Alec Chrystal

Dear Saints John & Paul Parish,

I am writing this letter to discuss my experiences from the Soles4Souls Honduras 2018 mission trip.  In short, the trip was a truly incredible experience.  Even though it might sound cliché, my experiences opened my eyes to the world we live in, specifically how lucky we are, and how many people are ungrateful for what they have.  In order to keep things concise, I will explain the most impactful thing that I witnessed whilst on the trip, and what I was able to take from it.

Before I begin, please do not be mistaken that this experience alone was the only thing impactful to me; every aspect of the trip was marvelous and eye-opening. With that being said, my experience occurred on the third day of our trip, when we visited the malnutrition center.  As we approached in our vans, I could tell that the area we were in was a “bad” part of El Progresso.  Many of the buildings were dilapidated to a further extent than in other parts of the city.  The roads we travelled on were no longer asphalt, but compacted dirt.  Graffiti decorated the peeling paint on the sides of the buildings, and virtually every structure had a fence that was topped with rusted barbed wire.  As we pulled up to the malnutrition center, the first thing I noticed was a mural of children on the walls surrounding the building.  If I recall correctly, they were all holding hands: a symbol of unity in a struggling society.  As the large white gates were opened, you could see young children peering through the barred windows of the center.  Once we gathered around and allowed Tiffany, Raul, and Alicia to explain what the center does, an autistic girl named Paula began to scream.  I am not sure what triggered it, but it could have been the noise we were making in the moments prior.  Tiffany had talked to us about Paula the night before, and how it was possible that she could have an outburst when we got there, but more importantly that she was an amazing girl.  Her cries emphasized what the malnutrition center does, and in a way it seemed as though it prepared me for what I was about to see.

After the so-called “pep-talk”, we were left to our own devices.  They had explained that there were roughly fifteen kids residing at the center and that there were thirty missionaries and  therefore, there should be roughly two missionaries per child.  As we were let go, I did not really know what to do.  I turned around, and I remember seeing a boy in a wheelchair, observing us.  I looked over to my friend Aaron Mark, and we agreed that we would go and spend some time with this boy.  Tiffany had said something about this boy the previous night as well.  She had explained that his names was Carlos, and that his mind was completely functional, his body on the other hand, was not.  My small group leader, Keith Bish, also joined us.  As we walked the short distance to Carlos, I remember feeling the slightest bit nervous.  I think it had to do with me not knowing what to expect.  I did not want to disrespect Carlos by treating him like he was autistic, but at the same time it was very hard to treat him as though he was normal.  Carlos immediately smiled as we walked over to him, and we said our greetings in Spanish.  It was immediately obvious that he could not talk, but he was able to point with one hand and nod.  Unsure of what to do from that point forward, Kieth pulled out his phone and allowed Carlos to play Candy Crush.  Obviously, Carlos did not know how to play, but Kieth did an excellent job explaining how to play.  As Carlos played the game, he lit up with joy.  Swipe by swipe, it seemed as though he was getting happier.  He could not stop laughing and smiling.  In that moment, we were all amazed by how something as little as a game of candy crush could light someone up with joy.  After about five minutes of playing on Keith’s phone, Carlos began to point to the gates of the malnutrition center.

Before I go any further, I would like to describe the layout of the exterior of the malnutrition center, as it was a key part in how Carlos’s story impacted me.  From the road looking in, there were large white gates which were connected to a fence which wrapped around the entirety of the center.  The fence sat on a plastered wall, which was about two feet tall.  The wall to the left of the gate was where the mural of the children was located.  Once you stepped into the gate, there was about ten feet of open space on either side of the walkway, which led to the malnutrition center.  This was completely open, and there was landscaping and flowers on each side. As you continued to walk, there was a small staircase which led to the patio portion on the malnutrition center. This was a large space, and there was even a trampoline for the kids to the left of the entrance to the actual building.  This was still outside, yet it was completely covered, and little to no sunlight reached this portion of the building.  Now, as Carlos pointed to the gates, it became obvious that he wanted to go outside.  After Raul and the other translators discussed for a short period of time, they agreed that we could take him for a walk, but it had to be brief.  Their concern for us about going outside of the gates further emphasized the fact that we were in a dangerous area of El Progresso.  As Aaron pushed the wheelchair down the stairs and out of the gate, Carlos began to point to where he wanted to go.  He pointed left first, and we started walking down the dusty, rocky road.  When we approached the corner, a corner shop appeared, which sold things such as soda and snacks.  Carlos pointed to the shop, and it became clear that he wanted something from the store.  We watched as he pointed to what he wanted, which happened to be an orange soda.  As Keith started the buying process, Carlos began to jump around in his chair from excitement.  He lit up to a greater extent than when he was playing Candy Crush.  As Keith bought the soda, for what could not have been more than ten Lempiras,  Carlos began to radiate joy.  Keith handed me the soda, which I opened for Carlos.  I handed him the drink, and he took a sip.

The happiness that the drink brought Carlos was immense.  It is undoubtedly the happiest I have ever seen someone.  As we turned around and I began to push Carlos down the rocky street, it was evident that he was savoring every moment of being outside, with a soda.  As we kept walking, I remember Raul saying, “Right now, you are making his year.”  At first I thought he was exaggerating, but then everything hit me.  As we made it to the other corner, you would look left and see the immense beauty of the mountains of Honduras.  The shift from witnessing something as small as buying a soda, to something as big as a mountain began to tie everything together for me.  There are thousands of kids across Honduras, going through the same things that Carlos and all these other kids are going through.  I remember thinking that if only we could bring the joy we brought to Carlos to every kid across Honduras. Then, I realized that if something as small as a being out in the sun could make someone so happy, imagine what the shoes we are donating is doing.  It was in that moment, looking at Carlos in the foreground and the Mountains of Honduras in the background, that I realized what we came to Honduras for.

Later that day, after we brought Carlos back, I was able to hear Carlos’ whole story from Alicia.  The story was told to Jen Katzfey and I, completely in Spanish, without a translator.  The incredible part was that together, Mrs. Katzfey and I were able to completely understand what she was saying.  I understood the parts Mrs. Katzfey did not, and vice versa.  Hearing Carlos’ story further emphasized what I had realized earlier, but it also allowed me to have new realizations, the primary one about being grateful.  Carlos was born as a completely normal boy.  He grew up normally, playing football with the other kids, living an active, normal lifestyle.  He was normal until age thirteen. Around this time, his mother left his family, and he was left with an abusive father.  I am not sure why Carlos’ father abused him, but regardless it happened.  Carlos was beaten so bad that his friend found him on the verge of death, extremely malnourished, with numerous injuries.  Carlos was put on a ventilator for four months, and had a gastric bag for even longer.  He was in such bad shape that his body was not even distended; it was on the verge of giving up.  Hearing his story is when I understood the source of his joy.  Everything we did for him gave him a taste normalcy. A taste of when everything was going well for Carlos.  He was sixteen at the time we met him, meaning that for three years he had been trapped inside his mind, not able to speak, not being given a shot at being normal again.  Having a soda and being out in the sun gave him an escape from that reality.  This allowed me to realize that we take something like being out in the sunlight for granted.  I have been trying to comprehend this realization for almost two weeks, and I have still made no progress.  It seems to me that what we witnessed on the trip is extremely hard to comprehend, and that in some instances, we cannot comprehend it at all.

I have tried my best to describe what I witnessed in Honduras and why it was impactful on me.  Despite this, the words on this paper do not do what we saw justice.  It is something that one must experience first hand.  This is just one of the many incredible experiences I had on the Soles4Souls Honduras 2018 mission trip, which most certainly altered my perception of the world we live in, in a positive manner.  This trip was one of the best experiences in my life, and I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

With Thanks,

Alec Chrystal