Mission to Guatemala

Guatemala is the the 3rd largest country in Central America, and one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere.  From the plane looking down, it is an endless stretch of majestic mountains.  65% of Guatemalan land is owned by 2% of the people.  And only 3.3% Guatemalans live past the age of 65.

Our mission team served the people in Santa Cruz del Quiché, the most indigenous outcast of the Mayan minority.  The people lived in dirt houses without running water and electricity.  A lot of them smelled like a mixture of stale laundry (like you forgot your wet clothes in the washer for 3 days) together with sweat and dust (because they walked hours to get to us).  Some even had fleas jumping off their clothes.   They waited in line patiently outside the makeshift clinic.  Once they got to sit down on the benches inside, many felt asleep before their names were called.  On the average, the people looked 10-15 years older than their real age.  Most were short, skinny, wrinkled, and deeply tanned.  Besides their usual eyeglasses needs, I had never seen as many severe eye diseases in any other population.  Our team was able to give antibiotic, steroid, and allergy eye drops along with loads of artificial tears.  We also dispensed many many Rx glasses and sunglasses.   To see the smiles on their faces as they realized the improvement in their vision was a treasure no money could buy.  To see how they squeezed their bag of medicine tight to their chest and hugged you even tighter really nulled your sense of smell and your fear of fleas.  All you could feel was their love and appreciation.  It was like magic adrenaline that kept us working non-stop all day every day.

The narrow, steep, and winding mountainside roads leading to our hotel was as thrilling as the Texas Cyclone.  The bus seemed to have no shock absorbant, so every bump deeply touched our bones .  Our hotel was a pretty decent one, considerably.  Even at that, the hot water had a mind of its own.  The flushing toilets had "paper intolerance".  If we accidentally followed our habits,  we had to fish the paper out to avoid an overflowed mess.  There was no closet, or chest drawers, only a simple "cabinet/shelf" made of ladder-like bars of untreated wood where you can see powdery stuff on your clothes overnight as traces of termites supper.  The bath towels were grayish white, thin and stiff  as though they have been used for decades, washed by hands, line dried under the sun, and under the rain too.  And there were no hair dryer anywhere to be found.

We wore scrubs and tennis shoes all week, no jewelry and minimal makeup.   We ate simple but decent meals.  Mass was celebrated in the hotel lobby every night after dinner.  The priest said Mass in scrubs.  The Body and Blood of Christ were contained in handmade earthen cup and bowl.  We sang church songs from memory, and hummed the parts that we forgot the lyrics to.   Stripped down to the bare basics, we felt the presence of God, the pulsating hearts of our fellowship. 

Far from civilization, luxury and comfort of a rich country, we found Church, the communion of God and His people.  The pleasant surprise was that we came to serve, to give, but ended up receiving so much more in return.   How could the poorest people filled us with such richness?

I was never really a religious one, but I found myself kinda ...  hooked on missions.   Go figure!!!

Huyen