She burst into fury before me, her voice still rising with every word she spoke.
As she approached me, she ended her speech by stating quietly, “I can’t have you in my daughter’s life anymore.”
I responded as calmly as I could manage, “What do you mean your daughter?” I couldn’t seem to manage anything else in my rage.
“I mean exactly what I said,” she quipped, turning on her heels and showing me out the door.
I could hear my 5-year-old daughter sobbing in the other room. I walked out, without blowing up this time. I had to leave non-violently and immediately if I ever wanted to see her again.
I wasn’t even supposed to be there anyways. I only hoped beyond hope that she would listen to me this time. I never could win with her, my former love, Mariana.
I was only 13 years old when I fell in love with her sparkling chocolate eyes. She was only 14.
I was warned several times that I shouldn’t date someone older than me but I did it anyway.
2 years later we had a baby girl, Katerina. No one was shocked because, here in Guatemala, teen pregnancy is about as common as rice everywhere in the world. It’s expected.
The moment I laid eyes on my precious daughter, I was in love. Completely enraptured.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t made the best choices during that time. I started doing and saying things I didn’t mean out of anger but I was sure this little girl would change all that.
Mariana, on the other hand, did not share my sentiment. She said she’d give me 2 years to prove I could be a good father. I lashed out.
It’s all I ever saw my own father do to intimidate my mother so I thought it would work. It didn’t.
Turns out Mariana’s seniority gives her favor with the law.
Now, 5 years have passed and I am only allowed to see my daughter once every 2 months. I must pay child support. I must stay far away from Mariana.
I love Katerina. She’s more precious to me than gold. She makes me want to continue living. Thus, I’ve recently decided to take it back to court.
I have no choice but to fight to see her. I must prove to the judge that I’ve changed. I must show Mariana that I’m not the same man I was at 15. Katerina is the only reason I have to live anymore.
The bitterness in Mariana’s heart has forever turned her against me. The court continues to give her favor though she slanders my name all throughout our pueblo.
I’m a Christian because I’m Guatemalan but I’ve stopped believing in a God.
The word “Christian” means nothing to me than obligation. It doesn’t seem to mean anything to anyone around here either.
God cannot be real if no one who claims to know Him ever changes. God cannot be real when all I hear are gunshots outside my window. God cannot be real if I can’t see and take care of my beloved daughter.
Every day, I lead foreigners up this wonderful volcano. Pacaya. It’s become my life because it provides me with the only thing I can give Katerina most of the time. It’s the only connection I have with her during much of the year.
I have served as a guide for countless American missionaries. They’re the only Christians who’ve ever seemed the slightest bit genuine to me. There have even been a few who have prayed for me.
It’s nice but I really don’t want any more of that. What I really want is for someone to listen to me for once. All I’ve ever wanted was for someone to hear and understand my side of the story.
This is a speculative narrative based upon what our tour guide told me on the way down from roasting marshmallows on top of the one and only Pacaya Volcano. I asked him about his daughter and his country. When he learned that I could understand his native tongue, he told me his story.
I walked and listened and thanked God I could understand enough to show him some of the Lord’s empathy. It seemed to me like he had been waiting to verbalize his frustrations to a third party for a long time.
I’ll probably never see him again in this lifetime. I don’t know if he’ll ever believe that God is real again. I won’t ever know if it was worth my stepping out in faith or not.
Regardless, I had the great privilege of showing him that someone cared. Some random blonde girl who lives in Florida cared in that moment.
I didn’t want to talk to him in Spanish because I was afraid I would make a mistake but I did because I heard God ask me to loud and clear.
Later, when I asked the Lord how He delights in me, I saw Him smiling and I heard Him say, “I’m proud of you for listening.” Then, He put his hand on my shoulder and stared into my eyes, “I’m proud of you for loving.”
I challenge you to ask the Lord what it looks like for you to stop and listen. Then, I challenge you to do it, whether you’ll ever know if it was worth it or not.
