Guatemala Compassion Sponsor Tour

I saw Juan Carlos' face through a gap in the crowd and I recognized him immediately. I had worried that I might not recognize him, or worse, that he might not recognize me. I squeezed past the knots of hugging children and sponsors in front of me, and knelt on the ground for my own hug. After four years of exchanging letters, I was finally able to meet the boy I had been sponsoring in Guatemala through Compassion International.

Juan Carlos and I have written many letters back and forth. He usually includes a drawing with his letters; he draws chickens and soccer balls. He draws his house too, and mountains in the background. I have sent him pictures of myself and of my job on the tug boats. We pray for each other, and for each others' family.

Even so, after four years of exchanging letters, pictures and drawings, I didn't feel like we had really connected. I felt separated from him, as if there were a gulf between us. He often mentioned in his letters how poor he was. Maybe he felt insecure or uncomfortable to be sponsored by a rich gringo from the States? I wished that wasn't an issue for him, but I couldn't figure out why we were not better buddies through our letters.

Nine months ago I received an email about the trip to Guatemala with Compassion. It seemed expensive for a one week trip, but I would be able to meet Juan Carlos face to face. God did not direct me to go on the trip with an audible voice, or even an inner sense of compulsion. I just wanted to see Juan Carlos, and I had never been to Guatemala before. (This is always a good reason to take a trip, as far as I'm concerned.) So I prayed: “Okay, Lord, I plan on signing up for this trip in a week, please stop me if You don't want me to go. Amen.”

God never did give me a check in my spirit, nor did He close any doors. I had peace about the decision, and I was able to get the time off work. Everything about the trip was positive. I now understand Juan Carlos so much better! His letters make sense! I was needlessly afraid and I was worried for no reason. We really connected in the time we had together and I feel that he and I are pretty good buddies now.

I did not get to meet Juan Carlos until the last full day that we were in Guatemala. In the days leading up to our visit, our group of forty sponsors toured other Compassion projects in Guatemala. All of the sponsors were from the States, and most of us met at the Miami airport before flying to Guatemala City as a group. We began as strangers, but finished the trip as friends and co-laborers in advancing God's Kingdom on earth. Our youngest tour member was 10, traveling with her older sister and parents, and our oldest tour member was 82, traveling with his wife and three teen-age grandchildren.

This trip really opened my eyes to how the Compassion sponsorship program actually works. I used to think Compassion ran schools for the kids. As I toured the different projects, however, I saw how they augment and supplement the schools. They are concerned with cognitive development and education, but they also promote spiritual development in the sponsored children. At the same time, the children are nourished physically with food, clothing and even medical care, as needed. Finally, through the projects, and the remarkable staff of locals, Compassion teaches and models social development and good interpersonal relationships.

I had been practicing my Spanish for this trip, studying on-line, listening to CD's, and slogging through grammar drills. I carried my Spanish/English dictionary everywhere, and reached for it often. During lunch at the project I visited on Tuesday, I tried to communicate with the staff of the project, and my efforts produced many laughs and much confusion. I'm not embarrassed easily, but I began to sweat and buried my reddening face in my hands. If you find yourself in a hole, stop digging, right? Maybe next time. . .

The lunch table was long and narrow. The sponsors filled the seats of the tables to my left, and the local staff filled the seats of the table to my right. I was in the middle and tried to make conversation with a staff member from the project sitting across from me. He asked me, in Spanish, “How have you been enjoying the time that you have spent here in Guatemala?” I know just enough Spanish to be dangerous, so after hearing the question repeated 8 times and spending ten minutes in my dictionary I replied with full confidence, in Spanish, “Three days.” Who needs an interpreter, right?

Once the laughter died down, I told them I was a sailor – Yo soy marinero. We exchanged names and small talk, and then the man I had been speaking with asked if I was married. I said, “No, pero yo tengo un gato.” “No, but I have a cat.” Am I the only one who feels this is an appropriate answer to the question? Because this answer sent everyone rolling again.

During our conversation, a lady four seats to my right had mentioned that she herself was looking for a sponsor. She was being funny, so I thought I'd jump in on the game. My mind was working in Spanish and English, and I think it's clever to play on words and the sounds of words. Well, sponsor in English made me think of esposo in Spanish. They sound similar, right? So, through the interpreter, I asked if the lady wanted a sponsor or an esposo. “Ha, ha, ha, chuckle, chuckle, I'm so clever,” I thought to myself, as the entire staff end of the table erupted into gales of laughter. That's when I found out the lady was married.

Esposo means husband. I had just asked a married woman if she wanted a husband. And her husband happened to be sitting at her side, just three seats down from me. He raised his hand and looked at me as if to say, “Right here, buddy! I'm her husband! Back off!” At that point someone must have cranked up the thermostat in the room, because I felt pretty warm all of a sudden. The cutest little beads of sweat popped out on my forehead. He knew I was a knucklehead, and that I wasn't actually proposing, but I think everyone enjoyed my discomfort.

Then one of the guys across the table from me gestured to the lady sitting next to him. His motion suggested that perhaps this lady, who was single, could become my wife. She leaned back sharply, shaking her head and waving her hands rapidly back and forth. Not even going to think about for a second, huh? I said, in Spanish, that she had just broken my heart, but I used the wrong word for break. I used the word for a non-functioning bicycle or a car that doesn't run. Yep, more peals of laughter. And at my broken heart, no less! Meanwhile, the young lady immediately to my right was smiling coyly and batting her eyes at me. Oh, boy, will someone please pour some ice down my shirt!

It's good we were able to laugh so much at lunch, because the few hours after lunch were some of the hardest of the whole trip for me. The tour involved two home visits, and this was the second for me. I think our visit was a surprise. Five or six gringos showed up at a cement block shack with bags of food, an interpreter, and a few staff members from the project. The adult of the home was a shell-shocked widow with four kids.

The mother had originally lived much farther north, but withdrew to Quetzaltenango during the warfare of the 80's and 90's. Her husband had died four years earlier. The youngest child was about 4, so he never met his father. A fifth child, a 14 year old boy, was not living at home because he was involved in gangs. The oldest, a 15 year old girl, had been involved in gangs, but was now back home and did most of the cooking for the family. The mother was not communicative and could not hold a job, so the family was mostly supported by uncles.

The home itself was made of cement blocks and divided into two rooms. The floors were packed, lumpy dirt, there were no windows, and the ceiling was made of sagging plastic tarps. A spaghetti tangle of electrical wires radiated out from one corner and powered a single bare light bulb in the center of each room, a radio, and who knows what else. The scene reminded me of a stall in my dad's old dairy barn on a bad day.

One room, about 5 by 8 feet, was used for cooking, and an open fire smoldered on top of a three foot high stack of rocks and cement blocks. The smoke filled the room and weakly exited through a hole in the roof. Small flecks of ash rested on every horizontal surface. My eyes started watering within a minute.

The second room was the bedroom. There was no bathroom or running water. I think the bedroom may have been as large as 12 by 12 feet. There were three small beds for five people and stacks of boxes and odds and ends. I did not take any pictures because it felt rude. I tried not to gawk, but just talk with the kids. Two of the kids rarely ever received letters from their sponsors, although the youngest had a faithful sponsor. It was sad to see how much the lack of correspondence affected these kids and it motivated me to be more faithful in my own letter writing.

Back on the bus, I struggled with the idea of the inequity of birth. Why was I born to a place of comparatively obscene luxury and privilege? These people, created in God's image, were living in a place like a barn stall! It just doesn't make any sense, and I still can't wrap my head around the blessings God has given me. Since God has blessed me so greatly, may I always strive to be a blessing to others.

For this particular family, Compassion was not able to meet every need. Nor can they meet every need of every family. This is why Compassion partners with local churches, churches that are already reaching out to the children and families of their communities. The local church was helping to support this family and filling in the needs that Compassion could not meet.

Usually only two children from a single family are eligible for sponsorship. The sponsored children of these families do not hoard their blessings, but share them with the rest of the family. Learning to read, they teach their families how to read. They bring home extra food from the project. Many sponsored children end up leading their whole families to a relationship with Jesus Christ.

While at this project, GU-960, the children of the various age groups gave presentations, sang songs, and acted in skits. They had never been visited by a group of sponsors before, and it was obvious they had gone to great lengths to prepare for us. The kids really did a great job, but I was especially moved by the efforts of the teachers and adult staff at the project. They too had spent time preparing songs for us. I hadn't given much thought to the staff of the projects before, but these men and women are on the front lines in service to God. They need our encouragement and prayers, and maybe even a good laugh now and then. Consider including a note of thanks in the next letter you write to your sponsored child.

Consider also a visit to the child you sponsor. I think only good things can come from the choice to go on a sponsor tour. You'll get to know better the child you sponsor, and you'll be more convinced than ever that Compassion is effectively releasing children from poverty in Jesus' name. If money is an issue, ask God for a miracle. Ask Him to send you a check in the mail. Ask for a bonus from work. Ask Him to help you save a little extra money from each paycheck. Ask for a raise.

The sponsor tour is not about having an adventure in a foreign country. It is about encouraging those who work on behalf of the hopeless, and opening your own eyes wider to the needs of others around the world. Maybe you too will be motivated to do more on behalf of those without a voice, to plead their cause where they have no access.

I began the trip to Guatemala without a real clear sense of purpose. I had some vague ideas about why I wanted to go on the trip, but no list of tasks to accomplish. I made friends along the way and learned more about an admirable, Christ-centered, child focused, church based ministry that is committed to integrity. And did I mention that I met the boy I've sponsored for four years?

Juan Carlos came with his father and a staff member from his project near Coban. They rode a bus for about seven hours to meet us in Guatemala City. Juan Carlos had never been to the city before. He was a country boy, kind of like me, and intimidated by all the noise and speed and stimulation of the big city. Juan Carlos is naturally shy, too. He didn't talk very much during our visit, but he smiled widely when we played air hockey and Foosball. I brought a soccer ball for him, and together for hours after lunch, we kicked the ball around. The harder I played, the more he liked it. I was wheezing in the thin air, and sweating in the heat, but every time I looked at Juan Carlos, I thought to myself, “Man, I love that kid!”

Our time together seemed to fly by, and I was very sad when the day ended and we went our separate ways. I was happy at the same time, though, because I feel I have a much better idea of what makes Juan Carlos tick. He's just a shy little boy! He's quiet, introverted – just like my closest friends. I have a better idea about how to pray for him now, his family, and his project staff. I thank God for the privilege of being able to go on this trip, and I look forward to seeing Juan Carlos again and visiting the other children I sponsor.

If you sponsor a child with Compassion, would you consider sponsoring another? Will you please write them faithfully? Will you please pray for them and for their families and the staff that support them? Would you consider going on a sponsor tour? Will you tell your friends and family about the ministry and ask them to get involved?

Thanks for taking the time to read about my trip to Guatemala. Now I need to write a letter to my buddy Juan Carlos!

Grace and peace to you!

Jake

PS - I'm preaching tomorrow and the 15th; please pray for me! www.chelannazarene.org