A World Much Different [Los Angeles Village, Guatemala]

Reaching the remote villages where World Neighbors partners with local works often entails driving up steep, at times treacherous, single lane mountain paths. Our visit yesterday included a 5.5 hr. bumpy, dusty, 4-wheel drive struggle climbing 5,000' above Teleman, all the while alert for roadway thieves, a three mile hike ever upwards, and a nice, for me, three mile mule ride on the return. We traveled to a Shangrai La, but as all such wonderful places seem to require, we paid a price.

Choking from dust, lazily taking in the surroundings through which we bounced along for hours, I was for some reason struck by one particular sight:

There is a world very much different than mine. It is a world in which a woman in a bright red blouse and her child sit contentedly upon the side of a dusty, winding road, twisting its single lane lazily over the mountains. They sit, no doubt, dawn till dusk, day in and day out, only to be lulled from their trance to sell a drink or snack to the occasional passerby.

What is this trance into which they fix their gaze? Perhaps, it is a trance that prohibits any concern beyond their small plot of land and the green fields shrouded here and there by the wispy ghost clouds ever dancing upon the nearby mountain tops.

What can she and her son be thinking? I suspect they have few worries, given the fact that they have opportunity to daily sit away the day, though the matter of day to day sustenance must forever clamor subliminally for attention in the quiet of their emptied thoughts.

Do this woman and her child have ambition? I'm not sure that ambition, at least other than what has been hard wired into their humanness, is a cultural concept. Yet, this cannot be the case. Afterall, she has a roadside stand. My practically emptied mind wonders what it must have taken for her to gain this possession that so few of her neighbors have. Indeed, she is ambitious. Maybe her gaze is turned inward, plotting how she might leverage her existing asset, into what, I don’t know.

Ambition indeed, yet just how large is her world? Does it extend beyond such ambition? She lives in a small shack, a few miles from the small crossroads known as Teleman, 50 miles or so from the roar of the unbroken expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. Possibly, the road to town and back is her world, a very, very, very tiny speck on a globe, of which she has almost no knowledge.

Yeah, yeah yeah... the ravings of a broken leg pain induced dusty bouncer...

Forlorn [Nicaragua]

Perhaps forlorn is the word that best describes the looks of Adada yesterday and Alvaro today. I’m not sure each communicated the exact same thing, but they seemed very similar, yet I may not be a good judge of looks, especially quick looks.

These were fleeting communications; they may have been furtive, though if so, unintentionally. They caught me by surprise in their hastily cast webs of sadness. No words were spoken, yet much was said. They were sad. I became sad.

Saying goodbye, eyes whispering just moments before in friendly conversation, suddenly cried out in quiet shrieks of hopelessness of the escaping prisoner caught seconds before reaching freedom; actions halted, plans of months and months, perhaps years, halted, as well.

There was no malice in their eyes, only deep, deep wells with surfaces no longer reflecting peace and joy. They had become oil wells pumping forth an oozing, thick, dark reality clogging any pores of hope and suffocating dreams.

Adada is a beautiful, bubbly young woman of 19, unafraid to use the English she, unlike her peers, worked so hard to improve. She’s completed one year of studies in business administration and spoke of her goals and ambitions. Yet as I prepared to leave the inspiring, mountain camp she and her friends were attending, and turned to say goodbye, the open windows into her soul pitifully permitted a quick glimpse of abandonment, the look a young woman wanting so much more than her culture could provide.

Alvaro, a well-built, fun-loving, compassionate, head-shaved guy of 20, took on the same look as I stretched out my hand to shake his, thanking him for his help that day, and saying goodbye. We’d spent a hot, humid day traveling together through barrios on the outskirts of Managua. He’d lived in the U. S. for two years, staying with relatives in San Diego, Chicago, and Houston. When his grandfather asked him to return he did so, and then responded to a Young Life leader’s call to live among and reach out to Managua’s gang members.

As I shared stories and photos from my website he was fascinated, even emotional, listening to and seeing photos of ministry stories from around the world. Alvaro had crossed one border and had experienced two very different cultures, yet it was obvious he wanted to see so much more. As I left, his eyes led me on a brief tour deep down into chambers of dreams, suddenly re-shuttered by the unlikeliness of being fulfilled.

What a joy to meet Adada and Alvaro. How painful to leave them so forlorn.