When I was
hungry, I know you would have fed me if you knew where I was. But you didn't
know me. How could you know me? You never held and fed a baby like me before.
You never held a baby too hungry to cry.
When I was lonely, you didn't know where I was. I lived in a dangerous place. I know you are afraid to go where I live. It's not safe where I live.
When I was sick, you thought the doctors and hospitals wouldn't turn me away. How could you know?
When I was homeless, you gave me some money, and I felt your prayers. But you couldn't have known the terror in that shelter and why I stayed on the streets. You didn't know that I was sick - that I saw demons but they were real. How could you know? We never talked.
When I lost my little girl because we had no money for medicine, you didn't know what I needed. You didn't know where we were. We lived so far from you. They call it theThird World ..
When I sent my boy to sell lotery tickets, you didn't know us. You didn't know I wanted him to go to school but I needed his earnings for food. We were so far away from you. We spoke in a foreign tongue. How could you know us?
You didn't know why my boy didn't come home that night. We knew. His father took his money and bought alcohol and beat him so many times. He stayed in the streets and never came back to me. How could you have known he didn't come home?
You didn't know how the kids live on the street - and what the older ones and the men do to the little ones. And you didn't know about the drugs. How could you? You didn't know that I am with those boys too, and they do it to me. But how could you know?
When I pleaded for fair wages, they tortured me. We made your clothes. But you didn't know who we were. You didn't know what they did to those of us who spoke for fair wages and safe conditions. How could you know how far they'd go?
When I gathered your food and got sick from the chemicals, you couldn't know. You didn't know what the chemicals did to our children. You didn't know the nightmares they caused. How could you know? You never gathered foods from the fields. You never touched or smelled the chemicals.
Did you know that my children work in the garbage? They collect paper and bottles and cans. And they sell them so we can eat. It's so dangerous there. Surely you don't know of the dangers - of the gas explosions and fires, of the chemicals and disease. But what can I do? I have no other way to feed my children. But you didn't know.
When we spoke for our land, our ancestors' land, they slaughtered us. They mutilated and tortured me so many times in so many ways. They smashed my children against rocks. They raped and killed my wife and daughters. They did it for the land owners who sell you your food. They did it to me. But how could you know what they did? It wasn't on the news. None of your friends could tell you. We live so far from you.
When I was lonely, you didn't know where I was. I lived in a dangerous place. I know you are afraid to go where I live. It's not safe where I live.
When I was sick, you thought the doctors and hospitals wouldn't turn me away. How could you know?
When I was homeless, you gave me some money, and I felt your prayers. But you couldn't have known the terror in that shelter and why I stayed on the streets. You didn't know that I was sick - that I saw demons but they were real. How could you know? We never talked.
When I lost my little girl because we had no money for medicine, you didn't know what I needed. You didn't know where we were. We lived so far from you. They call it the
When I sent my boy to sell lotery tickets, you didn't know us. You didn't know I wanted him to go to school but I needed his earnings for food. We were so far away from you. We spoke in a foreign tongue. How could you know us?
You didn't know why my boy didn't come home that night. We knew. His father took his money and bought alcohol and beat him so many times. He stayed in the streets and never came back to me. How could you have known he didn't come home?
You didn't know how the kids live on the street - and what the older ones and the men do to the little ones. And you didn't know about the drugs. How could you? You didn't know that I am with those boys too, and they do it to me. But how could you know?
When I pleaded for fair wages, they tortured me. We made your clothes. But you didn't know who we were. You didn't know what they did to those of us who spoke for fair wages and safe conditions. How could you know how far they'd go?
When I gathered your food and got sick from the chemicals, you couldn't know. You didn't know what the chemicals did to our children. You didn't know the nightmares they caused. How could you know? You never gathered foods from the fields. You never touched or smelled the chemicals.
Did you know that my children work in the garbage? They collect paper and bottles and cans. And they sell them so we can eat. It's so dangerous there. Surely you don't know of the dangers - of the gas explosions and fires, of the chemicals and disease. But what can I do? I have no other way to feed my children. But you didn't know.
When we spoke for our land, our ancestors' land, they slaughtered us. They mutilated and tortured me so many times in so many ways. They smashed my children against rocks. They raped and killed my wife and daughters. They did it for the land owners who sell you your food. They did it to me. But how could you know what they did? It wasn't on the news. None of your friends could tell you. We live so far from you.
You were so busy.
You had your children. You rocked them and sang to them and helped them with
their homework and read them stories and tucked them in and taught them to
pray. You took them to soccer practice and baseball games, to dance classes and
music lessons. You were so busy.
You worshiped me often. You met with your friends and talked of your love for me. I heard your love songs. And I heard your praise and thanks. You thought I was in heaven. That's what they told you. You just didn't know.
You worked so hard. I know it wasn't easy. They'd fire you so quickly. So you had to work hard to provide for your family. I know you were afraid.
But you shouldn't have feared. I sent you food from the fields so you wouldn't go hungry. I sent you clothes, and I sent you my love. Even when you didn't know it or believe it, I loved you always.
When you smashed my baby against the rocks, you didn't know it was me. You were so afraid of the sergeant. You didn't know what to do. You didn't want to kill me. He said he'd kill you if you didn't do it. You were so afraid.
When you took my money for alcohol and beat me, you didn't know that I'd go to the streets and never come home. You didn't know what they'd do to me. I know you loved me. You just didn't know how much I loved you.
And when I needed money for my daughter's medicine, I know you would have bought it for her, if only you knew where we were.
I loved you when I was hungry and you had extra food. I know you would have fed me if you could - if you saw me, if you held me. I'm sure you wouldn't have left me to starve, if you knew who I was.
If only you knew. I come to you through the children. I come a million times a day. But look what is done to me. I'm hungry and sick, beaten and abandoned. I'm tortured and mutilated, abused and battered.
I'm waiting in the children. Can you hear me? Listen. I'm in your heart - your Sacred Heart. And you are always in my heart.
Come to me. Come to the children. Don't be afraid. I'll mend your heart.
Can you hear me? I love you. I love you. I love you. If only you knew.
You worshiped me often. You met with your friends and talked of your love for me. I heard your love songs. And I heard your praise and thanks. You thought I was in heaven. That's what they told you. You just didn't know.
You worked so hard. I know it wasn't easy. They'd fire you so quickly. So you had to work hard to provide for your family. I know you were afraid.
But you shouldn't have feared. I sent you food from the fields so you wouldn't go hungry. I sent you clothes, and I sent you my love. Even when you didn't know it or believe it, I loved you always.
When you smashed my baby against the rocks, you didn't know it was me. You were so afraid of the sergeant. You didn't know what to do. You didn't want to kill me. He said he'd kill you if you didn't do it. You were so afraid.
When you took my money for alcohol and beat me, you didn't know that I'd go to the streets and never come home. You didn't know what they'd do to me. I know you loved me. You just didn't know how much I loved you.
And when I needed money for my daughter's medicine, I know you would have bought it for her, if only you knew where we were.
I loved you when I was hungry and you had extra food. I know you would have fed me if you could - if you saw me, if you held me. I'm sure you wouldn't have left me to starve, if you knew who I was.
If only you knew. I come to you through the children. I come a million times a day. But look what is done to me. I'm hungry and sick, beaten and abandoned. I'm tortured and mutilated, abused and battered.
I'm waiting in the children. Can you hear me? Listen. I'm in your heart - your Sacred Heart. And you are always in my heart.
Come to me. Come to the children. Don't be afraid. I'll mend your heart.
Can you hear me? I love you. I love you. I love you. If only you knew.
The above excerpt is from the book True Cost of Low
Prices by Vincent A Gallagher. Coming from two years experience in the
mission field in Gualan, Zacapa ,
Guatemala
I have been home
now from my second mission trip for over two years, and I still find it very
difficult to express what I experienced during those two and half weeks. Due to
the intensity of the time spent there, I feel words can not express, can not do
justice to what truly occurred while I was away. The people I met, the villages
I saw, the life changing transformations, the concentration of emotions – those
things can not be simply put into a simple account. I do want to share, feel
the overwhelming need to share what I learned and what I experienced, but I
want to do so in a way that will express what the country of Guatemala
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Day 1, Friday June 12, 2009
Long trip + long bus ride = arrival. I have bonded quickly with a small group here – Angela Manuel (my roommate), as well as with Jody Crawhorn, Jack Cox, and Steve Sampson who are in the hut directly across from ours. The Hotel Atlantico is very nice, even without hot water and unsafe drinking water!
Day 2, Saturday June 13, 2009
Today we took food to the dump. (As a side note, there is a village in the dump. People literally live in the landfill – literally sleep in trash). I handed out suckers down the line. I was pretty quiet as it was my first experience with the people. I did fine until I came to a child with Downs Syndrome. (Later I learned there are only two centers in the entire country for the mentally challenged). As I handed her the sucker, I had my first realization of what life is like here. My first reaction was shock, followed by sadness and nervousness. Nervousness because I did not know how to act or react, and also due to the language barrier. With my fondness for Downs Syndrome children, I was already emotionally spent, and it is only my first day.
Day 3, Sunday June 14, 2009
Today was our first work day at theNutrition
Center Nutrition
Center Guatemala
Day 4, Monday June 15, 2009
Our first VBS was this morning, and then Eric and I began to tear down an old shed at the Nut House. At VBS while making bead bracelets with the children, a little girl came up to me and placed her hand on my knee. I made her a bracelet, and afterwards I opened my arms for a hug. She squeezed and squeezed. Neither of us could seem to let go. As we sat clinging, I began to tear up. Here is a child in a village so poor, yet she is so loving and appreciative. Once we arrived back at the Nut House, I was glad to be able to do manual work on tearing down the shed. It was as if I was trying to take out my aggression on the demo. Aggression for the situation so many of these children are put in. Put in not by choice, but by fate. I felt so helpless today like I wasn’t doing enough – like I couldn’t even begin to do enough for this community. I am overwhelmed daily by what I see in every village. Not only does it make me sad and overwhelmed, but I feel angry and helpless and powerless. I look around at my ‘family’ here, and know we are all here for a reason. I see Eric – big, tall, beefy Eric – stopping work to pick up a child and hug and cuddle. Or Katie making kids laugh. Or Jody making paper frogs and seeing the children giggle when they jump, and I see the good that is being done. But for me it is frustrating because it is not enough in a country that has people that so need more.
Day 5, Tuesday June 16, 2009
Oh….my…..gosh……finished tearing down the shed, cut foam for baby mattresses, cut rebar, moved floor tiles. All outside in the sun except for the foam cutting. My red shoulders show it! Today some of the village children attempted to teach me Spanish. One taught me a Spanish finger game; another taught me that dormille is sleepy. A third taught me the word for sunglasses, which of course I’ve already forgotten.
Day 6, Wednesday June 17, 2009
Of all the days I’ve been here, today has been the hardest, physically and emotionally. By the time I hit the bus ride home, I was gutted. Varnished beds in the hot sun and moved rocks in the rain. Steve and Jody and I were talking yesterday. Steve said the people here are happy because they don’t know any different, and Jody stated that it is much easier to be born into nothing than to have everything and go into experiencing nothing. But at home I have way more than I should, than I really need. I don’t need all of those things. None of us do. I am very bothered with the mentality I entertained at home. From my clothes and materialistic possessions, down to my hair and makeup. None of those things are really me. Why do I try and keep up a certain persona, look a certain way? That doesn’t make me, me. Yet I still put on my makeup every morning, even here. (As a side note, the day after this one, I stopped with the makeup. It all ran off in the sun anyways). How do I return home and try to integrate what I have experienced here into my life, into the lives of my family? How do I reconcile what I have seen and experienced with the gobs of money we have coming in? How do you balance that? I feel as if there is a giant chasm building from what I came here as, and what I will go home like. It is as if this country and these experiences are chiseling away at me, at who I am, and every day a bigger chunk gets discarded. But what does that leave me with? What kind of ‘me’ will be left at the end? I came down here to cause change, and I am the one being changed. I feel the deep awakening, yet it is not an awakening I can yet understand or grasp. And as I feel this change within, I feel guilty as this trip was meant to be for others, not myself.
Day 7, Thursday June 18, 2009
Moved wood, picked up trash, power sanded and used a power drill. I can go home and build a bench. Not really…
Had somewhat of a lengthy conversation with Tom Bergamini today and then with Katie in the bus. We were talking about societies and how this trip can change you. One thing that stuck with me is Katie quoting Gayle – “Life is too short to read bad books”. And I do that – I try and finish bad books, both literally and otherwise. There are only so many God given days. It makes no sense to waste them away. At the fiesta last night Erin (from Washington) said that for her this week consisted of a bunch of little miracles, and when she put them together it made one big amazing thing. I have had a lot of small miracles. The children of course, and this village, and the work we’ve done, but I’ve also had many other small miracles – victories – that have awakened within me. I am so glad we have another week, because I can’t go home yet. I am grateful for my new family – Steve, Jack, Jody, and Angela. I feel as if these people really know me simply because of what we have experienced here together.
Day 8, Friday June 19, 2009
A day off. With one group leaving and another arriving, those of us staying the entire two weeks sat around the pool all day. It was good to have a lethargic day – it was needed after the week of physical and emotional labor.
Day 9, Saturday June 20, 2009
Today Oscar fell asleep in my arms at the Nut House. We then went to a village. It had been rebuilt on land the government had given the people after a hurricane wiped out their original dwellings. Although there were houses there, calling it a house is not the adequate term. Shacks would be too eloquent. Many had tin sides. Some just had blankets for walls, a few just sticks. Our vans pulled up to where the people were gathered. So many children. Many young; some mere babies. We spent some time there. As we pulled away, there was a child – one, maybe two. His stomach pouched out. Not a good sign. Next house down was an elderly man. He was so skinny that his clothes hung, limp. He was digging on the ground filling his truck. Filling it with what I do not know. All afternoon and into the evening I remained in a haze. Part sadness, part shock, part disbelief. I called Kevin hoping to find some respite, but as I began to talk all I could do was weep. No words can explain the experience, the journey. As I looked through the village, talked with the people, hugged the children, I could not completely grasp the enormity of the situation. I remember seeing the dwellings, but what stuck with me was the amount of children – all living in this village. So many kids whose world is sticks, hunger, isolation. Bits and pieces are the memories. Instead of a whole picture, I have vivid details pieced together. The frayed hem of a skirt. A dirty dress. Sticks stuck in the ground marking territory. A territory of a house. I am overwhelmed with sadness, with compassion, with pain. My heart aches for each person in this village. I left the village with a heaviness. A heaviness I will carry with me always. Jody said to me tonight what can you do? Nothing. Yet although I see his point, I am not at the point of accepting it. I have never seen, never experienced such a desolate setting. These people have nothing, absolutely nothing, so how can I sit back and do nothing? Doing nothing accomplishes more of the same – nothing. Here were God’s people, starving – starving for food, starving for adequate shelter. At one point on the ride back I questioned God. Questioned how He could let this happen. How so many people could be cloistered into such a realm of poverty and desolation. The shacks were almost hollow, empty – even though the village was filled with people. It was if the heaviness of the situation was echoing through each and every dwelling. And yet as I sit here writing, I wonder if the echo was nothing more than a whisper in my own heart, a short verse in my own head, trying to grasp the entirety of it all. I ache for these people, for their village. My heart hurts for them, for what they endure. As dire as their situation is, I do not see them as minimal. I look at them, and I love them. I hurt for them, in hopes that it may take away some of their pain. In reality, I know that not to be the case. God gives each of us our own challenges, our own paths. I have mine, they have theirs. Yet I do not deem it fair that their challenges are so great. I am no more important than them. I am their equal and they are mine.
Day 10, Sunday June 21, 2009
Church service day at the waterfall, then toSenior Center
Day 11, Monday June 22, 2009
Woke up to journal and my mind still feels very complacent. Sensory overload. It is all still very surreal, yet amazing how quickly this has become my life. I can’t imagine right now arriving back inLouisville
The semi arrived today, which we unloaded – tons of medical supplies. Also rearranged the clinic and the office at the Nut House. Ate dinner at the Hearts in Motion House (AKA HIM house), played euchre at home, then watched Jack discover fake crap (beans) in the bathroom lovingly placed there by Jody and Steve.
This trip was definitely a God thing, because I was beginning to lose the true essence of self.Guatemala
Day 12, Tuesday June 23, 2009
Power sanded a bit, varnished a bit, watched while they attempted to pour concrete. It was way too wet and not a smooth finish at all. I walked away so as not to open my mouth and insult someone. This morning we did the feeding for the village (fed 90 kids lunch) and then had VBS at the Nut House. I held Oscar all during VBS. He sang, or attempted to sing, Father Abraham, and halfway through the story of Jonas and the whale, he fell asleep again in my arms. During the craft time, I went under a shade tree and laid down on my back with him sleeping on my chest and stomach. It was…..perfect. We laid there for about 20 minutes, and for the first time in a week and a half, I got the true desire to take a little one home, preferably Oscar. Knowing his mother is still a semi active participant, I knew the only thing I could do is pray. As I laid there with my hand resting on Oscar’s back, I prayed. Prayed for his health, his safety, his family, and that he would know the love of God. Later in the afternoon I returned to the same spot and sat down and cried. Cried for what Oscar already has had to endure at only four years of age.
Day 13, Wednesday June 24, 2009
I woke up happy, energized, and ready to go. Unusual for me! Got up early to get coffee and journal, and started thinking about just how happy I have been here. As I sit here with my feet up, I notice that my feet never seem to stay clean here. Random. Dirty feet and all, I am blessed. My heart is truly happy. It is an inner peace, a resolution that I have needed for quite some time. I had forgotten what it was like to have such a peaceful inner self. Yesterday at the Nut House I sanded and varnished a large bookshelf. Sanding was cathartic. It is taking something rough and unfinished and turning it into something smooth and finished. Kind of like life. At many times life is rough. Some patches of life are rougher than others, and you have to work harder and longer to make them smooth. When I return home, I have a very, very large bookshelf to sand, in so many ways. I am worried about returning home to a lifestyle I no longer want; to responsibilities I no longer care to keep up with. I am unclear of how to integrate myself back into society, as here I have chosen to strip away so many unneeded ideals and unnecessary items. I have not worn make up in a week, and I am fine with that. But at home these things are expected. How long can I fight that? American society does not grasp many of the concepts I have come to recognize here. I will be outnumbered at home. I will be outnumbered in my own house. I can not force it. Each person must come to terms with their own issues; a true change of heart can only come from within.America is not Guatemala
Day 14, Thursday June 25, 2009
Last day of work at the Nut House construction site. Didn’t do much. Had VBS in the morning, and Oscar was not feeling well so I did not get to spend much time with him. When we were ready to leave, Oscar was asleep in Jim’s arms. I kissed him on his forehead. Jim said I could take him but I declined. It was easier for me to not prolong the unavoidable. If I held him, I would have wanted to keep on holding him, carry him out and remove him from his hardships. I kissed him again, and walked out the front door. If possible, Oscar would have been the child I would adopt. For two weeks, I grew accustomed to his ‘Hola!’, followed by the characteristic Oscar smile. I walked towards the van and began to tear up. As I stopped, I knew the situation was not something I could change. Taking a deep breath, I took a look around, gathering in as many details as I could, and then climbed into the van. That part, is finished.
Tonight was the fiesta. I was able to pull out a few salsa dances, and I also danced by myself in the rain, which is something I’ve always wanted to do. It was a perfect end to my two weeks here. I have gained so much, learned so much, and changed so much. I am now a girl who salsas in the rain, who can go without makeup, and can brush my teeth with the tap water and still not get sick. I am leavingGuatemala
Day 15, Friday June 26, 2009
Travelled toAntigua today. The hotel is not
what I expected. It is very neat, but very noisy. An older building in a
Spanish style, it is very cold and damp. We went to the market today – just me,
Ang, Jack, and Jody and spent some good quality family time together. This
evening we went out to a nice dinner, got all dressed up, and took a ‘family’
photo. It is going to be weird at home not being able to talk to Ang whenever,
or just walk across to get to Jack, Jody, and Steve. We all bonded so quickly
and for two and a half weeks we shared everything. It will be weird to go home
without them.
Day 16, Saturday June 27, 2009
Today Ang, Jody, and I hung out all day as Jack was looking for schools and Steve was taking his sister in law and nephew around the city. We stopped at a local bakery for breakfast, hit Mass, found a dog and named her Daisy who subsequently followed us around for the next hour and a half, toured the old nunnery, found the rest of our group and ate lunch with them, then split off again and went to Maya’s silver shop, went to the market, went to the bakery (again), came back to the hotel to shower and change then went out to eat dinner.
Day 17, Sunday June 28, 2009
Going home. Don’t want to. Stayed up as late as possible last night to prolong the unavoidable. I miss my family, but I will miss my life, my family, my time here. I will not forget, can not forget, all I have gained here. Memories have been imprinted on my heart which have changed me forever. I am a better person because of seventeen days in a country ravaged by poverty. I am a stronger person because of the experiences I have had. My inner soul has been filled with love, peace, compassion, clarity, relationships, and understanding.
On the plane ride returning fromGuatemala Louisville
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Day 1, Friday June 12, 2009
Long trip + long bus ride = arrival. I have bonded quickly with a small group here – Angela Manuel (my roommate), as well as with Jody Crawhorn, Jack Cox, and Steve Sampson who are in the hut directly across from ours. The Hotel Atlantico is very nice, even without hot water and unsafe drinking water!
Day 2, Saturday June 13, 2009
Today we took food to the dump. (As a side note, there is a village in the dump. People literally live in the landfill – literally sleep in trash). I handed out suckers down the line. I was pretty quiet as it was my first experience with the people. I did fine until I came to a child with Downs Syndrome. (Later I learned there are only two centers in the entire country for the mentally challenged). As I handed her the sucker, I had my first realization of what life is like here. My first reaction was shock, followed by sadness and nervousness. Nervousness because I did not know how to act or react, and also due to the language barrier. With my fondness for Downs Syndrome children, I was already emotionally spent, and it is only my first day.
Day 3, Sunday June 14, 2009
Today was our first work day at the
Day 4, Monday June 15, 2009
Our first VBS was this morning, and then Eric and I began to tear down an old shed at the Nut House. At VBS while making bead bracelets with the children, a little girl came up to me and placed her hand on my knee. I made her a bracelet, and afterwards I opened my arms for a hug. She squeezed and squeezed. Neither of us could seem to let go. As we sat clinging, I began to tear up. Here is a child in a village so poor, yet she is so loving and appreciative. Once we arrived back at the Nut House, I was glad to be able to do manual work on tearing down the shed. It was as if I was trying to take out my aggression on the demo. Aggression for the situation so many of these children are put in. Put in not by choice, but by fate. I felt so helpless today like I wasn’t doing enough – like I couldn’t even begin to do enough for this community. I am overwhelmed daily by what I see in every village. Not only does it make me sad and overwhelmed, but I feel angry and helpless and powerless. I look around at my ‘family’ here, and know we are all here for a reason. I see Eric – big, tall, beefy Eric – stopping work to pick up a child and hug and cuddle. Or Katie making kids laugh. Or Jody making paper frogs and seeing the children giggle when they jump, and I see the good that is being done. But for me it is frustrating because it is not enough in a country that has people that so need more.
Day 5, Tuesday June 16, 2009
Oh….my…..gosh……finished tearing down the shed, cut foam for baby mattresses, cut rebar, moved floor tiles. All outside in the sun except for the foam cutting. My red shoulders show it! Today some of the village children attempted to teach me Spanish. One taught me a Spanish finger game; another taught me that dormille is sleepy. A third taught me the word for sunglasses, which of course I’ve already forgotten.
Day 6, Wednesday June 17, 2009
Of all the days I’ve been here, today has been the hardest, physically and emotionally. By the time I hit the bus ride home, I was gutted. Varnished beds in the hot sun and moved rocks in the rain. Steve and Jody and I were talking yesterday. Steve said the people here are happy because they don’t know any different, and Jody stated that it is much easier to be born into nothing than to have everything and go into experiencing nothing. But at home I have way more than I should, than I really need. I don’t need all of those things. None of us do. I am very bothered with the mentality I entertained at home. From my clothes and materialistic possessions, down to my hair and makeup. None of those things are really me. Why do I try and keep up a certain persona, look a certain way? That doesn’t make me, me. Yet I still put on my makeup every morning, even here. (As a side note, the day after this one, I stopped with the makeup. It all ran off in the sun anyways). How do I return home and try to integrate what I have experienced here into my life, into the lives of my family? How do I reconcile what I have seen and experienced with the gobs of money we have coming in? How do you balance that? I feel as if there is a giant chasm building from what I came here as, and what I will go home like. It is as if this country and these experiences are chiseling away at me, at who I am, and every day a bigger chunk gets discarded. But what does that leave me with? What kind of ‘me’ will be left at the end? I came down here to cause change, and I am the one being changed. I feel the deep awakening, yet it is not an awakening I can yet understand or grasp. And as I feel this change within, I feel guilty as this trip was meant to be for others, not myself.
Day 7, Thursday June 18, 2009
Moved wood, picked up trash, power sanded and used a power drill. I can go home and build a bench. Not really…
Had somewhat of a lengthy conversation with Tom Bergamini today and then with Katie in the bus. We were talking about societies and how this trip can change you. One thing that stuck with me is Katie quoting Gayle – “Life is too short to read bad books”. And I do that – I try and finish bad books, both literally and otherwise. There are only so many God given days. It makes no sense to waste them away. At the fiesta last night Erin (from Washington) said that for her this week consisted of a bunch of little miracles, and when she put them together it made one big amazing thing. I have had a lot of small miracles. The children of course, and this village, and the work we’ve done, but I’ve also had many other small miracles – victories – that have awakened within me. I am so glad we have another week, because I can’t go home yet. I am grateful for my new family – Steve, Jack, Jody, and Angela. I feel as if these people really know me simply because of what we have experienced here together.
Day 8, Friday June 19, 2009
A day off. With one group leaving and another arriving, those of us staying the entire two weeks sat around the pool all day. It was good to have a lethargic day – it was needed after the week of physical and emotional labor.
Day 9, Saturday June 20, 2009
Today Oscar fell asleep in my arms at the Nut House. We then went to a village. It had been rebuilt on land the government had given the people after a hurricane wiped out their original dwellings. Although there were houses there, calling it a house is not the adequate term. Shacks would be too eloquent. Many had tin sides. Some just had blankets for walls, a few just sticks. Our vans pulled up to where the people were gathered. So many children. Many young; some mere babies. We spent some time there. As we pulled away, there was a child – one, maybe two. His stomach pouched out. Not a good sign. Next house down was an elderly man. He was so skinny that his clothes hung, limp. He was digging on the ground filling his truck. Filling it with what I do not know. All afternoon and into the evening I remained in a haze. Part sadness, part shock, part disbelief. I called Kevin hoping to find some respite, but as I began to talk all I could do was weep. No words can explain the experience, the journey. As I looked through the village, talked with the people, hugged the children, I could not completely grasp the enormity of the situation. I remember seeing the dwellings, but what stuck with me was the amount of children – all living in this village. So many kids whose world is sticks, hunger, isolation. Bits and pieces are the memories. Instead of a whole picture, I have vivid details pieced together. The frayed hem of a skirt. A dirty dress. Sticks stuck in the ground marking territory. A territory of a house. I am overwhelmed with sadness, with compassion, with pain. My heart aches for each person in this village. I left the village with a heaviness. A heaviness I will carry with me always. Jody said to me tonight what can you do? Nothing. Yet although I see his point, I am not at the point of accepting it. I have never seen, never experienced such a desolate setting. These people have nothing, absolutely nothing, so how can I sit back and do nothing? Doing nothing accomplishes more of the same – nothing. Here were God’s people, starving – starving for food, starving for adequate shelter. At one point on the ride back I questioned God. Questioned how He could let this happen. How so many people could be cloistered into such a realm of poverty and desolation. The shacks were almost hollow, empty – even though the village was filled with people. It was if the heaviness of the situation was echoing through each and every dwelling. And yet as I sit here writing, I wonder if the echo was nothing more than a whisper in my own heart, a short verse in my own head, trying to grasp the entirety of it all. I ache for these people, for their village. My heart hurts for them, for what they endure. As dire as their situation is, I do not see them as minimal. I look at them, and I love them. I hurt for them, in hopes that it may take away some of their pain. In reality, I know that not to be the case. God gives each of us our own challenges, our own paths. I have mine, they have theirs. Yet I do not deem it fair that their challenges are so great. I am no more important than them. I am their equal and they are mine.
Day 10, Sunday June 21, 2009
Church service day at the waterfall, then to
Day 11, Monday June 22, 2009
Woke up to journal and my mind still feels very complacent. Sensory overload. It is all still very surreal, yet amazing how quickly this has become my life. I can’t imagine right now arriving back in
The semi arrived today, which we unloaded – tons of medical supplies. Also rearranged the clinic and the office at the Nut House. Ate dinner at the Hearts in Motion House (AKA HIM house), played euchre at home, then watched Jack discover fake crap (beans) in the bathroom lovingly placed there by Jody and Steve.
This trip was definitely a God thing, because I was beginning to lose the true essence of self.
Day 12, Tuesday June 23, 2009
Power sanded a bit, varnished a bit, watched while they attempted to pour concrete. It was way too wet and not a smooth finish at all. I walked away so as not to open my mouth and insult someone. This morning we did the feeding for the village (fed 90 kids lunch) and then had VBS at the Nut House. I held Oscar all during VBS. He sang, or attempted to sing, Father Abraham, and halfway through the story of Jonas and the whale, he fell asleep again in my arms. During the craft time, I went under a shade tree and laid down on my back with him sleeping on my chest and stomach. It was…..perfect. We laid there for about 20 minutes, and for the first time in a week and a half, I got the true desire to take a little one home, preferably Oscar. Knowing his mother is still a semi active participant, I knew the only thing I could do is pray. As I laid there with my hand resting on Oscar’s back, I prayed. Prayed for his health, his safety, his family, and that he would know the love of God. Later in the afternoon I returned to the same spot and sat down and cried. Cried for what Oscar already has had to endure at only four years of age.
Day 13, Wednesday June 24, 2009
I woke up happy, energized, and ready to go. Unusual for me! Got up early to get coffee and journal, and started thinking about just how happy I have been here. As I sit here with my feet up, I notice that my feet never seem to stay clean here. Random. Dirty feet and all, I am blessed. My heart is truly happy. It is an inner peace, a resolution that I have needed for quite some time. I had forgotten what it was like to have such a peaceful inner self. Yesterday at the Nut House I sanded and varnished a large bookshelf. Sanding was cathartic. It is taking something rough and unfinished and turning it into something smooth and finished. Kind of like life. At many times life is rough. Some patches of life are rougher than others, and you have to work harder and longer to make them smooth. When I return home, I have a very, very large bookshelf to sand, in so many ways. I am worried about returning home to a lifestyle I no longer want; to responsibilities I no longer care to keep up with. I am unclear of how to integrate myself back into society, as here I have chosen to strip away so many unneeded ideals and unnecessary items. I have not worn make up in a week, and I am fine with that. But at home these things are expected. How long can I fight that? American society does not grasp many of the concepts I have come to recognize here. I will be outnumbered at home. I will be outnumbered in my own house. I can not force it. Each person must come to terms with their own issues; a true change of heart can only come from within.
Day 14, Thursday June 25, 2009
Last day of work at the Nut House construction site. Didn’t do much. Had VBS in the morning, and Oscar was not feeling well so I did not get to spend much time with him. When we were ready to leave, Oscar was asleep in Jim’s arms. I kissed him on his forehead. Jim said I could take him but I declined. It was easier for me to not prolong the unavoidable. If I held him, I would have wanted to keep on holding him, carry him out and remove him from his hardships. I kissed him again, and walked out the front door. If possible, Oscar would have been the child I would adopt. For two weeks, I grew accustomed to his ‘Hola!’, followed by the characteristic Oscar smile. I walked towards the van and began to tear up. As I stopped, I knew the situation was not something I could change. Taking a deep breath, I took a look around, gathering in as many details as I could, and then climbed into the van. That part, is finished.
Tonight was the fiesta. I was able to pull out a few salsa dances, and I also danced by myself in the rain, which is something I’ve always wanted to do. It was a perfect end to my two weeks here. I have gained so much, learned so much, and changed so much. I am now a girl who salsas in the rain, who can go without makeup, and can brush my teeth with the tap water and still not get sick. I am leaving
Day 15, Friday June 26, 2009
Travelled to
Day 16, Saturday June 27, 2009
Today Ang, Jody, and I hung out all day as Jack was looking for schools and Steve was taking his sister in law and nephew around the city. We stopped at a local bakery for breakfast, hit Mass, found a dog and named her Daisy who subsequently followed us around for the next hour and a half, toured the old nunnery, found the rest of our group and ate lunch with them, then split off again and went to Maya’s silver shop, went to the market, went to the bakery (again), came back to the hotel to shower and change then went out to eat dinner.
Day 17, Sunday June 28, 2009
Going home. Don’t want to. Stayed up as late as possible last night to prolong the unavoidable. I miss my family, but I will miss my life, my family, my time here. I will not forget, can not forget, all I have gained here. Memories have been imprinted on my heart which have changed me forever. I am a better person because of seventeen days in a country ravaged by poverty. I am a stronger person because of the experiences I have had. My inner soul has been filled with love, peace, compassion, clarity, relationships, and understanding.
On the plane ride returning from
