In May 2013, I traveled to El Salvador for a 3-week international social trip through Ferris State University. I didn't know anyone else going on the trip, but after receiving a substantial scholarship, I knew it was an opportunity I couldn't pass up. The trip itinerary included tours, service learning opportunities, interviews with survivors of the civil war, meetings with governmental agencies, and a 3-day host home stay in a city called Santa Marta.
Overall, the trip was truly incredible, but 2 things summarize the trip: 1. Receiving news of Riley Gortsema’s death while on the trip and 2. One of the most vulnerable moments of my life: a 3-day host home stay in Santa Marta. Th host home experience was towards the end of our trip. Throughout the trip, I had the opportunity to connect with “E.” After knowing her for about a week I would describe her as outgoing, kind, loyal, and a kick-butt advocate. On the bus ride to Santa Marta, we made a pact to request each other as roommates for the host home stay. Looking back, it's funny how nervous we were to make such a request, but low and behold, and thankfully, our request was honored. There was no running water at our host home and the bathroom was 20 yards away from the house. Getting to the bathroom was similar to playing frogger, except you had to watch your step for chickens and roosters. Also, there was this horrifying creature on a rope at the neighbors house, which was right by the bathroom. Although I’m not a bug person, they were everywhere, and it was the least of my worries. The first night was nothing short of terrifying. At one point, Emily and I contemplated pushing our mattresses together because we were so scared. We slept maybe 20 minutes. We survived night one and joined our host home family for breakfast. E wasn't feeling good at the beginning of our stay, and passed up breakfast, which was warm milk over cereal. Wise, wise choice. I on the other hand, ate the meal. Seemed like an innocent decision for the first 12 hours. When we returned to the host home for our second, and last night, I thought about taking a sleeping pill to make the night go by quicker. As I was laying in bed trying to make the decision my stomach started making noises I didn't know were humanly possible. I looked at Emily, no words were needed, we knew this was going to be bad. Really, really, terribly bad. (Important note: it rained all of night two, leaving a lot of mud leading to the bathroom). My stomach kept making noises, and I stood up to make a dash to the bathroom. I will spare you the disgusting details, but I found myself going to the bathroom in my host-home's "yard." I physically couldn’t make it another step. This was phase 1. Phase two began shortly after, as I tried to make it to the bathroom yet again. Phase two consisted of liquid coming out of every place possible. This lasted for what seemed like hours, but I didn't have a cell phone or watch on the trip so I don't really know. Phase three thankfully happened in the outhouse. Here I am, in El Salvador, rooming with someone who was a complete stranger a week before, having the most humiliating moment of my life. I have never been so thankful for E, a hero and rad human being. Emily didn't know any Spanish, but was able to form a sentence to our host parents, "Haley is MUY MUY ENFERMO.” They called the guide staying at a different host home and she came to assist me. While I was doing my thing outside, E could have easily stayed inside and tuned out. Instead, she had toilet paper ready, and kept saying, "You're going to get through this, you are so brave, we will be back to the hostel tomorrow." E and I used to joke about this scene often. We truly don't k now if we would have survived the trip without each other. I know I wouldn’t have. I started this post in 2016, when I was going through a devotional called What Love Is and immediately thought of E. E modeled love when I was sicker than sick in El Salvador. She sat in a muddy lawn with me, supplies on hand, and told me I was going to be ok and that I was brave. I think this is exactly the type of love God calls us to. Love is really fun when it looks like planning a wedding and booking a honeymoon. Social media loves ring pics and perfect beaches. Love is great when you get to make fun purchases together and see hard work pay off. Love feels good when you’re connected, on the same page, and chasing dreams together. Love is hard when the newness of relationships wears off and it requires daily selflessness and sacrifices. Love isn’t easy to choose when your daily routine is so mundane with little recognition. Love doesn’t feel great when you feel like your dreams are so out of reach or don’t align with those you’re in relationship with. Be ready to chose love. It’s not always glamorous, it might not be Instagrammable, and honestly it might be really dirty, smelly, and uncomfortable. Love is sitting in the mud with someone until they are ready and able to get up, using your physical resources (time, money, clothing) to aid them, and verbal reassurance that together, you’re going to get through this. Oh, and reminding people how brave they are when they are scared out of their mind.
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