The Flowers in Chichicastenango (EXCERPT), Day 67

I just spent a few hours reading/ writing my book about Guatemala. I don't have anything left to say right now. Maybe I'll actually finish this thing this year!!!

EXCERPT:
As I sat resting I could feel tension welling up inside of me. Soon we’d be heading back out into those mountains again and no one had volunteered to share the message at the feeding program that evening. I was feeling sick about it, not wanting to, but feeling like I should. Sarah was a bit annoyed at no one from the team volunteering. It’s a difficult thing to express with words, ones feeling that God; the creator of EVERYTHING; the guy ultimately in control from the beginning to the very end of time; the feeling that He is trying to tell you something. It’s a feeling that I know quite well, that I often ignore despite my absolute understanding of its validity, and it’s a feeling that I cannot hardly begin to explain. I felt like God was telling me to share the message at the feeding program; me, who was distressed about a woman and little girl maybe never understanding the Jesus they said they’d love; me who hadn’t enough faith for a healing in an old woman and her family; me who became so frustrated when a fellow team member couldn’t use a drill; me who was dealing with arrogance and pride when I’d travelled ___ miles to love; God was telling me to share the message about Him. I couldn’t say no. I came to Guatemala to love people and serve God. He was telling me to move and I couldn’t ignore Him.


Quivering, I walked up to Sarah. My stomach was doing somersaults. I was dizzy and I imagine she could see me shaking. “I’ll share the message,” I managed to mumble out the words. Then I interjected, “But I don’t want to and I feel sick!” With an interesting expression of confusion and compassion she said that I didn’t have to, but I told her that I did. She offered to go over her lesson with me and let me have her notes but I told her that I had something else in mind. Still shaking from a fear of everything imaginable, I quickly jotted down everything running through my head. I knew that if God had asked me to do something then He had a plan and that He would take care of everything along the way, but I didn’t feel any less sick about it. Before we left for the feeding program I asked Doug and Elda, two of the clowns that evening, if they wouldn’t mind helping me out with the lesson. I instructed them on what I had planned and they seemed excited to assist. I asked a few people to pray over me for peace and strength and so that the fear might cease. Then we were off.

I hate how sick I get about talking in front of people. I hate how paralyzing it is, how I cannot even hear myself speaking and how the words come shooting out of my mouth at the speed of light, totally undistinguishable and jumbled together. I don’t know why I agreed to do it. I was a little angry with God for asking me. I was committed, there was no backing down, but the truck ride to the feeding program couldn’t have been shorter. Climbing down from the metal chariot, I brushed off as much of the dust as possible. I didn’t play with any of the children. I paced around nervously hoping my moment in the grand production wouldn’t come. Jose would interpret. He smiled at me a few times reassuringly, indicating that everything would be fine. His amiable glances were comforting. I remembered how nervous he’d been the year before when Ron wrangled him into interpreting for us. Now he seemed like a different guy, full of confidence and eager at the task. Slowly I calmed down, a bit. We were at patzibal and I was happy to be back there. The year before I doubted I’d ever see it again and I had greatly hoped to.

Anxiously awaiting my moment in the spotlight I took a seat with a gorgeous family on the front row. I sat with a vibrant little boy named Juan, his bubbly little sister owning one of the largest smiles I’d yet seen, a super giggly little brother, and their incredibly calm, quite, seemingly almost sad mom who held a tiny little baby that she cared for the entire service; feeding, rocking, patting, swaddling; ect. The little family was beautiful and it was a delight to sit with them and observe their rapport and harmony.

As I sat there I told myself a few times, “it’s just like Sunday school. Pretend that all the people here are your kindergarteners. There’s nothing to be scared of. Your kindergartners in Sunday school aren’t intimidating.” And then I was up. Still shaking I greeted the crowd of ‘kindergarteners.’ Jose repeated every word I said but in Spanish. The first few minutes of the experience I was thrown off by the pause for interpretation. I’d begin to start a new sentence when Jose started repeating the one I’d just said. I stopped frozen, waiting for him to pause, and then resumed speaking to the ‘kindergarteners.’ I spent a few minutes telling them that Jesus was my best friend. I told them that he is the best friend that anyone can ever have and that he desires to be friends with each of them. Even though I was confused as to how they might obtain a friendship with him I shared everything in my heart. I told them what I knew of God and His Son Jesus. The crowd listened intently. Every eye was on me, even though they didn’t understand a word I said. With each interpretation the room full of eyes would turn to Jose. He said everything I said, but better. As I stood listening to him give my message I felt foolish at the amount of worry I’d poured into the moment. It didn’t matter how fast I spoke, or how jumbled the words came out. It didn’t matter what I said even, Jose regurgitated everything with a friendly smile, inviting energy, and with sincerity. He captivated the crowd with a message that spoke even to me. I was in awe listening to what he had to say even though I’d said it first. At times it was difficult to stay on track after listening to him. He’d turn to me to continue, and I’d suddenly remember that I was the one giving the message not him. I half expected him to continue without me several times. But he didn’t.

I spoke to the crowd about making decisions, about wrong and right. My clown helpers, Daisy and Disco (Elda and Doug) clumsily in a perfectly amusing clown like way acted out each example of right and wrong that I presented. Disco would give Daisy a flower and Daisy would angrily stomp it with her big clown feet. Disco would try and give Daisy a hug and then she’d haul off and slap him. The children and their mothers laughed at the two clowns arguing with each other. The entire crowd would attentively look back to hear me speak, and then Jose would captivate them. Daisy and Disco would enact another show, evoking additional laughter and smiles, and then the crowd would turn to me. I was astonished at the absolute enthrallment of the entire room. Everyone watched. Everyone listened.

I enjoyed very much the entire experience. I was so worried and overwhelmed at the idea of speaking in front of so many little eyes; eyes that would be examining me, judging me, evaluating me, and possibly seeing me for who I really was. It turns out those little eyes saw simply a friend wanting to share her heart with them. I glanced several times at the gorgeous little family I had been sitting with. The little boy Juan, he paid such close attention. He was one year older than my playful friend who I'd left with tears on our first visit to Patzibal. His hair was just a bit fuzzier but he was the same little boy, mi amigo. There was no mistaking his smile. He was the one I had such fun playing with before, the one who vanished, the one who evoked a waterfall of tears. I was blessed to have met his family. To see his mom taking such good care of her five little kids. They were clean, nicely dressed, playful, happy children. Their family, Juan's family, warmed my heart. I got to share Jesus with them and they left me with hope. Somewhere in the midst of it all I realized that although we left possibly never to return the Holy Spirit was there. The Helper that Jesus told His disciples of just before He ascended was in the hills of Guatemala and Bible or no Bible God was taking care of the children he’d formed from the dust and breathed life into. It was amazing.

I left Patzibal with a warmer, calmer, more peaceful feeling than most I’ve ever had before. I was no longer worried about the little boy. I felt confidence in God’s plan for his life. There was a peace in knowing that no matter how poor, no matter what challenges they might face, he has a beautiful family that loves each other. The bouncy, dusty truck ride home was euphoric. I’d had such fear about speaking, such doubt, and such an overwhelmingly disgusting discomfort. It had all been replaced by an absolute feeling of wholeness. I’ve found it’s good to listen to God. (Thank you Doug, Elda, and Jose)