Xepocol, Day 313 (Guatemala story)

Upon our arrival at the feeding program the equipment was again unload. These people were hungry and we were going to feed them with Jesus (and then food). We set up in a courtyard of white stones next to one of the school buildings. It was an amazing place. The mountain dropped off creating a steep hill just behind the courtyard. There was a grandeous view of the surrounding mountains which ran on forever covered with tall pine trees enveloped in clouds. Mothers and children slowly arrived and quietly and reservedly sat in benches huddled along the edge of the white stones. Over half of the children were wearing one of two t-shirts. Despite the filth and wear of the clothing they looked adorable in their matching shirts. One of the t-shirts was green and said “Jesu Christo es me amigo.” The other was a purple shirt that said “Love wins”. Above that it said the same thing in Spanish, “Amor Gana,” and above that it was written again in a very lengthy translation of Quiche. Ron later told us that the green shirts were handed out by him and his ministry and the purple shirts were brought by a group much like us that had visited. He also said that in the Quiche language there isn’t a word for love. So when they translated “Love wins” into Quiche it turned into a description of love, something like a warm feeling in your heart, “I ulokbal uc’ux ri Dios kachkanic.” It was neat seeing all those little people wearing two such wonderful t-shirts.

We tried our best to be friendly. Wearing big smiles, we greeted everyone. Our holas were met with shy eyes and timid smiles. We each tried to get high fives; only the bravest of boys indulged us. The mornings high soon wore off. The people were very reluctant and so scared. Ron had told us that many of the people believed that Americans came to Guatemala to take their children and turn them into soap. It was a horror story spread by the Mayan priests to keep the people away from missionaries. No doubt these people were terrified. They had very few smiles to offer. They were cold and frozen in the 80 degree heat. Their eyes slowly and intricately examined us. We came to help feed them and now it seemed we were the enemy.

During our production, my place was again, sitting with the watchers. I was so humiliated when attempting to speak with anyone in my terrible Spanish. Nervously, awkwardly I took a seat with three children. Their mom wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The eldest child was a perfectly responsible seven or eight year old little girl. She had a bubbly, happy, fearless little brother and an even younger sister. The tiny sister began to cry a bit when I said hello. She hid her face in her elder sister’s side. The little brother courageously and fiercely gave me a high five accompanied by a tremendously friendly little smile and big bright brown eyes. The elder sister calmed the little one and tried to comfort me. She giggled and smiled and implied an assurance that my presence was welcome and that her little sister was just tired (and totally unaccustomed to large white people). I’m not sure who was more fearful, that tiny little girl being introduced to my foreignness or me trying to overcome my pride in that foreign world.

While cannons exploded in the background (scaring away the demons) I sat with the small family as our show about Jesus began, progressed, and came to an end. The children warmed up tremendously during the games. A bit frightened but even more curious they marveled at the puppets. Our message had to be translated into Spanish and then into the Mayan Quiche. It was confusing and awkward. Our Spanish translator was a guy named Jose. The job had sort of been bestowed upon him at the last minute. The man who was supposed to do it had to leave town on short notice and Ron told Jose to translate for us. Jose lived at Ron’s. He was in his mid twenties. His hair is a shiny black, unlike the regular dusty black owned by everyone else. Despite his timidity he has extremely friendly eyes that squint when he smiles. He was insecure in his English, although I think he spoke it perfectly. He wasn’t very happy with the translation assignment. He was very uneasy about correctly translating what we’d said into Spanish and it was obvious that he was nervous the entire time he was up there. With the three different languages being spoken over the crowd I wasn’t sure anyone was getting any of it. I didn’t know if there was much of a point to our taking up so much of their time before we gave them the food they’d come for. They looked so tired and the sun was very warm. At the end of the production Sarah, and then Jose, and then the Quiche translator asked the crowd if they wanted prayer for anything. A few VERY hesitant sad looking moms made their way to the stage for prayer. I felt as if they were seeking out any possible remedy for their affliction. As if their reluctant hope in Jesus was par to the hope they had placed in an idol they may have offered prayers to earlier. They seemed fearful and skeptical. I don’t think they truly believed anything would happen but like a lottery contestant they hoped this might be the one. Each mom silently bowed their heads with eyes closed as members of our team prayed over them. I felt sad wondering what desperate need had humbled each mother enough that she’d made her way forward to a group of strange foreigners in search of hope.