Stepping Back: The Holidays in Louisville

Christmas Day +1…

Everyone keeps asking me whether I am in culture shock. Is it strange, people want to know, to be home in the midst of the holiday bustle?

No. To be honest, I am doing just fine. I don’t mind the lights, the great food, the cell phones, laughter, or the filled calendar. As a matter of fact, I am still captivated by the instant hot water in the kitchen sink. And the coffee maker! Oh what innovation…

It’s easy, more or less, to forget about Pinalito when I am wrapped up in a busy life in Louisville— I’ve been selling jackets at Quest Outdoors, scheduling hair appointments, catching up with old friends—it seems that nothing much has changed, so why not burrow back into the routines of home? I can chill out on this change-the-world action for a few weeks.

My final weeks in Pinalito were tough… Dad’s trip was harrowing, to say the least. (I hope he’ll update you all with his own blog entry!) The roads were washed out, and we had to hike into Pinalito via “the back way”—a two-hour, steady incline. Upon arriving, we discovered a faulty propane tank, so we never knew if each hot dinner (or hot shave, poor Dad!) would be the last. Most shocking for Dad, and tiring for me, was the steady influx of need… the villagers lined up outside my door each day, inundating us with their entreaties: More jackets? Extra rice? A $20 loan? Up until my final 5 minutes in Pinalito, I wavered between compassion, nostalgia, and well… a fleeting desire to wring the poor peoples’ necks!

Jesus said that if a man sues you for your jacket, give him your overcoat as well…but when one Pinalito passerby, Rafaela, demanded the bath towel on my shoulder just after I handed her my Patagonia sweatshirt, Matthew’s verse didn’t dawn on me until after I had struck the limit of my own generosity. I wadded the proffered shirt under my arm and stomped away…and felt terrible ten minutes later.

On top of those demands of poverty, an angry son came back to his village for the holidays and chopped three of his mother’s fingers off with a machete when he had had too much to drink. (Sorry, no bloody pics of this one, guys. We took her to the hospital, and she is healing with strong antibiotics.) And, the mission lost more than 100 pounds of ready-for-market coffee to a late-night thief. The window bars were pulled out of a concrete wall, wire was clipped, and more that $600 worth of dried coffee beans was lost.

With this frustration sizzling, I high-tailed it home. I revived my “y’all” and relearned how to apply lipstick, and stocked the freezer with peppermint ice-cream.

But on Day 10, Christmas Eve, my mask wore thin. I kneeled on the fancy embroidered altar pillows at Christ Church to take communion, and began to tick off my prayer list. I prayed that God bless my little village this Christmas Eve; I asked that no one get hurt tonight, and the men steer clear of the moonshine. I asked that the children stay warm, and are excited to celebrate Jesus’s birth with tamales and music. With that prayer, I felt the concrete floor of the Pinalito church cutting into my knees. I forgot my mom kneeling next to me, and remembered the constant smell of urine and dirt that lingers around Pinalito. My sadness and disappointment in people flared for a moment, and then God’s greatest sacrifice dawned on me.

The realization started with Jesus in the manger. I’m considering a nativity scene, here; we’ve had one in our Christmas décor since I can remember. Baby Jesus lies in a little plastic manger upon a bundle of plastic hay. (I used to use him as Ken and Barbie’s baby; he had the same painted swirl of blond hair as his father.) Obviously that plastic figurine doesn’t quite do the scene justice. A manger is a feeding trough for barn animals; it would have stunk like the dickens. The barn would have been warm, sure, but it would have been filthy, and those shepherds outside would have been uncouth, unshowered men…. Now I’m thinking of Pinalito again.

On our first Pinalito house visit together, Dad asked if we could leave after ten minutes; he couldn’t stand the smell.

In the U.S., we don’t always see the filth of humanity. Our imperfections are easily covered—a baby’s dirty diaper stuffed into one of those fancy diaper genies. (And besides, we don’t eat nearly as many beans.) But in Pinalito, the stench is hard to miss. I imagine it’s a lot like Bethlehem; the houses are moldy and rank just like that barn where Jesus was born. To think that God sent His Son here, to live in this pit of human failing! What a sacrifice! God knew that there would be thoughtless men stealing coffee from the village ministry. He knew that there would be sons who chopped their mother’s fingers off with a machete. He even knew that a selfish American girl would turn her back on a woman asking for a jacket.

And yet, God still sent His Son to live, teach, and die among us humans, so that we can go to Heaven if we believe it all. It’s crazy to look at the world’s failing— I cannot ignore it anymore—and come to terms that Jesus took it all on his shoulders. The next realization is the joy that follows…

Merry Christmas, a day late. Thank you everyone for your support this year… Pinalito is an opportunity that I could not afford with out your contributions, and could not handle without your prayers.

Jilmer News

Everyone has been asking about little Jilmer... so I called Cindy and Jaime (the missionaries from nearby "Matasano") to check on him the other day! Here are the most recent photos of him. (From December 12th)

The doctors diagnosed Jilmer with giardia, a parasite that causes stomach bloating and general discomfort, on the 5th of December, and Cindy and Jaime dosed him up with Metronidozole. It didn't take him long to develop healthy eating habits, and sleep through the night without stomach pain. This picture was taken at Fridays in Guatemala City. I was craving a hamburger, and Jilmer helped me eat it. He loves ketchup!

At the end of Dad's Pinalito tour, Cindy and Jaime drove us back down to the city. At that point, we had been taking care of Jilmer for two weeks, and he was progressing by leaps and bounds! This picture was taken on a small restaurant playground, where he loved the slide, and even crawled through a few plastic tubes. He is not walking yet, but he is mobile, and loves to "cruise" on the edge of a chair, or with his pal, Jasmine, holding his hands.
When we first got Jilmer, I didn't think he noticed who held or chatted with him, so long as they had food! But after 15 days of comfortable life with the Ortiz family, it is obvious that he recognizes everyone in his fan club. He calls me "Sarita" in a sweet, scratchy little boy voice. Whew... I've fallen hard for this kid!

When I talked to the Ortiz family this week, I found out that Jilmer's father, Carlos, has recently stopped by to visit his son, and everyone was glad to see the sweet love of a father for his hurting child. This picture was taken at Jilmer's house in November. Carlos and Emilia (Jilmer's mother) hosted a group from Pennsylvania in their house for a morning of tortilla making.

I also heard that Jilmer has a terrible cold, and an ulcer on his eye is attracting a lot of worry from the Zacapa doctors. They are encouraging Jaime and Cindy to go to the capitol, where an eye surgery may be the only hope for Jilmer's sight. Please pray for this kiddo. He is a little Lazarus, raised from the dead. Check out the prayer page at www.fiaministries.org for more of his story from Rocky and Michael Beene.

Jesus said “The Burden I give you is light...” but what did He know about Pinalito?

What a month. I don’t know where to start. I’ve tried to write this blog four times in effort to keep up with the news and my own emotional reactions. We've had an amazing missionary team sweep in from Pennsylvania, the much anticipated visit of Michael and Rocky Beene (the directors of our small mountain ministry "Faith in Action") and a whirlwind of doctors visits, community birthday parties, coffee roasting, and mission wide brainstorming!

Four-year-old Gilmer Estaurato Perez has been foremost in my thoughts lately.
He lives up the hill from the mission with his 25 year-old mother and father, and his three oh so dirty and parasitic siblings. Two years ago, a Faith in Action intern took Jilmer in for 6 weeks. She fattened him up on chicken, pizza and vitamins, loved him, sang to him, and dressed him in Baby Gap and Gymboree. When Jilmer reached a healthy weight again, the intern returned him to his parents with toys and a baby bath and an almost comical preference for American food. But upon his return to poverty, Jilmer went downhill again. He refuses his mother’s tortillas and beans, preferring to sit dejected in his own pee all day. Jilmer is now four, and he weighs 15.8 pounds. His legs are deformed; his eyes are nearly blind, and his hair is so thin that he is balding above his ears. He cannot walk and hardly talks, and has been screaming in my arms for the past two days.

In the U.S., picky eaters can be frustrating; maybe Mom has to scrape the ketchup and pickles off of a McDonalds hamburger and cook a separate pot of rice for dinner. But in Guatemala, a picky eater will die. Melanie jokes that Jilmer is meant for pate and champagne, but as we struggle to find out what food this child will eat, we have both stopped laughing.

Jilmer’s mom doesn’t know what to do with her underdeveloped son. She cannot buy him chicken every day, and so, she expects he will die. Once again, Faith in Action has swept in to save Jilmer’s life. We love this cuddly child who lies exhausted on the nearest shoulder, perking up at the smell of food or the chug of a motorcycle. Jaime and Cindy Ortiz will take care of him while Melanie and I go home for the holidays. But what will happen to Jilmer when he is better again? Who will buy him his daily chicken?

At the same time, Melanie and I have started feeding 60 year old Sofia Lopez, the “crazy lady” of Pinalito, so say the children. At the worried reprisal of Michael Beene, we recently discovered that Sofia is dying of hunger… her family is not feeding her the corn and beans that we give her each month. So Sofia comes to the apartment for lunch every day, and we cook her chicken soup with hot vitamin drink, peanut butter and jelly, and a baggie of rice to take home. I clip her nails, and Melanie gives spoonfuls of anemia medicine as Sofia rambles on, slightly senile, and tries to be a “lady” at our table. (I have only had to reprimand her once, when she spit her congestion out on the kitchen floor!)

All of this has collided with Thanksgiving and the beginning of the holiday season… I find myself ready to go home, uncomfortable with the cold Guatemala weather, and wishing for a television to watch the Macy’s parade or the holiday movie marathons. Despite my willingness to love on the people of Pinalito, I confess to such selfishness these days… I didn’t want to share the sweet potato casserole from our Thanksgiving feast, though I cringe at the grandiosity of our table. I am reading about Paul this week, both in Acts and in John Pollock’s book, The Apostle , and I am amazed at all that he suffered to spread the Good News. I, on the other hand, am unable to feed the masses. In my frustration, I grumble “If I had 10,000 warm jackets, would the people then come to me for gloves and scarves? If I had 10, 000 chickens, would they then expect beef?”
These days, as I crave home, and wonder at the hopelessness of the lives of Pinalito, my burden seems unbearable… how can I possibly care for them all?

Does this seem like a repetitive question? Perhaps… I have written similar frustrations throughout my fall here in Pinalito. But tomorrow, my Dad is arriving in Guatemala to visit. Although I know that I am to be the tour guide as I bring a non Spanish speaker into new terrain, I am so relieved in his presence. To rely on the guidance of a parent is so easy; I can’t wait for him to see Pinalito, for he will have such great advice—encouragement for my worries. His arrival is a reminder, in fact, that I can look to my Heavenly Father for the same relief, the same trust that everything will work out. I just have to stick to my guns…

Jesus said “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:30) Whew, this verse is so hard to take in, most of the time.... but when it clicks, it clicks.