Give Me Hope in the Darkness..

I love Mumford and Son’s music. I think their lyrics ring true and provide voice to realities that are sometimes hard to define. I often leave the song “Ghosts That We Knew” on repeat. The chorus goes like this:

Give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light / Cause, oh, they gave me such  a fright / But I will hold on as long as you like / Just promise we’ll be all right

It’s been a violent few weeks in Guatemala – around the city we’ve seen flares of violence between gangs. I can’t explain why it happened at the same time in very distinct communities, but I can say it’s been hard. It’s hard for kids to grow up surrounded by darkness, and it’s hard for us as Young Life leaders to navigate those situations. It breaks my heart when a 15 year old girl asks me, “Annette, why do I have to live in fear?”

Last night at our leader meeting, I read from Genesis 1. In Genesis 1 we see God moving over the darkness, the abyss, the chaos. His first creative act is speaking light into the darkness. I asked the leaders (most of whom are kids themselves – 15-17 years old) what it means to be a light in a dark place and their answers were beautiful:

I can smile when no one else is.

Everyone else is afraid of the guys who hang out by the entrance of the community. They stay away from them. They’re my friends, my brothers. I can share God’s love with them.

We can hang out with the people everyone else ignores.

We don’t have to be afraid. 

These kids understand more deeply than anyone I know that there is hope in the darkness, that it’s worth it to hold on because in one way or another, it will be all right. I’m thankful for the truth I learn from them!

¡Guatemala, Nunca Más!

Today marks the 15th anniversary of Bishop Juan Gerardi’s assassination in Guatemala City. He was killed two days after the release of Guatemala, Nunca Más (Guatemala Never Again), a report on the victims and effect of the internal armed conflict in Guatemala. He referred to the report as a “collective memory,” an account of the conflict through the stories of those who suffered.

Gerardi sought to tell the story of the least and the lost, the hurt and forgotten. He paid for it. Not many people want to hear that story – not here, not anywhere.

Watching a procession from the driveway of Iglesia San Sebastian

During Semana Santa we had the opportunity to watch a procession from the cathedral where Gerardi served. We stood a mere 5 meters  from the site where he was brutally murdered, and we watched an image of Christ pass by, bloodied and carrying his cross. It was somber. We couldn’t help but feel the blood of the martyrs calling out, “don’t let my death be in vain.”

I’m beginning to read Guatemala, Never Again (the abridged English translation), and it’s tough. I have to stop after each victim account just to process, to imagine the pain, the fear, the uncertainty, the trauma. But the story needs to be told, and I want to honor the martyr who gave his life to tell it.

I find it ironic that this 15 year anniversary falls during the trial of Rios-Montt, the man who was  leader during the bloodiest time of the conflict. For the past month, victim after victim has been giving testimony – and two days ago all that testimony was discredited as the trial was set back 5 months – and all that’s unfolded in that time is scratched from the record. Some claim that Rios-Montt can’t be tried for genocide because genocide never occurred. Reading just a page of Guatemala, Nunca Mas refutes that argument. Google Rios-Montt and you’ll find that the issues surrounding the tril are complicated, complex, confusing.

That doesn’t change the fact that we need to seek justice, seek peace, and listen to the voices of the victims.

If you’re interested in learning more about different aspects of Guatemala’s story, here are some excellent options:

1. Bitter Fruit: The Story of the American Coup in Guatemala - Based on unclassified CIA documents, this book outlines the history of the US’s involvement in Guatemala – overthrowing the government and installing the dictator who threw the country into its 36 year internal armed conflict (all over the price of fruit).

2. The Art of Political Murder: Who Killed the Bishop? - Gerardi’s investigation of the violence that occurred during the armed conflict led to his death. Francisco Goldman follows the twists and turns of the investigation of Gerardi’s death (at one point the main suspect was a…..dog) that leads to a monumental conviction of the intellectual authors of the crime.

3. Guatemala, Never Again - the REHMI report, abridged and in English

A Mayami

Last week I was in Florida. To make a long story short, I had to go to leave Guatemala to get a Visa extension, had a great friend and her family vacationing in FL, and found a cheap ticket. Conveniently, the dates fell in the middle of Joel’s 2.5 week trip to Haiti and the DR, so I also had a few less days as a single lady in Guatemala.

During those few relaxing days, I was able to see one of the most impacting things I can remember. Nikki and I woke up early Thursday morning to watch the sunrise. It rose. We were cold and tired, so we went back to bed. Around 9am, Nikki’s dad called and woke us up saying, “you have to come down to the beach. A boat hit land from Cuba last night.” We immediately got up and ran down to the boat. I was hoping the people would be there so I could talk to them about how exactly they survived that trip, but they’d landed around 4am and ran. Due to the manhunt in Boston getting all the press coverage, we couldn’t find anything in the local news about these people.

The boat, along with some of the leftover supplies.

What impacted me most was the boat. Pieced together wood with a base of styrofoam. Handmade oars. A bedsheet sail. IV fluid needles in case of dehydration. Rice. Beans. Crackers. Water. Maritime maps. The ingenuity and foresight it took to gather those supplies, make the boat, and get off the island is unbelievable. Not to mention, surviving days at sea on a raft. According to the plastic container tied to the front of the boat, their end goal was Miami, but they landed in Jensen Beach – 113 miles north.

I feel privileged to have seen this boat, to witness firsthand what we read about in the news and in textbooks. I can’t imagine how bad life has to be for this to be the best option. I hope and pray this family – or whomever was on the boat – can start over, rebuild, and find what they’re looking for.

And, I must add, I was very impressed by people’s response – not a single person (that I heard) made a comment about immigration – everyone was impressed by the will to survive and resourcefulness of whomever came on that boat.

Taking a Deep Breath

In the past 6 weeks we’ve had 3 work teams and a weekend camp – during which I was the speaker, planned program, and had a cabin of girls (if you know anything about Young Life, you know that’s crazy). Don’t worry – it wasn’t just me. Since we have a staff of only 5, everyone has lots of responsibility. But, we survived and it was a great weekend.

Some highlights  -

1. My cabin of girls. I’ve been working with these girls for the past two years and have seen them grow from unquestioning 12 year olds to more mature, insightful 14-15 year olds. I’m thankful we developed a solid relationship while they were young because they already have a safe place to explore their questions, doubts, struggles, hopes, and dreams.

2. Speaking. I love speaking at camp – especially follow up camp. I get to go a little deeper, and introduce kids to new ideas. Since it was just an overnight camp, I only got 2 talks. In the first, I talked about the difference between our plans and dreams and the reality we live. I  shared the story of Scripture from creation, through the fall, and to the cross and resurrection. I shared how our reality is not God’s original plan, and that he’s working to reconcile all things back to himself. I love being able to share the whole story of God in one talk because it helps kids situate themselves in his story versus seeing themselves as passive observers or outsiders.

In the second talk, I focused on how we live in this story. Here I have to give credit to a book I’m reading – One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are by Ann Voskamp. To be honest, I haven’t gotten past the second chapter. I can’t. It’s beautiful. I need to soak it up. Voskamp succinctly and poetically describes what’s missing from most of our lives – and definitely from our kids’ lives. She points to the eucharist, the table of thanksgiving, as the key to living fully. Imbedded inside the word Eucharist are the greek words for “grace” and “joy.” To summarize what I take from Voskamp (and my talk) – our capacity for joy intricately depends on our ability to give thanks and our understanding of grace. 

I don’t see a lot of joy in kids’ lives in zone 3. Nor grace. Nor thankfulness. I wanted to plant within kids the truth that there is another way to live – it starts with accepting God’s grace, giving thanks for it, and choosing joy.

Now that our crazy season is over, I look forward to continuing conversations with kids, discovering what it likes to daily live the Eucharist…..and to finishing 1000 Gifts.

Squiley, The Dog

Herm and Squiley

Meet Squiley. He’s the dog in the picture. He’s a fixture in El Recuerdo these days. I hear he belongs to someone, but don’t ask me who. Squiley attempted to befriend our work teams, he attempts to nose into our staff meetings and into Vida Joven club. He even showed up at the cemetery as our friends were mourning the loss of a community member. He wants to be where we are. The problem is, we don’t really trust Squiley. It doesn’t help that he bit me. So, Squiley gets nudged away, pushed aside, asked to leave.

Meet my dad. He’s the guy in the picture and he doesn’t love dogs. He didn’t love that Squiley followed him around and plopped himself down everywhere my dad was trying to work. He’s infamous for tossing our new puppy, Tootsie, clear across the room on her first day in the house.

You can imagine my surprise when I came around the corner to find Squiley snuggled up against my dad, and my dad kindly scratching behind Squiley’s scruffy ears.

My dad? Squiley? Of all the dogs…..

The more I think about Squiley, the more I realize that he’s a reflection of his community. He’s often forgotten and kicked aside. He doesn’t get much good food. He just wants to belong but doesn’t have a place. Others abuse him, laugh at him, stereotype him. He’s a surviver, he pushes through where other dogs would fold (ahem, Dave the dog). The more I think about Squiley, the more I realize he’s not a mean dog – he’s just mistreated and misunderstood.

I forgive him for biting my foot. 

I’m not trying to trivialize the experiences of any person living in Zone 3. However, where people can put up a front, flash a smile, burry their emotions and pain, dogs can’t. Squiley reminds me to continue to look deeper, ask questions, go beyond the surface, not make assumptions or cast anyone off because of one sharp bite. Squiley reminds me that in order to love fully and serve compassionately I need eyes that see and ears that hear.

Thanks, Squiley.