Skip to main content

Armless Wonders

This past Wedenesday we had a special visitor lead us in our devotional. Jorge Duenas, the man there in the proceeding picture, is the father of some of my closest friends, a raving Anabaptist (he reads John Howard Yoder) and has the ability to reach and connect with youth in an awesome way...he just captivates them. Knowing full-well his abilities and love for both the Lord and youth I recently offered him an open invitation to lead a Wednesday Devotional when he had time...he called me the next week and informed me he would be taking the next meeting. Among other activites and biblical lessons, he told a story about an armless boy who learned to draw with his feet...and then instructed us to de-shoe and attempt drawing with a pen wedged between our toes. I wasn't sure if the kids would take to it but they loved it as the following photos can attest.

In other exciting news, Cristian, the boy in the blue shirt that is in the background of Jorge Duenas' head is blossiming and maturing before our eyes. He readily agreed to lead the group in prayer and was actively engaged in the discussion while most of the kids were just a little too embarrassed to become involved. Continue praying for both him and Sergio, another one we see maturing rapidly. Blessings to you this week. Peace!
- mlk


Nancy Marshall said…
So cool!...
What a great lesson.
So many kids.
So many big smiles.
It's all wonderful.
I praise God for your hearing call to this ministry.

Popular posts from this blog

Coming to Honduras

The other day in philosophy class I was teaching about existentialism, a philosophy with which I have myriad problems. The universe is absurd, life is meaningless, authenticate yourself with irrational leaps of faith! Hopeless and disconnected from reality if you ask me. Get out of the café Camus, mix with some common folk! Nevertheless, as I was introducing the material I mentioned that the existentialists really probed the questions of Life's meaning and purpose:

"How do I create myself to be unique and significant?" "How do I live an authentic existence?" "How do I give my life meaning and purpose in an otherwise meaningless universe?"
These seem to be questions that are attendant to societies that possess extreme wealth and privilege and an over-abundance of leisure time. I have serious doubts that 15th Century English peasants or even nobles for that matter, spent much time contemplating how they might make their lives unique or leave a significa…

Art Day

I've been forced into an "art-day" by Girlfriend; against my better judgement I've decided to turn to the only medium that I'm remotely skilled at. It's been far too long since I've written anything of worth and as I sit here, pondering my lack of output in the last 4 years, I'm left wondering if I have anything substantial left to offer to "The Conversation". I think I did once, when my integrity and identity were intact and people were genuinely curious about my life here. For reasons too numerous to count though, not the least of which is my own retreat from reflective thought put down on paper, I can't shake the feeling that I've lost the ability to speak and be heard. Girlfriend and I are reading a book about marriage together given to me by my sister; we take turns reading it aloud to the other and as salient points are read we often stop and discuss our thoughts. Thus far it's been a fairly blithe and carefree romp through…

10 Years In Honduras

My good friend Jessiel Rivera reminded me the other day that it was 10 years ago this month that I arrived here in La Ceiba. I remember my arrival here from Costa Rica fairly vividly. I had been getting teary-eyed on the plane from a combination of sleep deprivation, my longing to remain with my friends in beautiful San Jose and some sad indie music on my iPod. It was a hot and terribly humid Sunday afternoon when I landed in the La Ceiba airport and when I stepped off the 10-seater hotbox of an airplane onto the tarmac I was sweaty, bleary-eyed and disheveled. I looked like a typical gringo backpacker except for my mountain of luggage that I had in tow. Two members of the Central Mennonite Church picked me up in their car; how they knew I was the Gringo they were supposed to collect was beyond me but they got it right. I remember them remarking on the number of suitcases I had brought (3) and their heaviness (maximum weight allowance); and the resulting weight of embarrassment I felt…