"And that's our Pacaya volcano," Anabela said, continuing her tour guide responsibilities while also watching the road. The broad highway curved around the mountains, which rose from the long, narrow valley of Guatemala City. I was on a day trip to a water park three hours south of the city with the staff of Hogar Los Pinos. Anabela, the orphanage director, had told me several days earlier about the annual staff trip to the water park and invited me to come along. I jumped at the chance to enjoy a day away from never-ending orphanage duties and to take in the Guatemalan scenery outside the capital.
I leaned closer to the van's side window, my head resting against the air condition-cooled glass, and gazed at the rounded top of the green mountain. Amelie, the hogar nurse, peered over my head. "It is still an active volcano, although it hasn't erupted for many years," she said. "Experts say another eruption is coming soon, but they can't tell us exactly when it will happen."
Today, a little more than four years since driving past that beautiful mountain during my first stint as a student missionary, I saw a news story reporting that the Guatemalan Pacaya volcano started erupting lava and rocks yesterday afternoon. The story said the volcano was "blanketing the country's capital with ash and forcing the closure of the international airport." I know that the airport is right beside Hogar Los Pinos Adventista. Often, as I played with the children on the rooftop during my time in Guatemala City, we would watch airplanes, both commercial and military, take off and land at the air field just a divided street and a high brick wall away. "El avión! El avión!" the three- to five-year-olds would shriek, pointing with chubby fingers toward the brilliant blue sky and the receding shape of an airplane, while the two-year olds cringed at the loud sounds and clung to the Tias' legs in terror.
As a former SM at the hogar, the awakened volcano concerns me. I'm worried about the people I left behind four years ago. I wonder how many phone calls Anabela has had to make as she tries to keep the babies and children safe. I wonder if the Tias have been able to get to the hogar to take care of their young charges. I wonder if my kids are scared.
For themselves.
For their older siblings at the children's village in Poptun, hours east, near the Belize border.
For the few caring relatives who come to visit them whenever possible — not often since they have their own lives to live, their own children to care for.
For their parents who abandoned them.
And my heart aches for the Los Pinos children.
Because I was an SM there.
Because, for a few short months, I was one of their Tias.
Because I still love them.
And, while it broke my heart to leave the hogar and my kids behind that May morning four years ago, I know that I'd do it all again in an instant if I had the opportunity. Just to spend three and a half months bathing them, dressing them, feeding them, playing with them, disciplining them, laughing with them, loving them.
Because that's what a hogar SM does.
As I prepare for upcoming months serving as a student missionary in a new location and a different capacity, I can't wait to experience it all over again.
The sharing.
The caring.
The pain.
The love.
Even the heartache.
Because all of that, rolled together, is how you know you've made a difference.
I leaned closer to the van's side window, my head resting against the air condition-cooled glass, and gazed at the rounded top of the green mountain. Amelie, the hogar nurse, peered over my head. "It is still an active volcano, although it hasn't erupted for many years," she said. "Experts say another eruption is coming soon, but they can't tell us exactly when it will happen."
Today, a little more than four years since driving past that beautiful mountain during my first stint as a student missionary, I saw a news story reporting that the Guatemalan Pacaya volcano started erupting lava and rocks yesterday afternoon. The story said the volcano was "blanketing the country's capital with ash and forcing the closure of the international airport." I know that the airport is right beside Hogar Los Pinos Adventista. Often, as I played with the children on the rooftop during my time in Guatemala City, we would watch airplanes, both commercial and military, take off and land at the air field just a divided street and a high brick wall away. "El avión! El avión!" the three- to five-year-olds would shriek, pointing with chubby fingers toward the brilliant blue sky and the receding shape of an airplane, while the two-year olds cringed at the loud sounds and clung to the Tias' legs in terror.
As a former SM at the hogar, the awakened volcano concerns me. I'm worried about the people I left behind four years ago. I wonder how many phone calls Anabela has had to make as she tries to keep the babies and children safe. I wonder if the Tias have been able to get to the hogar to take care of their young charges. I wonder if my kids are scared.
For themselves.
For their older siblings at the children's village in Poptun, hours east, near the Belize border.
For the few caring relatives who come to visit them whenever possible — not often since they have their own lives to live, their own children to care for.
For their parents who abandoned them.
And my heart aches for the Los Pinos children.
Because I was an SM there.
Because, for a few short months, I was one of their Tias.
Because I still love them.
And, while it broke my heart to leave the hogar and my kids behind that May morning four years ago, I know that I'd do it all again in an instant if I had the opportunity. Just to spend three and a half months bathing them, dressing them, feeding them, playing with them, disciplining them, laughing with them, loving them.
Because that's what a hogar SM does.
As I prepare for upcoming months serving as a student missionary in a new location and a different capacity, I can't wait to experience it all over again.
The sharing.
The caring.
The pain.
The love.
Even the heartache.
Because all of that, rolled together, is how you know you've made a difference.
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