Culture shock "in reverse"

Heading back to Omaha from Guatemala, I got to spend a lot of time in the Houston airport. My three hour layover turned to about six, as we waited first for our plane to arrive, then for the flight crew. Weather had really messed up the air traffic this day.

It gave me a lot of time to observe and think about the culture that formed me, and the culture in which I now live.

I watched the travelers (most of whom were North Americans--as opposed to Central Americans) go from annoyed to frustrated to downright angry as the delays grew. I listened to them complain to friends and spouses on the phone. I watched as they berated the helpless folks who work at the airport. And chuckled as I realized that not one bit of this made the plane or the crew arrive one second earlier.

I realized, too, how easily I accepted the waiting. Sure, I felt badly that the delay meant that my son would be driving from the south side of Omaha to the north side, to the westside, and back south again when he should be home sleeping. It bothered me that my friend Gail would be inconvenienced by having to wait up to let me in. But there was nothing I could do about it, so why waste energy getting upset when nothing would change?

And, for just a little bit, I felt more Guatemalan than American.

Don't get me wrong. . .
I still can think American with the best of the culture.

Just this morning, as I was on a shuttle that waited fifteen minutes for someone to decide to come down from their hotel room (the shuttle company told us to be ready at our door fifteen minutes before the were to pick us up) I was inwardly fuming at how inconsiderate this person was and wishing that the driver would just leave them. I was increasingly agitated as we then made stop after stop picking up more passengers. And I was continually being reminded by God that He had this all under control and to just go with the flow. It took a conscious effort and much prayer, but I managed to arrive at the airport, unstressed, and with plenty of time to make my flight.

And I guess that's my point. We choose to be annoyed. We choose to take offense. We chose to try to make things happen, even when those things are clearly out of our control, and we choose to make ourselves miserable in the process.




While I can't say I enjoyed the delay, I was grateful for the free internet, and spent time people watching and reading. Wasn't my plan, but it wasn't that bad.



What bothered me more than the wait, however, was wandering around looking at how expensive everything was at the airport. Somehow an $8 hamburger from a fast food restaurant made me lose my appetite.

And, though a dear friend offered to treat me to a $3 Snickers bar after I complained about the price on Facebook, I just couldn't bring myself to buy one. Not just because I'm cheap, but because I couldn't help but think how long the average Guatemalan would have to work to earn that much. That's just about what many workers earn in one day.

A whole family would need to pick coffee for an entire day to buy one $5 cup of Starbucks coffee.  (Having watched Guatemalans pick coffee for twelve hours a day has ruined any romantic images of  "Juan Valdez" that might have lingered from the old Folgers Coffee Commercials.  Mountain grown means people need to pick
                                                    it--on the side of a mountain.
                                                    No easy feat.)

This didn't make me feel guilty, or even resentful at the Americans who spend their money so freely while being so jealous of their time. It made me sad.

I can see how my attitudes have changed in the almost four years I've been in Guatemala. How I have a better handle on what I can control and what I can't.

I can't change the delay. I can't change the prices they charge for food at the airport. But I can choose not to participate in this small injustice but refusing to buy things that are so over-priced.

Do I think those who choose to purchase those things are wrong? No. But I fear they are unaware. Unaware of how most of the world lives. Unaware of how much they have. Unaware of their responsibility to the rest of the world.

And that makes me sad.

As I write this, the Serenity Prayer comes to mind:

Can I change the disparity between the life styles of the averageAmerican and the average Guatemalan? Of course not. Nor would I want the average Guatemalan to develop the typical North American value system or life style.

For, if the truth be told, I think as a whole, the Guatemalans with whom I live are more thankful for the little they have than most Americans are for their riches. They are more in touch with the reality that all they have is a gift from God. Those who have little are more compassionate toward and generous to those who have even less.

Without romanticizing just how difficult life is for my Guatemalan friends, I have to acknowledge how I respect the joy I see, as well as their determination to continue eeking out the best lives they can for their families.

No, I don't think I want to change the Guatemalans. If the truth be told, I think I'd like to see the Guatemalans change the North Americans, as the Guatemalans continue to change me and teach me how to live with the gratitude that leads to surrender, and the surrendered that leads to even greater gratitude.

I'm hoping, though, that by sharing this, I maybe can change a little bit of the unawareness of how most of the world lives on the part of my fellow Americans. And, as a result of this increased awareness, move them not just to compassion but action.

What would God have you do, given your riches, to share His blessings with those who have less?







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