Guatemalan Journey: Surrounded by Miracles and Coke Bottles, July 14, 2011

Today we set off up the mountain, stopping at Maria Garcia’s to pick up her daughter Blanca Rose, who would serve as our interpreter today. Since most of the families we would be visiting today spoke only Mam (a Mayan language), her help would be indispensible today.

On our way to take Rudy his new leg, we stopped to visit a family who lived just up the hill from his house. This single mom has two children who are in wheelchairs, as well as a couple of other boys she has taken in because they have nowhere else to go. One of the wheelchairs needs a new footrest, and we will have to return with this part at a later time. Dick was able to adjust the brakes, however, and as we watched the young man walk about the area hugging the wall for balance, we discussed the possibility of bringing him forearm crutches to help him balance. When asked if he would like these, he became very excited. He manages to get around quite a bit despite his inability to walk alone, and we hope these will give him a further level of independence.

We hiked down the steep hillside to Rudy’s and Dick wisely suggested that we go inside to fit his new leg. A group of children from the area had followed us down the hill, probably to see what the North Americans were up to. Removing and replacing a prosthetic leg demands some level of privacy, so we went into the dimly lit house.

As Dick unpacked the new leg, it was immediately apparent that it had been made too long. Things became even more complicated when Dick went to try on the leg, and discovered that the leg cup was way too small for Rudy’s leg. We’re not quite sure how all this happened, since Dick had sent specific measurements as well as a plaster cast of the leg to which the prosthesis was to be fit to the specialist making the leg. Whatever the reason, we were faced with an impossible situation—there seemed to be no way to make the leg work for Rudy, and his old one was too small to use without damaging his back and hips.

I can’t tell you how many times I heard Dick say, “Come on, Dick, THINK!” He stared at both legs, mentally matching pieces that just would not quite go together. We talked about the possibility of finding a hacksaw and shortening the tube on the new leg, but that wouldn’t solve the problem of the too small leg cup. We both were praying, unknown to the other, that somehow God would intervene. We had to do something for this precious little guy. Finally Dick took the risk of removing the foot from Rudy’s old leg to see if somehow that leg cup could be used with the new leg bottom.

It was immediately obvious that the pieces would not fit together. Dick cobbled and MacGuyver-ed as best as he could, but nothing worked. I know he worked more than an hour without any apparent progress. It looked hopeless. We talked about putting some kind of “lift” on the shoe of the old prosthetic leg, but ruled that out since shoes wear out too quickly in this rough terrain for that to be a practical solution. We were soon just out of ideas. . .

Rudy’s mom thanked us for our efforts, but saw the new leg would not work. Here she was, trying to make us feel better about the fact that the leg wouldn’t work. She even sent one of the children out to buy us each a Coke—our first of the day. We were stumped and Dick was ready to admit defeat.

As he started to pack up his tools, Dick glanced down one last time at the old foot. What would happen if he took the connector out of that foot, and tried to use it to fit the new foot to the old leg with the two fasteners? This would give the needed added length if it could just work.

After taking out the piece, Dick discovered that the coupler would not fit inside the fastener. There was a square piece of metal on the top, preventing it from going into the tube. How could we get it off?

After asking if there was any type of machine shop nearby which might have a hacksaw we could use, we thought we had struck out once again. Maybe there was a metal file in Dick’s tool bag. . .What he found was a detached hacksaw blade, which he managed to put in a vice grips pliers—and suddenly we had a make-shift hacksaw. Now, would it cut the metal.

Dick painstakingly sawed at the metal piece, with the help of Rudy’s brother and mother securing the foot and the stool. It was hard work, and Dick was out of breath and sweating, but finally he was able to break off the offending piece. We all just about burst into tears when the pieces came together. This was an engineering task far beyond even Dick’s abilities. We knew that we had experienced divine intervention on behalf of this little guy. Our first miracle of the day.

Everyone got into the act of making the final adjustments—even Rudy took his turn wielding a wrench!

As we were preparing to leave, I asked Rudy’s mom whether or not the boys (Rudy, age 7, and his brother, age 13) were attending school. Neither were, due to lack of funds. Mom explained that the older son would be in 6th grade, and that Rudy was always asking if she could find someone to teach him to write. I promised I would try to find sponsors so they could both attend school. If anyone is interested in sponsoring one or both of these wonderful young men, please email me and I’ll send you the details. The cost would be approximately $35/month for one, or $70/month to enable both of the boys to get the education they both so desperately desire.

Next we set off further down the road to meet Alvarado, who Dick had been told needed new wheels on his wheelchair. Since he lived quite a way up the mountain, his family had packed both him and his chair down to the road so we could work with him there.

When we arrived, we discovered that the wheels were, in fact, falling apart. We also discovered that they were an unusual type of wheel, and, as Dick said, it would be another miracle if any of the wheels he had brought would fit this chair. We were looking at a couple hours of work at the least. Dick tried each of the wheels he had brought, and each would not fit. At about the same moment, both Dick and I thought about the Hope Haven chair we had brought with. Would those wheels somehow work? Dick tried them, and the holes were the right size, but the connecting bolt too long. The wheels would wobble.

If only we had some washers to take up the slack, but after looking through his tool bag, Dick came up empty handed. The wobbly wheels would have to do. As he started to pick up his tools once again, Dick discovered that, in a bag of bolts he had picked up at the shop a few days earlier, there just so happened to be a handful of spacers—and these would work perfectly. Our second miracle of the day. And our second bottle of Coke, once again provided by Alvarado’s grateful parents.

Our last stop of the day was to visit Rolando. Rolando is a twenty-three year old young man who Bethel Ministries had been providing a tutor for. A few months ago, Rolando had become so weak that it was decided to use the funds to provided extra food for him. It was obvious this had been a good decision—Rolando actually looked a bit robust today. And a bit discouraged—they had been looking for a teacher for him for a while now, and none can be found. We promised that we would ask for prayers that someone would step up to work with him, so I am asking you to join us in praying for a teacher for this ambitious young man.

After a quick glance at his wheelchair, it was apparent he was desperately in need of the new one we had brought him. The one we had fit him perfectly, and he was soon seated comfortably in a solid, safe wheelchair. As Dick worked on seating Rolando, one of his sisters brought us each a can of apple juice, a wonderful change from all the Coke we had been drinking. Rolando’s mom also insisted that she wanted to make us lunch. We gratefully accepted her invitation—it was after two o’clock, and we had not eaten since breakfast.

She prepared a rich egg dish with a fresh tomato sauce that was delicious, along with some of the tastiest tortillas we have eaten in Guatemala. As we were each given another bottle of Coke, Dick and I looked at each other somewhat hopelessly. Just how much Coke can one person drink in a few hours without exploding? Today we would find out, as we drank our last Coke of the day.

After visiting for a while, it was all too soon time to leave. We needed to be on our way back to Huehue before dark, and we still had to take Blanca and her son Everett back home.

As we drove back to Huehue, Dick and I talked about the Godincidents we had seen today, and joked about all the Coke we had drunk. God had blessed us with being able to accomplish things we could not have done in our own power. The families we had come to serve had blessed us with their gratitude and with Coke. A small thing to us, a bottle of pop. But to these families living in deep poverty, a bottle of Coke costs a lot, and is a tangible way they show us their appreciation. I’ve never known drinking Coke to be such a humbling experience.

Afternote:

We didn’t know it when we got back to the hotel, but God had one more “miracle” for us yet today. Dick was working on answering email, and suddenly, his computer just shut down on its own. When he restarted it, he discovered that his I-Mail account had somehow disappeared. All his email was gone until he could somehow repair this glitch. He worked on it without success, and finally we decided to go to dinner. We both continued to pray that somehow Dick would find a way to reconnect to his email server. Within a few minutes of returning from supper, our prayers were answered when he discovered the “missing link” that enabled him to connect. Thank you, God, for answered prayer. And thank you, Father, even more, that all his files were still intact in the server and he was able to access them.

Were these really “miracles” we had experienced today? I think so. . .in fact I think we walk among miracles all the time, and fail to recognize God’s hand in helping us on a daily basis. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’d rather err on the side of thanking God than ignoring His gifts to us—natural or supernatural.