Week 2 in Guatemala.
Wow. I can’t believe we’ve only been here two weeks. It only took a couple of days and it feels like life has always been this way. At the same time though, time is flying by. Before we know it we’ll be on our way home, although I don’t want to think about that just yet. We have done some crazy things this past week. We have gone to a “Old Folks Home” (literally translated Home of the Ancients), performed programs for kids at the school by where we live, a children’s hospital, and at a church in the jungle. We’ve gone to the market and prayed for people and another day we sold raffle tickets to raise money to help a family at one of the local churches. We’ve done a lot of house visits and had many, many rides crammed in the back of a big white van. I’ve met so many amazing people and I’ve had so many great times with the team of girls I’m here with.
I’ve seen a lot of hurt and some of the darkness the fills Puerto Barrios. One of the hardest things in this past week was going to the children’s hospital. It affected all of us pretty greatly. I’ve never been to a children’s hospital, even in the U.S., and I had no idea what to expect. We came to perform a program for them, with lots of songs and some dramas. The difference from normal kids’ performances was immediately evident. There were a couple of kids who got into it, but most of them sat quietly and watched. I think they still enjoyed it, but you could just see that they were either sick or in pain, so they couldn’t join in excitedly. It was heartbreaking.
Afterwards we sat down and colored with them, and I made friends with a little boy named Chris. It always blows my mind when I’m able to connect with someone, despite my poor Spanish, but somehow Chris and I were able to communicate…at least a little bit. He knew a few English words that he had learned from school, and he loved telling me what he knew. He was one of the more joyful kids there; he was laughing with us and taking pictures. I found out that he had been there for 6 days, but I’m not really sure why he was there. At the end I asked him if I could pray for him and he said yes. As I sat there holding his hands with his little head bowed and eyes closed, I was so overwhelmed. How could any prayer that I prayed matter? What words could make a difference? Would my love for this precious little boy be enough? How could it, when it didn’t take away his hurt?
After reflecting on this later that day, I realized a few things. First, my love wasn’t enough, it never will be, but by allowing Christ to love through me…that could be something worthy. Second, God works through weakness. Even the most pathetic words I could pray over little Chris would be heard by the God of the universe. Third, Christ allowed me the great honor of crossing paths with this sweet, sweet little boy. Maybe it was to teach me how it feels to have compassion. A slight taste of what He feels towards us. It hurts, that kind of love. But I’m convinced that if we desire to draw nearer to Him and become more like Him, it’s going to involve some pain as He breaks our hearts of stone. In the end, when we finish our race, however, the pain in this world will be a mere shadow, blotted out by the glory of His splendor.
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