And apparently, God in my head is hip with the slang.
God: Hey girl, we need some alone time.
Me: Yes. Isn’t that why You brought me here in the first place?
God: Exactly.
Me: Don’t you love how I try to blame You? Anyway, yes, here I am.
God: Me too. Let’s talk.
Me: Listen, God. There’s a lot rolling around in my mind today.
God: So I see.
Me: Big-picture, this opportunity is beyond amazing. I’m learning so much. Guatemala is incredible. I’m so lucky. But still…I’m in way over my head. What is my role here, anyway? What is it all about, we foreigners coming down here trying to “help”? How much is it really about ideals? How much are our ideas of development good or bad? Is there really some personal compulsion driving me? I mean, you can’t separate the personal from the professional.
You still there, God?
God: Absolutely.
Me: And I mean, this place has been so brutalized, so unforgiving, for so long. There’s danger and trauma everywhere. Trauma on a national scale. How can I even begin to understand? Why do I think I’m qualified to help? “Internationals” have been a huge part of creating, then silencing, the atrocities here. I get so outraged at the hubris of Americans, as we bulldoze other countries with our entitlement and our illusions of good will. It’s so easy for us to talk and so hard for us to listen. Am I doing exactly what outrages me—portraying myself as part of a benevolent dominant culture, while I thrust my worldview onto others and exploit them with my privilege?
God: Good questions. A little wordy, but good.
Me: I don’t want to do more harm than good. The collision of cultures here is going to change everyone involved. Big-picture, the less dominant cultures end up more changed. Individually, though, I’ll probably change more than the people I interact with.
Aren’t you gonna give me anything?
*Sigh.* Maybe I’m just asking these things because it’s going to be hard, and scary, and lonely sometimes. I’m keenly aware of how clueless I am. I want to think it’s all for a good reason, you know? Though that's such a Western preoccupation. Ay caramba, You don’t want to be in this brain of mine.
I don’t have any answers. I give up.
God: Cool, so now that that’s over, we can talk.
You and I need some alone time, hun.
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