No way to put this into words. ..

It's me again (Mr. B). It is past midnight and the last two students have just left my room. No time for student blogging - I guess by now I am understanding that this trip was meant to be different in many ways, so I am just letting go and riding the wave the rest of the way!
We did not get back until 10:30 PM tonight and we decided we would still do our devotions (since the students wrote them, we feel a strong sense of not just saying it is too late, we are too tired). It was good that we did. . . the devotion was prepared by Philip Joe and it was on the role of suffering in our walks with the Lord. It is much too late for me to even begin to put into words what we have experienced over the past two days. I can't and I only hope that you create an opportunity when we get back to have your students convey to you what they have seen and heard, especially this week. Suffice it to say that it has been remarkable - more than that but I just cannot find the right words. I have been on many of these trips but have never witnessed what we have experienced here and nothing could have prepared me for it. A brief vignettes I will share however to give you some sense of what we have been doing.
Yesterday I was with five students, the ASELSI Director, and a K'iche translator (we go from English, to Spanish, to K'iche often and on these visits it was a must). We drove 30 minutes from Chichi into the mountains and only stopped when our four-wheel vehicle could no longer navigate the "roads".  We were in the middle of wild mountain terrain, the heart of the Mayan nation, driven here in the 1500's when the escaped the brutality of the Spaniards in the valleys hundreds of miles away. We were visiting a family the local ASELSI extension pastor had recommended (three other teams were doing the same, close by in this remote region). We saw Juan walking on the deeply rutted path as we walk down to where the K'iche translator (and nearby resident) told us a family lived. As we met him we stepped back into the 17th or 18th century. Dressed in clothing threadbare and dirty, he led us up a hillside into his home - a dwelling he built 18 years before from mud, pine needles and stone. The floor was dirt and rock - he had built his home literally on rock - the "solid ground". There were family members huddled around a crude table but there was no other real furniture - a few stools, open walls, no electricity that I could see. His wive was there, dressed as all women we had seen in this part of Guatemala - traditional Mayan dress, colorful and woolen to ward off the cold. His daugther was there (in her 20's and blind). There were five small children also - with faces I know we will not forget - so innocent looking, so genuinely warm and shy. If they had seen gringo's before I do not know butdoubt it from what we had been told. They were his grandchildren, children of his son and daughter-in-law. They were not there - they are in prison somewhere in Guatemala for crimes we did not understand other than Juan claims his son was innocent and framed and that his wife had been arrested for trying to help escape from local "police" (there are a few police here, but most law in this part of the country is expressed by vigilante action (and please ask your students about this - Mayan law - you steal or abuse someone, you will probably be burned alive by vigilante law - totally true and real. Did I mention the very low crime rate here in the Mayan highlands?). His son will be there 18 more years - no money and no hope of bribing his was out. His daughter-in-law will be out in four. Juan is raising them although he has no money and there are no jobs - these are farming villages and he has to eat the corn he grows to survive. His son was the breadwinner for the family and now that is gone. As we talked he asked to come in (bend down really) into his cocina - a small dark adobe room the size of a large closet. The cooking is done over open fire on a stone fire pit - what cooking there is. Our interpreter asked about his situation and as he told us about his life and this recent tragedy, the small children - especially the little girl - began to softly cry. We asked if we could pray. In this small, dark, and cramped space, the family instantly dropped to their knees (they were Christian apparently - unusual) and began to pray with us. They all eventually began to cry - more than that - great and deep sobbing and tears that streamed from their faces. The children all looked down and they laid their heads on the stone hearth, but we heard their tears and pain We prayed for justice, hope, and peace - we prayed for a miracle and we meant it (maybe for the first time in our students lives did they need to ask God for a miracle to end this suffering). After the translations, all of us also with faces wet with tears and hearts broken, Juan was asked how he fed this large family. He pointed to a small wooden shelf - there was half a bag of rice, some corn stalk leaves, a few roots and tortilla's (they grow some corn, so they have tortillas at least). They also had a small bag of red chili powder - very hot - which they put on the tortilla's to help ease the hunger pains. That was it - all the food they had and no money to buy more. The children were malnourished, thin, guant, and barely surviving. No refrigeration but no need of it anyway. They cannot afford meat, eggs, or dairy. We stayed and presented a large bushel of food items, and then toys for the children, and sandals for the family. And a Bible. They were overwhelmed and grateful. Juan never let go the rest of the visit of the Bible he now had. I am guessing he cannot read and even if he did, it would not be Spanish. But the Bible was God, and that meant hope. The children's eyes lit up when we gave them bubble wands, coloring books, crayons, and small balls. It was a Christmas they had never had before we were told. We started to leave and I quietly asked the ASELSI staff if we could give some money and they said yes but not too much (too dangerous as nearby villagers would harm them if they were suddenly "wealthy" for no reason - more Mayan law). We gave them 400 quetzales - around $30. I was told later that it would feed them for a month and maybe two with all the other food items we brought. Juan was grateful, proud but grateful. His wife began to cry again. The children just smiled and stood quietly holding their gifts - but not moving, not speaking - so polite, so well behaved. We told Juan he was man of honor for doing this (many men here abandon their families when things get rough - and women have no rights here). He thanked us profusely and then walked us back up the mountain side to our waiting vehicle. He had nothing but this was his land and his home, and he treated us as honored guests. I hugged him as I left and told him in translation, older man to older man, that God would honor his determination to keep this family together - honor him for being a real man. His bloodshot eyes met mine and I knew he understood and believed this. The students hugged the one child who climbed the trail was us and then got back in the vehicle. We drove (bounced really) over the rough dirt roads for a while. There was silence and then the students in the back of the vehicle held hands and began to pray for this family - no prompting and without my involvement. They cried as they prayed. That was just a small part of our long day.
Tomorrow maybe we will tell you the rest and then about our today (now yesterday) - of the street ministry to the shoe shine boys in the village and to the men that carry heavy loads on their backs with ropes secured across their permanently furrowed foreheads. About Jeremy's testimony - and Nick's - and how it impacted the audience we attracted in the city square. About how it impacted us, especially Nick who I believe will not be the same young man as he was before. About how it climaxed - after the stories, music, and drama's - with a salvation message again translated into two different languages but not by me. I told the students I did not feel I was here to do that - that they were. Andrew Washington finally stepped up and assumed the task. And I don't think he will be the same either. It was clear, powerful, from the heart, and it was anointed by God to be sure. We prayed for at least a half an hour after that, in the sun, with at least 20 or more men and women who wept and prayed and asked for prayer. The students prayed with them, hugged them, knelt with them - men dressed in rags, alcoholics, beggars - the refuse of humanity. I saw Nick and Jeremy pick up a man with one leg who scooted on his back side (they way he gets around) to the front in order to be ministered to. They carried him back rather than have him scoot back up the steps. He was covered in filth - a man that could not have been different in any respect than the cripple that Jesus healed at the pool of Bethseda. No one told them to do this - they just responded as did the other students in a scene that will never leave my mind - or theirs. They touched the untouchables, held them, cried with them, prayed for them although the language was different. The ASELSI staff were moved as well. This was not always the case in these monthly feedings of these lowest caste members of Mayan society. Few other teams responded this way from America - and none were so well prepared in song and drama (which is why the crowd was so large).
In a few weeks they will back at school and back to computer games, social events and sports. I don't however today or yesterday, or this whole trip, will ever completely leave their minds. They have had a taste of the Kingdom of God, eternity really, and used giftings they did not know they possessed before this trip. It continued tonight when we hosted a youth group from a nearby village - and testimonies by Katie Bolvito and Marisa Bognanno had the same impact and the night was amazing - ending with us sitting around bonfires - Mayan teens sitting with our teens. Amazing scene - ask them!