To Say Something is Difficult...

It is a challenge for me to blog about my own difficulties in Guatemala as I am surrounded here by the universally experienced pain and suffering of humanity, but for this post, I will share my own struggles over the last few weeks.

How can one really define "difficult" as it is quite subjective to each person's definition of the term.  For me, "difficult," is a woman in labor, a single mother who works grueling hours just to feed her children, women and men who have fought in battle, those who struggle with loss, emotional strife, depression, self-loathing, and my list goes on.  So, for me to describe my experience here and use the word "difficult" is quite something.

Volunteering in Xela is possibly the most difficult thing I have ever done.  Both emotionally and physically.

Emotionally: Mainly because of the pain of others.  For those who know me, I tend to take on the pain of the world and have for many years.  I don't often watch news programs for that exact reason.  Therefore, as I approach my 1-month point here, my heart has become heavy with all that I have seen and experienced.  This heaviness has turned to exhaustion, and sometimes a sobbing international phone call home to mom and dad. For me, the best way to describe this heaviness is in the eyes of those I have observed.

Much can be understood simply from looking into a person's eyes.  I am constantly in awe of the strength of the impoverished persons I encounter daily, yet, the sadness in their eyes keeps a secret of years of hurt and that hurt slips into the crack in my heart leaving it with more and more pain each day.  At work, my kids have many behavioral issues.  There are four adults working with the 31 children, ages 2-7, and I adore my project, yet can't help but see the need in the eyes of these children.  Their eyes tell a story of literal hunger, and also a hunger for attention, hugs, and someone to simply affirm them.  There are those persons whose smiles never meet their eyes when they greet you as they carry their goods to market, and you can only wonder why or when their smile stopped creasing the corners of their beautiful brown eyes.  Or, the young 16-year-old Mayan mother and wife with a baby on her back and a toddler at her side who climbs on the bus, eyes glazed with tears, and I can only wonder, and wonder, and wonder how I could possibly assist her, so I simply put my hand on her shoulder and she begins to sob.  No words were needed.

THIS is difficulty, and not my own, yet I am experiencing its heaviness in my own heart.  I am here to help, and yet I realize how tiny my impact is in the scheme of the world's issues.  I can only hope that by being here, and providing hugs, smiles, and a touch on a young Mayan woman's shoulder, I can provide a ripple effect that maybe, just maybe takes the hurt out of someone's day.

Physically:  I am a human toy.  Being 5'11...to kids, I am a jungle gym solely there for their enjoyment. 5 days a week for 7 hours straight I run, jump, hop, get trampled, punched, strangled, pinched, smacked, and even peed on!!  Haha, my days are exciting to say the least.  I also have a sprained ankle that is too swollen for my shoe!  However, physically, nothing compares to the difficulty of exhaustion.  I'm certainly pushing my body to its limits with this volunteer work, but for me, nothing has ever been more worth the difficulty.