Yours are the feet

“Christ has no body now but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which He looks compassion on this world. Yours are the feet with which He walks to do good. Yours are the hands through which He blesses all the world. Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, yours are the eyes, you are His body. Christ has no body now on earth but yours.”
― Teresa of Ávila

Exactly 1 year and 10 months ago, I hiked hours into the Guatemalan mountains with two Guatemalan men to bring back Valentin.  The day would prove to be difficult, as we had to cut down a tree and tie a hammock to each end of it just to carry him back up the mountain to the ambulance.  At 27 years old, he didn’t weigh but 40 pounds.  But 40 pounds became very heavy for the three of us during our uphill journey.

We were greeted by his brother and pregnant sister in law at the door.  They had tears in their eyes as they pulled back a plastic tarp to reveal what was inside.  Valentin was critically sick.  He was lying on the dirt floor, burning with fever and reeking of infection.  When he saw me, he smiled.  He explained to me how he had fallen ill a couple of months ago.  He could no longer stand, and infection spilled out from a hole in his abdomen that fistula’d through to his bladder.  He was pitiful, but you could see the determination in his eyes and the joy in his smile.  When it came time to move him to a hammock so he could be transported, he winced and cried in pain.  When I apologised, he smiled and said “It’s okay, Whitney.  I’m just happy you’re here to help.”

To be honest, I was happy to be there to help too…. until about 10 minutes into our journey back.  It was hot, he was heavy, and I was already exhausted.  “Just about an hour and a half to go,” I tried to reassure myself.  But that was difficult to do when the two hours that had elapsed in my head ended up being only 10 minutes in reality.

Had I known then what I know now, I would have done a lot less internal complaining on that journey up the mountain.  I would have sucked it up.  I would have disregarded my fatigue and carried Valentin with honor and pride.

Valentin was rescued February 7, 2016 on my oldest niece Kayleigh’s birthday.  He turned 28 that following week on Valentine’s day.  Today, he took his last breath.  With his last breath, he also took a huge part of my heart with him.  Anyone that has ever visited here knows he was my little buddy.  He had a rough life– traveling to Guatemala City (a 3-6 hour trip one way) three times weekly for hemodialysis. Sunday’s I would wake up early to go pick him up for church and we would end the mornings eating lime cucos.  I’m really going to miss him.

I don’t have a lot of words to say to adequately express how I’m feeling.  Valentin became like a little brother to me (even though he was actually older than me)…  we would read the Bible together, we would joke around, and he was always such a kind and gentle soul to anyone he ever met. To know Valentin was to love him, and he left an impression on everyone he met.  It’s miraculous that he ever survived that first week to make it to his 28th birthday, but I had the joy of knowing him for exactly 1 year and 10 months longer than expected.

My soul rests in knowing where he is now.  I am thankful for Jesus Christ’s promise of salvation.  But in this moment, the world seems a little less colorful without Valentin in it.  Oh, but his legacy will carry on in every part of my life.  I will always think about him when I read the book of Philippians, whenever I eat a lime cucos, whenever I sit on the green couches at the hospital and watch the sun setting over the trees, whenever I go on a difficult rescue and forget to be grateful in ALL things and not just the easy things.

Valentin, thank you for letting me be the feet of Jesus just for a moment when we carried you up the mountain.  I pray for the time that we had you as a patient that you felt cared for and significant, because you very much were.  I still carry you, only now it’s in my heart…  and the weight of it now sure does feel a lot heavier than the 40 pound boy I once knew.

We love you forever, Valentin.
Whitney & Bryan
Dec. 7, 2017