We had hoped that the teacher’s mother would come with us to the clinic, as she was very ill, the beautiful elderly woman who had fed us tamales and coffee the week before.  She needed medicine, but there was none in the village, not even tylenol. Her daughter, the school teacher said she would take her to the clinic tomorrow.  We pray she doesn’t die before then. 

As we head down the mountain, I am seated on the gear shift, holding a three year old.  There is a mother nursing her one year old sitting in the passenger’s front seat next to me.  We come to a muddy dip in the road.  Bruce slows to shift gears, but can’t; the car is too crowded for me to move from atop the shift.  He comes to a stop in the middle of the water filled muddy road, puts the car in low gear, pushes the accelerator, and……the car doesn’t move.  He tries reverese.  The wheels spin.  They are buried to the axel in sticky, reddish, clay-ey muddy muck.  We are stuck.  

We pile pieces of slate, tree branches, rocks under the tires, hoping to gain traction.  The wheels continue to spin. We are really, really stuck.  Finally we tell a passing cattle herder who is headed towards Urraco, to send help.  We wait and I chat with the moms.  They tell me about their lives, their families.  They know why their children are malnourished.  It is because there is not enough money, there is not enough food.  They discuss children who have died.  They know malnutrition is serious, that their children are slowly dying.  This time of year is the worst.  The fruit is not yet ripe and some of the children have dengue fever because it has been so wet and there are more mosquitoes.  They lose still more weight, and can’t fight the disease because they have no reserves. I ask what they think can be done to help.  They contemplate the question, then suggest a meeting of the amas de casa, the housewifes, to talk about it.  I ask if I can come to the meeting.  They seem pleased and tell me yes. 

Over three hours have passed. We hear voices.  The entire pueblo of Urraco has arrived on foot carrying shovels and machetes.  In seconds the mud is shoveled from under the car, the machete has felled a tree which is split and wedged under each rear tire and we are ready to try again.  This time, with much pushing and spraying of red watery clay, the car is free!

At 7:30 at night we finally arrive in Piñalejo.  A welcoming party greets us.  The mothers and children are taken inside.  Food is prepared.  We chat for a while and finally leave for San Pedro Sula with one stop scheduled in Cofradia to drop off the two women and their chicken.  The women at the nutrition center hug us, thank us and ask when they will see us again. We have had the opportunity to become friends.

We drop the two women (and the chicken, still squawking and flapping its wings) in Cofradia.  More hugs.  More friends.  Through the long and winding curves towards home we talk about the day.  Our new friends; the faces of the malnourished children with their listless eyes and lusterless hair; the elderly woman who may die; the teacher who is trying to teach to children who cannot learn, their brains damaged from the effects of malnutrition; and the women’s idea to meet and see what they can do to change things. 

Home at last we are greeted by our two children who have been waiting for us.  They say they are hungry.  They have had nothing to eat since supper two hours ago!  We hug them, they fight with each other, we talk, they snack.  We tell them about being stuck in the mud.  “Did you think you might just stay there until you die?” asks Seth, always the dramatic one.  “No,” we answer.  There is always hope that you can get unstuck.  That is what having faith is.  Having hope that with God’s help you can move mountains, that you are never stuck for good, that there are friends everywhere, that God is good.