This place is breathtaking. From my perch on the roof of our most recent living space (we moved halfway through the month), I look to my left and see clay roofing which so obviously portrays Spanish flair. How some of these houses are able to hold onto their pure white demeanor is beyond me, and I can’t look away from such an inviting exterior. Other homes are more colorful, but most all of them are adorned with wild vines and flowers that can’t contain their joy as they grow down to the earth below. It seems that sitting space on the tops of homes is the norm, though our roof seems to be of the tin variety, and there is more bird poop present than I would appreciate. But I’ll take it.
This month I did something life-changing. Here in an indescribable land, my life was changed. That seems to be a thing: preparing to change someone else’s life but being struck with inspiration and extreme humbleness. My humbleness was served straight to me in a cerebral palsy wing at the local hospital. Joy befriended me through a tiny yet feisty old woman named Flora. And strength was discovered on a mountain top as we cleared, well, part of the mountain so Rapha can build a home for his family to live in.
Suddenly my future dreams didn’t mean so much. Because there were dreams here to be a part of. God gave me the word shake for this month, and though I wasn’t entirely sure why, I think I just discovered it today, on our final day in this charming piece of earth.
A handful of times, I visited the women in the cerebral palsy wing. The majority of them were lined up against the walls in their wheelchairs, flies too abundant and in a hallway too silent. I’ll be honest, I was nervous. Walking into a room of people who are unable to make eye contact, stop the drool from rolling down their chins, and who randomly jerk about scared me. But I as approached the ladies, I looked at them one by one. And suddenly, it wasn’t a room full of uncomfortability, but a room full of sweet faces and beautiful personalities and dancing.
Yes, dancing.
We sang. My friend played guitar while I walked around holding hands with some of them, playing with another’s hair, laughing when another death gripped my arm out of sheer joy. I danced like a fool for them, and they loved it. They danced right back, arms waving, hands clapping.
Let me tell you, there is nothing more shaking than to put your face down near a patient, look into her eyes and sing “You’re beautiful.” My, she was. They all were.
I discovered incredible beauty in a hospital. Nothing in those moments mattered–not my future, not my growling stomach–except the laughter and sweet spirits I was so blessed to visit. I wondered, as I passed a giant painting of Jesus, if God speaks to them in unique ways. Ways he would never speak to us. I think he does.
Some afternoons were spent with an immediate friend, Flora. She sang, danced and ate up our attention and cameras. We couldn’t get enough of her: the way she seemed to float when she walked, her petite frame, her scowls and charades for communication, her laughter and twinkle in her eye when she knew she was being ridiculous. Her nickname (which she gave herself) isn’t Queen Flora for nothing. Learning that her husband left her and all three of her sons are dead were facts that shook me. Because the fire within her had not gone out. Queen Flora still reigns, and she is still shaking the hearts of people around her, even a random American visitor.
Moving mountains is a phrase often heard, but became a literal statement for us this month. Building a house means clearing out part of a mountain side, moving said mountain (aka mounds and mounds of dirt) down the hill, and creating stairs with filled sandbags. Construction sights are usually not known for their strength of character and joyful demeanor, but Rapha’s presence and work ethic screamed both. Despite being forced to leave their current home by April 30th, Rapha, his wife, and five children were a family clothed in strength and trust and peace. They know God is going to provide. Their faith shook my own and made an impression beyond the blisters, sore muscles and dirt stained skin.
How better to describe an indescribable month than with scattered thoughts? Our brief time in Guatemala may seem disorganized and wild, but The Lord used us in ways he couldn’t have in the OCD and the tame. He spoke to me on chicken busses, and answered my question of “what do you want me to do next (the future)?” with just keep loving. He spoke in quiet yet active ways but also magnificently and loudly through the volcanoes and beauty surrounding me. And he used so many to tell me to be bold, to live and laugh deeply. But mostly, he whispered, shake. Be shaken.
Guatemala, you have shaken me, and the joy and color you have brought this soul will not soon be forgotten.
