Last Monday we loaded thirteen people into a van and left Antigua for a little mountainside village near Cobàn, Guatemala. Our drive into the mountains took seven hours instead of the projected four and I only threw up once from motion sickness. Eventually we reached a point where the road was impassable via van, so we unloaded all our packs and trekked up the mountainside.
We were told to expect an eight to ten minute walk, but we ended up hiking for thirty minutes. The slope was literally an eighty-degree slant and the pathway was peppered with rocks and slippery grass. I hauled my big pack, my daypack, and my guitar as my leg muscles seared and my lungs shrieked in rebellion against the thin mountain air. After the absolute hardest hike of my life, we finally arrived at our pastor’s home carved into the mountainside.
Life is exceptionally simple here in the Guatemalan jungle. People’s lives are not cushioned or cluttered with luxuries and material items, and each day generally involves the same tasks: chopping wood, stoking a fire, cooking food, feeding the chickens. Though the simplicity here is beautiful, desperation rears its ugly head from the shadows. If someone gets sick, the nearest doctor is at least an hour walk. Most of the children have rotting teeth due to a simple lack of toothbrushes. It appears there is no high school level education nearby, so the few kids that do go to school will only receive a very basic education at most.
Most people of this mountain village will never leave this place. Some may move away into the city, but most will stay on this mountain and live as their parents did before them.
As usual, when I’m confronted with desperate poverty and deep disparity between myself and another, I begin to wonder why I was born into a life of comfort, luxury, and wealth while others were given a birthright of poverty, hunger, and disease. Why did God choose to give me American citizenship? Why did He paint my skin white and my hair blonde? Why did I get the opportunity to have an excellent education while others can’t even spell their own names?
Until I die, I’ll never know the answer to these questions. But before I sink to a place of pity and guilt, the Lord is inviting me to learn from these beautiful people among whom I’m living.
The fact is, money can by you comfort and even make you happy. But happiness is fleeting and joy is not. Joy, no matter your bidding offer, is not for sale. It cannot be purchased or produced. That much is evident in the people of this mountain village. They have nearly non-existent amenities, but oh! the joy with which they live. Oh! the beauty of their smiles and the fullness of their hearts.
These people understand the power of prayer, too. I mean, they get it because they have to. Their lives depend completely on the mercy and provision of God. When they pray, they don’t waste time on frivolous, fluffy words. They need God to move powerfully, so their requests are raw and real.
What I’m saying is that this month promises to be challenging. I’m living more basically than I ever have before (even when I was in the Amazon). But it’s only for a month, and then I’ll be on my way. So in the meantime, I’m going to absorb every last lesson I can from this place and these people.
