Below are two
different writings - one of the author Vincent Gallagher, and one taken
directly from my own musings and journal kept during my first Guatemalan
mission trip. If only you knew how others lived in this world – in your own country,
or your very own city, would you still be concerned about having a ‘bad
day’? If you lived for only one hour the way some do for days on end
and many for a lifetime, would you still have your cable TV, expensive car, and
overpriced home? Or would you be
grateful that you had running water for a shower and your laundry, plenty of
healthy food to consume at a whim, and medical care on every corner. Many wonder why I do not have an iPhone,
cable TV, or subscribe to the daily paper.
Those are niceties, not necessities.
Read on, and put your face in these stories, or transcribe your son or
daughter into the plot line. Imagine
your mother, or brother, or best friend.
If that was your father in the stories below, how important would your
steak dinner seem then? If only you knew
how it is, if only you knew….
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 the Third 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.
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.
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, this
speaks very highly to me, as it should to every American. Unfortunately, most
of us are so involved in our lives, we never stop to consider that our 'hard'
days are nothing compared to our brothers and sisters across the globe.
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 truly
means to me. I have decided to somewhat transcribe my journals that I actively
kept during those two and have weeks. Some items I will elaborate on, some
instances I will completely leave out as I wish to keep certain aspects of my
journey personal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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 Nutrition
Center (Construction).
Although we did work on building cribs, my most memorable experience was Oscar.
Oscar is at the Nutrition
Center (AKA Nut House for
short) for malnutrition. As others went to work, I sat down and held Oscar. He
curled into my arms, then sat up and looked at me, leaned in, and gave me three
kisses on my check. I was taken aback, as here is a child (age 4) I had never
met, that can show love and appreciation even through his difficult times. I
was in shock for a moment, then leaned in and kissed him between the eyes. He
then curled back in and placed his head on my chest. As I went outside later in
the day and paused to reflect, I viewed the mountains in the distance – plush
and green. (Mountains are prevalent here in Guatemala). As I stood, I came to
realize just how blessed I am. And instead of being joyful, it made me sad. I
ached inside thinking of the children, the elderly, the sick, the mentally
challenged that are here in this beautiful land without even a hope of
betterment. Yet they are so joyful with nothing – how can I be so empty with
all I have? How can I go home to a six figure salary, a “mansion”, food,
clothing, and all the amenities when there are children here literally
struggling to survive?
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 Senior Center,
followed by the Nut House for the orphanage dedication. We finished off with
rocks, rocks, and more rocks.
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 Louisville and trying to integrate back into
society.
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
has caused a realization of how far I had gotten from the inner matters of my
own heart. I had been hiding away, slowly changing into someone that looking
back on, I was not very proud of. Who I was becoming was not the true me, not a
person I would have wanted to become. It had been a slow progression, and it
will be a slow progression to get back to where I need to be.
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; Americans are spoiled,
selfish, and greedy. The best I can do is to openly share, in hopes that it is
comprehended. The best I can do is to be an example both in words and actions,
and maintain a heart of love. I pray that I can continue this at home, and that
my example of love at least causes someone to stop and ponder, if not
completely change.
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 Guatemala
with a heart full f love, compassion, and hope.
Day 15, Friday June 26, 2009
Travelled to Antigua 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 from Guatemala, I sit here
intermittingly reading and watching the sunset and the city lights appearing
below in vivid color. I can not help but openly smile with the promise of what
is to come. No matter what will happen in the future, I am assured of so many
things. Love. Friends. Faith. Compassion. Hope. And when times get tough, I
need to remember these promises; the promises I see being held in the sunset,
in the lights of a city, in the smiles and embraces of my new family, the
promises being held in a plane ride into my final destination. As I watch the
lights of Louisville
appear, I know I am home. Apprehensive, yes, but home nonetheless. No matter
what happens, I will survive, because I know there is promise.