Month: July 2018

Often times, I am looking at each relationship that surround me as what can be changed. Maybe it’s not being close enough with a child. Or maybe it’s being too close. Maybe it’s set on the wrong motives, not getting any deeper, standing still, or full of attitude and jokes. Or it’s built on only one thing, it’s getting stretched, it’s unlike the others. And I am constantly reminding myself that each relationship is its own and has it’s own special qualities to it that only the two people involved can incorporate into it.

About a month or two back, I shared a story of a new boy to the orphanage. He was terrified of my skin condition and would keep a safe distance away from me. Two weeks passed, and I was continuing to be a part of his daily life, allowing him to know that I am here not to harm him in any way, but only to love and care for him. Any time he sees me coming from afar, he’ll run up to me and give me a great big hug lasting 20-30 seconds. It’s consistent. I almost feel that I can’t properly greet the others in his house with him attached to my side, arms tightly wrapped around my waist. But, I do have to remember the transformation he made in trusting me within his first two weeks here. I want to be focused on the love that I get from him and can give back to him, not shifting towards being trapped against my will.

There’s one of the teen girls that like to laugh and joke around with me. She has a slight lisp and likes to strengthen that lisp when she yells my name from 100+ feet away. And I do too. I play along with her, saying her name with a lisp, making us both crack up laughing. Over a year later, and our relationship continues around us saying our names with lisps. I’m not too sure she correctly knows how to pronounce my name, I’m just keeping my focus on the joy we get to share together in our silly voices.

One of the younger girls came early this year with an older brother. She gets excited to see me each and every day, running up to me with a hug. But she follows that hug with a single word: “tickle!” She loves it when I slowly and lightly run my fingertips up her back, tickling her and filling her with laughter. I’m almost positive I only get hugs from her hoping she will get tickled back. I don’t want to be focused on the meaning behind the hug, I want my focus to be on knowing she can come to me when she needs anything, whether it’s a shoulder to cry on or a few fingertips crawling up her back.

And then there’s a 6 year old girl who I don’t get to see nearly as often as I’d like. She gets outside the house occasionally when going to or from school, grabbing lunch from the kitchen quickly or when everyone in her house goes out to play. She eats every meal inside her house, and goes to classes in the mornings, when most of the kids go in the afternoons. One day, I was walking past the cafeteria windows headed into work. I hear my name called out, and she’s standing inside the window, waving to me like crazy, making faces at me. I peek my head in through the broken window, and she’s so amazed I could stick my head through. It’s like the coolest thing ever! She runs outside to give me a hug, tells me she loves me and reassures me that she will never forget me, no matter how long she is at Casa Shalom. She gets excited to see some of her family members walking up the stairs and introduces me to each of them as “my friend Harper”. Their faces light up with joy, knowing that their daughter, niece, cousin is well loved and cared for.

And then there are those I do not share a close relationship I’d like to get to know better. Most of you that know me, know that I am not an active person, that soccer wold be one of the very last things I would ever participate in, especially if it’s with a bunch of Guatemalan boys who could break my arm with a kick of the ball. No, I didn’t jump into an intense game with the teenage boys. I passed the ball around with one of the pre-teen boys out of school. He was showing me some of the tricks he was trying to learn and asked me to try them too. He helped me with my aim and was showing me the different kicks he used, with different speeds, heights, and placement on his foot. It was a 20 minute game for us to connect, assist once another, chat a little bit, and not worry about anything surrounding us, just enjoying togetherness while watching the sun set over the mountains.

A few weeks back, one of my Guatemalan friends invited me to a party one of her friends. She was turning 15, the big quincenera. The only quinceneras I’ve been to have been at the orphanage, with 150 in attendance and the birthday girl in a beautiful prom gown, with many younger boys and girls assisting in the ceremony. I joined an American missionary to attend the quincenera. We left at 6:45 in the morning for a party that started at 9, for a teenager neither of us knew beforehand. This town where the party was held was a little over two hours (60 miles) away with Guatemalan roads, traffic, and mountains. It was a town I’ve never been to before. We drove through a few larger towns with some traffic, and then made our way across a dirt road, though the trees, with large potholes scattered across the road, weaving left and right to avoid the widest ones. Part of the way, construction workers were putting pavement down on the dirt road, blocking traffic for about 15 minutes for each direction. Several semi trucks and school buses aka chicken buses (main public transportation in Guatemala) were waiting there patiently to get through. We drove through windy mountains, open fields, dumps, and back alleys.

We arrived five minutes before 9 for one of the biggest parties of a young girl’s life. Being the American I am, I was a little (a lot) nervous to arrive shortly before the party’s starting time. We sat in the church, that sat about 60, for over a half hour playing I spy and using scrap receipts to draw and pass the time with the kids who were in attendance. The birthday girl walked in at 9:10, and most everyone showed up at 9:35, and the ceremony began shortly after. About 40 were in attendance, including those who were part of the ceremony.

The church doors were wide open, allowing anyone to come and go as they please. This included a street dog who spent most of the ceremony smelling underneath the dessert table and street vendors, selling anything from freshly cut mangos, nuts, or water bottles, to handwoven scarves, blouses, purses, or headbands.

There was a local band, a pastor that shared the message, and the birthday girl, dressed in a traje tipico, the Mayan skirt, blouse, and fabric belt that is traditionally worn today by Guatemalan women. It was a fairly short ceremony (by Guatemalans’ standards) lasting maybe an hour with a few songs, a message, friends sharing memories with the birthday girl, and a time of meet and greet for those in attendance. The ceremony was followed with lunch, a traditional meal consisting of pulled chicken, tamales, rice, mixed veggies, and of course, tortillas. To drink was the main refreshment of Guatemala, Rosa de Jamaica, tea made with hibiscus leaves.

Although we had never met the family, friends, or the birthday girl herself, they were all so welcoming to us Americans. The speakers of the party were welcoming each group to the party, even the gringos coming in, who were friends of a friend. They included us in conversation as if they’ve known us for years. With extra food to make sure everyone got their fill, we were sent home with about a dozen tamales and two full plates of food. We hopped back in the car and were back home by 3.

A few lessons can be taken from these 8 hours, or really 8 hours in Guatemala:

1. When they say it begins at 9, be prepared to wait at least a half hour
2. When going to an event, be prepared to be in the car for at least an hour or two, just for one way… another hour or so if there’s traffic, or if the road is covered with construction workers, broken down semis, or large potholes.
3. Have something to do to pass the travel/waiting time: a game, a journal/book, or a friend to make conversation.
4. No matter where you go in Guatemala, you are bound to cross paths with a street vendor and a stray dog.
5. Bring: food, drink, and toilet paper. As waiting times get longer, dehydration sets in, rumbling begins, and supplies in a public bathroom are very limited. We were lucky this time: this one had a seat, a working flush, and a lid covering the tank.