The days have been too full and too long for me to write a daily update. Sometimes it seems better to just live in the moment than to parse every moment at day’s end into a journal. I’m also not much for doing anything on a daily basis. Two excuses seem like enough preamble, what follows is an amalgamation of the remainder of my whirlwind trip.
Much of our time was spent visiting the homes of impoverished, destitute families.
Guatemala has a beauty, and a first glance tranquility, that can skew one’s perception of the dire poverty which permeates almost every hill and valley. Driving through the scenic mountains of Guatemala is a captivating journey. It’s a memorable experience due to the twisting roads, the volcanic mountain vistas, and the increasingly thin air.
At 10,000 feet above see level, the breath and heart rate quickens. As I walk a dirt road path to a house of desolation, my heart begins to resonate a deep, rapid rhythm, my breath becomes shallow and focused. It’s nothing severe, but I take notice of the change within me. This exaggerated biology could be explained by lack of exercise or the excitement of anticipating the unknown destination just a quarter mile up the road. But it seems more than physiology and elevation. Instead, it’s as if my mortality understands the reality of the moment. The reality that I am very much alive and full of life, and these families are very much dying.
Everyone will eventually die, but not this way. No, everyone will not, and should not, die this way. But at 10,000 feet above sea level, in the scenic hills of Guatemala, families are dying daily. They are dying physically, psychologically, and spiritually. Poverty steals their dreams, stunts their growth, destroys their youth, and takes away their children. Within the breathtaking vistas of the Guatemalan countryside, poverty is destroying lives made in the image of God.
So my breath, my heart, and my soul testify to the truth that these mountains contain both beauty and devastating sorrow.
We visited the rundown shack of Martin and Isabella Lopez. Martin weaves intricate colorful fabric, which takes hours of meticulous labor to produce. Despite working twelve hours a day, seven days a week, Martin is unable to earn more than six dollars a month. This is not enough money to pay the rent for his home nor provide food for his children. To earn extra pennies, Isabella and the children collect sticks to sell. Isabella brought us into her house to show us her kitchen. Her kitchen is a small pot in the corner of a dark room, perched over the ashes of burning sticks. There is no food or food pantry. Isabella is desperate, there are no signs of hope or life. Her children are malnourished and afraid.
As we walk through this tiny abode, we see blankets on the mud floor. This is where the family sleeps. This is where the day ends and begins: a cold dirt floor.
Martin has prepared for our group four eight yard rolls of fabric. We eagerly pay a fair price for each roll that has literally taken hours and weeks of Martin’s life to create. The money we pay for the vibrant textile is more than he will receive from local merchants who will take the cloth to market. Martin is grateful, humble, and keenly aware of his inability to find a solution for his family. Isabella and Martin pray blessing upon our group, as we provide mattresses to keep the children from sleeping on the floor. They pray blessing upon us. . . that we should prosper in God’s grace. They tell us that we will be remembered in their prayers always. . . always in their prayers to be remembered. Even in the cold nights, even in the hunger pains, even in the desperate hours of sickness and despair, they will hold us in their prayers. I am reminded that Jesus is speaking, that he is abiding in Martin and Isabella as we abide with them.
We leave Martin and Isabella with food, mattresses, and hope for land and a house they will someday be able to own. As we carry away our newly purchased beautiful, hand woven, silk strung fabric, I celebrate and mourn what we have just done. We have taken the only color in their house and exchanged it for daily bread and daily shelter. We have validated the tireless work of a father and mother, we have brought hope into the equation, we have provided nourishment for the children. We have paid a worthy price for a worthy handwoven fabric. Even so, the fabric was the only color in the room; the fabric was the only beautiful thing inside the darkened space. Now the color leaves with us and the thread is all that remains.
People have eternal consequences. Our best time, energy, and resources must be dedicated to people. They are made in the image of God and they deserve for us to honor that image. I’ve preached a variation of these words countless times. However, with fabric in hand, I have never been so certain of this spiritual truth. Too often we waste our lives pursuing the rust and dust, unable to see the eternal treasures found in the face of a dearly loved and cared for child.
Abandoned but not forgotten
Josefa Morales was abandoned by her husband four years ago. Unable to feed and provide for her family, Josefa and her oldest daughter Juana beg to do the laundry of their neighbors for pennies a load. They cannot survive in this current condition, they cannot scavenge for enough food. While we stood in the dirt courtyard of their tiny abode, I was struck by the injustice and madness of this condition. Josefa and her children are working as hard as they can, yet they cannot do anything to improve their situation. They have no voice, they have no way to right this injustice. As we talked and prayed with the family and brought them mattresses and news of present and future help, I began to think of my own childhood.
I have never faced the hunger and poverty I’ve seen in the last week. However, I have faced the fear of dying before my time. I was extremely sick for a year of my middle school experience. At that time, I faced a lot of uncertainty and questions about my ability to live a long life. During that season, I took great comfort in God’s presence and God’s promises. I began to realize that my only certainty in life was rooted in God’s eternal, abiding presence.
As I looked into the face of Josefa Morales, a resolve rose up within me. “I have a voice, and I can use it!” I thought back to when I was sick and to the prayers I would whisper in secret to my Savior. They were desperate prayers, weeping prayers, pleading prayers, even hopeless prayers. Many times I asked the Lord to heal me so that I could serve him. I promised God that if he would let me live, I would be His voice.
As Josefa Morales tearfully spoke of her family’s hardship, one of her little boys began to cry near the edge of our conversation. A fellow male traveler and I began to comfort him. His eyes had the weight of a sensitive conscience unable to avoid his awareness of the world around him. Unable to escape into childhood indifference, he understood the need and his inability to make it better. No matter how hard he worked to help mama, he was unable to help mama. I could tell that this knowledge alone was crushing his heart. We comforted him, caressing his shoulder and head. We prayed that the Father’s heart would permeate this fatherless child.
I have a voice! God has rescued me from the pit and he has given me a voice! I will use that voice, even if no one wants to listen.
Among the refuse and ruins My children search for bread. Among the garbage they seek a future. Among the dogs, among the stench, among the discarded waste they contend for their worth. And this is always before Me. . . You and My children always before Me.
Marie Macario’s husband died trying to fish dead bloated animal carcasses out of a swollen river. He left behind a house full of dependent children. Marie Macario lives with the burden of trying to provide for her four daughters, her daughter-in-law and her six grandchildren. Her house is a cramped mud shanty, the walls are on the verge of collapsing. As I walked into the bedroom of her children and grandchildren I saw several long polls with hooks attached at their ends. The children use these polls at the nearby garbage dump. They scavenge for hours to find something they can sell or eat. As Marie somberly tells her story of hardship, her daughter-in-law begins to break down and cry.
The daughter-in-law tells us that she grew up an orphan, that she married Marie’s son but he abandoned her and her children. She tells us how Marie took her in as her own daughter, she tells us how overwhelmed she is with our generosity and our simple presence. There are twelve people in this house, yet they have only shared two small tamales and a small amount of coffee. On this day, Food for the Poor provides them with hope. They are given news that a new house will be built, they are also provided with mattresses and food. This is a temporary victory. It is a miracle worth celebrating. But it will not prevent the children and grandchildren from returning to the dump. . . unless we do something about their condition.
And there is more. . . . always more. . . .sadly more. . . . just one more to feed
Our journey through Guatemala also showed us many signs of hope. We visited new communities where Food for the Poor had built new houses and provided new ways for sustainable living. We saw community run fish, goat, pig, and chicken farms. We participated in children’s feeding programs and we repeatedly received blessings and gratitude from each community Food for the Poor serves. Every day was a day of miracles among the ruins, joy within the sorrow, hope out of the ashes.
I don’t want to paint a bleak picture for the purpose of swaying your emotions. However, I don’t want to leave you settled. You and I need to be reminded of the truth of our health and prosperity. We need to do more than just remember the poor. We must abide with the poor and their burden must abide with us. In the scenic mountains of Guatemala, among the gorgeous vistas, and the seemingly idyllic villages, there abide hungry families with hungry children. Tonight, hunger pains will lead to weeping, to sickness, and to death. Today, families will work for hours trying to survive. If they are lucky, they will find what is necessary to escape the grave. We must believe in more than fate and luck. We must be about the Kingdom that advances. We must be certain that it is our gift that will change the world.
I don’t believe that I am responsible for all the world’s poor. But I do believe that I am responsible for the poor that have been entrusted to my care. I believe that three children have been entrusted to your care. They are watching you read this plea and they are waiting for your response before they head into the fields and wastelands of Guatemala. Please see them with the eyes of Jesus.
And I looked among the ashes and saw a new Kingdom rising. My heart leapt within me and I gave myself freely to the pursuit of this more permanent Kingdom. It has made all the difference in my days on earth and it shall be the joy of my eternal future.
Good stuff Doug. May God bless your efforts!
I am considering a trip to honduras with Food for the Poor. I have already seen poverty first hand and am simply looking to contribute any way I can.
Nice blog and God bless,