I lived in a city, San Cristobal, above a valley where Guatemala City sat. The two cities were divided by a huge canyon called a barranco in Spanish. The beauty of this place, full of trees and flowers, stirred my heart. I wanted to walk the area and enjoy the breezy air. However, I had been warned about walking alone and knew there were areas considered taboo. I lived in a safer area; whatever that meant. How did anybody know it was safer? The idea of robbery, rape, or kidnapping were not far from my thoughts as I clutched the pepper spray tube in my hand. Through prayer, a calmness took over, and off I went to explore this beautiful land, staying within a short distance of the apartment.

My first time out gave me a good view of the clash of two different cultures. Large fancy homes sat next to shacks that could blow over in a windstorm. (The attached photo is an example.) As I walked past these shacks, I looked for the squatters who lived in them. I looked especially for the children. Dirty from head to toe and carrying lice in their shaggy hair, they smiled at me from ear to ear. Seeing me, a white-skinned, blonde-haired woman, caused fear and curiosity. I had invaded their territory. Other missionaries told me that the indigenous were told stories about “gringos” who stole Guatemalan children to sell for adoption. I needed to be cautious and not overstep my bounds. As these children saw me on a regular basis during my walks, they became more confident that I wasn’t going to cause them harm. We greeted each other with a word or a wave; however, the conversation ended there, because I did not know enough Spanish to initiate anything more. I learned their names when someone who spoke Spanish walked with me.

As the season changed, the wind blew harder through this area called a wind tunnel. I figured that if I, a Montana girl, felt cold, these children had to be freezing with the lack of socks, sometimes shoes, and warm coats. I had opportunity to peek in some of the shacks and saw primitive living conditions. Campfires were used for cooking and old and cracked plastic containers held their water. The stark reality was that most of them slept on the ground huddled together with only few holey blankets to cover them.

Lord what can I do? I don’t have any money, and I want to do something to help these people. My mind started processing possibilities, and I knew I could do something, if I found people to partner with me. I learned that it is not about what I can do but, but what God can do through me. In the next post, I will share the action taken to help the people who were my neighbors.

There are many stories, from all over the world, of people collaborating together to help others during their hardships. I know it makes Jesus smile. I’m sure many of you have a testimony of ministering in God’s love. In the “comment” area on the post, describe this and may it be an encouragement and reminder to all of us, to keep our eyes open for more of these opportunities.