¡Guate!

This past week, I traveled with my Dad and grandma (Mimi) to Guatemala with a group out of Lynchburg, Virginia. The trip was sponsored by a wonderful organization known as World Help (if you haven't heard of them, click on the link at the bottom of the post and check out their webpage).

Day one:
We get on a plane and fly a total of three and a half hours before arriving in Guatemala City. There isn't even a time change difference. Poverty is so much closer than we think!

We met up with the VA group at the baggage claim and went to the Westin; definitely not roughing it, but apparently we needed to stay in Guatemala City for a night before heading to the mission. We had a conference during dinner that night and then went to bed.

Day Two:
In the morning, there was an earthquake tremor.

I slept through it.

Awesome, right? The most exciting part of my morning was waking up to Taylor Swift blasting into my ears (forgot to take off the iPod before falling asleep).

We packed up, got on a bus, and pulled out of the hotel at seven-ish in the morning.

Insert three hour drive here.

Dad woke me up as we pulled into the mission, Hope of Life. The mission sits on 3,000 acres of rural Guatemalan land. The directors, a man and his wife, have started an elderly home, an infant and child rescue center, and an orphanage; on top of that they feed roughly 150,000 people a day in the surrounding villages and are currently building houses for them, as well (more on that later). Needless to say, I was astonished.

The bus chugged up the looming mountainside to the mission compound, where we all got off and collected our luggage. Everyone was staying here except... the World Help directors, the group director, Mimi, Dad, and me. We the chosen few climbed into a van and were whisked away to the Visionary House, a gorgeous three story structure with trees and flowers growing all around, a stunning view, and clean, pretty rooms with air conditioning.

Everyone met back up for lunch in this beautiful giant cabana/kitchen/cafeteria for a really, really, really delicious meal, then jumped onto a new set of buses and headed out on a whirlwind tour of the poverty in Guate.

We first visited a landfill where children collect broken glass all day, everyday for 25 cents. The mission had workers out there feeding them lunch - we found out that they do this every day. Next we went to a nearby village and dedicated three water wells. It was sweltering outside - 105 degrees - and my Dad wasn't feeling well. I found him in one of the trucks later on with some of the workers. He felt awful and was running a fever. Not good. But we still had one more stop to make: we passed out bags of food and Christmas for an Orphan shoeboxes to the kids in yet another village before heading back to the mission for dinner.

Day 3:
My Dad was still sick at this point, so I headed down to breakfast without him. After yet another tasty meal, we headed out.

The bus was filled with the sounds of laughter, chatter, and clicking cameras. As we turned the corner and our destination came into view, though, the chatter turned to aghast silence. The cameras stopped clicking. The laughter was smothered by sorrow and some dissolved into tears. 4,500 people, we were told, call this place home.

Rows upon rows of dirty, lean-to shacks lined the flat, dusty area. Many of the homes consisted of sticks or pieces of wood jammed into the ground with plastic siding or leftover tarp wrapped around and thrown on top. When it rained, there was no barrier stopping the water from turning their foors of dirt into mud.

That's hard to see.

After distributing some food, though, we visited the homes of three special families. Hope of Life had built them new houses to replace their weather-beaten, makeshift shelters. We would first go into the old house (which the families now used as kitchens), try to fathom living there, then enter the new house. The new houses were smaller than my whole bedroom, but they had thick walls, concrete floors a foot off the ground, a porch, bright paint, and real beds for the kiddos.

It was so much better, I can't even describe to you the transformation. Know how much it costs? $6500.

That afternoon we were back at the mission. My Dad got up and had lunch with everyone, and then everyone took a tour of the mission. We saw the elderly home, the baby rescue center, and - my favorite - the orphanage. We then split into three groups to go serve at one of the locations until dinner.

Now, when I say orphanage, there's one thing you have to understand. These kids have it made! They are so much better off there than they would be in one of the villages. They had food, clothes, shelter, an education, music, and plenty of love! They're just normal kids. I had so much fun just hanging out with them, talking with them as best I could, watching them dance, and giving them hugs. We decorated some pretty cool bags at the craft table, too, if I do say so myself.

Day 4:
In the morning we dedicated another water well in neighboring village.

Right after lunch, we got to go serve at one of the three HL ministries. I went straight for the orphanage again.

The craft that day was bead bracelets. Bad idea, don't recommend it. There were beads all over that place by the end. Kids kept dropping them, adults kept dropping them, they were rolling all over. And they were hard to tie, man! But all that aside, we got to hang out on the playground afterwards with them. Most of them started playing soccer - they're seven years younger than me at least and better at fútbol than I will ever be in my life. One little bitty guy had a mini beach ball that one of the ladies in the group had given him and was tring to shoot it like a basketball. So I hoisted him up and let him dunk it. Turns out, that's fun in any language.

The mission workers turned on music and they all started singing and dancing. They wanted to teach us, but somehow us white girls never got it down quite as well. :)

We had to leave, eventually. They all gave us enormous hugs. I don't like the leaving the kids part. I don't like it in New Orleans, I don't like it in Guatemala.

That night at dinner, lots of people gave testimonies about their experience. Noel, the vice president of World Help and an all-around nice woman, gave her testimony. She said she had been thinking of me all week because she was about my age when she really felt the call to mission. It meant a lot to me that she said that. Her testimony was amazing, too, and I love that both she and her dad put the emphasis on changing individual lives.

"You can't save them all, but you can save one."

Day 5:
We got up at 5, were on the bus at 6, and pulled out of Hope of Life for Guatemala City.

Insert three hour bus ride here again.

We checked in at the airport, grabbed a burger, said our goodbyes, and went to our gate.

"I feel weird," I told my dad.

Half an hour later, I didn't feel weird anymore. I felt terrible. It was like getting hit by a truck.

"Hey," my Dad said suddenly, "That's what I felt like."

I found Mimi and got some medicine. One of the other ladies gave me a piece of ginger.

"It helps with the nausea," she told me.

I nodded politely, but planned on throwing it away. No way was I eating that. I already felt pukey.

I reached our gate as we were boarding. Standing in line for fifteen minutes was definitely not what I wanted to do. I needed to get horizontal. Now.

"What's that?" my Dad asked, pointing to the ginger. I explained and he told me I had to eat it.

"No!" I hissed.

"Yes," he commanded.

If I blow chunks all over the plane cabin, you will be so sorry, buster, I thought as I shoved the flat little piece of gross into my mouth and held my nose. Ewww.

I was shaking by the time we got on the plane, and though I never did throw up, I managed to completely freak out every other passenger before we landed.

Never have I been so glad to be home. :)

One short flight later and we were in the suburban with my Mom and two sisters and the Backyardigans singing, "Check me, I got the rad moves - the supersuper bad truly mad moves."

Home is the best.