Chrissy, Laura, my squad leader Stacey and I went back to Alotenango with Ilse today to do a few home visits for potential clients. My understanding was that it would be a somewhat easy morning of prayer and playing with a few children while Ilse took notes about the condition of the patients. We were told upon arriving that the section of town we were venturing into was notorious for thieves, so the doctor had arranged for a truck to drive us between houses.
You should understand that Alotenango is built on fairly steep hills. The streets don’t wind, but rather shoot up at difficult angles. At the base of the first barrio, someone had tacked a sign to a tree:
It should have been a warning, but I shook it off. It was just a sign, after all.
We got out of the truck and turned right, hiking up a steep hill along a narrow path between fences made of tin and barbed wire. The volcano behind us smoked steadily, and I mentally reminded myself that I needed to take more pictures. This place is too beautiful to forget, I thought, as Aura, the health promoter with gold stars on her three front teeth, knocked on a tin fence. I don’t know how she knew where to knock. I couldn’t see a door anywhere, but a little boy soon appeared and pulled the fence back.
We walked into a dirt courtyard. Laundry swung from ropes strung between houses and a woman washed clothes in a plastic tub. Misael, the little boy, led us into a doorway covered by a lace curtain. Inside, a woman was moving a small bundle from the bottom of a bunk bed to another bed. She propped a pillow beneath one end and stepped back.
I saw that the bundle was really a little girl, emaciated to the point of nonexistence. Her legs were turned inward, feet permanently pointed. Her arms and head moved slowly, mechanically, and spit foamed at the edges of her mouth. She started to cry as I sat near her, mouth making a low moaning and then harsh wheezing sound. Her eyes flickered around the room, unfocused, and I knew she didn’t have any idea of what was going on around her.
Her mother told us that the girl’s name is Wendy and that she is thirteen. She has a convulsion syndrome that has made her body literally begin to fold together, arms and legs intertwining until they’re useless. Every convulsion brings her that much closer to death and that much further away from her family.
Something broke inside me.
Until today, it would have been easy to look at this time in Guatemala and think that I’m off on some kind of odd, glorified vacation. My team and I have been ministering at the wheelchair factory and at the local dump, as well as with local kids in St. Lucas. We’ve had weekends free to visit the local hot springs and cheer on our friends on the national wheelchair basketball team as they practice for the PanAmerican games in Guadalajara. We’ve worked hard, played hard and prayed hard. Nothing has been quite what we expected, but then, would it be the World Race if everything was perfectly planned?
I think not.
Until today, I was in a semi-American bubble, complete with access to every amenity I could ever ask for. I was still blind to the blatantly obvious reality of what—no, who—Hope Haven’s ministry is really to. I assumed that every country has the same mentality towards the handicapped that America does: that they have rights and deserve care. I assumed that every country fought for these people. I assumed that someone was meeting their needs.
I was wrong.
Today, I came face-to-face with poverty, with helplessness, with malnutrition, with all the brokenness of a world separated from the LORD.
Today, I saw pain in the eyes of a thirteen year old girl trapped in the body of a six year old and couldn’t do anything to help.
Today, I realized what the phrase “She’s only SKIN and BONES”, really meant because this little one can’t eat and her family was turned away from the government nutrition program. She can only drink milk and her mother doesn’t have enough money for protein powder to put in it so she'll have the nutrients she needs.
Today, I saw the face of a little girl named Wendy. I held her hand. I called her beautiful. I gave her the blessing my parents gave me, choking it out through tears that stuck in my throat. I told her she was seen and loved and remembered.
In the truck, on the way back down the hill, I went still, absolutely silent. I battled with the LORD, angry and broken over Wendy and her condition. I asked angry, violent questions of His character, of His kindness, of His love.
And He answered, “Do you think that because Wendy is as she is that she is less my daughter? That I love her less? I died for her too. I see her. She is not forgotten. I love her with an all-consuming love. I love her perfectly. MY POWER IS MADE PERFECT IN HER WEAKNESS. And today, she brought you to me..”
“I give you thanks, O LORD, with all my heart;
I will sing your praises before the gods.
I bow before your holy temple as I worship.
I praise your name for your unfailing love and faithfulness;
For your promises are backed by all the honor of your name.
As soon as I pray, you answer me;
You encourage me by giving me strength.
Every king in all the earth will thank you, LORD,
For all of them will hear your words.
Yes, they will sing about the LORD’s ways,
For the glory of the LORD is very great.
Though the LORD is great He cares for the humble,
But He keeps His distance from the proud.
Though I am surrounded by troubles,
You will protect me from the anger of my enemies.
You reach out your hand and the power of your right hand saves me.
The LORD will work out His plans for my life—
For your faithful love, O LORD, endures forever.
Do not abandon me, for you made me.”
-Psalm 138
