Dios Sabe

Well, here I sit in the Guatemalan Airport, filled with a variety of emotions. But first I should update you on the recent goings on since my last post. For my last clinic with La Misión (at least probably for a long time) we went to the Hot Place to do clinics and pass out water filters. Once again, I worked intake, this time with my good friend Nanne Abbey who came with the church team from Spokane. Nanne is a Spanish middle school teacher who was the one who originally got me connected with Tito. She had been praying that college students from Whitworth would start going down to intern for him, and if it weren’t for her, I probably wouldn’t have ever met these incredible Guatemalan people.

So Nanne, Lauri (another teacher) and I worked in intake. Once again, I was taken aback by the strength and resilience of the mothers who come in to be seen. One woman had an entire entourage of children clinging ALL over her (if you have heard my adventures in breastfeeding down here you would know what I mean). She told me that she was 25 and then proceeded to have all of her 7 children seen. The oldest was 13 years old, meaning that this woman started having children when she was 12 years old! Of course, the father of these children was nowhere in sight

and they probably had multiple different fathers.

While this is always discouraging to me, I was encouraged to hear from the filter teams about some of the progress made in this area. The filter teams would go out to individual homes and demonstrate how to work the filters, explaining that they were giving them as gifts because we love them and wanted to show them the love of Jesus Christ. It is quite a powerful ministry that I wish I would have been able to experience more. Nevertheless, the filter teams told me that as they visited the houses, they noticed that the men of the households were actually present with the mom and kids and seemed to be trying to take a leadership role. This is SUCH a change from the norm here where the men just impregnate women around the village and leave them to fend for themselves.

On the last day of my final clinic in Guatemala, I prayed for God to give me a new perspective. This being my 18th clinic in Guatemala and having worked in the same station almost every clinic, I had found myself losing some of the perspective-altering aspects I had experienced so powerfully my first time here in 2008. Therefore, I prayed for God to strike me with a new lesson as I served these people in intake.

As I was listening to my iPod waiting for God to speak, the song “There Will Be a Day” by Jeremy Camp came up. As I sat there in the truck driving through the Guatemalan jungle, seeing the mothers weary from caring for their family in abject poverty, the thought I had prayed for finally struck me. If they hear and accept the Gospel, there will be a day when God will rescue these Guatemalan natives from their destitute huts, their parasite-ridden water, and their fear of a life subjugated under domestic abuse. He will deliver them from this seemingly hopeless life of filth and usher them into a mansion of gold. More so, He will wipe from their eyes the tears they had cried alone in the middle of the jungle and cradle them in the all-encompassing presence of their Creator. And on this day, all of us who have placed our faith in the saving blood of Christ will hold our hands together with them as we worship the God who made us all. Satan’s attempts to segregate us at Tower of Babel will be a

distant memory as we all sing aloud in one tongue, in one voice.

We serve a God like this. And this is what we are fighting for on the mission field. While God is sovereign and will accomplish His work on earth, I pray that He uses us to bring salvation to these people so that we can rejoice hand in hand on this day in heaven.

Now for a brief break on the lighter side of life. This past week I did two things I never knew I would do in my life. The first was go to a Guatemalan amusement park. Tito took the whole family to this random amusement park smack dab in the middle of Guatemala City for Alejandro’s birthday. Let me tell you, you have not lived until you get on a Guatemalan roller coaster. Not because of the speed or drops, but simply the heightened thrill of the thought that Guatemala doesn’t have a fraction of the American safety regulations and oversight.

We went on a variety of rides but undoubtedly the most thrilling/horrifying was the ride called “Rasca Cielo” (Skyscraper) which was a tower that launched soiled-underweared riders straight up probably 200 feet, leaving them helpless up top for a tortuous amount of time before plummeting them back to the pavement. Sounds like a great way to spend my last day in Guatemala, right? Well as we are waiting in line, Tito of course is freaking my friend David out since David is afraid that a cable is going to snap and chop his feet off like this random girl on a similar ride in the States. Meanwhile, we see the ride operator people working diligently on this one seat, Seat #14, which clearly looks in bad shape and whose seat belt mechanism seems to be malfunctioning. Of course, we all planned on avoiding that seat like the plague since it clearly had issues. Well, it’s finally our turn to meet our maker, and lo and behold, what seat does this Gringo end up in? Seat #14 of course. While I previously wasn’t very

scared since God and I had already figured out where I was going after death, the fact that sitting in that Devil Seat #14 had dramatically increased my probability of meeting Him much sooner got my heart racing quite a bit faster. To make matters worse, the stupid harness thing was junk and there was a disturbing amount of space between myself and the restraint, which was supposedly there to prevent my body from flying back to the States. While I was somewhat perturbed, as my repeated shouting of “I don’t like this! I really don’t like this!” would attest, regardless of my consternation, we hurdled to the top of the tower, leaving my sanity behind. As the operators left us for dead at the top for probably two minutes, Tito both loved the fact that I was in #14 and continued to torture David saying, “The cable, the cable!” After what felt like an eternity, literally without warning, they shot us down in free-fall back to earth. Thanks to my jerry-rigged seat from Hades, my whole body lifted off the seat as my shoulders shoved against the flimsy, poorly regulated harness. After having 24 short years of life flash before my eyes, we were back on the ground, to a welcoming mob of Guatemalan teenagers giggling and pointing at the frightened Gringoes. The rest of the day consisted of me being forced to sit in the front seat of the Guatemalan log ride, eating half of a greasy pizza, and busting out the worm in a dance off with a giant parrot and a very scandalous rat.

As for the other thing I can now cross off my bucket list, for the sake of the length of this post, I will just tease you by saying that I never thought I would sing Karaoke to Enrique Iglesias‘ “Hero” to random women around a Guatemalan Applebee’s. And yes, there is video. Now back to the serious stuff...

As I said earlier, leaving Guatemala this time for me is mixed with many emotions. While I am so excited to see my family and friends in the States again and begin my new journey through medical school, it is also very sad because I will probably not be returning to Guatemala for a very long time. Because the medical school schedule is so rigorous, after the first summer, you do not have any more vacations until you are pretty much done with residency. While I have a summer next year, I still have to do a research project for 10 weeks, which I am hoping to do internationally, possibly in Uganda or Peru. This means that I will probably not be able to return to Guatemala for at least 7 years, possibly 10 if I choose to specialize.

The prospect of not seeing my Guatemalan family for such a long period has stung my heart in a very unique way. Of course, no one can replace my phenomenal parents, sisters, and friends in the States--you all are a support system for whom I could never thank God enough. But this trip has made me realize how strong God has forged my relationships to my brothers and sisters in Guatemala. It is a connection God has undoubtedly fashioned and it will never be broken. While this may be my last trip to Guatemala for a longer period of time, it will certainly not be my last.

Nevertheless, thinking about this being my last time eating black beans and plantains at the Palacios dinner table, the last time dancing to Michael Jackson songs with Pablo and Alejandro before they grow up to be teenagers, and the last time serving the Guatemalan people through clinics, I can’t help but feel sad. Even this past year before coming down here, I realized that God has carved out a part of my heart and left it in Guatemala.

Although I am momentarily resting in a period of lament, God also has brought to my eyes the brilliant light upon the horizon. I am so incredibly blessed that I am returning to the States to embark upon the greatest adventure of my life. If it were not for God, I would not have such a bright future to look forward to. I am utterly speechless living in this state of grace as God has opened the door to my dream of becoming a Christian physician. And not only am I becoming a doctor, but He has gotten me accepted to one of the best medical schools in the country, UW, while staying close to my family. As I sit in this plane and recount His provisions in my life (whether I have consistently sought Him or not), I have been ushered again to the top of the mountain where He took me after I first got accepted into medical school. From atop this mountain I can once again see all the times He has carried me in His loving Hand, whether there have been deep valleys or soaring peaks. All the while He has been beneath, above, beside and within me, just as He will be the rest of my life and into eternity.

So while I may be downcast at the prospect of my not returning to Guatemala for awhile, God has reminded me that this is not the end. One of my favorite songs that God has brought to my mind recently is called “God of this City” by Chris Tomlin. My favorite line says, “For greater things have yet to come, and greater things are still to be done in this city.” While this season in my life as an intern in Guatemala has come to a close, I KNOW that God has so many greater things yet to be done through my life. He has been there since my birth and will be there until my last breath. There are so many awesome things to come and I cannot wait to return to serve the people of Guatemala with the knowledge and compassion of a Christian physician who knows His place before an Omnipotent and gracious God.

While the flame from this mission trip is currently burning bright, I know that as time goes on and the exams pile up, my confidence in God’s working in my life may dim as I foolishly begin to rely on my abilities instead of Him. This is where I pray that you all who have been reading my blog will continue to hold me accountable. Please remind me of my current passion and the importance of clinging to God through prayer as I jump into the trenches of medical school.

Well, I thank all of you so much for supporting, praying, and joining me in my journey over these past 7 weeks and probably longer. I am so unspeakably grateful for the supportive people God has placed in my life whether you be family, friends, co-workers, or fellow believers. God bless you all and let us look forward together to the “greater things still to be done” by our Creator through each one of us.

Adventures of All Kinds

Yesterday I had a new experience in Guatemala. No, it wasn’t eating some strange food, or going to some family event....no, for the first time ever....I clogged a Guatemalan toilet. Now, it must be explained that my normal problem down here is constipation due to the lack of fiber in the Guatemalan diet. However, this past week I have been being a good little patient and have eaten more fruit and vegetables when available, along with this sandy fiber supplement Tito gives me called Linaza which is kind of like Guatemalan Metamucil. (I swear, with my preoccupation with my bowel habits I feel like I am an 85 year old man trapped in a 24 year old’s body!) Needless to say, while sparing you the gory details, I was pleased to find all these little digestion tricks worked their magic, and the day after we came back from our clinic, I am proud to declare that I had my best BM of the trip.

Despite the plethora of positive things I could say about this country, one thing I abhor here is the feeble suction of their impotent toilets. After several wildly unsuccessful flushes, I realized I would have to call in reinforcements. I quickly looked up the Spanish word for plunger in my dictionary, finding it to be “émbolo.” However, when I sheepishly asked Brenda where the “émbolo” was, she taught me their word for plunger, which is much more aptly named, “La bomba.” (the bomb). Considering this name more accurately describes the clientele for a plunger, I figured we were in business. Brenda graciously made sure I knew what to do, told me not to worry, and just asked that I try not to get the water on the floor. After shooting up a prayer for protection, I opened the door and jumped into the trenches.

However, my zeal to plunge the crap out of that toilet (pun completely intended), was overly ambitious. Contrary to Brenda’s warning, after a few plunges, I plunged too hard and water splashed not only all over the bathroom, but on me as well. Fruitlessly attempting to shove the thought of what had just happened into the deep recesses of my mind, I continued to plunge away, hoping Brenda would not ask what happened. Nevertheless, after many futile cycles of plunging and unsuccessful flushing, I had to call in the cavalry and Brenda quickly came to my aid. With the finesse of a Guatemalan expert, she made quick work of that infernal terd, and I was once again humbled as an inept Gringo. She, of course, made light of the whole thing and told me not to worry, but at least afterwards, to make it up to her, I gave the bathroom a good cleaning.

While I’m sure you all would love to hear more from the chronicles of Justin’s Bathroom Adventures, but I guess I should get to some of the serious stuff. The past week, we went back to Lake Atitlan with an awesome group from Houston, Texas. This time, we took an hour-long boat ride across the lake to a small city called San Pablo. Here we did clinics in the morning and a VBS for the kids in the afternoon. These people speak a different Mayan dialect called Sutujíl. During this clinic we had 3 dentists, glasses, pharmacy, and an area for the children to play. Also, outside in this little grotto type area, one of the Houston women ran a type of women’s ministry group for the women in the village.

Because many rural parts of Guatemala are still extremely patriarchal, there is a very large problem with domestic abuse. This ministry was targeted at giving the women a chance to share their feelings about life within the company of other women, something that they rarely get a chance to do. The first day, unfortunately, they had a

male Sutujíl translator, which made things kind of awkward. However, the rest of the week, they had a woman, and Robyn (the woman in charge) told me later that it was an amazing time. While at first the women were very closed and did not share much, as time went on, they opened up about some of their problems. One woman thanked Robyn for telling her that God loves her, since she had began to believe that because so many bad things happened in her life, God hated her. It sounded like it was a great time of healing for these struggling women.

This clinic I worked in intake again, greeting the patients, and doing my best to represent Christ, setting the stage for the rest of their clinic experience. While I do my best to imitate Christ with a friendly demeanor at intake, this past clinic I learned a very good lesson regarding how NOT to lighten the mood.

Over my three years of doing intake, I have always tried to be warm and inviting

with the patients, often joking with them regardless of the single and often double language barrier. One way I do this is by often asking the men in Spanish if they are pregnant, causing them to laugh. However, this time, I thought, “Let’s change it up a bit and have some fun.” Normally, I have to ask all the women if they are breast-feeding, so I decided since the pregnant joke always works so well, I’ll now ask the guys if they are breast-feeding instead of the pregnancy joke. Awesome idea, right? Well, an 18-year-old guy sits down, and I think, “Perfect. This guy will think this joke is hilarious!” So after asking his name and other things, I finally ask him if he was breast-feeding. He laughs really hard, and I immediately felt so pleased with myself. However, this pride quickly disappeared, as a woman whom I’m pretty sure was his mother leaned over and said,

“Only with his girlfriend.”

I was utterly shocked and embarrassed as was the mortified 18 year-old-boy sitting in front of me. Needless to say, I learned my lesson about keeping my yap shut when trying to joke with patients.

In the afternoons, we ran a VBS for the children in the village, which was a very fun time. While we didn’t know how many kids were going to show up, about 80 kids showed up each day! The Houston team did a fantastic job at making the curriculum for the VBS. We started off each day singing several songs, including “Soldados de Jesus” (Soldiers of Jesus) and my personal favorite “Sapo” which was a song with a bunch of gestures describing a frog who meets a girl frog who’s friends with Jesus. After singing, they did a Bible lesson with a felt board (total blast from my nerdy Christian past), and then a skit, and then a craft.

While it is a great time with these kids, and we present the Gospel, I sometimes wonder if any of the kids are really absorbing the message of Jesus Christ. With this group especially, it was more difficult because there was a double language barrier along with the fact that they were quite rambunctious on the day we presented the Gospel to them. Despite my skepticism as to the effectiveness of our VBS, God gave me a little object lesson.

While most of the crafts were relatively simple, one of the days, the group told me that they were going to have the kids step in paint and put their footprint on a paper plate, signifying them stepping into faith on the cross. Being the clean and possibly mildly OCD person that I am, I prepared for the worst on this craft day. In my mind, I envisioned blue paint from the floor to the ceiling after those kids wreaked their havoc upon it. Last minute, the Houston team decided to use the children’s fists and fingers to make the footprints instead of taking off their shoes. Although I still envisioned a complete disaster, God taught me an important lesson. The children were very organized and were even meticulous with washing their hands in the water basins afterwards! I feel like this was God’s way of telling me, see? You worry about these silly little things and expect the worst, when so many times things work out, even when before you couldn’t see how I would make it work.

God used this smaller object lesson with the paint to remind me of His bigger lesson regarding the entire VBS. Even when I felt that maybe we weren’t getting through to those kids, God showed me that in His own transcendent way, our job was merely to present the information, and He would take care of the rest. We often never know exactly how our words or actions in Christ will affect someone else. It is our job to simply be God’s instruments and rest in the fact that God will bring the music He plays through us to the right ears at the right time.

I don’t believe it was coincidence that during this time I was reading from Mark 4:1-20, in which Jesus tells the parable about the seeds falling on different soil. Some fall on the path and immediately get eaten up by birds, others fall onto rocky places where the soil is shallow and they spring up quickly, but because they don’t have a root, they dry up and wither. Others grow among thorns and are choked out. Finally, some fall on good soil, grow strong and produce a crop, and multiply thirty, sixty, or even hundred times their original size.

This became my prayer for those children. While to me it seemed like our words were falling on the shallow path of confused or inattentive little ears, I realized that my finite perspective is nothing like God’s. Instead, I prayed that with each Bible lesson, skit, and craft, the Gospel would fall upon good soil in these precious hearts, and in a way

I will never understand, God would multiply the seed to not only change their little lives, but also their parents and eventually their entire village. While in my economy of reasoning this may seem like idealistic lunacy, God reminded me that we are playing by His rules, not mine. I will probably never know what ultimately happened to those children until heaven, but at least I can pray that our words fell on good soil and rest in God’s transcendent plan for them.