“Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to begin our descent toward the San Pedro Airport. You are now in Honduras. Please lock your seat in an upright position, fasten your safety belt, and throw your schedule out the window.”

Before we embarked on our Honduras adventure, Profa Fann warned us of four absolutely essential things to pack: our passport, a plane ticket, money . . . and flexibility. At the time we all laughed at item number four on the list, but it wasn’t long before we experienced the statement’s extreme truth firsthand.

One of the first things we mastered upon our arrival in Honduras was the meaning of Honduran time. All scheduling revolved around three very important, descriptive, little English letters—“ish.” Breakfast at 6:00ish, church at 9:00ish, lunch at 12:30ish—if we were told we’d be leaving for somewhere at 8:30ish, that meant we’d be doing pretty well if we pulled out by 9:00, and shockingly awesome if we left by 8:45. Hour-long delays weren’t altogether uncommon. I thought growing up in a large family had accustomed me to loosely followed schedules, but Honduras took this to a whole new level.

Monday, our first day working at the schools, was riddled with opportunities for flexibility. Not enough vehicles to fit everyone? Eh, we’ll throw a few people in the bed of a pick-up truck that’ll follow a bit later. No teacher and a locked classroom at the first school? No problem, we’ll try picking the lock with a credit card. If that doesn’t work, we’ll open up the blinds and stick a kid through the window to unlock the door. CD player's not working for the puppet skits? Oh well, Joe can read the script in Spanish. No guitar for the songs? I guess we’ll do it a cappella. Healthy Schools program supplies and pick-up still haven’t arrived? Chris can do his math lesson or Mr. Hazen his balloons as time-fillers. The truck carrying teammates has broken down halfway up the mountain? Handy, dandy fix-it dads can take care of the burst radiator hose with some masking tape, pliers, and water from people’s bottles. Still not enough vehicle space? No big deal, we’ll have Mr.G hang off the back of the Land Cruiser and leave a few others at the previous school until we can find them another ride. By the end of the day, Amber’s meticulously planned, 2-hour rotation schedule for the schools had been tweaked and morphed countless times.

The school adventures seemed to smooth out a bit after that first day, but by no means had we escaped surprises for the rest of the week. Spending Thursday evening at CEREPA, a local drug and alcohol rehabilitation center, proved one of the most stretching—but rewarding—experiences for me, personally. We all piled into the vehicles that night with the understanding that our worship team would simply be providing the music for the center’s regularly scheduled service. But we arrived only to find out that our group was THE program and had an hour of time to fill. Thea and I were drafted to perform a violin duet we’d been playing all week as a part of our music lesson in the schools, and we were up first. Just as Thea and I were heading up front to kick the evening off, Profa ran up to me and said, “Sam, you guys should do your whole music lesson!”

My initial reaction? I freaked. “But it’s, like, written for little kids!” Profa responded, “Think about the message of it, though. It fits perfectly in this setting. You really don’t have to, but it’d be cool.” “OOOoooiiii, flexibility…” I groaned to myself, and inwardly I knew I’d end up doing it, even if that meant providing the attendants a little comic relief with my gringo-butchered Spanish. But the panicked thoughts still flashed through my mind, “I know I wanted to be stretched on this trip . . . but hasn’t that already happened enough? With the bugs? And the bathrooms? And translating the gospel bracelet craft? I can’t change this lesson on the spot when it’s in Spanish to put it at an adult level . . . I don’t have it memorized for that . . . and I don’t have my notes! I’ll butcher everything completely!” Still, I walked up front—frantically trying to think of a new, age-appropriate intro—and launched in, “Hola, me llamo Samantha . . .” A poor, unsuspecting Thea had no choice but to go along with it once I started; cool and collected as always, she pulled off her part fabulously.

“In music there are many notes, rhythms, and other markings and rules we have to follow,” I said for the umpteenth time that week. “But what would happen if someone decided they didn’t want to follow all those directions, they just wanted to do whatever they felt like doing with a violin?” Here Brenden came up and kindly demonstrated for us just what this would sound like; his passionate screechings, scratchings, and squawkings on the violin earned hearty chuckles from the observers. “That ‘music’ was ugly, right? But do you realize that our lives are similar to that music? When we don’t obey God’s commands and instead do whatever we feel like, our lives end up being ugly like Brenden’s music.” Thea and I then played our duet, following the rules of the music. Thea went on to make the comparison that when we obey God’s instructions and give Him control in our lives, he changes our ugly lives into something beautiful. The simple lesson and application elicited several men’s tears from the crowd of recovering drug/alcohol addicts.

Thea and I weren’t the only ones forced to be flexible that night. The worship team came up with more songs to add to their number. Mr. Gilbert put together an entire sermon with only a few minutes notice. Mr. Moran volunteered to share a testimony of how he escaped a life of drug/alcohol abuse and found that only Jesus filled the emptiness of his heart. The application of the music lesson, MrG’s simple, but poignant sermon and verse, and Mr. Moran’s amazing testimony (all pulled together at a moment’s notice) fit together in a way we could never have imagined and only God could have orchestrated.

Being flexible throughout the trip wasn’t always easy—especially for those like me who prefer to know every little detail before stepping into a situation. But seeing the way in which God ordered everything so perfectly that night at CEREPA and throughout the entire trip reminded me once again of just how powerful He is, how amazingly he can use people who are willing to be flexible, submissive, and get out of their comfort zone, and that His plan is always perfect.

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Welcome! Honduras--A Lesson in Flexibility Life at the Bottom of the Food Chain