Day Three (continued)

It was time to dedicate the house we had just built to the widow who was to receive it. I was in charge of communicating with the widow, Ana (with the help of translators). We all gathered inside the newly completed wooden house, which was much brighter than the dingy, soot-covered home Ana had been living in. (The homes Pray America builds have windows, unlike many of the houses the people of Chichicastenango are living in beforehand.)

Tammy suggested we kneel down to keep from intimidating the family. (We're not only very tall by comparison, we're a group of total strangers, so we try to tread lightly.) Ana arrived back from Guatemala City just in time for the dedication and walked right into her new home. There were quite a few of us in there--six on our team plus Ana and all of her relatives, including little Andrea who had stolen my heart.

Ana sat on the bottom bunk of her new wooden bed, and we all circled around.  I was kneeling down, front and center, right in front of Ana. I got a little nervous as I looked around at all the faces in the room and realized I had the honor of communicating Jesus's love to this woman.

We started with a simple get-to-know-you conversation. I told her she had a beautiful family and asked about them.  I told her a little about us as well--just that we were from the U.S. and are all followers of Christ. It was surprisingly simple finding the words. Maybe that's because all the pauses for translation gave me time to think. Maybe it's because God was giving me the words.

Everything I said, in short, simple sentences, was translated by Tony into Spanish and then by Fausto into Quiche (a native, Mayan language spoken by many of the people in Chichi, including Ana). She listened intently to everything we said, and I could see in her eyes she was appreciative. At Tammy's suggestion, I asked her if she ever went to church. She said no, but that she really wanted to check it out. To me, that was worth all the work.

Rob said it best a day later after Jill told an incredible story about sharing God with someone. He fought back tears when he said that physically helping someone lasted a few years, but sharing Jesus was eternal. Ana got a glimpse of eternity when we told her the home was a free gift from Jesus Christ. I told her we were just His helpers.

And that's no bull. Without God in my life, there's no way I'd be here right now. What kind of red-blooded American voluntarily skips vacation to spend a week in a third world country? Who puts down their iPhone and picks up a hammer? I sure wouldn't have done this without faith. I'm far too self-absorbed to choose to serve others without a nudge from God to do so. But I digress.

I told Ana that Jesus was the God of hope, and I prayed He gave her hope in her life. I got to hand her the lock and key to her home. We also gave her a basket full of goodies--everything from eggs to pasta to chocolate.

Then Dustin prayed for her and the house, and he did a wonderful job. He also helped nail a wooden cross to the side wall of the house, after asking Ana's permission to put it up. It was a really cool moment. You can't see it, but each of our names is signed on the back of the cross.

Ana thanked us, and we all shuffled out of her house. Just before we left, we distributed a few more gifts. Our group had divided up the gift-buying duties months earlier and then sorted the gifts the night before so that each family would get everything from toys to bubbles to soccer jerseys.

I handed a baby doll I had bought in the States to my sweet little buddy, Andrea. I wanted to take her home. I wanted to take all of those kids home. The poverty is overwhelming, and we were about to get a taste of even more of it.

After the dedication, we piled back into the pickup truck and headed back towards the house in downtown Chichi. While we were riding down the mountain, Dustin said the house experience was the coolest thing he'd ever done. I was thinking the exact same thing.

After spending about an hour unwinding at the mission house, we got back in the bed of the pickup truck (all ten of us this time) and headed out of town to one of Manos de Jesus's three feeding centers.

Wow, was that chaotic, but in the best way. As soon as we pulled up and hit the ground, little kids grabbed our hands and led us into their class. They had never seen us before in their life, but the attachment was instant. They were SO excited to see us, we couldn't help but smile. Each one of us "Gringos" was surrounded by kids. They begged us to pick them up and swing them around. It was clear that what they really wanted was affection.

Some of the little girls had tiny vials of glitter, which I didn't realize at first. All I saw was a bunch of girls huddled together touching each others' faces. I figured it was just a cultural thing I didn't understand and didn't think much of it. Then a little girl touched my face and burst out laughing...and I knew there was something more to the face touching.

It still took the laughter and stares of my other team members for me to realize I had been glitter bombed. Multiple times. Mark turned on the "mirror" feature of his iPhone, and I saw that I essentially had a blue glitter beard. It was ridiculous.

All the girls were attacking with their little, glittery hands, and I thought it would be a shame to waste it all on me. In my broken Spanish, I pointed out our group jokester, Darren, to the girls. He was sitting quietly on the other side of the room.  I basically told them Darren LOVES glitter. They conspired for a minute and then attacked in full force. So, Darren got a glitter beard that day too. You're welcome, Darren!

We watched the kids worship, which was awesome. I've never seen such enthusiasm for what was basically a group Sunday School class. (The three feeding centers operate twice a week and take in about 200 children each. They sing and dance and learn about the Bible in Spanish and Quiche for about an hour. Then everyone gets a meal...possibly their only meal for several days, depending on how poor their families are.)

While it was amazing to watch so many little faces joyfully praising God, the feeding center was our first glimpse into the heartbreaking, widespread poverty of Chichicastenango. We helped scoop the food onto their plates and hand it out. Each child got a tiny amount of chicken along with some vegetables, rice, and a few corn tortillas. The drink du jour was cold coffee water.

By the time the last children took their plates, the food was cold.  But each and every little person who came through the line and took a plate from us said "thank you."

The plates were cleared of every last grain of rice in record time, but I wasn't paying enough attention to see what was happening to much of the food. For now I'll just say that the children weren't actually eating all of it. More about that later. It broke my heart.

Day Three

Monday, October 1, 2012

Each day here is better than the last. Today, we got up early as usual for quiet time, and I have to say it is so cool to be surrounded by a house full of people who all wake up early to spend time with God. At home, sometimes it's hard to drag myself out of bed by 7 when I don't have to be at work until 10, and Dustin and I are on very different schedules.

It's awesome to wander into the living room here in Chichi and see half a dozen others already quietly studying. We all know not to talk to each other much until closer to 7 a.m. At 7:30 we do a group devotion, and tomorrow is my day to lead. I can't remember the last time I led a Bible study. Maybe college? So...six or seven years ago. I'm sharing Pastor White's sermon on grace and truth, in my own words.

Mark did today's devotion and it was spot on. All about living in the moment, which is exactly what I decided to do on the mountainside yesterday.

We always eat breakfast at 8. Today we had banana pancakes and bacon. Yum. Then we piled into the back of two pickup trucks and headed out to build our first widow home.

First of all, a word about riding in these pickups. While some of the roads in downtown Chichi are paved and in decent shape, once you get outside that area, it's a bumpy ride. Many of the roads are dirt. Some are partially paved, and because of the mountainous terrain, they're all steep and winding with sharp curves that make it impossible to see who's coming toward you. So, we had the pleasure of riding the way the locals do--standing in the back of the truck, knees bent, hanging onto the side gate and top bar for dear life.

It was anxiety-inducing for those of us accustomed to four doors and a seat belt. The steep curves were dangerous. Bumping around against the sides left bruises on my hips.  I ate more than a few bugs.

I absolutely loved every minute of it.

All I can say is, standing up with the wind in my face, looking out over cliffs to gorgeous mountain views, I felt a freedom I hadn't experienced in a long time.  The kind of freedom that, as much as I love my car, is very difficult to achieve while buckled into a Honda Civic.

My mom would've had a heart attack had she known how we got around. It was one of my favorite parts of the trip.

After breakfast, we wound up a mountainside on a narrow dirt road, riding alongside cornfields until we saw a man waving his arms in the road up ahead. (There were no house numbers or addresses to speak of, so our driver just started tapping his horn as we approached the general vicinity, until the man popped out and started flagging us down.)

At first we didn't see too many children, but as we approached the build site, little heads started to appear, peeking out from behind adobe shacks and peering at us from between corn stalks. Children literally came out of the woodwork, looking at us shyly. There were six of us in the back of the truck, plus two ladders, a few tool boxes, a tank of gasoline and all of our personal belongings.

Our team that day was Johnnie, Lesley, Don, Dustin and me, plus Tammy went along with us. Tony drove and Fausto was there to help build. (Tammy is an American who's on the Pray America staff. Tony and Fausto are Guatemalans who are also employed by Pray America. They help us Gringos build the houses without messing them up too badly.)

We carried all of our supplies and gifts up a short but steep muddy hill to the build site where Pray America had already hired local workers to pour a concrete slab floor and erect wooden posts around the perimeter. The rest was our job.

We introduced ourselves to the family we were building for. We learned the widow who would be living in the house was gone for the morning. She rides the chicken bus each day to Guatemala City (three hours each way) to sell her wares--some kind of food wrapped in corn husk.

The man who flagged us down was her son-in-law, Juan. There were also a few women and several children hanging around who were sweet but understandably very shy. It was all a bit awkward at first, so I think we did the only thing we knew to do--we dove into our work.  My job was to measure along each post, making a pencil mark every 8 and 1/2 inches from bottom to top. That marked where the horizontal wooden boards would go. The men started getting the boards together and cutting them to the right size. For the first few minutes we worked in relative silence. Then we started chatting with Juan, Tony, and Fausto, and we began to feel a little more comfortable as we joked around about Tony's latest love interest.

Once it was time to nail the wooden siding in place, I started out as the "holder." I held the board in place while Dustin and Johnnie drilled the holes and hammered the nails on either end. Tammy encouraged me to jump in and try hammering and drilling, so Dustin and I switched spots after we did one side of the house. It was actually a lot of fun!

Once we helped get the sides of the house in place, Dustin and I put down our hammers and headed over to talk to the kids. There were two little girls--Claudia, who was six or seven and little Andrea who was about three or four. Ages can be deceiving here because just about everyone is malnourished. Many of the kids look younger than what they actually are because they're so small.

Claudia and Andrea stood very close together. Claudia wouldn't take her arms off her little sister for quite some time. She was obviously very protective of her. Lesley and I stooped down to talk to them, and they just stared at us. Then Lesley started making bead bracelets for both of them, spelling out their names. Their moms (or older sisters?) encouraged them to accept the necklaces. Then we tried to get them to play, which was more difficult than you might think.  I pulled out coloring books. I pulled out bubbles. I cracked open a jump rope and made a fool of myself using it. That at least got them to laugh, but they barely budged.

 

Eventually, with the encouragement of the older women in the family who were very receptive to us, the girls sat down and started coloring.

Then I found the beach ball I had bought at Wal-Mart weeks before. It was in the bottom of our goody bag. Let me tell you, blowing up a beach ball at 7,000 feet when you're not used to the elevation is not for the faint of heart. Dustin discovered the same thing up the hill a little farther, where four very young children were checking him out.

Dustin was just adorable playing with the kids on top of the hill. We think the two smallest ones were twins, and they were so incredibly cute. Dustin offered the boy his new water bottle, and the little guy happily took it and immediately shared it with his sister. They couldn't have been more than four years old. They sat side by side on the hill, taking sips of water and passing the bottle back and forth. Dustin and I tossed a beach ball around with them for awhile before heading back down the hill to Andrea and Claudia.

Spending time with them was the best part of my day. I didn't have any regular books I could read to them, so I started reading a coloring book. I tentatively motioned for little Andrea to sit in my lap, and she climbed right up. The shyness had clearly dissolved.

I read to the two of them for fifteen to twenty minutes. They were actually quite talkative once they felt comfortable with me. We talked back and forth in broken Spanish, and Andrea pointed out all the animals and fruits she saw in the book. She sat in my lap so long that both my feet fell asleep. (I was sitting cross-legged on a 2x4 that was on the ground.) Under normal circumstances I would have put her down and moved around a little, but I didn't want to. We read until it was time to dedicate the house.

I stood up, wobbling on my two numb feet and realized it was "go time." What do you say to a woman you've never met, who's about to receive the gift of a new home?

(to be continued)

Day Two

Sunday, September 30, 2012

What an amazing day. It started with a hike that pushed my physical boundaries pretty far.  Nothing makes you feel out of shape like hiking for 90 minutes down and then back up a steep mountain at 6,500 feet above sea level.

We hiked down to the river as a group around 6 a.m., and it kicked my butt. The mountain was very steep. It was a long way down and (seemingly) an even longer trek back up. I was towards the middle-to-end of the pack of ten.  Dustin struggled too, but I'm so proud of him because he kept going. The views were amazing, and it was a cool experience to have with the group.  We saw more than one local making the same hike, but for necessity, not pleasure. One little woman did the uphill climb with a huge sack on her back, in a dress and ballet flats, essentially.  She beat us to the top.  That was pretty humbling.

After the hike, we ate breakfast. The meals here are fantastic and no one inside the house goes hungry. After breakfast we exchanged our money. Dustin and I exchanged $220, which amounts to thousands of quezales. We couldn't believe how far our money stretched in the market, which is supposedly the largest of its kind in Central America.

I bought a beautiful scarf for Mom for Q230 - about $25. I got a beer mug for Dad and some postcards, and together Dustin and I bought a huge, red, handmade blanket for our home.  Dustin loved haggling, and I got the hang of it eventually but really was not a fan at first.

I was actually uncomfortable and overwhelmed when we first started shopping. First of all, personal space doesn't really exist in Chichi's market (which is set up and broken down twice a week - Sundays and Thursdays - throughout the streets of town). The streets are narrow to begin with, and then people set up booths on both sides.  Entire families are manning each booth, from moms and grandmothers to infants sleeping on the ground or on their mothers' backs.  And then groups of women and children start following you like you're the Pied Piper.

We stand out like a sore thumb, being white, dressed in American clothes, and at least a foot taller than most of the people there.  I'm ashamed to say I was really bothered by the relentless pursuit of our money. The little girls were cute but could be obnoxious, and they just Would. Not. Quit.

"Hey lady, buy something!"
"No, gracias."
"Yes!"
No, gracias."
"Yes."
"No..."

You get the idea. This went on almost the entire time we were there, so about an hour and a half.  I really had to face some feelings I wasn't proud of. Instead of compassion, I felt annoyance.

One of the guys in the group--I think either Johnnie or Mark--asked me a great question later that night after I told everyone, sheephishly, that my market experience had been frustrating and anxiety-ridden instead of fun.

"Why? Why did the people get under your skin so much?"

He suggested that it bothered me because it interrupted my agenda, and it certainly did.  I'm used to shopping by myself at a mall or a big box store and not saying a word to anyone until I hit the register. Here, to be hounded for 90 minutes really bothered me.  I didn't want most of the trinkets being shoved in my face (and in some cases placed into my hands).  But I knew the faces looking up at me needed the money.  I wanted to help, but I couldn't help everyone.  I wanted to enjoy a new and unique experience, but the whole thing got on my nerves.

Instead of embracing something new and living in the moment, I let anxiety and aggravation take over. And I certainly didn't look at those girls like they were God's children.

If we get the chance to visit the market again Thursday, I want to try again with a different perspective.

I will say that something really good happened between the awkward market experience and the end of the day.

We took a hair-raising tuk-tuk ride to Monte Flor, where many of the Pray America/Manos de Jesus staff live.  (A tuk-tuk is basically a glorified tricycle with a roof and a motor. The drivers, like most drivers in Chichi, are fearless.  I was crammed into the back between 6-foot-something Rob and Dustin. What a ride.)

Monte Flor is a gorgeous, 60-acre piece of mountainside land with beautiful, brightly colored adobe houses scattered all over the property. We visited the shoe factory, where Pray America employs locals to create handmade leather shoes to sell and to give away to children who need them for school. Dustin and I each bought a pair of shoes (they also make flip-flops and really cool looking men's loafers). We also bought some Guatemalan coffee and a bracelet for Greg (a very manly looking bracelet).

[Click here to shop for your own handmade shoes from the Pray America spinoff, Market 127. You'll find some really unique Christmas gifts and help an amazing ministry at the same time.]

The best parts of our trip to Monte Flor were spending time together at the chapel high up on the hill, and then sitting by the fireplace at the main house hearing the testimony of the founder of Pray America, Ron.

At the chapel, Don (our team leader) just put on some great music and gave us time to be with God. Dustin and I sat together and talked about our expectations for the trip. I told him I was worried about expecting too much. I want so badly to hear God and see God, and I worry I'm basing my hopes off of other peoples' experiences here. Dustin gave some great advice: stop.

Stop trying to force it. Stop trying to create the perfect experience. Live in the moment. So, that's the plan. I made a decision right then to live in the moment. After that, I enjoyed and savored everything we did the rest of the day.

*****

(continued Monday morning)

I want to read and pray this morning, so I'm going to have to save some more of Sunday's details for later, including Ron's story. Lesley told us her story yesterday too. For now, suffice it to say that both were absolutely inspiring and increased my faith.

What stuck with me most during our time at Monte Flor with Ron was when he said God can use us all, and not to discount ourselves.  He called himself "basically talentless" but said that just made it easier for God to use him. He told us we just have to step out in faith, because we cannot please God without faith.

So, my prayer for today is for God to use me. I just want to be part of what He's doing. And my question for Him is, "Lord, how can I serve you best?"

Oh, I'm dedicating a widow's house today. I'm nervous and excited and honored. Please, Jesus, give me the words.

Day One

From September 29 to October 6, 2012, my husband and I had the privilege of taking part in a mission trip with Port City Community Church (our old church in Wilmington, NC). Several times a year, Port City takes groups of 10-15 people down to the mountains of Guatemala to work with an international organization called Pray America, known in Central America as "Manos de Jesus" (Jesus's Hands). Pray America's mission is centered around James 1:27 in the Bible, which commands us to take care of orphans and widows and to keep ourselves from being corrupted by a crooked world.

During our week in Guatemala, we helped feed hundreds of children, built four houses for widows, assembled ten much-needed stoves in homes that were relying on open flames for cooking, and distributed ten water filters.  But that wasn't the coolest part.  The coolest part was immersing ourselves in a culture we hadn't even heard of just a few months before, and meeting some of the most incredible individuals we've ever encountered.  For those who supported us financially, thank you from the bottom of our hearts for making this possible.  For those who prayed for us...it worked.  We thank you sincerely.

Our experience was life-changing.  Dustin and I had never traveled outside the U.S. for any reason other than studying abroad or vacationing. This year, we skipped the resort and tried something new, at the prompting of what some call a "gut feeling" and others call the Holy Spirit.  And boy, was it worth it. Read on to experience the adventure through our eyes, as taken directly from the journal I kept each day while we were there, along with Dustin's perspective through his photography. Who knows...maybe you'll get the itch to hop on a plane yourself....


Saturday, September 29, 2012

We're in Guatemala!!!!! It's 8:30 p.m. local time, which means it feels like 10:30 p.m. to us. We got up at four this morning, so we're exhausted. It took most of the day to travel--from our 5 a.m. meeting time at ILM to arriving at our house in Chichicastenango right around 5 p.m.

This country is absolutely gorgeous. There are mountains everywhere, and even a few volcanoes. There are pointsettia plants in the courtyard of the house that are ten feet tall and all kinds of other brightly colored exotic flowers.

Dustin and I have a large room on the first floor. He is conked out next to me while I write in relative darkness.

Our ride through the mountains to Chichi was full of spectacles: a man on stilts dressed up like a bird; people hanging off the sides of "chicken buses" as they sped down the highway; five-year-olds toddling along unsupervised next to the busy streets; Wal-Mart and Burger King; people sleeping in the grass a few feet from the road; security guards armed with shotguns outside markets and restaurants; fires burning in front of houses of worship; strip clubs and prostitutes; a man peeing in public; a man failing to control his leashed cow in the middle of the road; a tractor trailer dangling from the side of a mountain after missing a steep curve (which caused our fearless driver to pop the median and drive into oncoming traffic while navigating the aforementioned steep curve); mangy, emaciated stray dogs; shacks for houses; people everywhere.

It was visually overwhelming.

The house where we're staying isn't anything like what I pictured.  It's smack in the middle of Chichi--a large, two story house protected by a two-toned, green wall with a gate in the middle. Inside the gate is the main house as well as two smaller buildings for missionaries and guests, with a beautiful little courtyard at the center.

There are three adorable ladies who work here and cook for us. Gloria, Manuela, and ___________.

******

(continued the next morning)

Juanita.  The youngest one's name is Juanita. I couldn't think of her name last night, and Dustin wanted to turn the light out and go to sleep, so I stopped writing.

I'm outside in the courtyard, and the sounds of this town are pretty incredible. In the last five minutes, I've heard the town clock strike 6 a.m., the cannon, some fireworks, and I've heard from the rooster next door at least three times. I'm gonna kill that rooster.  It started crowing at 4 a.m. The thing clearly doesn't know when sunrise is, because the sun is up now and it's still going at it.

I just ate a plantain and chocolate thing and I've got a cup of amazing coffee. You know it's great coffee when it tastes good with instant creamer.

We are walled in on all four sides, so the house feels pretty safe even though we're right in the middle of town.  I can hear the market bustling out front, and I can't wait to go check it out. We still have to exchange our money. We brought $200, and I think it's going to go a long way here. The exchange rate is about 1.7 or 1.8, and it's in our favor. The local currency is called a quetzal, or Q for short.

The team is starting to gather outside with me now, so I'll wrap this up. We're hiking down to the river in a few minutes.

Lord, open my eyes to this place. Let me see the people the way You do. Amen.