“Fasten your seatbelts and restore your seats to their upright positions.” The instruction boomed over the intercom. Flight attendants traversed the isles collecting remaining beverage containers and food wrappers while ensuring our compliance. Groggy eyes began to fix their focus as we awoke from partial slumber. Hearts beat wildly with nervousness and excitement as we gathered our few belongings and prepared for landing. Just a few hours earlier, fifty-nine of us said goodbye to family and friends, leaving the comfort of our homes, the familiarity of life as we knew it, and the security of controlling our day with our own decisions to embark on a spiritual journey of discovering ourselves and, hopefully, God. I had two major prayers for these 11 months: that God would teach me to love and serve well and that He would bring me to a place of contentment in all circumstances regardless of how miserable they seemed. We crammed everything we thought we would need for eleven months into 50 pound packs and ventured into the unknown. The journey had begun.
We were divided into several teams, but this first month all fifty-nine of us resided on the same compound. We slept in tents and competed for a turn in either of the two available bathrooms that were furnished with toilets that did not always flush and showers that failed to consistently supply enough water. Hot water quickly became a luxury we no longer knew. On our designated days, we hand-washed our clothes so they could dry in the sun during the day, and we took turns shopping for ingredients in the market, preparing meals, and washing dishes. For several hours each day, we dispersed to serve at the mercy of our assigned contacts, who often picked us up early to take us to our worksite and returned us to our temporary home much later than expected. Our mornings were full of responsibilities, and our evenings consisted of more chores and team debriefings. The days began with the sunrise and came to a close far beyond the sun’s farewell. Our time was not our own.
It was July of 2013, the middle of summer but also of the rainy season. We were in the mountains of Guatemala where the sun could almost be touched by an outstretched arm during the day, but took an instantaneous hiatus as the stars stretched across the sky like a blanket at night. Our skin sizzled from the warm touch of the sun and chilled to the bone as soon as the sun hid its face. One moment we battled heat stroke and dehydration while the next hypothermia from an afternoon shower or rain soaked tents. My team was assigned to a construction site and our days were filled with hard work, insufficient provisions to properly fuel our bodies, and the incessant sounds throughout the night of roosters crowing and wild dogs fighting. We were exhausted, cold, hungry, filthy, and stretched beyond our capacity to love well among so many teammates intermingled with an entirely new culture we had yet to understand.
Sometimes I wonder why I pray what I pray. Though I had not previously considered myself terribly inflexible, it did not take long for me to discover how easily discontented I became. I had many opinions about what my team should purchase for our lunches; chips and cookies were not two of them, but I was outnumbered. I arrived in Guatemala fully expecting to be blasted with heat and dripping in sweat. I was looking forward to this because there is not much I enjoy more than the warmth of the sun nor despise more than the bitter cold. To my unfortunate surprise, there was far more cold than warmth. Sleeping in tents did not seem like a difficult challenge until I found myself sharing a tent with a disgruntled teammate, had nowhere indoors to go for a reprieve, and woke up freezing on a nightly basis. I thought I would be okay without a daily shower until I discovered how filthy I would become from the construction; my toes were lined in black and stained with dirt. I was convinced my true skin tone would not resurface until the following June when I returned to my home in the United States and could soak in a hot bath. My heart began to turn violently inside my chest whenever something did not go as I expected and my prayer had long since been forgotten.
Most days the rain held off until later, but not this particular day. There was no shelter at our ministry site apart from a nauseating outhouse where not even one person would dare seek cover. We had one small tarp set up for fourteen people to cram under, and I found myself near the edge stuck directly under a hole. Water sprayed from the outside and dripped steadily, directly onto my head. This icy rain rapidly soaked through my thin clothing. I was bitter cold and covered in dirt. The rain did not cease and mud smeared in my sandals and between my toes as we walked to the bus stop. I was thoroughly disgusted; this day surpassed the rest. However, despite the discomfort, the most amazing thing happened! For the first time in my life, I was completely content. Unbeknownst to me throughout the preceding days full of things going every way other than as planned, my heart had begun to change, ever so slightly, within me. This day, I remained content and was able to enjoy where I was in that moment knowing God was with me, and that was enough.
It was my prayer that whether I was hot or cold, hungry or full, sick or in good health, rested or exhausted, pain free or in pain, lonely or surrounded by people I love who I know love me in return, regardless of my circumstances, I would learn to live in contentment knowing the Lord is always, only good and that day, in the pouring rain and covered in mud, I did. I discovered I could find peace within me regardless of what was happening around me, and my heart was at rest.
