At 5am on the first morning in a foreign
country in the chilly damp mountains of Guatemala, the sound of wailing
was as thick as the morning dew and impossible to tune out. A young
mother and father crying out, lamenting, for Jesus to heal their three
month old son.
A lone female street dog fights off her male followers at each attempt to fulfill their inherent desires to reproduce. Intense brawls lasting upwards of fifteen minutes would persist throughout each night. Howls, growls, and cries so loud, we were all sure we would wake up in the morning to find sad news of the one not strong enough to fight and survive.
Sounds, from what seemed like a high school stadium during homecoming, of drums and trumpets, fireworks, and music began early each morning to signify a celebration. Celebrations of life and celebrations of death were much of the same.
In Honduras, roosters sense the coming of the sun at 4:30 each morning. Their crows resonate for miles over the mountains and down through the valleys. They call forth each day with volume and force, not holding back for anyone that may still be trying to delay opening their eyes for just a bit longer.
Trucks fly past the property with the sound of a freight train behind them. A sound so loud that you lay in your tent anticipating the moment the train will derail and run right over you.
Noises escaping from tents that people forget have thin walls, tents zipping and unzipping as people run back and forth to the restroom, worship music blaring while teammates sing and dance with their paintbrush microphones, conversations with new friends in new languages, and stories of peoples’ lives and testimonies are all regular occurrences so far on this adventure. Sounds to accelerate and enhance sights and experiences are everywhere. I can’t imagine navigating this trip, or life, without them, but I’ve met someone with no other choice.
Karen is a twenty something year old women who lives on the property with us at Zion’s Gate. She is beautiful and full of life. She has a servant’s heart and childlike soul. No one really knows Karen’s true story because she has no language to communicate through. Karen is deaf and, until recently, has used only vague hand signals and charades to communicate her basic needs and desires. She has noticeable scars across her arms and chest and rumors of physical and sexual abuse have followed her here.
Just recently, Karen and the other women on the property have begun taking sign language classes to give Karen a way to express herself. My team was eager about the opportunity to attend a class or two and spend some time getting to know this women trapped in her own silent world. The excitement in her eyes during the first class was like that of a little girl’s first sleepover as she looks around in awe of all of her friends, in her house, craving to know her better. Over the last few weeks, we have had a “movie, waffle, and coffee” night with her, painted her nails, welcomed her into our devotions and feedback sessions, and prayed for and over her. We’ve whispered, “Jesus loves you” in her ears, trusting her soul can hear His voice.
I can’t imagine living my life without all of the sounds I daily take for granted. I’m sure Karen would tolerate the sound of a much too early crow from an anxious rooster for the ability to share her story and the redeeming grace of the Lord in her life. I’m sure Karen would welcome the passing of screaming trucks if she could speak her opinions, likes, and dislikes. I’m sure Karen would love to hear people tell her how much Jesus loves her, even if that meant that dogs fought outside her window each and every night.
Month two is not too soon. Join me in prayer for Karen. Prayer that she will one day hear the whispers in her ears and be able to share the story of God’s healing in her life and in her ears. Pray that one day when we ask Karen, “Can you hear me now?”…that she will answer.
A lone female street dog fights off her male followers at each attempt to fulfill their inherent desires to reproduce. Intense brawls lasting upwards of fifteen minutes would persist throughout each night. Howls, growls, and cries so loud, we were all sure we would wake up in the morning to find sad news of the one not strong enough to fight and survive.
Sounds, from what seemed like a high school stadium during homecoming, of drums and trumpets, fireworks, and music began early each morning to signify a celebration. Celebrations of life and celebrations of death were much of the same.
In Honduras, roosters sense the coming of the sun at 4:30 each morning. Their crows resonate for miles over the mountains and down through the valleys. They call forth each day with volume and force, not holding back for anyone that may still be trying to delay opening their eyes for just a bit longer.
Trucks fly past the property with the sound of a freight train behind them. A sound so loud that you lay in your tent anticipating the moment the train will derail and run right over you.
Noises escaping from tents that people forget have thin walls, tents zipping and unzipping as people run back and forth to the restroom, worship music blaring while teammates sing and dance with their paintbrush microphones, conversations with new friends in new languages, and stories of peoples’ lives and testimonies are all regular occurrences so far on this adventure. Sounds to accelerate and enhance sights and experiences are everywhere. I can’t imagine navigating this trip, or life, without them, but I’ve met someone with no other choice.
Karen is a twenty something year old women who lives on the property with us at Zion’s Gate. She is beautiful and full of life. She has a servant’s heart and childlike soul. No one really knows Karen’s true story because she has no language to communicate through. Karen is deaf and, until recently, has used only vague hand signals and charades to communicate her basic needs and desires. She has noticeable scars across her arms and chest and rumors of physical and sexual abuse have followed her here.
Just recently, Karen and the other women on the property have begun taking sign language classes to give Karen a way to express herself. My team was eager about the opportunity to attend a class or two and spend some time getting to know this women trapped in her own silent world. The excitement in her eyes during the first class was like that of a little girl’s first sleepover as she looks around in awe of all of her friends, in her house, craving to know her better. Over the last few weeks, we have had a “movie, waffle, and coffee” night with her, painted her nails, welcomed her into our devotions and feedback sessions, and prayed for and over her. We’ve whispered, “Jesus loves you” in her ears, trusting her soul can hear His voice.
I can’t imagine living my life without all of the sounds I daily take for granted. I’m sure Karen would tolerate the sound of a much too early crow from an anxious rooster for the ability to share her story and the redeeming grace of the Lord in her life. I’m sure Karen would welcome the passing of screaming trucks if she could speak her opinions, likes, and dislikes. I’m sure Karen would love to hear people tell her how much Jesus loves her, even if that meant that dogs fought outside her window each and every night.
Month two is not too soon. Join me in prayer for Karen. Prayer that she will one day hear the whispers in her ears and be able to share the story of God’s healing in her life and in her ears. Pray that one day when we ask Karen, “Can you hear me now?”…that she will answer.
