Agros Blog

“¿Don David, estas bien?” asked my new friend Juana as her small hand reached out to steady my slippery step up the misty pathway to the site of her new home. This 52 year old widow, a “giant” of a woman at 4’4” who was carrying a 20lb cement block on her head, a sack of volcanic rock on her back and her two-year old adopted son, Bernabe, nestled on her front, had just kept me from tumbling down the mountain, taking her and her son with me had I done so.

“Sí, Juana, estoy bien, no te preocupes.” (Yes, Juana, I’m just fine, don’t worry), I said in what was, I’m sure, an astonished voice. Thankfully the mist mixed with the sweat on my brow lest she see my pooling tears and we resumed the climb up to her hand-hewn home site. My 6’ 3” frame shrunk before this twice widowed wonder, full of grace, dignity and especially now – hope.

It was hope that helped Juana survive 36 years of civil war in her native land, as well as the loss of her three daughters and two separate husbands during the war. It was determination and hope that sustained her through years and years of struggle, sorrow, and back-breaking work. Walking with Juana to her new home site, I was clear that it was also the sheer strength of her hope that would now provide a bright future for the light of her life, her adopted son Bernabe, a young boy she rescued from certain infanticide the day he was born. Having lost her family in the civil war, Juana adopted Bernabe while slaving in a coastal sugar cane plantation.
If ever there is a Hall of Fame for “Giants of the Faith” Juana will get my vote…she is truly a “giant in the land”, one of grace-filled inspiration, determination, and courage. As a mere witness to the ongoing strength of her hope, it has been a privilege to participate with her as she now works towards the dream of owning her own land in an Agros village. Juana is one of my heros, and she often comes to mind when I face a challenge, knowing that my challenges pale in comparison to what she’s faced and conquered.

These are the kinds of people we serve and work alongside with here at Agros, and Juana is one of the reasons why I think I have one of the best jobs in the world.

A few more photos:

Here is Juana as she sits on one of those 20 lb blocks that make up the walls of her new house. She is weaving and singing in front of her humble but secure home.

Here is a photo of Bernabe taken many years ago, when he was about 2 years old (he is seven years old today!).  Earlier in the day I had asked Juana where he was, “Oh…” she said beaming, “I sent him to town to run me an errand. He’s such a help to me Hermano David.” I turned my head at this reply, wishing the mist and sweat were still there as tears streaked my cheek. Emotion flooding me as I stood in awe of such joy.

As 2007 begins, it is clear that more and more people are using the internet in unprecedented ways. National statistics compiled at the end of 2006 showcasing on-line buying alone had headlines like “Amazon.com’s 12th Holiday Season Best Ever!” and “Holiday e-commerce spending up 26%”, etc… Students seem to live on-line… news-hounds hunt on-line with multiple browser tabs running their favorite blogs… “E-giving” is now the fastest growing segment of philanthropy. Not surprisingly, we all are using the Web in ways and at times we never imagined just a few years ago.

However you may feel about all this cyber-activity, I’m wondering if you knew that by encouraging your family and friends in their seeking, buying, and studying, you can also be giving to Agros? Thanks to a Philanthropically Driven Search Engine, powered by Yahoo.com, you can! It’s called GooodSearch.

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“How can Ken have done that so soon?” asked one of my awestruck El Salvador teammates in response to seeing Ken’s beautiful bound ‘scrapbook’ complete with hand-written descriptions of each photo, laid out artfully and fully protected. “Simple”, I said, “he’s fallen in love again. His Boeing Food Services world has been rocked by these humble families, our new ‘family’.”

The miracle for virtually all from here who travel to Agros’ rural, and often quite remote, villages is not that they survived the experience, nor overcame their fears, nor even that they witness transformed lives in the community. For them it’s that their hearts are broken anew, the calluses of daily and seemingly meaningless routines, washed away by tears of joy as they work alongside those who’re escaping the brutal ravages of degrading poverty by staying on the land rather than fleeing across our borders to an uncertain future.

I’ve often told our partners who are soon to travel to the village they’re supporting, “The most difficult part of this trip will be coming home, because you’ll have trod sacred ground when with these, the poorest of our global community, and love will burst anew in your heart.”

For my friend Ken, you can see that overflowing heart in this “love-book” that he would take to his office, ready to share with anyone who’d care to listen, of his sojourn in El Milagro. This our first Agros village in El Salvador, named by the 25 families there, “The Miracle” because for them it was nothing less than miraculous that they’d been selected to form a new life on their own land, blooming with potential.

Within days of that teammate’s question I received an e-mail from Ken telling me to “check this out”, and not surprising found his heart opening to the virtual community, longing to share his heart-tears-of-joy with any and all. Merry Christmas Ken…you’ve changed many lives and we miss you here at Agros.

His strong and gnarled leathery hand closed around the hat-covered brow, hiding the trickle of tears flowing down his cheeks as he recounted the scene 24 years ago, “We’d hidden behind our shanty-town shacks, in hopes of being left to ourselves after the patron (farm owner) had fled the fighting and bloodshed. The soil was stained blood red by the senseless slaughter of our men, women and children. Now, however, its eerily peaceful, save for the distant peal of shower-laden thunderclouds. Once that thunder was brought by the flying machine-guns. We now have a cemetery where our feeble shacks used to stand.”

Now age 56, Sebastian fields all our questions. At 5’5” his slightly stooped stature – from the many seasons of carrying the sweet-wet bundles of cane of the coastal plantations – regally belies the labor-laden years. He tells us of the horror of 100+ men, women and children murdered in cold blood, all his family lost in this nightmare. I look to my right as I’m interpreting for the team and notice that the tears wiped away by Sebastian’s rough hands now streak the faces of my group as we’re all humbled by Sebastian’s tear-sown path.

As the team recounted this story later, we remembered how Sebastian stood proudly before us, softly and tearfully telling his story only so that he can point us to the future his entire village now envisions.

Rain pummeled the zinc-laminate “tin” roof as one tall gringo, me, sat on sacks of cement towering still over my new Kanjo’bal (an indigenous Mayan sub-group) family. I’d been whisked into this temporary shelter for an emergency meeting. Unbeknownst to me, the village leaders of Villa Linda were wracked with fear about the next day’s pending “Signing Ceremony”. Having never been visited by a service team from the U.S. these hard-working poor families hidden in north-central Guatemala’s mountains were welcoming but cautious.

My merry band of 10 had just finished three rain-soaked days working, laughing, and playing among these 20 previously unknown & “forgotten” families. Now the time for our closing ceremony and signing of a 5 year commitment of “Walking & Working Together” was to mark this newest Journey with a Village partnership. All seemed ready but the dark rain clouds that were unleashing their torrent carried with them an inner darkness yet unknown to me.

“We have an important question Don David.”, said Pablo Juan Pablo, the village spokesman, “Will this paper we sign tomorrow enslave us again? Will these men become our new evil farm managers?”

Shocked into their horrific history by this haunting question I wondered how they saw me? Was I a dark hidden-behind-a-mask enslaving invader or could I be as one riding in on a white stallion to break centuries of bondage? My answer lifted the heavy cloud now filling the temporary hut and brought ear to ear grins to their work-worn faces. “No, oh no…we, they are like your family now… here to help you reach your dreams. This will be a covenant of friendship and support and if ever you fear or hear that is not the case, you must tell us.”

Pablo Juan Pablo then spoke in his native tongue and when finished turned to me and said, “Don David this sits well with us – but tomorrow, will you tell the entire village this good news?” And I did.