The friendship began with the kids bringing me dead cicadas. I’m not sure why they thought I would be interested and I hoped they weren’t killing the bugs for my benefit. My mind quickly went to work figuring out how I was going to re-direct my two new-found Honduran friends. Our synod team was at a national park in Honduras holding a first aid training for the local health workers in our companion synod. I had stepped outside because I was not on the agenda for some time, and I had work to do to get ready for synod assembly.
Pretty quickly, I grabbed a few interesting rocks and (thankfully!) these replaced the cicadas. The gifting of rocks turned into the organizing and stacking of rocks. Camila, who looked to be about 8, had the mind of an engineer as she tried different ways to get a stack as tall as possible — testing a stone for flatness, taking the measure of the whole structure. The stacking then turned into the building of circles of rocks which were populated with other rocks labeled, “gato,” “toucan,” “corazon,” and “el oso.” With the help of Google Translate, I saw a zoo taking shape (this is all my best guess anyway, as we did not speak each other’s language).
Then Camila pointed at me and said what sounded like “nom-bray.” I puzzled over it… sounded like “number” to me so I said, “57!” (my age). She rolled her eyes, shook her head vigorously and pointed at me again asking, “nom-bray.” I gave her my best blank stare. She ran off to two other tourists sitting nearby and asked them the same. They gave her the same blank, American stare. She came back, I pulled up Google Translate and had her speak into my phone: “nombre.” Name. Now I completely understood her eye roll! My name was most definitely not “57!” “Julia,” I said. I had decided to use a more common form of my name in Honduras.
Julia. This was followed by a new flurry of activity, and I settled in to getting a little more work done. Several minutes later there was an insistent tapping on my arm and Camila and her little brother Caleb pointed, triumphantly at their new work. Two newly organized piles of rocks clearly spelling out my name — “Julia.” Friends, the honor I felt in that moment swelled inside me!
Camila’s fervent work, her creating and re-creating, her eye-roll when I answered her questions about my name with the number “57!,” her perseverance in figuring out how to get me to understand, and her graciousness (and that of her younger brother) — these all gave me a glimpse into the God who calls us by name.
Jesus points to a persistent widow to encourage us to pray. In an eight-year-old Honduran girl, I witnessed what the persistence of God looks like. Even when we are at our most obtuse, God does whatever it takes to break through to us. You matter to me.
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22-23)
+BJST