A Trip, A Marketplace, and a 7th Grader
"God hides in the details." ~Ludwig Mies van der Rohe
Part of the reason for doing this blog, beyond copying my sister, is to get back in the habit of writing. Being able to settle in and free write about whatever is on my mind for the day helps feed my creativity. It's only the second day and I already want to start about five projects all at once! But today I want to free write about a trip I took in the 7th grade.
I came across the starting quote last night when I pulled down a book I've had for ages called "Pen on Fire: A Busy Woman's Guide to Igniting the Writer Within." It's by Barbara DeMarco-Barrett and each chapter begins with a quote. When I read this one, it sparked all sorts of inspiration. Good quotes do that, you know. But when I woke up thinking about it this morning, it was in reference to a mission trip I took with my dad to Guatemala when I was in 7th grade. Now, before you start thinking I was some do-gooder, wise-beyond-my-years, Mother Teresa in training thirteen year-old, let me just set the record straight. The trip was scheduled in February. I lived in Illinois. Illinois in February is no fun. Going somewhere south of Mexico (I truly had no clear idea where I'd be going) sounded like something that would make my friends super jealous. And that, to a 13 year old, is better than money in the bank.
After getting a passport (so cool!), signing away liability should something (like death) occur while traveling, and getting shots (okay, that I hadn't bargained on), my dad and I were all set. There were about ten other people going on the trip with us, but they'd be meeting us in Guatemala. Turned out, my dad was the closest person to my age. And it wasn't the tropical paradise I'd expected. I felt that maybe I hadn't really planned this out as well as I should have.
Then I met our translator for the duration of our stay. Her name was Patty and she was 23. That made her the coolest person on the trip (sorry, Dad). She was married and had two daughters. We got to meet them a few times. Everyday, Patty and her father would meet us at our hotel for breakfast. Then we would all pile into the van and head to the worksite. We were helping to build a clinic and it was still in the early stages. Due to my age, and lack of any experience in anything, I mostly stuck to painting. On the first morning, we got to the site and unloaded our gear. Then Patty asked if anyone wanted to volunteer to go to the market with her to get the lunch for that day. My hand shot up so fast, I'm lucky it didn't fly off!
Oh, the colors and sounds and smells of that market! I had never seen anything like it. There were live animals being sold - not as pets, but as dinner. There were beautiful fabrics and handmade jewelry. If you've ever seen a picture of Guatemala, you know their embroidered clothing features rainbow colors woven intricately together. It's breathtaking. Patty mentioned that each morning a new group of people would go so that everyone could experience the market. Somehow I managed to get myself on every single trip. I couldn't bear the thought of missing even a day.
While the market was captivating, there were so many experiences on that trip. I saw poverty for the first time in my life. I saw kids living in one room homes who seemed happier than a lot of the kids back home. I listened to stories from women whose lives and homes had been torn apart by war, but who had picked up the pieces and created a way to help others like themselves. I learned that your life can be changed when you least expect it. And that the people you're trying to help, often end up helping you right back.
Patty told me, on one of our last nights there, that her husband wanted her to tell me something. She said he thought it was very surprising that a young person would come to their country to do this kind of work. And she said that they were both so proud to have met me. That was a lot for someone my age to hear at the time! I was overwhelmed. By the time our last day came around, I was a mess. I didn't want to leave. And if I had to leave, I was darn sure coming back for my quinceanera party.
Well, that didn't happen. I'm sad to say, I haven't made it back yet. But it's on the bucket list. The last news I received on Patty and her family came some time ago. They'd added another girl to their family. Guess what her name is. :)
Part of the reason for doing this blog, beyond copying my sister, is to get back in the habit of writing. Being able to settle in and free write about whatever is on my mind for the day helps feed my creativity. It's only the second day and I already want to start about five projects all at once! But today I want to free write about a trip I took in the 7th grade.
I came across the starting quote last night when I pulled down a book I've had for ages called "Pen on Fire: A Busy Woman's Guide to Igniting the Writer Within." It's by Barbara DeMarco-Barrett and each chapter begins with a quote. When I read this one, it sparked all sorts of inspiration. Good quotes do that, you know. But when I woke up thinking about it this morning, it was in reference to a mission trip I took with my dad to Guatemala when I was in 7th grade. Now, before you start thinking I was some do-gooder, wise-beyond-my-years, Mother Teresa in training thirteen year-old, let me just set the record straight. The trip was scheduled in February. I lived in Illinois. Illinois in February is no fun. Going somewhere south of Mexico (I truly had no clear idea where I'd be going) sounded like something that would make my friends super jealous. And that, to a 13 year old, is better than money in the bank.
After getting a passport (so cool!), signing away liability should something (like death) occur while traveling, and getting shots (okay, that I hadn't bargained on), my dad and I were all set. There were about ten other people going on the trip with us, but they'd be meeting us in Guatemala. Turned out, my dad was the closest person to my age. And it wasn't the tropical paradise I'd expected. I felt that maybe I hadn't really planned this out as well as I should have.
Then I met our translator for the duration of our stay. Her name was Patty and she was 23. That made her the coolest person on the trip (sorry, Dad). She was married and had two daughters. We got to meet them a few times. Everyday, Patty and her father would meet us at our hotel for breakfast. Then we would all pile into the van and head to the worksite. We were helping to build a clinic and it was still in the early stages. Due to my age, and lack of any experience in anything, I mostly stuck to painting. On the first morning, we got to the site and unloaded our gear. Then Patty asked if anyone wanted to volunteer to go to the market with her to get the lunch for that day. My hand shot up so fast, I'm lucky it didn't fly off!
Oh, the colors and sounds and smells of that market! I had never seen anything like it. There were live animals being sold - not as pets, but as dinner. There were beautiful fabrics and handmade jewelry. If you've ever seen a picture of Guatemala, you know their embroidered clothing features rainbow colors woven intricately together. It's breathtaking. Patty mentioned that each morning a new group of people would go so that everyone could experience the market. Somehow I managed to get myself on every single trip. I couldn't bear the thought of missing even a day.
While the market was captivating, there were so many experiences on that trip. I saw poverty for the first time in my life. I saw kids living in one room homes who seemed happier than a lot of the kids back home. I listened to stories from women whose lives and homes had been torn apart by war, but who had picked up the pieces and created a way to help others like themselves. I learned that your life can be changed when you least expect it. And that the people you're trying to help, often end up helping you right back.
Patty told me, on one of our last nights there, that her husband wanted her to tell me something. She said he thought it was very surprising that a young person would come to their country to do this kind of work. And she said that they were both so proud to have met me. That was a lot for someone my age to hear at the time! I was overwhelmed. By the time our last day came around, I was a mess. I didn't want to leave. And if I had to leave, I was darn sure coming back for my quinceanera party.
Well, that didn't happen. I'm sad to say, I haven't made it back yet. But it's on the bucket list. The last news I received on Patty and her family came some time ago. They'd added another girl to their family. Guess what her name is. :)
This made me almost cry at the end! And when you talked about the animals being for dinner instead of pets. But it also makes me want to travel again, which unemployment is perfect for if traveling were free. Inspiring all the same. I'm passing your blog around.
ReplyDeleteGo Mindy Go!! keep writing girl!! It's a very brave thing to do, in my humble opinion. Such a great story! I keep chickening out, starting blogs and restarting them. Now I'm doing a fiction friday one for creativity :) Oh btw this is Susan Sassi, before I was sassers my nickname was Patty ;) friends think I look like peppermint Patty :D
ReplyDeleteAnyway keep writing!! Glad to see you are well and up to exciting things!