Within these gates lives a man named Wes, a spirited man who loves to tell stories and play card games and who signs his emails, “the crazy retired doctor in Baños”, a man who, at the age of 56, quit his job to follow God to Ecuador and open a home for disadvantaged boys.
As his wife, Donna, lovingly told us on the night we entered in the gates ourselves, every single stone on the property, from the arches in the hallways to the gazebos by the river, was carried in by Wes himself. Those stones, each one lifted gently and placed with precision, were given a new life and a new purpose, much as Wes seized a new life for himself.
My mind is continuously drawn to the thought of what those stones have seen – the rushing water and the avocado trees rising up like giants in the backyard and the boys who have entered within the walls, boys coming from Ecuadorian jungles, from poverty, from witch doctor fathers and abusive mothers, from sleeping on the streets, from Colombian guerrillas chasing after in a murderous pursuit. In their lifetime, the stones have seen horrors that the extents of our own imaginations don’t reach. They have seen spiritual warfare and misdirected hatred and brokenness. They have seen heart-wrenching trauma and disabilities and flying fists and tears. They have seen homemade bombs become a normality and small feet torn open from the ceaseless act of running away. But they have seen redemption, and they have seen lives be completely transformed by the love of Jesus channeled in the love of a man who wouldn’t give up on boys who would otherwise be mere statistics. The stones have had the privilege to be around to watch immense growth – growth of corn stalks and kittens and growth of boys into men. The stones have had a front row seat to watch El Dulce Refugio grow into its name and become a sweet refuge indeed. They have looked on as nervous families huddled around the kitchen table, seeking refuge from torrents of ash and a sky full of lava originating from the volcano situated outside the window. They have embraced boy after boy incapable of offering a definition of the word “home”, providing a refuge through the hope of a family.
Now, the story that the stones would tell if anyone would stop to listen, is a story of a sadder tone. It’s of a man who struggles to navigate the home he built with his own hands, a home that now serves as an obstacle course in his old age. It’s the story of a man who awakens to confusion and weeps silently at the thought of leaving his sweet refuge of twenty years to return to the United States in a matter of mere weeks. Indeed, the tune is sad, but it is tender. The stones sing the song of a door constantly flung open by visitors who come to wrap their arms around the neck of a man who showed them the way from death to life, to whisper in his ear, to tell him of their struggles in exchange for his advice, to offer their thankfulness and outpour their love. The stones look on as little ones are introduced as grandchildren and hugged with adoration. The stones make up the foundation of a house that still serves as a refuge, even as it takes its dying breath.
But wait. Even as all the air is breathed out of the house’s lungs, after the incomparably terrible silence of a life slipping away, there is a crackling and a cough and a deep inhale as the cobwebs are shaken off and new life is born. Because the stones still have eyes with which to see and the refuge is drawn inexorably toward her refugees. The stones will live to see another day, to see unfamiliar faces find a new light and lives restored. The stones are the luckiest of all.
This original post was written by my beautiful teammate Aubrey Biddle. Her words captured our experience in Baños, Ecuador perfectly.
Thank you so much for all of the support I have received while on the race! With one last deadline coming up on November 30th, I have $5,314 left to raise!
Keep on the lookout for future posts, not only from our time now in Colombia, but stories from the past 3 months in Chile, Peru, and Ecuador.
