"Found in the lost translation." PRT (Parenthesis Reading Time): 1:54

“Como podriamos nosotros orar por usted y su familia?”

Just nine words. I struggled and stammered while delivering this question I had practiced for the end of my visit with Rudy, the boy who for the last two years I have sponsored through Compassion International, www.compassion.com. I was visiting his family’s home with some of my teammates in the small town of Patzicia, Guatemala as a part of the mission trip with a team of 27 people from my home of worship in Nashville; The Village Chapel, www.thevillagechapel.com. I had just visited the home of the other child I sponsor with my niece Olivia who lives in Connecticut; her name is Claudia.

“How may we pray for you and your family?” (Just nine words.)

Just nine words translated for me by our Guatemalan guide, Hugo. Nine words that I felt would be the appropriate way to end our 15-minute interaction focused on bringing gifts for Rudy and his family; an event including 15 people from Tennessee wearing the same blue themed t-shirts, meandering through the narrow streets like unruly children, peering over fences, leaning into alleyways, taking pictures of everything, and finally spilling into their meager space called “Mi casa.” It is part of the proven formula of this very successful child sponsorship organization, whose mission is to help eliminate the travesties of global poverty by providing financial support, education, heath care and expressions of love and hope through the local indigenous church. It’s a blueprint that sponsors over 1 million children in twenty-five countries.

We arrived two days before to visit the project. (Just nine words.)

The Compassion project site is a student center in the middle of the town where close to two hundred children are receiving support, spiritual nourishment and lots of love. The Village Chapel has “adopted” the project to help finance the building’s expansion and has encouraged the sponsorship of fifty-two children through individual families in Nashville. A different team had visited two years prior to help in the construction of an upper story addition for more classroom space. As the bus arrived, the street and stairway to the new addition was lined with a confetti of smiling faces, “Buenas tardes” melodies, glittering eyes and a carousel of festive-colored Guatemalan clothing. Hugs, music, prepared dinner and speeches welcomed us as if we were dignitaries. Two guides and two members of our team darted in and out helping to translate the exuberant words as they washed over us like candied raindrops.

My fatigue was ensnared in silk pockets of anticipation. (Just nine words.)

When we got to the hotel that evening (exhausted from the day of travel beginning at 3:00 A.M.; the wake-up time to arrive at the airport by 4:15 for our 6:00 departure), I lamented the fact that I had not taken the advice from our team leader, who months earlier had encouraged us to take some minimal classes so that we could more effectively communicate with our sponsored kids. I brushed off the suggestion. I just can’t understand why my eighth grade Spanish foray with Ms. Cass didn’t hold.

So, there I am at the very moment of meeting my children; the only prior communication coming through exchanged letters. And all I can muster up are some really baaaaaaad forms of “Hola” (Hello) – “Buenos dias” (Good morning) - “Come te llamas?” (What is your name?) – “Me llamo es Brian” (My name is Brian) – “Adios” (Goodbye) – “Bueno” (Good) – “Hasta manana” (See you tomorrow). Hardly the command of language one might demand for international exchanges. When I met Claudia first, and then Rudy, I searched desperately for a translator. I wanted so much to tell them how glad I was to meet them. I wanted so much to express what this time meant to me and how eager I was to meet their families. I wanted so much to convey what receiving their letters meant to me, and how I promised to be better about writing to them in the future. But, I couldn’t find the words. I couldn’t let them know my heart. I couldn’t translate my feelings. I felt anxious, desperate, disconnected and frantic. I was lost.

And then something miraculous happened in my hopeless moments. (Just nine words.)

It happened during one of my erratic glances while scanning the room for some moment of linguistic salvation. My eyes met Rudy’s: I paused, lingered for a moment and then, captured, I poured myself into the sienna depths of his gaze. The dissonance of chaotic images, sounds and colors melted into a dense, serene cream. It was in that instant that our lives fused. Our inks mingled. And the narrative’s author smiled, divinely.

Our stories were discovered, found in the lost translation. (Just nine words.)

So, what? In the next chapter, I will share the ink of emotions that poured out from Rudy’s mother from the question comprised of just nine words. What I found this day in the glances from Rudy, the embraces from Claudia and the tears of hope from Esperanza have altered my future wanderings to undiscovered lands; uncharted expressions likely found in the lost translation of things much bigger than you and me. So grand, that they transcend mere languages. So boundless, that they cannot be placed on parchment. So simple, that they defy intelligence.

Without translation Rudy was able to picture my heart through the little picture stickers he placed all over my face.

Without translation Claudia was able to link together the sky of our lives with a single, braided cotton bracelet that she tied to my wrist.

Without translation, here’s what I learned from a nine-year-old boy and ten-year-old girl from Patzicia, Guatemala:

• If we lost our way, we might just find a better way;
• If we lost our need to use the perfect words to express our feelings, we might just find that our smallest expressions give perfectly treasured feelings;
• If wejust lost our desire to control our situation, we might just find that we could enjoy everything the next situation could manage.

We are nothing without the love reflected from others. (Just nine words.)

Twenty-seven brothers and sisters set out on a mission to Guatemala in hopes of finding new inspirations and relationships in the name of God. They lost themselves to the things they left behind and found things they struggle to put into words. They are living them out loud.

We all have the chance to leave behind our pre-conceived, scripted, memorized and rehearsed words of faith and life behind; the experience of expressing your life and love out loud can be found in sharing chalk drawings on concrete, playing catch or the simple gesture of a hug to say, “your life is important to me.”

I thank God for not knowing the words’ translation. Just nine words. Inserted for emphasis.

(b)

PS -- my one story about the experiences with Rudy and Claudia are special and unique to me...and it is but one of 26 others that have happened here each day with this amazing team of men and women from the Village Chapel; my fellow sojourners. Each child has a different story than mine...and each one is filled with the ink of wanting simply to be seen, known and loved. I encourage you to read the many other stories these people will share about what they left behind and what they took home with them from a little town in Patzcia, Guatemala. When I ask you (I implore you) to consider how much richer your life can be (for so very little) and how you, too, can mean the world to one child (and his family) for generations to come: www.compassion.com .