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.

At CAG (Christian Academy of Guatemala), every class had the responsibility for a missions project. The family in La Rosa was fresh in my mind when the subject came up in my class. After I explained the situation, the students unanimously decided that they wanted to “adopt” this family. With contagious excitement, the ideas flew around the room. “We need a fundraiser,” shouted one of the girls. “Hey, let’s have a rummage sale here at the school.” “I can make snow cones and sell them at the rummage sale.” A couple of the boys proposed that they could make some beds, shelves, and tables during shop class. Another boy said they could learn to mix cement and put blocks together for the wall of a house. By this time, I felt chocked up inside. These MKs (missionary kids) showed their giving hearts.

Several of the students got into a conversation about how we could have fundraisers and use the money to buy land for the foster family. The ideas mounted without any encouragement from me. At this point, I had all the kids take out their journals and write down their ideas. When I read the journals later, I cried. One fellow wrote that he would give them everything he had. This provided proof of the Lord’s love flowing through the MKs’ hearts toward others.

With permission of the administration, we set the plans in motion. Of course, some of the students’ ideas were not realistic, but they discovered that themselves. I contacted the parents and turned the kids loose. The students’ spirits were in high gear and ready to go. We held a rummage sale at the school, cookies and snow cones were sold during recess time, and donations were put in the donation jar designated for this family. The smell of fresh paint hung heavy in the shop, with the sounds of the hammers and saws.

Finally, the big day arrived. Jose, the man who works with this family, agreed to translate for us and met us in front of the foster family home. The aunts recognized me and welcomed me with hugs and kisses. Suddenly, Christmas Day appeared for all inside that compound. The MKs brought in clothes, blankets, fruit, vegetables, cleaning products, canned goods, beans, rice, toys and of course, candy. The shop-made dressers came in, and a student showed the little girls how to put clothes in them. When we gathered at the gate to leave, I saw the oldest girl take off her new jacket, fold it, and put it in a drawer. She had just enjoyed an experience for the first time: having a place to put her clothes!

Before we left, we prayed with the family and then received words of thanks from the aunts and hugs from the children. Afterward, Jose shared some important information with me. He knew that we would continue to help this family, and warned us that everything needed to be low-keyed. If people in the area heard that we gave items and money to the ladies and children, they could be robbed and lose everything. We needed to hear this great advice.

In the next post, I will share the comments from the students’ journals about this life-changing missions project. Perhaps you too have had similar experiences during a short-term mission trip. I’d enjoy hearing about it.

Many times new missionaries are emotionally moved by a need they see, and feel compelled to “fix it.” I felt the same thing. I had my first taste of “missions” in a little community call La Rosa. At a VBS held by a missions team, I met four skinny, shabby, unkempt siblings, from ages two to twelve. Their shy, cute smiles won me over in no time flat, but the depravity of their living conditions impacted me the most.

“What is the story of these four girls?” I asked the translator. He lived and ministered in the area, so knew the family well.

“The mother of the four children ran off with a man and hasn’t returned. The father died, and the two elderly ladies, sisters, are taking care of the kids. They are the aunts,” the translator explained to me.

“What is their home like, and do they have enough food to eat?” I inquired as I looked at self-made shacks around me that wouldn’t even be used for chicken coops in Montana.

“Their home consists of portions of tin and old boards pieced together. It is in a little land area butted up to the homes of others. They are considered squatters, and if the owner sells the land, they will be told to leave.”

“How much does it cost for a piece of land the size they have?”

The fellow pondered only a few seconds and said, “About $7,000 and that would include a simple, concrete block house.”

I wanted to see where they lived, and with my North American eyes, I picked up enough information to know I couldn’t just walk away and not make an attempt to help this humble family. The compound could have fit in my living room. The translator explained how the twelve-year-old walked six blocks with a five-gallon plastic bucket, to a public water faucet and carried water home for all six people. (This well was put in for community use with disaster relief funds after Hurricane Mitch hit Guatemala in 1998.) She did this at 11:00 p.m., because young men hung around this area during the day. The late hour seemed to be a safer option.

The kitchen table, composed of a few pieces of wood, sat on some concrete blocks. A mattress lay on the floor with pieces of clothing clumped on top of it. This solution kept the clothes off the floor and gave more padding for the six occupants at night. A few anorexic chickens lived with them, and they were the only signs of any food, except for a some bones and juice in a dirty bowl with some bugs investigating this for their own use. They lived in poverty city.

The gears turned in my head as to what I could do with my limited funds. I figured that people back in the US would want to help if they knew about this situation. Instead, my sixth grade students would grab onto this project, and their hearts changed because of their involvement. I mentioned in the last post about Anita and her disdain of living in Guatemala. When she got involved with the La Rosa family, she did a turnaround. All of my students, including me, saw a purpose.

In the next post, I will share in detail my students served this family and others. You will be blessed to see the love of Christ that poured out of these MKs for needy people in Guatemala.