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INTERVENTION Missions / Social Justice / Crisis / Daily Struggles
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| Guatemala – Collin Stoddard |
[ 33 Miles ]
Mon, Sep 22, 2008 @ 12:50 PM PST |
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Picture from Guatemala 1
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Picture from Guatemala 2
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Picture from Guatemala 3
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Picture from Guatemala 4
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Picture from Guatemala 1
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When asked, "how was your time in Guatemala?" It somehow doesn't sound quite right to say, "Oh I absolutely loved being in a third world country." Even though seeing poverty and sickness stretched us and we ate food that made us feel uncomfortable, I know that that the Lord showed Himself to us through these circumstances.
One of our day trips took us on a three-hour dirt road van ride to a small farming community in the highlands. Pulling up in front of a collection of old cinderblock buildings resembling a long stable, we realized we were at a school. After spending some time observing a classroom of thirty kids ages first to sixth grade, we were directed outside to assist in teaching the small children how to wash their hands. The day before they learned how to brush their teeth. I grabbed a bar of soap and walked over to a line of grinning, bright-eyed boys whose outstretched hands seemed to say, "Me first, me first!" I handed a bar of soap to a small boy with one hand and dipped my other in a small water dish and motioned to him to do the same. He copied me and turned the bar of soap in his hands, giggling hysterically at the unknown sensation. Choking back tears I was awed by yet another spiritual encounter with Christ, who showed us an incredible example of servanthood by washing His disciples’ feet. I wonder if Jesus could do it without crying?
The next day we took a similar van ride to a different hillside, this time on the way to meet Sebastian, the seven-year old Jenna and I sponsor. The four-wheel drive van bounced and skidded down a dirt track road for about two hours before stopping. When we piled out of the van a group of twenty children rushed the van seemingly anticipating our arrival. One of the translators grabbed a tiny little boy dressed in jeans, a WWF T-shirt and a baseball cap. Our highly anticipated introduction to this child we'd prayed so much for made us quite eager to hug him and make him feel as American as possible. His fear of looking at us, let alone hugging us gave us the impression that this child had never before seen a white giant from the USA.
After that we hiked about two miles up a steep hill dotted with baby corn plants. Sebastian's house sat at the top of the hill, a one-room shack resembling a barn with a compact dirt floor. In the doorway sat a scraggly, colorless kitten with a bony tail wrapped around its starving figure. Our two translators led us into the dimly lit room. I had to step over the cat and bend down through the door to avoid not hitting my chin on the door frame. Obstacle course completed, we sat on small stools while the translators gave formal greetings from Sebastian's mountain dialect to Spanish, then from Spanish to English. In the fifteen minutes it took to communicate my simple question of "How are you?" I had enough time to think of my next questions. I said to the translator, "Can you tell him, thank you so much for welcoming all these people into your home, is Sebastian behaving in school, and what can I pray for?" I couldn't ask the real questions racing through my mind, "How do you live here? Why do you live here? Where do you get water? What if you get sick? What do you look forward to? How did you get your clothes? What's your email address so we can keep in touch?"
The translator interrupted the voice inside me telling me how stupid it was to even think about the luxury of having internet access at that moment by saying Sebastian's father had a gift for me. I thought, for me? What could he possibly have to give me? What he gave me might have looked a lot to him like two small cans of apple juice and two small packs of cheese crackers wrapped in a homemade bag. What he really handed me was the reality that I don't have any idea what it means to truly live everyday and be thankful for what I have. His extravagant present came as a kick to my stomach as I bent down for him to hang it over my head. I still remember how heavy that offering felt hanging on my neck during our hike back to the van—the equivalent of a day’s worth of food. I came to Guatemala to give to those in need, and the longer we were there, the more I realized how much I was the one in need. The colored package containing a few school supplies and a towel that Food for the Hungry compiled for us to give to Sebastian seemed to lose its splendor as Sebastian looked at it not knowing how to open it. I don't think he'd ever even seen wrapping paper before. I went to give, but I left taking more than I could carry.
I stood to pray over Sebastian's family and my shaky voice was strengthened when joined by several voices murmuring in three different languages, each praising the same Lord. All of a sudden, it became apparent that we were not so different after all. We stepped outside, stooped almost to kneeling level to hug the tiny family, stunted by years of malnutrition. As we started down the hill a group of small boys took off at an extraordinary rate, dodging and darting down the hill, skillfully jumping over the corn plants like a ball bearing rattling down a pinball machine. The sight some how aroused the innate, universal boy deep inside of me and I uncontrollably took off after them, creating a spontaneous race of, "try to keep up with the gangly white giant." I quickly lost my breath and slowed to a walk as the boys raced ahead of me, keeping their distance in case I decided to pick up the chase a second time. I tried to surprise them but they had caught on to the game. As we neared the van I became somewhat disappointed at having to leave this Spirit filled place. Drenched with sweat from throwing rocks into the deep crevices and pulling wild onions and missiling them like bombs into neighboring corn fields, I began to realize why Jesus liked kids so much.
The rest of the trip became somewhat of a blur, memories of flying through the bumpy streets with a view of the foggy, stark countryside burned into my mind. Our comfy seat inside the four-wheel drive Toyota limousine seemed to conflict with the miles of rough cornfields full of men, women and children pulling weeds while rain continued to drizzle from the cloudy sky. Flying into Guatemala, I knew uncomfortable circumstances would affect me, change me, maybe even make me cry; but holding a barefoot child's dirty hand and having gigantic, innocent, peaceful eyes unashamedly meet my gaze made me turn away in a combination of grief and some sort of shame. Although I may never see some of these children again, and perhaps forget some of the scenes painted in my mind, I will never forget how seeing these faces and smiles made my heart squeeze into a tight fist, robbing my breath and bringing a blurry amount of tears to my eyes. When the Lord created the world, He did not create wealthy people, healthy people, and then charity cases. He created men and women alike in the image of Him. The people of Guatemala returned the charity I expected to administer with a relationship I didn't know existed. They showed me the gracious, selfless love of a sovereign God who chose a specific place for me on heaven and earth, and the equivalent place for every person in this world. I think the size of my God grew exponentially in my heart and mind during that trip. If I truly desire a relationship in return, I will see that all men are created in the image of God and offer my life as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to the Lord as a spiritual act of worship. Along with the people of Guatemala, I want to be transformed by the renewing of my mind. As I see them as the image of Christ, I will draw closer to my maker. |
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| Mon, Sep 22, 2008 @ 12:50 PM |
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Publisher : 33 Miles
Profile : You only get just one time around. You only get one shot at this-one chance to find out the one thing that you don't want to miss...more |
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