We all think we have it the worst. We go around looking at other people and wondering why we can’t have their lives. We think that every little thing that goes wrong is catastrophic, and that our lives are only going to get worse. I know that this was my exact mindset prior to going to Guatemala. It was only when I stood in a classroom crying while hundred of Guatemalan children wrestled beads out of each others mouths and string out of each others pants did I think differently.
I should start from the beginning.

Around May of this year my church was getting ready to go to our annual summer missions trip, this year to Guatemala. Last year we went to Honduras, which was my first mission trip. I had a great experience-but this summer I wanted to focus on school and studying for things like the SATs. I told my pastor I didn’t think I would be able to go. He told me the church would be at a huge loss, because they needed a student to help translate Spanish, and since I was the only kid in the whole church who could speak Spanish, there would be no one there to translate. Reluctantly, I agreed to go to help the church. Our church teams up with other churches in the area and trains together before we actually leave for Guatemala. During the missions practices, I met some of the greatest and most generous people I know. We trained so hard that there were days where we were sweating, crying, and laughing all at the same time. Finally, the day to leave Guatemala came. Whilst packing, i started to get really frustrated in going. I felt like I was going against my will and wasn’t going for the right reasons. I felt like I could spend the ten days I would be in Guatemala just sleeping in and relaxing, instead of going to a foreign country where I would have no air conditioning, no technology, and minimal indoor plumbing. Nevertheless, I packed all my stuff, boarded the plane, and went to Guatemala.

Its raining. Constant rain that blinded me. The deafening roar it creates while sheets of pouring water collide with the pavement overcome my ears. In the blinding curtains of water I make out a shadow in the distance. A small girl looking up at the sky in confusion. I run to her, grab her shoulder, and pull her back. A look of complete shock and fear overcomes her. I am overcome with surprise at her eyes- one a lightning blue, the other a comforting brown. We both sit there in silence. Eventually, I scream to her that we must go inside, but she only responds after my exaggerated motions. Once inside, she still remains mute. I ask her mother if I am speaking spanish correctly, and she explains how her daughter is deaf. My ignorance frustrates me, and I sign to her, “can you understand me?” Tears form in her eyes faster than the rain outside. Her comforting mother explains how I am the first person to ever talk to her. Sadness came rushing to me. I burst into tears, unable to stop. How could someone live their whole life only talking to their mother? What does it feel like to communicate with another human for the first time, at the age of seven? These questions were swimming in my head for hours. We are often told to be “grateful for what you have.” I’ve heard this countless times, but I always seem to think of things like my house, my phone, my laptop, my bed. I, along with many people, seem to forget the fact that I have so much more to be thankful for, like my health, my vision, my hearing, and my family. I’ll always be thankful to Mariela, for teaching me that God’s blessings are not always things you can touch, but are simply the things that make life a little bit easier.


As I stepped off the plane, I could feel the humidity in the air, even in a nice air-conditioned airport. I knew that I would be sweating non stop this trip, which just made me even angrier. I shuffled my way down to baggage claim, where everyone in the group was getting their bags. I waited about 20 minutes, everyone in the group getting their bags. Soon, it was just me and another girl named May waiting for our bags, while everyone waited for us. Eventually, my worst fear became a reality, when the plane closed their doors, and said that all of the bags on the plane had been unloaded. May and I, who still hadn’t received our bags, gave each other the “oh-my-God they lost our bags” look. Her, one of our pastors and I immediately sprinted to customer services, where I explained to them that our bags were lost. They told us to give them the address we’d be staying at, and they’ll mail to to us in approximately three days- if they could find it. All I heard was that I’d basically have to go three days with the same clothes I have on my back right now. My stomach dropped, and I thought of all the things I had in my bag that I needed. My toothbrush, clothes, journal, socks, and shoes all gone- possibly forever. I didn’t even want to go in the first place, and now that i did against my own will, God rewarded me with the airport losing my suitcase.

He’s teetering over to me. I can see in his eyes that he is just dying to talk. He says his name is Julio and was born with polio in his knees. Simple things like walking come nearly impossible to him. He was a part of his church in Guatemala, but since he couldn’t dance or bow easily in service, they kicked him out. When my mission group performed at a city square, he came up to me and told me that he wants to come to live in America with us and worship God freely like we can, without being judged for his impairment. He told us to always be grateful for our health and our freedom to practice our religion with pride. His testimony really touched me, that through everything he’s been through, he’s still able to get up every morning with the biggest smile on his face, without an ounce of hatred or bitterness towards God or anyone in the world. Trust me, if I wake up anytime before 7:30, I will be the angriest, most vile person to ever roam the halls of Pascack Valley. Yet, here’s this boy who’s been through hell, kicked out of his church, constantly in unbearable pain just to move from point A to point B, yet chooses to be optimistic, and share his happiness with the world. If he can do all of that, why can’t I? For someone who is more privileged and healthier, it should be easy!
I was so frustrated at the world and I pulled the whole “I’m mad at the world don’t talk to me” act for the first few days in Guatemala. The purpose of the trip was to help kids in different towns learn english and do crafts. In our first school, I was so upset about having to wear the same socks two days in a row I barely did any translating, and instead gave everyone as much sass and attitude. I was told to hand out beads and string to kids so they can make bracelets. All is calm. Our church kids scattered around the school helping kids make their bracelets. I carefully count ten and drop them into the eager and dirty hands of dozens of children. When I count my last ten, unspool some string I have, and drop them into a little girl’s hand, she runs away excitedly. Behind her, about 20 more kids with the same eager look in their eyes. That’s weird...We counted exactly 1,200 beads and there were only 100 kids…We should have extra, not be running out. Then, I recognize the next girl- she was the first girl I gave it to. Then I realized what happened. I looked around the room, and my thoughts were confirmed. I saw kids working on their bracelets and spitting out beads into their hands. They collected the 10 I gave them, shoved them into their mouths to hide them from me, and then go back in line to get more. I stood there dumbfounded in the middle of the room, jaw dropped. The kids waiting in line followed my gaze, and realized what happened too. Suddenly all hell broke loose, as kids were fighting and yelling at each other for beads. Kids started punching, kicking, and wrestling each other. They ripped each others mouths open, pulling out beads and running away. Apparently they also hid the string in their pants or sleeves, and kids started ripping each others clothes to get each other’s strings. I stand there in tears, dumbfounded at how precious these small chunks of plastic and string these are to these kids, while for us they are seen as a mess we have to clean up after arts and crafts time. Our church team scrambles to control the chaos while I just stand there, paralyzed in awe. The chaotic scene that looked like World War III- Rise of the Guatemalan Children will always be burned into my mind, as a constant reminder of how the littlest things in my life could cause an entire school to erupt in chaos.

How will I ever repay the people I met in Guatemala, for shaping me into a new person who takes nothing for granted? Guatemala and all of its people there taught me one thing-
Everyone is suffering. But, you can either chose to dwell on those sufferings and live your life bitter and angry, or you can make the best of them and chose to spread happiness to others. Before leaving, I acted like the unanymous winner of America’s Next Top Ungrateful Teenager 2013. But now, sitting in my cool temperature-regulated room, typing on my Apple laptop, being able to hear my fingers click the keys, and eating my dinner, I still long to go back to the hot and humid room, sleeping on the floor in a sweat-filled sleeping bag, eagerly waiting to meet the person who will change my life forever.