Burbujas, Black Garbage Bags and Water

March 13, 2012 (started March 13 2:00pm…..couldn’t finish, so I’ll post today, March 19th….and leave it as I left it then.)

I am  home.  I am back in my house, back to my routine (except for the fact that yesterday we layed around doing nothing….so today I’m actually back to my routine!)  I really want to start some blog entries about our trip, about my feelings, but I know this will be hard to do…not eloquent I imagine, because my feelings are all over the place.

Part of me feels empty, not sure what to do with the complete difference between these two parts of my world.  Home, where I have everything I need all around this house.  It’s not a guilty feeling really…I know the answer isn’t to turn off my hot water, strip my house of everything, and take all the boys toys away…I really do get that.  It’s more of an longing of what I felt without all of those things.  I don’t envy those without, I don’t think envy is anywhere in my heart right now, there isn’t room for it.

I long to be at the orphanage with the kids.  Every single last one of them.  I long to be there, working my tail off all morning, just waiting like a little kid for recess time, when the kids would run up to the room where we kept all of our things asking “Burbujas (bubbles)? colors? Hogar (play) Kreeestin? Uno libre? (wanting a coloring book, and promising me they won’t take the whole stack…just one:)” Pushing the kids on swings,  walking around like I’m a 3rd grader not wanting the bell to ring.  When it rings, I’d hurry the kids back to line up and telling them “Juegan mas tarde”…Play later.  And then I’d find something to do.  Anything. Wanting to get every last possible project done for these kids, for the ladies who care for the kids 24×7 and love them all dearly.  But knowing there is no way to “finish it all”.  Part of my week there, I helped clean out rooms full of all sorts of stuff. Shoes, clothes, toys…some good, some not so good.  There were times I cried in anger and frustration at the condition of some of the things people had left for them.  Shirts with huge stains, underwear with holes, dolls with no heads, trucks with a wheel missing.  Why do people think these kids deserve these things?????  God would quickly convict my heart of being angry with people who I didn’t even know.  Didn’t know their intentions.  Didn’t know if perhaps some little girl gave her favorite doll, and somewhere along the way, the head popped off.  Who am I to know, to judge, to be angry?  God called me to Guatemala to serve, to love, to clean out these rooms, not to judge the contents.  We ran out of black garbage bags.  Normally I would just run out go my garage and grab a handful out of my Costco box of them and get back to work.  But not here.  Not in this room on the side of a room in Guatemala. When you’re out, you’re out…we had hours left of work to do, and wouldn’t be able to get garbage bags til the next day.  So, we would yelp in excitement when we’d dig through the mound of clothes and come across another black garbage bag to use for the clothes/shoes/toys that were unusable.  Yelping over black garbage bags~how I crave to be back in those moments right now.

An elderly man was walking down the road while were cleaning out these rooms.  He walked and looked like a 90 year old man, thin and frail, but he could very easily have been 60 years old. It was a HOT day and this man was dressed in a sweater and long wool looking pants.  He started talking to me, and to be completely honest, I was a little uncomfortable.  I searched around for a translator, found David and called him over.  He told me that the man needed bus fair.  I gave him the change in my pocket and asked him if he’d like a bottle of water.  “anything is wonderful”.  I went and got him a bottle of water.  As I handed it to him, he got tears in his eyes.  I hugged him.  He had an old hat on, and his royal blue thick sweater was dirty.  He was missing most of his teeth. His hands were worn and callused.  When I hugged him, I could have held  him for an hour.  It felt like I was  hugging a dearly loved grandfather.  I didn’t feel good because I felt like I was helping this man, I felt like he was comforting me, nurturing me.  He told me that God gave us all the same eyes, the same hearts, the same blood running through our bodies, that we look different, but we are the same.  We hugged again, and he walked away.  I pray that I will never forget those words, the feeling of his hug, and that I will never forget this mans face.

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About dancingintheminefields

I am a wife to my best friend, and a mother of 4 wonderful, beautiful, indvidually amazing, kids. I am a child of my two lovely parents, a sibling to a brother and 2 sisters, and a friend to many whom I love dearly. I live my life grateful for a grace-filled God.
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