Love is the Answer. Hope is the Key.  Honduras: Spring 2005  I
can never forget it. They looked up at me, stroked my long,
blonde hair, clung to my waist and with eyes that had seen far
too much sadness, and begged me to take them home.   They called
me “mama” and held my hand with all the energy they possessed. I
believe they thought if they only held tight enough, long
enough, they could drain liquid attention from my veins into
their insolvent little souls. I could not walk the dusty cement
floors across the cramped and smoldering room without four or
five of them latched on like baby monkeys to their mother.   I
loved it. I was drained, hot, and hungry; we had been there
since early morning and the sun was now going down. Still, the
thought of leaving for even a second, depriving them of needed
attention for one moment, was something I didn’t want to face. 
The circumstances were dire. Fifty abandoned orphans to one
exhausted, elderly matron. Her wrinkles were deep and shiny. Her
hands were weak and her