Love Without Boundaries
By Eileen Dooling, Executive Director
Posted on
With the announcement that financial aid is being cut to Guatemala, Honduras and El Salvador, my prayer this morning drifted to the many trips I had made to visit our Mercy mission in Chanmagua, Guatemala. One trip, in particular, stood out.
My travelling companion, Sister Ellen Kurtz and I had spent the night in Guatemala City en route to Chanmagua. After travelling across Guatemala City, we boarded the bus to begin the four-hour bus trip — no bathrooms or AC on the bus — to Esquipulas. There we planned to meet our Sisters and travel the rest of the way up the mountain, ultimately arriving in Chanmagua.
About an hour into the bus trip while ascending a mountain, the bus at full speed rammed a truck stopped on the highway. The bus was packed with passengers, who were violently thrust forward suffering various injuries. All passengers — and animals, too — exited the bus through the side windows as the door was jammed. Mothers passed their babies through windows to anyone who could catch them.
Ellen and I were both injured and sent by ambulance to the local hospital in Zacapa where the emergency room was crowded with injuries from the accident. We were treated with tremendous kindness and respect. We spoke no Spanish and no one there spoke English, but somehow we understood each other. We were treated and discharged several hours later. Upon discharge, I went to the desk to pay the bill, and was told there was no charge for health care in Guatemala.
I have reflected on this incident many times and realize how blessed we were that day. We were hurt, had very little cash with us, spoke no Spanish, had a cell phone but no service, and were totally reliant on the people. I still remember the young man who carefully helped us to the ambulance. I remember the little boy, who cried because his mother was hurt, and found his way into my arms. I remember the young woman who rescued our luggage from the bus and then made a special trip to find us hours later to deliver the bags. I remember the cab driver with only one arm who, after dark at the end of this long day, drove us up the mountain to the village of Chanmagua, solicitous for our well-being and anxious to be of help.
When I hear people referred to as “them,” “the caravan,” “criminals and rapists,” etc., I cringe. When I hear we are closing the border, I am distressed. When I know we have cut aid to a people so desperately poor, I ask why. If only people in power could see the Guatemalan, Honduran and Salvadoran people as people.
All our experiences change us in some way, and this one deeply affected me. Intuitively, I knew that there was much for me to learn from the Guatemalan people — their care for one another, their welcome of the “stranger” and their generosity, which can come from scarcity. I am deeply grateful to all those I met that day: grateful for their kindness and compassion, for their love that knew no walls or boundaries, and for their willingness to trust these two “gringas,” who showed up hurt and in deep need that spring day in Guatemala.