It Matters What We Believe; It Matters What We Do
By Mindy Whisenhunt, Director of Religious Education

We are back from Guatemala, where we worked with the children and staff of Camino Seguro, an education reinforcement program where the motto is: “Combating poverty through education.”  Fourteen of us went, 14 of us came back, but none of us will ever be the same.  The 8th and 9th graders on this social action trip were:  Brenna Vermilyea, Westley Tear, Leah Simpson, Leigh Reineke, Nora Mishanec, Bonnie FitzGerald, Maddie Brown, and Tom Alft-LaFond.  Adults were Linda Wicks, Laura Lewis, Jennifer Hill, and Betsy Bitner.  We provided educational help and activities to the children who live in slums surrounding the Guatemala City dump.  I couldn’t be prouder of this group.

As we toured the beautiful buildings of Camino Seguro and met the children, I naively felt disappointed. They all seemed happy and well cared for (aside from being dirty, having shabby clothing and being lice infested). I wondered, “How much can they really need us?” My answer came when we went on the social work tour of their homes.

I could not have imagined the situation they live in. I thought I knew what to expect. I was wrong.

The streets are covered in fecal matter. All kinds of it. Dog, cat, bird, human. And the homes. Homes. Feh. The word fails to describe. To say “hellhole” is disrespectful, yet it comes closer to the truth. No human being should have to live like this. Corrugated tin huts with filthy sheets or moldy plywood for doors. Dirt floors. Garbage everywhere, flies everywhere. The smell is overpowering. Lest you think, “they don’t know what they’re missing,” let me tell you, they do. There is no running water, no plumbing; but the “lucky ones” can steal power and cable from the power poles. They KNOW what they don’t have because they see it on TV.

The statistics are grim. Almost all of the children are malnourished. Most of the adults (93%) are alcoholic. Many children begin glue-sniffing by age seven. The average dump picker’s salary is less than $1 per day. Almost all suffer from respiratory diseases and skin fungi. Many have cancer. Many suffer from depression.

On our tour, it fell to me to translate. This was difficult. Not because I didn’t know the words. No. I knew the words. But it is one thing to listen passively to a story, quite another to have to give voice to it. In the simple act of translation, my distance from the situation, my safety barrier, my comfort zone, was obliterated. This wasn’t abstract anymore. Bearing witness up close and personal, being made aware in a completely visceral way, it all brought the intellectual exercise to an abrupt end. It held my nose down to the carpet and said, “SEE? THIS is real.”

And yet, as there was horror, so was there hope, in almost equal measure. At the program, the children experience beauty, safety and cleanliness. The staff are kind, gentle and dedicated. They feed the children. They teach the children to wash their hands, to brush their teeth. They sing songs, tell stories, and help the children with their homework. They teach them to hope, to dream.

Fredy is one of the staff members. He survived the Civil War and now works as a passionate advocate for the children. He told us, “Why do you do this? How does your work matter? You come down here, you bring gifts, materials, money—I don’t care. Fine. BUT, you come down here, you meet a child, you hug a child, you think about that child. That child knows it. THAT is how you save the child’s life. It matters that you do this.” Indeed.

We did it. And you helped us. You helped us raise the $10,000 check that we presented to Camino Seguro. You helped us get to Guatemala to work with the children of Camino Seguro. You helped us put our faith in action. Thank you. According to Fredy, we made a difference. But there is so much more to be done. And we’ll keep on doing it. Join us, won’t you?

Yours in peace and faith,

Mindy