The following memoir is composed of a series of short vignettes from my experiences doing mission work in Honduras over the course of two years. They represent my experiences as truly as possible, regardless of how things and/or people have changed since the piece was written.
The sun was hot as the truck bounced over the dry, cracked clay, up the mountainside, dodging potholes and broken glass. Marcos was driving, and I was in the truck bed white-knuckled, clinging for dear life. Continue reading