Every once in a while, something truly amazing happens to shape the way we see the world, and our lives are never quite the same. The FTS trip to Guatemala was one of those times. To tell the story of the trip is to record a remarkable humanitarian effort that testifies to hope, compassion, generosity, and the well-worn adage that indeed, “it is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.”
Day 1: A twist of fate
Scores of families are gathered in a silent queue. They are sobering reminders of the fate of those who are born here with cleft lips and palates…evidence of what occurs when a cruel twist of fate swallows up a child’s dignity and threatens to claim an otherwise promising future. Yet the mood is optimistic. These parents have brought their children to the opening clinic of the FTS team to help them regain their dignity; to help them stake their claim to a brighter future.
There is an immediate connection between the FTS team, the children and the families. But how is this possible, when we come from such different worlds? Perhaps because in the deep-down corners of our hearts we are all made of the same compassionate edges, and we all share the need to believe that within a matter of days, these children will all be free to smile.
The plight of the children cries out most stridently to us, but it is the families who struggle with the monumental challenge of raising a child with a cleft lip or palate: malnutrition, speech impediments, chronic respiratory infections. The parents speak about their disappointments, fears, hopes and dreams for their children, and their gratitude to the FTS team. Their Mayan words are unfamiliar to us, but we understand as clearly as if they had breathed them directly into our hearts.
Day 2: A face in the crowd
When speaking of cleft lip and palate trips, we often refer to statistics. One in 600 children in Latin America is born with a cleft anomaly. 57 children received surgery. The in-kind value of a team’s volunteer services is $600,000. But behind each statistic is a story…of a desperate child, of a concerned parent, of a heroic volunteer. Where the three come together lies a place of uncommon humanity, and a tale of despair, hope, compassion, and beauty that is more than skin deep.
Time and again, fate has conspired against seven year old Erick. He was born with a disfiguring cleft lip, his mother died when he was a baby, and his father suffers from mental illness. Some in his village believe that he is a curse; a punishment for wrongdoing. But after spending five minutes with Erick, we cannot imagine how anyone could begrudge this child. Words like “serene” and “tranquil” seem to describe him best. Beyond his cleft lip, there is an invincible inner beauty that needs no improvement. It reaches into our hearts and resonates with something deep inside us. To us, he is already in many ways perfect; a hidden treasure behind a broken façade.
That we are willing to help Erick is wondrous to his father, Daniel. Perhaps, he tells us, sometimes in an unfair world, there is justicia. The way he uses the word, the tone in his voice, the gratitude in his eyes, render it untranslatable. Words like fairness and justice don’t measure up. While it combines both, its connotation goes far beyond. It is something like setting things right, or restoring balance to the natural order of things.
Day 3: Something important is about to happen
Daniel’s eyes light up when the nurse pronounces that it is Erick’s turn for surgery, as if these words hold the answer to his most fervent prayers. But as he turns his son over to the surgical team, the look of anguish on his face is so poignant that it makes time stand still. It is an act of blind faith to entrust a loved one to strangers. It is hope amidst desperation. Courage amidst fear. The promise of joy amidst a life of disappointments.
If Erick is frightened about the surgery, about the strangeness of his surroundings, his demeanor gives no hint of it. He is calm, relaxed, resilient. There is magic in this child. The look in his eyes says, “Something important is about to happen.”
While Erick undergoes surgery, his father is seated in humility, hands folded in prayer – a universal picture of a man in communion with a higher power. It is the anchor that sustains him through the agonizing wait; a reminder of how tightly spirituality is woven into the fabric of Guatemalan life.
After an excruciating two hour wait, Daniel is overcome with emotion to see the transformation in his son. He cradles him, holds his hand, comforts him, whispers to him. We are awed by his unconditional love for his child. Erick smiles, almost imperceptibly, as he drifts in and out of sleep. The scene is so magical, so utterly miraculous, that it seems as though the entire recovery room has been sprinkled with magical powder.
Day 5: I am leaving and I will miss you
As Erick prepares to return to his community, he approaches me and says I am leaving now and I will miss you. His words fold around me like an embrace. I smile through my tears and wonder if he knows how much we will miss him too. He is grafted to our memory. He is part of us now.
Day 7: Our work is done…at least for now
The customary frenzy of the clinic is abruptly replaced by an indescribable calm. Suddenly everything is quiet, and we are poignantly aware that our work here, at least for now, is done. Our days in Guatemala have slipped through our fingers, past our cherished new friends, into last minute departure preparations. They have ended too fast. Guatemala has its own special way of saying goodbye to us. Each new smile evokes the certainty that a life has been changed for the better. Each child is a reminder that dignity is not something that should belong only to those born with perfect faces.
This trip was indeed one of those truly amazing things that shape the way we see the world. It was ample testimony to the immortal words of Franklin D. Roosevelt: "The test of our progress is not whether we add more to the abundance of those who have much; it is whether we provide enough for those who have too little."
