Random act of kindness

by Global Ministries | published on Oct 10, 2014

Paul Pitcher – Guatemala
We had spent the whole day on top of the world, in a place removed from the country by a long spidery tight-ropesque road snaking up into the mountains with breathtaking 1000 meter drop offs, canyons on each side.

We had spent the whole day on top of the world, in a place removed from the country by a long spidery tight-ropesque road snaking up into the mountains with breathtaking 1000 meter drop offs, canyons on each side. I could watch out both windows as the mountains extended off miles and miles into the distance, the landscape materializing as if a red and emerald velvet cape had been draped carelessly across the countless bumps.

We had seen none of this as we arrived in Tectitán, Guatemala the night before. The pure street-lightless darkness enveloping everything but what was touched by the high-powered beams of the ACG truck. But it was crystal clear now as we jumped and jolted our way back down the mountain, lurching along the pock-marked dusty road.

If I look at my personal experiences and try to explain the location of this little community that we visited, it most resembles Rivendale from the Lord of the Rings series, nestled away from civilization in the hills. Unfortunately this remote location on top of the world has taken its toll on Tectitán and the neighboring villages through no fault of the people who live there.

Earlier that day, I walked a little ways down the road and stood on the edge of the town. From this point I stared out into one of the ravines surrounding the town. I could see the tell tale marks of the mudslides that had devastated the landscape. Like buckets of brown paint tossed haphazardly upon the green canvas, these streaks cascade down the mountain sides, erasing anything in their path. Again, this was all the result of Hurricane Stan and the torrential rains that had ravaged the country in October. The town of Tectitán and its adjacent villages had been cut off from aide for weeks, the bridges leading into the town twisted and cracked by the rain waters plunging down the mountains and spitting out through he rivers.

I, along with Luis, Alvaro, Margarito, and Ana Luisa from ACG had made the 7.5 hour trek from Quiché out to Tectitán to deliver support to the suffering communities. The previous week Alvaro and Margarito from the ACG Emergency Relief Commission had performed a diagnostic and determined that what the villages needed most was food assistance. So, over 6 hours we delivered roughly 172 pounds of food to each of roughly 300 families. 100 pound bags of corn which I touted on my shoulders out of the warehouse and 72 pounds made up of beans, rice, sugar, salt, oil, and noodles found their way into the hands of the masses gathered outside the warehouse. It was an exhausting experience both mentally and physically.

My feelings twisted in circles as I saw more and more of the victims of this tragedy. But it wasn’t until we had left the town of Tectitan and made our way down the mountain, down the fearful descent and into the river valley that the emotions threatened to consume me. I watched out the window as a house appeared to our left on the coarse road. It was barely hanging on to the side of the mountain, the entire front section under its foundation had slid away right up to the wall made of sheet metal and lashed to branches stuck into the ground.

In the roughly 6 foot by 6 foot house lived a family of 5 from the people whom I saw. A man, his wife, and three children their eyes sunken back into their heads from malnutrition and sickness, the light barely flickering. We never did get their names. This house was far away from Tectitán, far away from the assistance being delivered by ACG, CARE, and USAid…

We had loaded one bag of corn and one of the other bags of miscellaneous food into the truck before leaving Tectitán. And now as we pulled up to the house by the side of the road, the wife out washing clothes on what was left of the patio, the children walking around aimlessly in the rocky river bed down below the house they had no idea what was coming; neither did I. I didn’t realize that Alvaro and Margarito had seen this house on their first trip and arbitrarily decided to bestow upon this one family an act of kindness wrapped up in the bags of food that we carried in our sleigh, an early Christmas present for a needy family.

The family seemed to not quite believe what was going on, the expressions of disbelief plastered on their faces as we lowered the bags of food down from the truck, said a few words, and were back on our way like ghosts whisking through in the waning afternoon sun, almost as if we hadn’t even been there. As we pulled out in a cloud of dust the wife kept saying, “Dios les bendiga, God bless you,” I could hear a tear or two in her words and they echoed behind us as we drove away, captured in the silence since no one said a word until the house had faded from sight.

It was a random act of kindness like helping someone cross the street, leaving an extra big tip for an obviously needed waitress, or helping a lost person find their way in a foreign country. It is an act I will never forget.

Pablo
Paul Pitcher is a missionary with the Christian Action of Guatemala (ACG). He serves as a communication and youth worker with ACG.