Te Amo Guatemala

Today began like any other day; in fact, if I am going to be blunt— I thought this was going to be one of the more “lax” days in Guatemala. That idea stemmed from the morning activity, which was meeting with CEDEPCA’s Seminary students. The evening activity struck my interest especially because we were traveling to a women’s weaving cooperative in Chimaltenango. But today was all sorts of wonderful—not only did I experience something externally so incredibly beautiful (the drive to Panajachel) but I also experienced something internally beyond any imaginable words.

It began around 9am when we had a conversation with the students at CEDEPCA’s Seminary. It was roughly 15 students ranging in ages 25-50, whom were all involved in some sort of ministry. We sat at a huge round table where we could all see one another, and the Seminary students were already on one side of tables in the middle of a lesson. We filled in on the other sides and listened to the wrap up of their lesson. It didn’t take long, but soon they began to introduce themselves to us. Steve translated, per usual, and we went around the table, attempting to put together broken Spanish to introduce ourselves to the students and CEDEPCA members. We went through our introductions, which was a rather normal exchange, with no life-changing encounters… yet. Then we began discussing testimonies, to which we had 3 of the CEDEPCA Seminary students presented their personal testimonies. Slowly, the language barrier began to fall, and the message was clear. We were all feeling similar emotions, similar calls, and similar vocations—and I couldn’t help but notice how slowly the cultural differences began to taper. Then it was our turn, they opened up the room for our testimonies, to which Jessie (with a little push) decided to share her own experience yesterday with Shorty. This is where everything changed for me—Jessie began her testimony saying: “Te amo Guatemala” to which Herbert responded with “I am Guatemala.” Everyone laughed, the whole room, English, Guatemalan, didn’t matter, the room was roaring. I too, was laughing, but then I stopped because I was no longer laughing… I was crying. I was watching two different cultures, two different languages, and two completely different types of people, united under something so pure, so beautiful: laughter. I had goose bumps everywhere and tears were uncontrollably streaming down my face. Immediately, I was embarrassed—I hate crying in front of people. I gathered myself, confused, and nervously rubbed my arms. I wasn’t completely sure why I started crying, but I understood the gist.

After listening to Jessie’s testimony, we were prompted with an extremely moving question that then sparked a whole other mental glitch. “So the majority of Guatemala recognizes the United States as the ‘best’ place to be, and after taking my son there (who is 8 years old) twice now, he still believes it to be the very best place, what are your thoughts on that? What do you think of that stigma?” Hmm… Ok. I understand. James summarized it very well; the United States is a place of fortune. We are so privileged to have a nation that not only provides opportunity (for most) but also basic necessities for living comfortably. Although as a nation we are often glutinous. I could not have put it better myself. But something struck me and my heart began racing and I couldn’t help but feel enraged. I wanted to share how lucky they were to have such a beautiful culture. I would never call the United States the “best” place to be—yes I recognize the fortune, and I recognize how privileged we are, but we lack something that is so fundamentally important to me: soul. So I spoke. And in this moment that I spoke, reflecting back upon that moment now, I know that God was with me. He was standing right beside me saying “preach sister, preach!” and so I did. First I began speaking very quickly, trying to express that I understand why people immigrate to the states, and that I lived in San Diego all my life, and I have seen it first hand. Which I forgot Steve had to translate, which was very embarrassing, but I think my brain was moving way too quickly for me. Then I moved on, expressing how rich their culture is, how beautiful and tangible their community is—so much so that it is infectious—addicting. Saying this aloud, let alone watching Steve translate and watching their reactions, moved me to more tears than before. It was uncontrollable though, I told them that already, in roughly 24 hours, I was moved beyond words by their countries beauty, and for that I am so grateful. Which, clearly, made me cry more. And right there, I felt God squeeze my shoulder and tell me “you did good kid, you did good.” I knew I was in the right place, I knew I was meant to be here, with the CEDEPCA Seminary, sitting as one with new friends and old family. The sense of community, the love for one another, united under God’s love was so present, so tangible, for the first time in my life, I could physically see it everywhere I looked.

So as I sat in the car, and I reflected upon God’s whispers to me during our morning activity, I remembered a conversation we had at Cooper House about tears. Sometimes tears are God’s way of giving you a push or a sign to pay attention. Yes, today was exactly that, but more than that. Today I felt God’s presence in my heart, but also in the room. He was present, he was standing right beside me and he was telling me I was going in the right direction. This—was a call.

Fast forward to later in the afternoon, as we drove a few hours to the women’s weaving cooperative, I spent the majority of the car ride looking out at the scenery. Now in one day, my emotions ran dry. From leaving Guatemala City and seeing 100+ miles of slums, and a bridge with a gate “so women would stop jumping off with their infants,” to seeing dead dogs on the side of the highway—my heart felt battered. Specifically I remember seeing a child, no more than 6 years old, with all of his belongings on the side of the highway begging for money. As I, a 20 year old, privileged, white, American, senior in college, sitting in an air-conditioned bus—excuse me? What? Why? I don’t understand. Why is that little boy, alone, no family in sight, underdressed, clearly underfed? Why am I here and why is he there? I was outraged. My hands in a fist, I couldn’t help but curse God. Why? Why are you doing this to me? Making me so sure you’re here, and then I see this? But then I understood. It was all clear to me, as my fingernails dug deep into my palms I realized that this was the fire. This morning God reminded me, this is what you love, this is what is important to you. But then he said wait—this is what is wrong, this is what needs to change. Later as I walked around Panajachel, and saw the raw beauty everywhere I looked—including in the stray dogs following at my skirts hem, I found myself. This was exactly what I never thought was going to happen—God put a fire under my butt and I recognized it. He presented himself to me, and in turn offered to me a calling: amar Guatemala.

All my love,
Bella