While sitting in a chapel in the middle of Antigua, Guatemala, a man spoke. He said "Close your eyes. Picture yourself having four children and no spouse. You are standing in your doorway looking in to your one room home. You look up to count the holes in your tin roof. There are more than yesterday. Looking down, you see the dirt floor has finally dried from the last rainstorm. But the sky is already forming fresh grey clouds that match your mood because you know that your family is going to be wet for the next five days. You cry because there is nothing you can do about it." Then, as if speaking directly to me, the man said, "Look into your home in America and remember that when the rain comes, you will be dry and safe."
This moment changed me. I was in Guatemala to build a house for an impoverished family. It seemed like a kind thing to do and a good way to improve my Spanish. Instantly, my innocent desire seemed shallow as I realized the magnitude of the troubles of the people I was there to help. I was suddenly torn between feelings of guilt, thankfulness, and wonder as to how people's situations around the world are so different.
Flash forward through three days of sweaty work. The house is complete. Exploring the neighborhood, I was enveloped in dust and dirt. The streets were piled with trash. Gaunt dogs wandered around just waiting to pick fights with one another. The homes were created with a mix of sugarcane, plastic wrap, scrap metal, and an assortment of other items. The house that stood out, though, was painted highlighter blue with a door and a window, which was an unusual sight in this part of the city. This was the house that I helped to create. We stood on one side of the cement floor while the family who was receiving the house stood on the other. The mother's face was wrinkled and rugged, likely from years of hard work, but she had kindness in her eyes. Her body was covered in the reds and blacks of traditional Mayan wear. The tans of the two children contrasted with their white and navy school uniforms, which were in great shape. Upon closer inspection, I saw their toes poking out of their shoes, which were clearly sizes too small. They explained in rapid Spanish how thankful they were for us, and with a few tears, hugged us goodbye. Seconds later I was riding away in the back of the rusty blue pickup truck in which I had arrived.
The world felt strange, because as the neighborhood disappeared in the dust, so did the family with which I had shared such a meaningful moment.
The cobblestone roads and the small stores filled with homemade tortillas passed by my eyes, but seemed never-ending. Eventually, I didn't see them anymore. All I could see was this family that would be forever etched in my mind. This family opened my eyes to not only the poverty in the world, but to the happiness of the people who seemingly have so little. They were beautiful, loving, caring, selfless humans who were able to feel and express the deepest appreciation. Although they described me as their savior, I knew that the converse was true.
I am hesitant to write and speak about my service trip due to the fact that it might seem cliché. But, my trip to Guatemala has shaped me. It was life changing. Because of this family I have realized that each and every act of kindness, no matter how minuscule, improves a life and is well worth doing. I did my trip through an organization known as The God’s Child Project. It was much cheaper and catered to my ideas than other programs, but any trip where one completely devotes themselves to the servitude of others is NECESSARY at least once in lifetime. No matter your age, it will open your eyes and hearts to a new way of life. You will learn, laugh, cry, and transform throughout.
