of the room, with the lengthiest space between us and the front door, his back to the wall, this was always his preferred spot.  I also dated a DEA agent named Mark for a while, I remember his last name but should I use it? After all he was DEA, but maybe after thirty plus years, it doesn’t matter.  I, by and large, had a great respect for police and then I moved to Honduras. 

Public opinion is almost unanimous; police in Honduras are not to be trusted.  Gossip runs rampant about many of the deplorable things which the police do, I used to think it was just ugly tales or false accusations invented to strike horror in the heart of a naïve gringa[4], but now I have learned that the truth is the police here are not to be trusted.  They steal, they kill for money and for entertainment, they accept bribes, they demand payoffs, they collude with criminals, they run kidnapping organizations and they steal cars and run them across country lines into Nicaragua using the farm of a disgraced military coronel who has had a warrant out for his arrest for at least a dozen years and yet remains free.  “Uniformados picaros”[5] are the people who help the drug traffickers run their drugs and distribute their drugs throughout Central America and into the United States. 

Shaking my head at the disparity between what should be good and what should be evil, I once again watched as the beautiful Honduran sun cascaded through the clouds at sunset, looking out over the Valley of Amarateca to the northwest. Slouching and tired from the sadness of the soul and spirit draining day and from not having a place to rest my recently fractured humerous[6], I stood there slumped over on the back of the SUV listening to a sound of a croaking frog and the eighteenth witness telling us that the police had brutally and heartlessly thrown an injured Peewee, with a bullet through his side on their motorcycle and drove him across rough irregular terrain only to dump him and kill him, setting it up to look like a suicide. 

Twenty years ago, I would have questioned this version of how things unfolded this morning, but now after having counted out five patrol cars and five motorcycles and two unmarked white Nissan pickups without car plates and a car from the coroner’s office, I am convinced things are NOT as they seem and most assuredly not what will be reported in tomorrow’s newspaper.  The first patrol car to leave with a motorcycle mounted in the back, stopped and demanded to know what we were doing there.  I was hunched down, hiding behind the tinted windows of my SUV with my back to them but they demanded to know what we were doing, parked on a public street, not bothering anyone.  Ana my partner in some unknown “deleto”[7] got out of the car and announced, I am with the “Fiscal de Derechos Humanos”[8] She was met with an incredulous stare immediately trailed by “ojos de cascabel”[9] and then the police patrol MI-04 slowly rolled away. 

I think my first run in with a corrupt policeman was in Nigeria West Africa.  I was doing missionary work in a small town called Ukanafun in Akwa Ibom state.  Everyone knew me, except this one policeman from a different tribe.  I was visiting Moses Umoh, the local tribal chief’s son and a pastor.  I was building a church and school for them and teaching at pastor’s seminars for them.  This policeman asked for my passport.  I was about six block from Moses’ home walking with Moses and had just been in the mayor’s office talking with him about the possibilities of a water project, when this policeman came up and asked for my passport, Moses told him he would go home and get it so I was to go inside the policeman’s office and wait until he came back. 

The problem was when I walked into the policeman’s office; he started pulling at me and then almost ripped my blouse off of me.  He was interested in something very different than seeing my passport.  He didn’t know what had happened when I slapped him and pulled away and ran for cover in the mayor’s office bursting in on his next appointment and taking cover behind the mayor’s desk chair where he was sitting.  The policeman came in after me, but by the time he caught up with me the mayor had already seen the tears in my eyes and heard me screaming and terrified.  Since the mayor knew me and knew I was a guest of the tribal chief’s son and a Christian, the policeman was immediately tried and sentenced to death by firing squad.  Not to leave you hanging, I pleaded mercy for him; he was spared and is now a pastor… Anyway this was my first run in with a corrupt policeman and I was naïve enough to think it was a onetime event.  Had I stayed in the USA it probably would have been, but that was not to be.  God called me to be in Honduras.

My two friends were not little angels, but they didn’t deserve to be assassinated.  I guess the saddest part of it all is that when I had shared Jesus with them, neither was “listo”[10] to receive Jesus into their hearts at that time.  I only hope, like the thieves at the cross, they had a split second to ask forgiveness before they died.

Tonight when my friend who works for the Fiscal de Derechos Humanos[11] was doing her inspections, we overheard a policeman stating “comienza la carniceria" [12]  The former, was a threat spoken just loud enough for us to hear and vocalized with the sole intent of trying to frighten us.  As we left, about a block away, there were two men on a motorcycle, which is illegal, and without a tag, which is illegal, and with an automatic rifle in their hands, which is illegal and although I am sure they must have been police, there was nothing identifying them as such.  I had never seen a gun like the one they were carrying.  The stock was squared off both top and bottom and it was very modern looking with holes drilled into it.  The muzzle was somewhat long.  The closest thing I can find to it on the internet is an UZI Sporter, a very deadly but stylish gun.  

I picked up speed and flew through the market area, jumping potholes and maneuvering corners as quickly as possible.  I arrived home late having not eaten lunch or dinner, with my cell phone battery dead from over use and my heart heavy, wondering if Peewee and Boli had enjoyed their last meal, kissed their mom goodbye that one last time or kissed their baby or their wife.  I also wondered if the words of salvation which I had sown in their hearts had come to them to remind them to repent as they breathed their last breath. 

"The earth also was corrupt before God, and the earth was filled with violence. So God looked upon the earth, and indeed it was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted their way on the earth" (Gen 6:11-12).

---

[1] A residential area is called a colonia or a barrio

[2] kilometer

[3] National Penitentiary

[4] Gringo is a slang Spanish and Portuguese word used in Spanish-speaking and Portuguese-speaking countries in Latin America, to denote foreigners, often from the United States  and sometimes used as a disparaging term for a foreigner in Latin America, especially an American or English person

[5] People in uniform who say or do whatever, even lying about and hurting others in order to get what they want.

[6] humerous- the arm bone located between the elbow and the shoulder

[7] Legal infraction

[8] Attorney General’s office, Human Rights division

[9] Rattlesnake eyes

[10] Ready

[11] One who works for Attorney General’s office, Human Rights division

[12] The equivalent to “the blood bath begins”

It's What You See

http://www.flickr.com/photos/venosdale/6226889341/in/photostream

I love this quote and it must have been written after taking a good look at the GOOD BOOK! 

It has been a very rough few months... Thus I have not blogged much.  I have continued to work, doing the work of the ministry, but it has been three months of crisis after crisis after crisis.  My camera died in late July and I was unable to buy another until I went to the USA in September.  That cut down on my ability to document things; others took photos and promised to send them, but many of those were empty promises. 

I have felt like I was in a war zone and I guess I am in one sense of the word.  Honduras has just been given the distinction of being named the number ONE murder capitol of the world...  That is more than Syria, more than Libya, more than Afghanistan or Columbia.  I am wondering how that is possible.  I carry on my daily life, go to the grocery store, go to church, minister in small villages and at the prison.  I minister to the gangs in the street, visit the hospitals, continue with my medical and surgery teams.  I went to a women's retreat, I drive to the farm, I pick Mandarin oranges, bananas, Calla Lilies and Birds of Paradise out of my garden and life goes on or should I say, life and death go on.

This has been three months of constant death.  Seventeen of my gang boys have died.  One of them "Gangster" had called me a few weeks prior and had asked me to be godmother to his young twin daughters.  I had told him it was a big responsibility but I would pray about it.  I tried several times to call him back and then one morning I was awakened by a call from the gang at the jail saying that the police were killing the boys in a San Pedro Sula barrio.  I thought he was in La Ceiba, but he was killed that morning along with six others.  Then a few days later three more were killed and a few days later several more.  Then a few weeks ago one who was very special to me was killed.  So why was he so special?  I don't really know except to say that God placed him on my heart in a strange way.

So what does all this have to do with the quote by Henry David Thoreau.  "It's not what you look at that matters, it is what you see."  When most people see these gang boys, they are immediately scared.  They think the worst and I have to admit, when I first started working with them, I wasn't sure whether it was the Lord speaking to me or the devil sucking me into a trap.  Now it is common to get middle of the night telephone calls to go to the hospital or to let me know that something is going on.  Sometimes they ask me to pray and sometimes they are too shy to ask, but I know they called me, where I will pray. 

I am going to explain several things in this post.  One of those things is how the Lord has changed my heart to see human beings in need of love, understanding and a shoulder to lean on; I see this when others might see a different picture.

I am going to start by showing you a photo of Fausto... Fausto is one of the gang members who I had to bury several years ago.  But Fausto has a story which must be told.  His story has been waiting to be told.  And today I feel it is time.  Almost three years have passed since Fausto was killed in a car accident. 

This is the only pre-Christian photo which I have of Fausto.  Although he is smiling a little in the photo, he was a bad boy.  His name in the gang was "Puma".  When I look at this photo, I cannot remember him this way.  When "Puma" left the prison I didn't know he was leaving.  One day I went to visit as I do and he was not there.  Soon after, he called me to visit him for Mother's Day weekend.  He had called me "mom" for a while before he left the prison, but I was surprised to have him call and request this visit.  While at the prison we had been studying the book of John.  Mostly I just discussed the chapters with him one by one, so I knew God's seed had been sown in his heart.  When he called I immediately knew that it was God... so I made plans... not knowing where I was going, as he moved around a lot, I set the dates apart on my calendar and planned to leave on a Friday and return on a Sunday. 

Needless to say those around me were not so sure that I had heard from God.  In fact one person went so far as to tell me I was crazy and another told me that I was "NOT" hearing from God. I was told to "be prepared to be kidnapped or killed or worse."  But there was that small calm, sweet Holy Spirit voice inside of me which kept saying, "This is a divine appointment, don't miss it."

I called my daddy and told him I was going to visit "Puma" and I know my daddy well enough after these 50+ years that if he had felt it was not the right thing to do, he would have told me.  He calmly stated that they (mom and dad) would pray for me and to "keep in contact".

So I got in my truck and headed out of the city on the road which goes to the north coast.  Every thirty minutes without fail a call would come in on my cell phone from "Puma" asking me where I was.  When I left home he told me I was going to San Pedro Sula, but all the sudden, he told me to make a turn.  For a minute I got butterflies in my stomach (had I heard from God?) and then I got peace from the Lord again.  I followed his directions turn by turn, point by point and arrived in a small town five interesting hours after I had left home. 

I was met by his wife, his step mother, his four brothers and his sister along with an entourage of nephews, sister-in-laws and nieces.  I had taken along enough money to pay for a hotel room and food, but there was no way his Christian step mom was going to stand for that nonsense.  I was staying in the home with everyone else and her word was the final word.  I was surprised at what a tough but gentle lady she was.  We became instant friends.

All that evening and the following day, I shared about the love of God with Fausto.  Finally mid afternoon on Saturday, he broke and cried.  He said, "How is it possible that God could love someone as bad as me? I have been so bad, I can't even remember all the bad things which I have done!", he told me through large crocodile tears.  As I explained the mercy of God, he asked why I was not afraid of him when "EVERYONE" else was?  I told him, I guess it is because God gave me eyes to see him as he really was, a man with a gentle heart and a kind demeanor.  Hidden inside a shell which he had built because of all the hurt which life had thrown his way.  He cried more.  In all my years of ministry, I had NEVER seen anyone cry a lake of tears, but between his "burros" there was a lake of tears.  I don't know what "burros" are called in English, but they are a tan colored work boot which comes above the ankle. 

His mom called us for lunch and I told him, "It is now or never... are you going to give your life to God or not?"  To my surprise, he said, "Yes!"  I thought it might be several more hours of the Lord working on his heart, but it was not to be.  He was ready, so we prayed and the grand "Puma", one of the feared leaders of the gang, accepted Jesus into his heart.  He cried like a baby and told the Lord that he couldn't remember all his sins he had been sinning for so long; but he wanted to make a change.  And that day, he did change, in an instant, he changed. 

Later that evening his brother took a photo which he later shared with me.  I want you to look at this photo, look beyond the tattoos and see the face of a new Christian.  I had never seen him really smile until that day.

  

To make a point, I want you to look at the two photos side by side.

  

That afternoon and the following day, "Puma" was like a little kid...  "Tell my brother, tell my other brother, tell my sister, tell everyone about Jesus." One of his brother's and one sister-in-laws were already Christians and went to church with his step mother.  That weekend all his other family members present, except for one brother accepted Christ as their Savior.  His mother was delighted.

I was surprised about 3:00 pm when "Puma" said that we were going for a ride.  After we were in the car, he asked if I could baptise him.  "Of course I can!", I told him, not knowing that we were on the way to a private pool to baptise him.  His entire family was in attendance, including all the nieces and nephews.

I had never baptised anyone without them having a shirt on, but everything about this week was unconventional, so why not?  He had not thought to bring an extra shirt with him and if he had worn the one he had on into the pool, then on the ride back in the car, all his tattoos would have been exposed, which was not a good thing.  So that afternoon, I baptised "Puma".  From that time forward, he always called and said, "Mom, this is Fausto."  The name "Puma" disappeared from his vocabulary, at least with me.

I carefully explained to him what baptism meant.

After he came up dripping wet, he had a HUGE smile on his face.

Then he sat pensively on the side of the pool with a HUGE grin on his face.

And so the life of "Puma" changed to the life of "Fausto". 

The week before he was killed in a car accident, he had asked me if God would let him be a pastor.  I told him, "Yes." and he said he wanted to be a pastor to the gang.  I carefully explained that churches are made up of all kinds of people including past enemies, even rival gang members...  The thoughtful look on his face spoke volumes to me.   "Even them?" he asked.  "Even them!", I answered.  "I can do it with God's help," he said.  "I know you can!", I replied.  I was beaming with pride because I could see that in the time he was with the Lord, he had grown by leaps and bounds. 

A few weeks prior to that, he had called me to his home and told me he was tired of running.  He was tired of being chased by the police.  He was tired of hiding.  He was tired and wanted to go home to be with Jesus.  I encouraged him to consider what God wanted for his life and so when he said he wanted to be a pastor, I was pleased at this change of heart.  But it was not to be. 

Even in his death he was despised.  The news headlines said he was a dangerous leader of the gang, who was running from the law and being chased by the police at the time of the accident.  All lies.  The news said he was being chauffeured around by the Vice-Minister of Security's police chauffeur and they said a hit man was in the car with them.  What the news didn't say was that Puma's wife and the police chauffeur's wife were sisters.  What the news didn't say was that the young man with them was married to the chauffeur's daughter.  What the news didn't say was that they had just returned from a fishing trip and to visit his step mother who by that time was dying from cancer. 

So as he was despised and feared in life, he was despised and lied about in death. 

Remember I said that a few weeks ago one gang member who was very special to me was killed. So why was he so special?  One of the things which Fausto said to me a few weeks before he died was that he had brought "Cabeza" Celin Pinot into the gang and he really wanted me to focus on getting him "saved".  As a "special" favor to him, he made me promise.  Since Fausto had left gang life, he really had no contact with them.  But "Cabeza" became a point of prayer in my life. 

I tried several times to speak alone to "Cabeza" but he never allowed me to get very close to him.  He knew I wanted to tell him something, but I never had a chance when there weren't many others listening.  I wanted to fulfill my promise to Fausto, but it was so hard.  Finally one day, I had a small window of opportunity to really cut to the bone for a few short minutes.  I told him that Fausto wanted him to receive Christ.  He just stared at me.  He was uncomfortable, but he listened for a few short minutes, maybe no more than a minute as I explained that he needed to give his life to the Lord and that Fausto had requested that I tell him that.

 The other day, "Cabeza" was killed as he was forced to leave the prison at 11:00 at night.  He and another gang member were assassinated as they left the prison with their permission given by the court earlier that day to go free.  They were held up on purpose until it was way after dark and too late to talk to their attorneys and then they were killed half a block from the prison with automatic weapons.

I went to the prison the next day with the people from Human Rights and these are the photos they took with my new camera.

 So tonight when I was surfing the web and read the quote by Henry David Thoreau. "It's not what you look at that matters, it is what you see."  It struck a chord with me.  In fact it inspired me to blog again after several months of silence. 

You know when Jesus saw the woman at the well, he saw her as a potential minister, he saw her as she could be.  He saw her with a useful and productive life.

When Jesus saw the tax collector, he saw him as he would become, not as he was.  When he saw Saul who persecuted all Christians, he saw him as Paul who wrote most of the New Testament.  When he saw Puma he saw him as Fausto and when he saw Cabeza he saw him as Celin. 

The ending to this story is wonderful in the midst of all the killing and all the death and all the sin.  "Cabeza" left a note for his girlfriend of many years, I suppose he had a premonition that he was going to die and he gave the note to her at a court hearing the same day he was killed.  In the note and in person at the court hearing, he told her that while he was in maximum security, in lock down the last 7 days of his life, he had accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior and he was now a changed man.  A friend of a friend of a friend talked to the girlfriend and heard about the note.  She knew that I had prayed for years for the gang members for salvation and she shared with me.  What had been terrible grief for me was turned to joy!  Although I was not close to Celin in life, I was close to him because of the burden God had placed on my heart for him.

God is so faithful to answer my prayers!

January 15, 2011 Prison Ministry and Then Street Ministry

 

Preparing for the Music... all the young prisoners sitting along the wall with some of our team... Levita sharing his testimony.  He came was an active gang member, now inactive, he is active preaching and singing anywhere and everywhere he can.

I am guessing about 100 young men showed up for sandwiches, cupcakes and soft drinks.

 

Joshua sang about how his life had been changed. Joshua is some of the "fruit" of my years of ministry in the prison with the gang.  I shared Jesus with him when he was in the prison.  Tyanne Jurka, my pastor's wife also invested years into him.  He is out of prison now and has been walking an honest walk with the Lord for 2 1/2 years now.  He is writing songs, singing in the band and is one of the leaders of "Angeles de Barrio", the street kids ministry. He is also active in prayer groups and Bible Study Groups.  He learns and then he teaches.  If you can't tell, I am very proud of him.

Then Rosa sang.

We asked for them to pray after the concert and the testimonies and this was the result.

The boys were very respectful and bowed their heads as we prayed for them.

Many of the boys held hands with out team members as they prayed. 

This young man has been accused of double homicide.  His trail comes up soon and he has asked for prayer.  

We took some ex-gang members with us who shared their testimony with the kids.  We also took teachers from our church. Peggy Perdomo, one of the children's church teachers, is in the pink sweatshirt.


Following this concert with the major group pf young prisoners, we went to the gang side of the prison, did a mini-concert and shared with them.


After we left the prison, we dropped off all the equiptment and most of the  young adults and then my friend Jami and I, plus our driver (whose name is omitted because he is still a little uncomfortable with this ministry) hit the streets of downtown Tegucigalpa in search of transvestites.  


Yes, you read it right.  We shared the left over cupcakes with them and talked to them about the love of Jesus.  Several of them were really scared since 7 have been killed in the last few weeks.  Many spoke to us saying that they were ready to make spiritual and lifestyle changes.  


My life is never dull.  I didn't take photos of this part of today's ministry.  


Leaving the last group of transvestites, the police pulled us over to see what we were doing.  I happened to know the police who stopped us, so we gave them some cupcakes also and went on our way, tired and fulfilled from a long productive day of ministry.  

September 19, 2010 Levita's Birthday

Today is Levita's Birthday.  He is one of the lucky ones.  He has reached another Birthday.  Levita is a retired member of the 18th Street Gang.  He gave his life to Jesus and has become a street minister.  I made him a chocolate cake.

His son was more excited about the cake than he was...

One of the guests made sure that his face was covered with cake! 

And no it was not me!

It is so wonderful to see him experiencing the "good life" after having walked in the 18th Street Gang life.

A Wedding Cake At The Prison!

After two 2 week courses the final exam was a wedding cake. Since it was the 18th Street Gang, it had to be 18 tiers. And what a cake it turned out to be!



To the right is the top tier. We had the "cake from hell" experience as the weather changed from warm to cool and rainy to hot and humid again and all of the fondant icing decided to wilt. The cake was not very even on the side, due to the climate changes, but it was beautiful.



The guys learned about Royal Icing and Buttercream Icing in the first 2 weeks of classes and then they learned about Fondant and Gumpaste in the 2nd two weeks of classes.

They learned step by step how to make gumpaste flowers, starting with roses and then calle lilys. You can see some of these hand made flowers in the first photo.



In the first cake decorating classes they had learned how to make borders by piping royal or buttercream icing. They also learned how to make the leaves, which they piped onto the cake after the flowers were in place.

The cake all 18 tiers of it tasted wonderful! The background at the prison was not so beautiful and really doesn't do justice to the cake, but the cake turned out to be a masterpiece.

The center of the cake had 6 tiers which were then connected by bridges to 4 more towers of 3 tiers each.

Several of the guys had to get up on the heavy duty table to place the tiers in the correct positions. I am not sure what the final cake weighed, but I know it was over 100 pounds of cake.

First they all made flowers and flowers and more flowers. Each day the ladies showed them how to make different flowers. For two weeks, everyone in the classes made flowers and the flowers which were not eaten, were saved to go on the cake.

Then the ladies and I and Erlinda baked all of the cakes at my house, as the oven that was donated to the prison was not yet in operation. Claudia Hurt, Lisa Summerlin, Dede Reed and Tracy Wirta iced and iced and iced with buttercream until all of the cakes were iced. Then we took them to the prison. That was a trick. Each tier was 2 layers of cake with filling in between and some of them were so big that they had to set across two people's legs. The bumpy roads in Honduras were not cooperating and so when we arrived at Tamara Prison 40 miles away, with cakes intact it was a miracle.

The guys were really, really proud of themselves. First they shimmer dusted a design on the sides of the iced cake, then they strategically assembled the center column of 6 tiers. As they began to decorate the center tier, they began to get more and more enthused, finally all of the hard work was coming together. After putting the border around all of the tiers, it was time to start placing the flowers. As soon as all of the flowers were placed they had to fill in with the green leaves.

Then it was time to place the other four towers of three tiers each and each had to be decorated the same as the center tower. With 24 boys taking turns it took 4 hours to complete the assembly of the cake and the

placement of the flowers and the final touches.

But the wait was worth it. Two weeks and 800 flowers later, the cake was complete. The guys were so proud of the cake and I was proud of them.

It was incredible how well it turned out!

I am thinking of having another Cake Missionary Team come to Honduras in early spring, to teach women in southern Honduras. I have identified a large number of women who live in adobe huts with dirt floors, who need jobs to help them make ends meet and to feed their children. I am hoping to go to these people and teach them how to make flowers where they can sell them in Tegucigalpa to help their families.

Do you know a cake decorator with an adventurous heart?

Do you have decorating supplies that are sitting in your cabinet unused that you might like to donate?

It's Just About Time For Another Cake Mission!

A what? What in the world is a cake mission? Who in the world would go on a cake mission?


I have heard of cake walks, but cake missions?


Well, several years ago when I was actively working in the prison outside of Tegucigalpa, I found a group of young men, who were very artistically talented and who needed a way to spend their time.


So I invited a team of ladies to come to Honduras and teach cake decorating. The results are still coming into fruition.

Tomorrow I will show you a photo of the wedding cake, 18 tiers which the guys made as their final exam for the 2nd round of Cake Classes. It is incredible. Over 800 gum paste flowers were part of the design.

To the right are photos of some of the young men in the cake classes, with their final exam cake.


You can read about Joanne Balkey's trip at: http://www.yourfoxchapel.com/herald/article/ohara-woman-teaches-prisoners-make-cake


and you can read about Tracy Wirta of San Francisco's trip:

http://www.contracostacakeclub.org/files/September_202007_20newsletter.pdf

Tracy pulled together both the first and the second trips. She is a trooper.

http://www.accessmylibrary.com/coms2/summary_0286-29536785_ITM?email=teresa.searcy@smartteams.org&library=Louisburg%20Library%20Miami%20County


Mary Beth Enderson of Virginia was another of the Cake Missionaries. I caannot find any cake things on the internet about her.

Lisa Summerlin of San Francisco's web page. She was a delight to have on the trip! She is a perfectionist and everything she did was beautiful.

http://community.webshots.com/user/cakecreationsbylisa


Deloris "Dede" Reed of Illinois was yet another volunteer. She does translation work for Wilton and is a Spanish teacher.

The Final Cake Exam, before the diplomas, from the first course was stunning. There were several excellent examples using the different techniques which the ladies taught them.






Jose's Birthday is today, so I guess I have cake on my mind.

Okra in Honduras!

That's right, I went to the Wal-Mart (we have one here in Honduras called Hyper Paiz) and they had OKRA. Being raised in the south, I was thrilled! As I am blogging, I am sitting here eating fried okra.



It is truly amazing the things which excite me. The other day, I found a Kansas City brand of BBQ sauce at the store, Kansas City Masterpiece. I was so excited I purchased a bottle and came home and made BBQ ribs.



Although KC Masterpiece is not my favorite BBQ Sauce, my friend Linda Bell has not come from Arkansas in a while to bring me Chip's BBQ Sauce which is my favorite.


Dr. Charles Paolantonio a chiropractor from Vermont brings me real Maple Syrup when he comes to volunteer. He has Maple trees in his yard.

His son was killed, an innocent bystander when two gangs started shooting at each other in the USA. Dr. Pal has made several trips to Honduras to volunteer with the medical teams as well as in the jail working with the 18th Street Gang.

To the left is a photo of "Mexicano" one of the 18th Street Gang members in the prison outside of Tegucigalpa. Yes, those are tattoos on his forehead and neck.

When Dr. Pal comes to Honduras, the guys line up for him to have him work on their backs and necks. He enjoys it and so do they because they feel better afterwards.

It has been a while since I have been to the prison. I need to go back again soon.

Tim, the mechanic had the truck for 2 full days. He put in new ball joints, which I had brought down from the USA in March and fixed all the other stuff, brakes, brake pistons etc. The good news is I am driving again. The bad news, he says I need a new "leaf spring" what ever that is. So the truck goes back in the shop next week IF I can find the part.

I have organized a Pastors Seminar for next week, Friday and Saturday and am preparing for that. Several other GRINGOS will be teaching with me. In June, 25 pastors came to the seminar and we shared good teaching for 2 full days. They were pleased and wanted another seminar quickly, so next weekend is the date.

Isaiah 61:1 The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me; because the LORD hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound;