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  • Yesterday, we celebrated Edward's 14th birthday! As we thank God for this sweet kid's life, we wanted to share this blog post we wrote a few years ago about him and his brother a few years ago, and their struggle to leave street life behind.(keep reading)

  • Edward, our beloved, diminutive 13-year-old whom we call Eddie, was the first name to be called this past Saturday at the start of our annual graduation ceremony. When he heard it, he burst out of one of the Micah House bedrooms where the grads were waiting and processed down the aisle of our living room, which had been transformed into a 150-seat auditorium for the event. As Eddie marched down the aisle, the graduation guests on either side of him applauded him wildly, and a huge smile broke out on his face. What an amazing opportunity for this young man to be celebrated for such a miraculous accomplishment! (keep reading)

  • It’s hard to believe that one year has already gone by since we opened up the Isaiah House full-time last August. Indeed, it has been a year marked by ups and downs, victories and struggles, joy and tears, hope and tragedy. And yet, amidst many difficult situations, God has been faithful throughout this journey... (keep reading)

  • Jeferson was crying when he got out of the van last night as it rolled up to the front door of the Micah House. The boys ran out of the house to greet him when they saw the van pull up, letting out excited whoops of joy. The van’s door opened and Jeferson got out—and was immediately hoisted onto Ismael’s shoulders! All the boys hugged him and patted him on the back, but he kept crying. Luisito, who only left the streets himself six months ago, and with the characteristic directness of a street kid, queried, “Hey, why are you crying?” (keep reading)

  • On April 12, I watched a group of street kids huddle around a large canvas on the lawn of the Micah House and begin to paint a mural. We had invited fourteen kids who sleep on the streets of the downtown area to spend the afternoon with us to commemorate the International Day for Street Children. As the boys started to paint, I realized that each of these young men had something to say, and how important it was to them that they were able to express their story on this canvas. David drew a remarkable image of Jesus, while Yovany drew a large cross surrounded by a heart. Axel Rafael, though he can't read or write, labored to write the letters of his first name and then left his handprint next to it in bright green paint... (keep reading)

  • On March 18, the Micah family in Honduras came together to mark the one-year anniversary of the murder of one of our boys, Axel Lopez. At age eighteen, Axel was struck down in the market area of Tegucigalpa, the very section of the city where he spent his chaotic childhood. By then, he had already been out of the Micah House and back on the streets for a couple of years, despite our best efforts to get him the help he needed... (keep reading)

  • Broken hearts find mercy. If there is a simple phrase that describes what the Micah Project is all about, it is that one, which is part of a song written by our friend Sherdonna Denholm and dedicated to the Micah Project. When a boy makes the courageous decision to leave bondage of street life behind him, he encounters the Lord’s great love and mercy lived out day-to-day in the Micah family. That is the greatest mission of the Micah Project... (keep reading)

  • June 19, 2015. Seven days after Jeff becomes a Micah boy. This has been one tough day. Jeff is in the throes of major detox as his thirteen-year-old body fights his addiction to crack cocaine. You can see the internal anguish written all over his face as his body and mind scream for their addictive desires to be fulfilled. This afternoon, he gets upset over an issue with a soccer ball and goes into full-scale meltdown mode. He starts shouting obscenities at whoever happens to be in the living room at the time. Noticing a knife in the kitchen where our cook Aida is preparing dinner, he runs in and grabs it. As he starts towards the front door of the house, I don’t really know if he is going after one of the other boys with the knife or if he intends to hurt himself... (keep reading)

  • As long as I live, I will never forget the night this past February in which all of the Micah boys fell to their knees weeping before the Lord. We were in the first evening of our spiritual retreat, on a mountaintop about three hours from Tegucigalpa. It was a cool evening, and we were all wrapped in multiple layers as we gathered for the evening session. We had just gotten things started with a couple of songs and a silly skit, when, without any leading, our boys began to weep... (keep reading)

  • I will never forget one chilly, overcast afternoon this past December when I was walking through downtown Tegucigalpa. It was just two days before Christmas, and I was running a few errands before heading back to Micah. It seemed as if the whole city were out and about that afternoon, rushing around in a frenzy to purchase last-minute gifts for their friends and family... (keep reading)

  • As I write this letter, I catch a glimpse of our security camera’s image out of the corner of my eye. José Daniel is at the front door looking for some food to eat. We invite him in, let him take a shower to wash the grime off, give him a clean shirt. He will play video games with the other Micah boys for a while and maybe some basketball. We will ask if he wants to stay, but he will make excuses in an hour or two and will head back to the streets. On his way out the door, he will round the corner of our house to dig his glue bottle out of the hole in which he has hidden it... (keep reading)

  • For a long time now, the Micah boys’ family members have been going through difficult circumstances that wear them out: hunger, loneliness, pain, tragedy, violence, resentment, etc. I could mention many more problems that these families have, but these are just some of the ones that come to Micah with the intention of receiving help.
    They say, “Here they can help me…” (keep reading)

  • The other day I found myself in a mood I like to call a “funk”. I usually use this term to describe when I feel bothered and irritated, but I don’t really know where my feelings are coming from. I felt overwhelmed and irritated by so many things... (keep reading)

  • There was an undercurrent of excitement buzzing through the Micah house on September 6th, the day of Pedro’s wedding. Two large canopies were being hammered into place in the garden area next to the house, and our boys were helping to set up chairs and tables on our front lawn for the reception. Musicians were practicing their pieces and arrangements of flowers had just arrived and were being carefully set in place. We had scrubbed the Micah house itself from top to bottom and it seemed to be glowing in expectation of what was about to happen here. Our cooks were preparing food for 150 people, and the smells of the delicious reception banquet were wafting out of our kitchen and making mouths water all over our property... (keep reading)

  • I came to Micah in 2006. In 2005 I started working at International School of Tegucigalpa, and two co-workers who had graduated from Wheaton were volunteering at Micah during the weekends. Rachael and Erin told me about the project, what it was doing and how they were involved. I thought it sounded like a great opportunity and stored it in the back of my mind... (keep reading)

  • Joy. Joy is what overwhelmed me this past June in Honduras. In the midst of such immense evil and pain, the smiles that came to people’s faces left me speechless. One of the first full days we were there, Michael, Stephen, my mom and I went to visit Marvincito at his rehab facility. Marvincito holds a special place in my heart because he was the first Micah guy I saw on the streets and I was able to get a glimpse of his life before it all. I had been to visit him at Rehab before but not since he went back to the streets for over a year, so I was anxious to see how he was doing... (keep reading)

  • Always running, yet no place to go. Only trash-littered streets corners, abandoned buildings and alleyways. Beaten by police and condemned by society. No voice. No worth. Nothing to grab onto and no hope for tomorrow. Mere survival. Why even think about tomorrow when you don’t know what you’ll eat next or where you’ll sleep tonight? What does it even mean to dream about the future? (keep reading)

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