My
“This was all a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.”
That thought kept echoing in my mind after Father Lim announced that the temperature outside the bus was 90-some degrees and that it was really humid. Having been a Michigander all my life, I already knew I hated tropical-like weather and avoided it as much as possible. So when I heard about the conditions outside the bus, I did what any person on the brink of entering a new environment would do: I panicked. I panicked as I disembarked from the bus into the humid darkness some ten minutes later. I was still panicky even when the smiling villagers of
What I said to myself on the bus was actually true; I wasn’t supposed to be on this mission. Yet I somehow ended up on the team—albeit a little reluctantly. I had no idea what to expect from this mission except what I had heard at the health clinic where I got my immunization medication: malaria, malaria, malaria. And a little about unsafe water causing severe diarrhea. I didn’t even know the name of the village where we would be staying. All I could hope for as we neared Tehuantepec was good health, nice people, and maybe even a good time. Well, I got that… and so much more.
The next five days of intense work, relentless heat, and biting insects really tested my limits. As I worked, I thought a lot—mostly because I had energy for little else. I thought about God, asking Him for extra strength and offering my work as a prayer for everyone I knew who had asked for it. Later, I would occupy my mind more with debating which was better: the work I was doing, or the flames of Purgatory. To be honest, at some points Purgatory started looking really good. Now and then I would pray again, asking for relief from my misery.
He must have heard my prayer. Little by little, I began to notice and focus more on the good in each day: the occasional breeze that cooled us while working under the burning sun; learning how to make real cement; swimming in a cool lake after a hard day’s work on the farm; turning to see the beaming faces of villagers eager to learn English; the joyous laughter of children and their parents as they competed in the mini-Olympics; learning to truly appreciate the “Day of Rest”, especially when spent at a gorgeous, sunny beach; being wowed by the driving skills of Omar, who is possibly the finest bus driver in Mexico; getting to know the people of San José and feel the genuine warmth of their hearts; eating incredibly delicious Mexican food at almost every meal; watching a red sun rise from and disappear behind hazy mountains each day; stepping outside at night to cool off in the gentle rain; and when the sky cleared, seeing the flashes of lightning that lit up the sky throughout the night. What had seemed unbearable to me at first became the most simple, the most beautiful way of life. I wondered why we all didn’t learn to live this way, concerned with only the basics: working, eating, playing, and sharing with others. I realized that after that difficult first day, I never once thought of home nor even missed it. Our time in
They held an amazing talent show the last night we were there. Afterwards, as I stood by the bonfire and looked around, I marveled at how these people who had once been strangers to me, who I never even knew existed, had somehow in five days become a part of me. I then looked up and was awestruck by the millions of stars spread across the night sky. I thought about Abraham and wondered if he felt the same way after God spoke to him and he saw all those stars thousands of years ago. I felt a sudden kinship to this Biblical forefather, much like what I felt with the people of
…All the parts of the body, though many, are one body, so also Christ....... If one part suffers, all the parts suffer with it; if one part is honored, all the parts share its joy. (1 Cor 12: 12-26)
We may live in different times and different places, yet we are all intimately connected to one another through and in Christ.
Some teenaged boys of the village stuck around after everyone had gone home, vowing to stay up all night just so that they could say ‘goodbye’ to us when we left. We passed the time sitting around the dying bonfire, laughing, singing, and discussing random subjects. One of the boys kept the bonfire going with what I found out later were dried leaves he took from the roof of the church. A couple others ran home and brought back soda to pass around. A boy named José gave me a necklace inscribed with the words: The Doors, Mago de Oz (Wizard of Oz). I laughed when I first read it, but then I thought how this mission was somewhat like that movie. We endured hardships each day. Some of us faced and conquered our fears. Yet in spite of these challenges, there were beautiful moments that made it all worthwhile in the end.
When the time came for us to go, I felt a little like Dorothy as I headed towards the bus wearing red flip flops, new friends on either side of me. One of them pulled me aside and told me how much they all appreciated us coming to their village to live and work side-by-side with them. For that, we would always be in their hearts. He then asked us to return. As I pondered this, a lady from the village walked up to our group. She had woken up before 4 a.m. just to bring us some food she had prepared as a farewell gift. As we went around sharing our final goodbyes, I said to myself: Yep. I think we better come back.
