A Guatemalan Tale

I am working on my informative speech. After a week, I have finally chosen a topic.
I am so happy this topic was chosen, it brings back a flood of memories, faces and feelings.

Such an eye-opening week, my fear is to forget it. Names and details have already slipped away.

My greatest shame is not having been in prayer; being selfish with my time and self-focused. 

March of 2010, I traveled to Guatemala City with a group of strangers and my aunt. My first time out of the country, nervousness had settled in a couple of weeks prior. Fear of the unknown, fear of not being capable or accepted, fear of not being prepared. By the time the travelling was set in motion, the nervousness was lost. 

On arrival, we piled into the back of a van and our luggage thrown into the bed of a truck. On our way to the lodging, we passed a truck on the highway. A few men were sitting in the back of the bed, large guns in their hands.

I want to document my week in Guatemala. I want to tell the tale of the boys in the workshop, the children in the sewers, the workers in the dump, the man in the wheelchair, the lady who stole, the crazy and lively elderly lady, of the ladies from my team, of the the homes and the heartaches of the Guatemalan people. 

And so it begins.