It’s been a week since I returned from Guatemala. I didn’t get sick this time. On all of my previous visits I did. It seems that I always found a way to ingest something that played havoc with my inward parts. I didn’t mention it before because whatever I experienced physically was insignificant when compared with what was going on in my heart. The fact is I didn’t want to go this last time. I was just there in March. The main reason for the trip was to sign papers in person that could possibly shave time from the waiting process. The chances are that the trip did no good at all except to deepen my love for the ones I went to see. Oops, I may have just tripped over God’s agenda.

Trips to Guatemala usually effect me physically much as the world and North American culture does spiritually. Much of what the environment in Guatemala offers to me is quite simply toxic. It makes me sick. What do I do to prevent myself from becoming ill? I make rules for myself. Any food source that has come in contact with the local water supply can not be eaten. Avoiding water is a tough one. Most eating establishments are off limits. The plague of invisible and unfamiliar bacteria is everywhere. What may be clean and safe to a native may be poison to me. Do not even think of getting behind the wheel of an automobile. There are many places in Guatemala City where I can not go because I’m an outsider. Just arriving at such a place accidentally may cost me my life. What my rules really do is isolate me. What I need is a knowledgeable guide as I travel in a foreign country. Not all water in Guatemala is bad, not all food is tainted, and not all unfamiliar places are unsafe. I wish I had a guide who could help me avoid what is bad and lead me to what is good. What does that make you think about? A guide could help me live among what is harmful and lead me around the pitfalls. The problem is I’m not sure I can trust a guide with my well-being. Ask me how I know this.

I came home to find vivid reminders that I live in a place that is not really home. Children stand in the road dumbly staring into the headlights of destruction. Adults are drinking from the local water supply. They are feeding their appetites in places that sicken them. They don’t listen to the guide. They think their heart is their guide. If my heart tells me to rebel against the authority of my parents or to break the most fundamental vows of family life, then my heart is wrong….every single time. I’m not sure everyone I know is on the same page when it comes to defining what the heart is. Telling people to listen to and to obey their hearts is much like telling them to put a loaded gun to their temple and to begin pulling the trigger until something happens. My natural heart and it’s desires without the overriding influence of the guide has the potential to destroy me. Much of what I’m doing here is learning to recognize the difference between what my old heart wants and what the new heart the guide has given me wants. I sometimes have difficulty recognizing the difference. When in doubt I can refer to the guidebook or to other more seasoned travelers. Trusting my heart is a roll of the dice at best.