This summer I met Frankie, and he changed my life.
I met Frankie on my mission trip — something I never thought I would ever do, I never really wanted to go on a mission trip, it always felt like it was fake help.
But still, all my life, I’ve wanted to help somewhere that wasn’t in the U.S.
When I shared this with my mom, she told me about a church that did mission trips in Guatemala. It was the word “mission” that threw me off. I’m not religious — at all, and I didn’t like the idea of going to a different country and trying to “save” them or preach about Jesus.
Going on a mission trip wasn’t something I was necessarily looking for. My mom told me this church was different, so I agreed to go to the first planning meeting to check it out. At the first meeting, the pastor, Jay, made me realize that I didn’t have to fear the word mission. Our mission trip would be about working with the people, not trying to save them or preach the word of God.
Jay was adamant that we would only do “what the people of Guatemala asked us to do.” We wouldn’t go in as some kind of white-savior or know-it-all. If they needed nails sorted, we would sort nails. If they needed cement mixed, we would mix cement. We would listen to their needs and work to help them. And that’s exactly what we did.
We worked with an organization called Salud y Paz, which is run almost completely by Guatemalans. We left at the end of July and after a 3 hour flight, we arrived in guatemala.
We rode in an old school bus for five hours to get to our hotel. It was a crazy, slow ride with hairpin turns on a super small road. Finally, our bus pulled up to our hotel in Chichicastenango, which everyone called Chi-chi. As I walked in the door, I saw this huge garden courtyard, full of life. The flowers were in full bloom — it was unlike any hotel I had ever seen.
On our first full day there, we went to the market and toured Chi-chi. I was interested in the market because that’s how most of the people in this rural area made money. They had markets on Thursday and Sunday every week.
Jay warned us it would be a loud night since our hotel was next to the market street. He wasn’t kidding. When we went to bed, I fell asleep immediately, but at 3:00 a.m. people from all over the area rolled into town in over-packed cars and trucks, honking and yelling and loudly unpacking their cars. Needless to say, I woke up and didn’t fall back asleep for hours. Then, I knew why Jay told us to bring ear plugs.
The market was massive and had anything you could think of from phones to food to clothes. As my mom and I walked through the market, my nose was hit with the most intense smell. I looked around and saw little kids lugging huge buckets of shrimp that they were selling to people in the streets. We were not near the coast, so I don’t know where they got the shrimp. My mom and I spent the day wandering through the market and marveling at the beautiful clothes and items for sale. Although beautiful, it was heartbreaking to see the level of poverty – kids with no shoes, disabled men and women crawling on the streets and hundreds of starving dogs roaming the streets. But despite it all — almost everyone we passed was smiling.
The next day, we started work. I was on the construction crew where we were building four bathrooms for this tiny, rural village. I woke up early because I was nervous. I didn’t know what to expect, It was a different country, I didn’t speak the language, and I looked so very different, I wasn’t sure how they would feel about me.
It took us about 30-minutes in a small bus to make it to the village. As we arrived, I looked around at the so-called houses. They were small with crumbling concrete walls and metal roofs that didn’t quite meet the concrete.
When we walked up this path and met the village leaders, I looked around, everyone seemed to be staring at me — including the kids from the school who must have been on a break. I was a bit uncomfortable until Jay started talking to them, and the village leaders told us how grateful they were we were here to help.
Then the work started. My job was to sift sand for concrete. After about an hour, I moved over to help the rest of our team. Basically, we just went to a big pile of sand and put the sand in wheelbarrows down a hill to fill holes in the bathrooms. It was back-breaking work, and I was covered in sand, dirt and sweat, but I loved every minute of it.
During our lunch break, something strange started to happen. The little kids from the school started to come up to me. I couldn’t talk to them, but I didn’t need words to play with them. Their smiles and laughs were so beautiful.
These kids didn’t have a phone or an Xbox. Heck, a few of them didn’t have shoes. But when I chased them around, they were happy. One little guy named Juan — a tiny, giggling four-year-old — wouldn’t leave my side even when the rest of the kids went back to work. From the moment we met, we bonded. Juan stayed with us for the rest of the day. Wearing my cheap green sunglasses, he rode on top of a dirt pile as we rolled the wheelbarrow up and down the hill. Hour after hour.
On the ride back to the hotel that night, I realized all the things I take for granted. I get so caught up in life that I forget how good it is. I have a loving family with a house. I have running water. I have heat in the winter. I have food in my refrigerator. Heck, I have a refrigerator.
The next few days went pretty much the same. We worked hard, got dirty and hung out with little Juan. But on the third day, one of the villagers, Manuela, welcomed us in her home at the end of the day.
As I got off the bus, and walked toward her house I knew what I was about to see was not for the weak. There was trash and broken items all around the dirt yard in front of her tiny one-room cement shack. And standing in the dirt yard, shoeless was little Frankie. I had played with him earlier in the day. Frankie held my hand as Manuela took us into her one room home.
In the room, a weaving loom took up most of the space. And behind the loom was her 17-year-old son Jason. Jason was making this beautiful, colorful scarf fabric. He explained how he works 10-hour days, six days a week, for $10 a week. Think about that — 60 hours a week for $10. I thought about this the whole way back to the hotel, trying not to cry. Jason didn’t deserve his life. He was just a kid but had to support his family.
What most of our group missed, was the other small building that held two broken-down beds. Little Frankie had gone in there, and I followed. Frankie crawled up on the bed, and his drunk father kicked him. Frankie fell to the hard ground. I was so angry as I picked him up. I wanted to say something — do something — but it wasn’t my place.
I want you to imagine a house with no real kitchen — just a cement stove that was heated with sticks. There was no furniture other than the two broken beds in the other building. There was no running water. No toilet. No shower. No electricity except for a single light bulb hanging over the loom for Jason.
But in one little corner, there was a basket with baby kittens. I thought to myself how this family with nothing still protected these four furry babies. It showed how they care and love.
When we left there that night, I was angry. I was angry at the world. I was angry at myself for taking things for granted. I was angry at that dad for making his son do everything while he just rots on a bottle.
I wanted to help them. I wanted to change it.
And maybe we helped a little. We did take up a collection and buy groceries for Manuela and her family. I know it’s not much. But it was something.
I write this not to tell you that you need to change your ways or that you are spoiled. I write this to show how lucky you are to have the things you have. Give your parents a big hug, and really see gifts in your life — have gratitude for all of it.
Next summer, I plan to return to Guatemala for another mission. And until I go, my mission here is to always be grateful for what I have in my life. And on those days, when I start to slip or start to forget — I just remember Frankie.
