Last night as the light faded a single lightning bug came out of the trees, floated over the fence, and transcended its way across the basketball court. A part of me, the part that is still the little grandchild in Iowa taking a running jump off of grandma’s back porch, wanted to go and catch it. To clasp my hands tight and hold that little piece of light in the darkness.
But I was already holding a little piece of light. Her head on my lap, her little hands her pillow, her legs curled up behind her. I ran my fingers through her hair as she slept. The light had faded too much for the game of Frisbee to continue and as we sat down on the grass she sidled over to me, gave me a hug, slid down to a comfy position, and within minutes was asleep.
I checked my watch. About 10 more minutes until supper. I could deal with my leg and foot being asleep for ten minutes. I had already started to feel the tingle as I was not in the comfiest position, sitting on a slope with my back against the palm tree.
I looked down and wondered how anyone could hurt something this sweet and innocent. I pondered my question to Debbie, who was sitting beside me entertaining another girl who had decided crazy hyperness was the best reaction to being tired. As the girl somersaulted down the slope I asked Debbie my question. We did not know. We almost hoped that alcohol or drugs were the reason. It seemed to be a nice excuse. Either way, who ever had done what ever they had done had not been in their right mind. They had never taken to heart Jesus words about love and children and life.
You see, this month our team is living at a girls home. To get here you drive into the town nearby and then drive through it. Look for the sign with the Pepsi logo that points the way to the jail. Turn there. Take about one of the worst roads you can imagine ( I hope you have high clearance or don’t like the shocks on your car). Bump a long for a good while, go past the prison, take a left onto a road that gets even worse. Bump along for another while and you can’t miss us. The big brown gate with the white tree. The wall says “Hope Renewed” in Spanish. And there is barb wire spirals on top, identical to the prisons. The armed guard with the shotgun will let you in. (You know, typical security measures, kind of like having an ADT sticker in your house window. Same same, but different. ).
These precautions are not necessarily to keep the girls in, but more to keep any intruders out. We have been told that a few of the girls’ aggressors have showed up at the door. There are twenty seven girls here, ranging from ages three to eighteen. All have been court appointed to this girls home as they have been abused either physically, sexually, or both. Know if you know anything about the Guatemalan culture and justice system you will have a hint to how severe theses cases would be. Family is everything. And there is a level of abuse considered okay. To have a girl actually removed from a home . . . I think our host once used the phrase “creatively horrific”.
We do not know any stories. I have no real idea what happened to any of our girls. The staff here, the psychologist, the social worker, the director, they know. But they also know that these stories are the girls’ stories and they are the girls’ stories to tell or not to tell. Either way, it does not matter, these girls are more than just the story of their past, and we dove into the middle of their lives to love on them, help take care of them, and do life with them.
We wake up in time for a 6:00 am breakfast. We give hugs and “besos” (air kisses on the cheek) to the ones who come up looking for a “Buenas Dias”. Most of the little ones and a few of the adolescents are eager to see us in the morning. Then they are off to school and we are off to naps, team time, Devotions, individual projects, organizing the supply closet, building shelves, replacing light bulbs, playing guitar . . . or whatever else the day might bring. Some morning it also includes looking after the little three year old who is not old enough for school yet.
Most of the girls love on us, the guys included, no problem. I thought I would see more emotional signs of damage. I thought I would see more anger, more awkwardness around James and Alex, and more problems. We know they are there. We know that we get to see their better side as we are the new shiny exciting toys for them to play with. I know that there is hurt and damage behind some of their smiles.
But again, that hurt and damage do not define them. That is not who they are. Our host, Lauren, warned us that one time after visitors had come the girls had told her that they can tell when they get a hug out of love and when they get a hug out of pity. They feel the difference.
So when the girls get back from school (at 1:00 pm!) we hug them, and we continue to hug them until they go to bed (Okay, lets face it, until we go to bed. We crash almost immediately after our 7:00 pm supper because none of us can seem to get used to this 6:00 am breakfast).
After school we help make tortillas for supper, or we play fútbol, or volleyball, or basketball. Sometimes we can help with English homework. We often spend hours sitting in our hammocks that we strung up with two girls beside us playing clapping games, learning new words in Spanish and English, or just giggling at each other. I get to watch James be the amazing Uncle that he is, playing clapping games, being tickled, agreeing with everything the three and four year old say in their fast and gibbering Spanish. I get to catch James smiling at me from the hammock as I teach a girl how to play Frisbee and we get “nueve” catches in a row!!
Oh, and we sweat, a lot.
So next time you are in Guatemala, out in the jungle on an old bumpy road, next to the prison – look for a little bit of light in the middle of darkness, that is the Hope Renewed girls home. Some of the girls here have caught that light and are burning bright (we have heard a few stories of girls truly understanding the relationship they have with Jesus and what kind of new life the Holy Spirit can help to lead them to). There is healing here. Some girls do not see it yet. And I do not blame them. There is hurt. They miss their families. They feel like they are in prison. But I have met a staff who is passionate for these girls’ emotional, physical, and spiritual well being.
I look down and regrettably decide to wake up the girl on my lap as they “ring the bell”, aka beating a fork against one of the metal posts, for supper. I say a prayer for her (and a prayer for whoever has to give the teenage girls the “ please stop piercing your ears and bellybuttons with unsterile needles and earrings talk). I say a prayer for the two little ones, that maybe for once they can get through a meal without a total meltdown, I pray a prayer for strength for their niñeria as I know that a meltdownless supper is a slim chance. I pray for us that we may do the best we can for the girls during the time that we are here.
And I pray a prayer of thanks for that little lightning bug.
