Commentary: The walk to Avacado

Friends Sharlene, George, and William said, “We’re going to Guatemala for Thanksgiving, ‘Wanna go along?” We couldn’t think of a reason not to.

Guatemala is an incredibly beautiful country in November: lots of flowers, beautiful green vegetation. We spent a couple days high in the mountains above Guatemala City at the Hogar Maguel Magone, an orphanage for sixty boys; spent some time painting beds, learned to know Karen who began the orphanage ten years ago with three boys, learned the challenges of running an orphanage in a country with no government help for education, no help for orphanages for boys.

Sunday was a special day. A Rotary Club from Guatemala City brought games, a jumping gym, and pizza for an afternoon of fun. Added to the boys from the orphanage were children from a little hamlet close by called Avocado.

The sun began to set and we joined the kids for the short walk to Avocado, past a Catholic church, back a long narrow path to the home of Loraina, a young woman of 17 years who works at the orphanage. With an absent mother and father, she cares for her six younger siblings in a tiny shack. Two strong young men had to help us navigate the muddy hill to the most meager of living arrangements.

I stood there in the dark with the delightful chatter of neighborhood children all around me. And once again in my life, I tried to reconcile the plight of so many living in a world where so many have so much and so many have so little. At home I imagined there were shoppers dashing about, grumbling, still stressed from Black Friday, grabbing more stuff to pile on top of the stuff already piled up.

In contrast were the goodbyes from little people in Avocado and Hogar Miguel Magone, hugging us around the knees, and little smiling faces looking up and saying, “Gracias, gracias!”

Glad we could get together.

Commentary: The fox and me

It had rained hard that early morning before I started out for work. The droplets of water hanging from limb and blade sparkled in the sunrise that broke through the heavy clouds.

From my car window I caught the dark form of an animal sitting by the side of the road.

Curious, I turned the car around to find some sort of critter, dripping wet, just sitting by the road trying to figure out how to dry out his world. Was it a dog, a cat, a big rat? It was hard to tell. I rolled down the window and our eyes met.

Aha! “Good morning, Mr. Fox,” I said, sounding like a faux Mr. Rogers. We stared at each other for awhile then shared a slow journey down the road. Mr. Fox walked. I drove.

Mr. Fox disappeared under a small bridge.

For just a fleeting few moments it seemed that the two of us broke through the inborn distrust between fox and human: He didn’t ask about guns; I didn’t bring up chickens. And it was rather grand.

Two years later - same spot - same fox (?) we met again. This time a fluffy, beautiful, red fox stared at me as I rolled down the window and began to talk. Did he remember me, that he was willing to stare and listen for perhaps two minutes? Had we formed some sort of bond two years ago? Would this moment happen again? I guess I’d like to think so.

Trust. What an illusive, wonderful, God-thing it is to know and experience. When you trust me and I trust you, what a wonderful world it is.

Trust. So difficult to build and so extraordinarily easy to destroy! I didn’t see Mr. Fox by the road today - maybe tomorrow. I trust so.

Glad we could get together.