Love languages

In all my travelings, one country has managed to maintain a stronghold on my heart. There is something that draws me back to Guatemala time and time again. For me it is a place of refuge, freedom and rejuvenation. The scenery is varied and breathtaking, amongst the most beautiful places I have ever been to, but it is so much more than that which speaks to me. Blellca often says to me that I have a corazon tierna, but it is la gente, the pueblo that have the tender hearts that brings me healing and wholeness. Friends that will entertain my crazy plans, receive me on short notice, listen with gentle ears and concerned spirits, drive extended distance just to see me for a few minutes and pour into my heart, teaching me to live, to love and to trust in God alone.

The prodigal son has been my story this year, for many years actually, but I have connected to it in marvelous ways unlike ever before, exploring the idea of sonship versus the vagrant wandering of an orphan who constantly must prove to himself and others that he has worth and belongs. The reckless son who wishes death upon his father, forsaking the security and identity he has at home for the futility and pain of distant lands. For me, many times I have had to wander to distant lands to be drawn back home to my identity in my Abba Father. I relive Adam's original rebellion in the Garden of Eden everytime I run off to seek my validation and my strength anywhere but in the arms of Christ as a beloved Son of my Heavenly Father. Hurt I return to Jesus, confused and spurned by the world, yet subconsciously resolute to pursue the same course of action later on when I think I will be more successful. Jesus, allow me to stop, to rest and recognize that on me, your favor rests.

Tragically, Guatemala is a land of many fatherless children, orphans in the flesh. Civil war, domestic abuse and other crimes have ravaged such a beautiful place, and yet in the ashes, there is a quiet resilience. I sensed it playing soccer in the rain overlooking the high country, where smiles were all I could do to communicate with the children who only spoke quechua. Stepping into what seemed like the pages of a National Geographic tempered by the calls of Isaiah and James to true religion in the form of care for widows and orphans, my heart was permanently changed my first visit to this land.

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