Otra
vez, estoy llorando. Crying,
again. It seems to be a pattern for me here in Guatemlala.(And I thought I was emotional before!) But as strange as it sounds, these tears were caused by something found, something gained. These tears spouted from the heart of someone leaving something wonderful behind.
My
wonderful roommate (I’m not just saying that in case she reads it) spent some
time in Sumpango, Guatemala a few years back, helping with missions work. Named in Kaqchiquel, Sumpango means the place of the skulls. It is located in the mountains next to a large cemetery. Much more like Magdalena, Sumpango is not an area founded in money as Antigua. This
last week, we went back with Anna to
translate between the church and a group of 30 Wisconsinite youth. Translate. Traducir. Me. I know, I was freaking out too.
However,
all went well. More than well, gracias
a Dios. I am blown away by the things God used me for in this trip; I would have definitely shortsighted myself. As I told Anna yesterday,
“Never, once, did I imagine myself in Guatemala. Translating. For a missions
trip. Successfully!” I am truly amazed. But I digress. Continuamos. The reason for the tears:
La gente. Que bonita la gente. I wish
I were a good enough writer to illustrate my heart, clearly outlined here on the page for you. I
wish I could traverse the miles to open up and show you the brokenness,
something actually beautiful amidst the pain. I wish I could simply share these memories,
letting each and every one of you experience the same joy, peace, and
devastation welling inside. Since my own humanness hinders me, I will do my
best to give you a glimpse of my last week in Sumpango.
 |
| This is a view of Sumpango from the side of the mountain. |
Pastor
Oscar, the missions coordinator of the Los Olivos (the church we worked with in Sumpango) graciously invited us into his home. His wife Karla and their kids made us feel
right where we should be, giving over their own rooms to us in an order to
house us. Karla fed us (and ALL of the Wisconsinites, sometimes waking with
less than two hours of sleep to give everyone a hearty breakfast), joked with
us, and made us feel welcome. We played dolls with the kids, sat on the sofa (a
real sofa!), Emily (nine years old) did my hair for me, and we even got to use
the most incredible, lovely, wonderful shower ever. I was reminded once again
how much comfort being comfortable physically can bring.
Suzanne,
an intern at the church also living with the family, worked with us
translating. A few hours upon arriving, we made our way to the churches newly
constructed soccer field that they’ve been putting work into for a few years. It seems like a small thing, but it's a huge effort to connect the community and the youth within it. Caught up in my own nerves and insecurities, I watched the youth play soccer,
seeing the initial hesitation and segregation between the Guatemalan youth and the
Wisconsinites. After dinner and a quick break, we made our way to the church
for a joint worship service – once again, the Guatemalan and Wisconsin youth
housed together for the same activity. At this point, I felt I might throw up.
Me? Translate for an entire group of 60 some people? Nevertheless, with a
fairly smooth transition, I helped communicate the games were going to play, in
addition to a small skit. And, even more encouraging, I watched throughout the
night as the two separate groups began to interact, trying to communicate
despite the barrier. I listed to their voices mix in worship – two distinct
languages, one song, one purpose. It was absolutely beautiful.
Sunday,
we woke up at 4:00 AM in an effort to be at a water-park with the church before
it opened. Here we witnessed a baptism and spent the majority of the time at a
the beach, soaking in the sun and the heat once again. It was a great morning and a
fairly easy day. Monday, on the other hand, was exhausting – mentally and
psychically. In the early morning, we made our way back to the soccer field. My group was in charge of clearing
away a huge plot of land that will, eventually, house the future church. (The
current congregation is too large and the church is looking for more room.)
With machetes and rakes, the youth cleared almost the entire lot. I also had
the great opportunity to meet some Guatemalan youth my own age, something more
difficult to do in Antigua. For at least 45 minutes I talked with one young man
who I will definitely remember for the rest of my life. I listened as he spoke on and on about
his aspirations, his hard work, the trails he faces, and his desire to put God above
it all. He talked about the difficulties he has, but encouraged me with his
determination to better his circumstances and rely on faith. After listening, I felt completely inspired to approach my own life with a revamped passion and purpose. Podemos aprender en cada situación.
That
night, we met again at the church to do home visits – by far the most
terrifying part of my experience. Separated from Anna and Andre, I was split
into a group of five Wisconsinites (who spoke relatively little Spanish) and
two Guatemalans (who spoke no English). I was torn between terror and relief
that perhaps it would be harder to notice my mistakes through lack of ability
to communicate. We made our way to three different homes of youth in the
community. Here I translated a brief message on behalf of the Guatemalan youth leaders and then translated the testimonies and growth stories of the
Wisconsinites to the Guatemalan party. With a few mistakes but overall success,
the night went really well. I was left in awe of my ability to communicate and
the ability of the group to share and be honest with each other. To finish
everything out we had dinner with a different youth pastor. Here again I translated
between the group at my table and the Guatemalan pastor. It was a great time to
see the exchanges and questions arise at the table and to have the opportunity
to help answer them.
Tuesday,
all of the Wisconsinites, about 40 Guatemalan youth, and ourselves (making a
group of about 70 in total) climbed a mountain. For seven hours. Siete horas. Pensaba que muriera. I can honestly say it was a strain. However,
well worth it. Absolutamente vale la pena.
Without a doubt, this was one of my favorite parts of the trip. Starting out,
as someone who doesn’t exercise, I was a little nervous about how it would go.
After we’d walked a while outside of town, we stopped to collect in groups.
Here I turned to Anna, “Anna! Todavía
estoy viviendo!” I was still living! I could do this. Her response did not elicit much confidence:
“Maddie, we still haven’t started yet.” Oh boy. 
The
climb was beautiful. The views were incredible and as we made our way up it
because more exotic, complete with giant colorful centipedes, hanging vines,
and wet, chilly air. The ground was steep and, at points, involved climbing
with hands as well as feet, pulling on anything that would support my weight
and hopefully not leave me with spines in my hands. Reaching the top we had a
picnic and them, almost literally, tumbled most of the way down the steep sides
of the mountain. The whole way up I hung pretty close to the same group, mostly
people from Sumpango, laughing and whining right along with them as we all
trekked about. By the end of the day, I was exhausted, but, all the same,
filled with joy from my head to my toes.
At
many points along the way, I definitely wanted to stop. I was tired, I had no
confidence in my ability to climb, my face looked as if I’d spent the day at
the beach (that’s how red it was, said one of the people in my group), and my
legs were aching. It was here that the people of Sumpango taught me what I
think the point of fellowship should be. Everything the church pastor had been
talking about – the importance of community and attending church – came
together. Right away when we started to climb, I was pulled into a group.
Immediately upon entering, jokes were made, names were given, food was offered.
When things got difficult, every time I wanted to quit there was someone behind
me: “Vamos Maddie! Sí se puede Maddie!” And of course, “Cuidado Maddie!” every
time I almost tripped. Even when I tried to stop – I just wanted to stand still
for a minute, my poor feet, I couldn’t keep going – the person behind me gave
me a nudge, offered me their walking stick, and said that we would just keep
going. 
That,
I can feel in every fiber, is what fellowship – what true friendship – should
look like. When things are rough and it feels like all I want to do is quit,
when I’m floundering for air, there is someone there to push me forward, doing
what I can’t do myself in that moment. And, of course, having the honor of returning the favor. I have never felt so immediately
welcomed into a sense of community as I did this last week. The sense of
“homeness” I felt, so very far from home, amazed me and warmed my heart. Not
only was the group open and non-isolating, but truly loving. Amable, to be sure.
Thus,
to leave the people who had opened their arms to us – even to leave the group from
Wisconsin who had grown so much over our short time there, by the end asking deeper questions and trying in broken Spanish to communicate – was the cause of tears. It was a wonderful experience, one which I will treasure forever and could never imagine my future without. So though my heart is broken, I am grateful. Una bendiga grande.
