October 17, 2005

I had always enjoyed the sound of rain on the roof and the gentle sound of a river meandering through valleys or cascading down hills; there had been something soothing, comforting about the rhythmic flow of the water. But all that changed as I listened with increasing apprehension to the steady beat of the rain on my roof—day and night, night and day. At night I tried to blot out the roar of the Samayac River, which sounded like a freight train even though it’s three kilometers from my house. Such are some of my memories of Hurricane Stan, which came and stayed and stayed with us, dumping tons of water onto a land already saturated with previous heavy rains.

You have seen the photos and read the reports of the destruction and suffering, so I share with you some images, feelings, and words—of loss, of suffering, and hope—that I have seen and heard in these days.

We were without telephone communication for a week and are still unable to travel freely around the country, as major bridges are out, roads collapsed, and mud, trees and rocks are piled in places they were not before. I am accustomed to bus travel here, but what was once a one-hour bus trip up the mountain to Quetzaltenango, the second largest city in Guatemala, now requires two buses, a ride in a pickup truck, and a 30-minute walk. They say it can be done in two hours and 45 minutes, but I haven’t yet tried.

As women do everywhere, Presbyterian women began cooking and feeding those who were flooded out of their homes, many of whom took shelter in local churches. Other women used their nursing skills to attend to folks in shelters.

It felt like the world had shut down when I walked out to the main road from the seminary where I live and found there was no traffic. Gas has been in very short supply and people are reluctant to leave their homes.

When I went with some others to a community on the Pacific coast to deliver food supplies, I was amazed at what I found: about 90 adults and 100 children (all noted by family name in a neat list) were living in two large buildings, the church and a home, sharing whatever food they could find, caring for one another. “One day,” Glenda told us, “I found papaya for everyone, yesterday we make tamalitos with chipplín (another form of tortilla) and there were three for everyone.”

The excitement of receiving a phone call from one of the women in the western part of the country. She reported that her community “está bien,” (we are fine), then she mentioned that they had lost all their crops and that many homes were flooded and there was sickness, “pero por la gracia de Dios estamos vivos” (by the grace of God we are alive).

For someone accustomed to making lists of things to do and checking my calendar for meetings and responsibilities, I have felt disoriented for weeks. What day is it? Do you think we have to cancel another meeting?

The feeling of humility when I received a phone call from a Maya K’ekchi woman (who lives in the area of the country hard hit by Hurricane Mitch in 1998 but which was spared this time) asking how I and others were and quoting to me the verse from Joshua, “Be strong…do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you.”

Looking out my window one evening into a brilliant rose-and-pink sunset, it all looked so normal, but I knew that beyond what my eyes could see there are children with no home, mothers with no food for their children, fathers with no work.

Reading in the local newspaper the words of 5-year-old Thelma Marisol, “I only came back to my house (which was filled with water and mud) to look for my toys because I know I will need them wherever I am going.”

The feeling of awe when I returned from my morning walk to see the largest, most beautiful rainbow I have ever seen in Guatemala. Yes! God has not forgotten God’s people here!

I thank you for your prayers and concern for me and for your sisters and brothers in Guatemala. This will be a long, long time of recovery. Even as I write the rains continue and it is no longer the soothing sound it was before, the river may roar again tonight. I must remember the words of my Guatemalan sister.

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The 2005 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 62