Today we went to visit El Hogar De Ancians Santo Francisco
de Asis (The home of the elderly of St. Francis of Asisi).Walking in, I felt so
uncomfortable. I have tried my darnedest for most of my life to avoid these
kinds of places. I generally find them far too depressing, even in the US. It’s
the same reason I avoid funerals and memorial services and hospitals. I don’t
like death. I don’t like being reminded that at one time or another, we will
all be there, dying or having died. I know, I know, “Teach us to number our
days aright, O Lord…” but really. It is so hard for me.
So walking into this open air home, with the rain falling
down, glancing around and seeing people in wheelchairs or leaning heavily on
canes, I felt uneasy. I knew in my heart that this was not a place I wanted to
be, but my head rationalized, “You need to be the example. You are the leader
and you need to get over yourself and your own discomfort to love these people
with the love of Christ.”
So I did. I walked in and started using my minimal Spanish
to communicate with the people. Eventually I sat down at a table with a precious little old lady. I
asked her what her name was (Elvira) and how she was doing. A bit later, I
asked her about her family-she used to have brothers and sisters, but they had
all died, and she had no children. I
realized that she had lived through Guatemala’s civil war, and I couldn’t even
imagine what that would have been like.
(<– Elvira y Mi) She told me she used to sell bread at Rio Dulce, and that itwas a nice tourist attraction, where gringos used to come and take her picture
and buy her food. She also told me that her birthday was November 15th,
and asked if we would come celebrate with her. (I hope we can).
I found out later that at this home, the residents don’t
always receive enough food. Many of them are disabled and have been abandoned
by their families. For all of them, this is their last resort.
My heart was broken, as all I could do was pray. I prayed in
English and then in my broken Spanish. “Padre Nuestro, gracias por mi hermana. Gracias por mi amiga. Dios le
bendiga. Bendicciones. Amen.”
After praying this prayer for a 96 year old man, he began to
speak to me. I couldn’t really understand much except that he said something
about Mexico and Cubans, I think. But I realized the important part was that
someone was there, listening. Even though I couldn’t understand, I was a
smiling face and a caring heart.
Once again, going where I didn’t feel comfortable gave the
Lord space to move and show me how to be His hands and feet and smile and
listening ears. To press beyond the language barrier because God speaks all
languages and His heart is for all people. To let my heart be broken for these
people.
Whew be careful what you pray for…
