Sweet Honey and Sufficiency

These are stacks of bee hives waiting to be delivered to towns and villages in El Salvador. They are made and delivered by Miguel Ventura's group. I mentioned Miguel before in a post about the work he has done in El Barial.

I am thinking about these hives today as we are finishing up the last of the sweet honey we had purchased in Alegria, El Salvador. The honey there is dark. It is colored and flavored by the pollen the bees pick up from the coffee that also grows here. Coffee is not the only thing that grows in this mountain town. Alegria is also known as the flower capital of El Salvador. It is town that God has blessed with a great natural beauty and gentleness.

I have enjoyed the honey since we got home in August and I am sad to be near the end of my supply. The coffee was wonderful for many of the same reasons but it is long gone. For me, it is not just about the exquisite flavor of the honey (the best I've ever had), or the rich, earthy, mellow taste of the coffee. There is something else going on when I ingest these El Salvadoran goodies.

I am always aware of swallowing a little bit of that country and having it be alive in me on a cellular level. To know that I am taking something into my body that was nourished by land that has seen so much emotion, dedication, healing and hope among it's people is humbling to me. When I consider that this honey and this coffee were grown, tended and harvested by individuals and not a multi-national corporation is inspiring to me. To taste the goodness that can come from such a land and such a people makes me long to return. To know that in some way, the process that God uses to make honey (earth, sun, seed, flower, pollen, bee, hive, colony, honey, farmer) actually runs through us and back to the earth makes me feel deeply and personally connected to the country of El Salvador.

It helps me to see that I am part of the cycle of sufficiency that God designed into the world. He created a system that can sustain itself when we allow it to. Not only can it sustain itself, but it also connects us all.

I will miss the honey as I miss the country of El Salvador. My prayer is that the taste and lessons of both remain in my mouth forever.

Beauty and the Bomb

In the small village of Perquin, near the Museo de la Revolución Salvadoreña (a museum filled with exhibits and artifacts from El Salvador's civil war), you will find a peaceful resting place. A spot to sit and listen to the song of wild Parakeets and other exotic birds while you watch the wind move the cocoa and banana trees. If you close your eyes you can quickly be lulled to sleep by the sounds of nature, and of peace.

But stay awake. Look around you. Look at the small artesania where you can purchase bracelets, key chains... and small hand made dioramas of guerrilla encampments as they looked during the war. Those little sculptures of bunkers and armored vehicles would seem out of place in a lot of other bucolic locations, but not so in Perquin.

Look at the small grove in front of you, right on the edge of the forest. Notice how this beautiful little copse of trees seems to be growing around an open circle, a depression in the earth that may have once been a very small lake, or a clearing for a large campfire circle. Had you been standing in this very spot just 20 years ago you would have seen the 500 pound bomb fall from the sky and rip into the earth as it was intended to rip in to the lives and spirits of the FMLN forces and civilians in this town. These trees are growing around a scar on the face of this town, a crater left over 20 years ago from a bombing raid.

In Perquin, remnants of the war and it's destruction are part of the landscape, reminders of a time so tragic and horrific that it can never be erased, either from the earth or the collective memories of the people. Yet somehow, these permanent scars have caused a transformation. This town was once the center of operations for the FMLN fighters and headquarters for the underground radio station radio venceremos. It was often fought over and held by both sides of the conflict. This entire region was once the bloodiest and most heavily bombed area in the country. It now has the distinction of being one of the least violent and most peaceful parts of El Salvador, according to El Mundo.

Even as I stare into this wound in the earth, I am not crippled by the violence or the death. I am enchanted by the growth. I am uplifted to see that the forest is reclaiming this little plot of land. The trees still grow, the flowers still bloom, and the people still live. It feels to me that even though the memory of the war is still visible, the earth and the people who live here are more focused on life. The horror and destruction will not be the last word. There is true Resurrection in Perquin and Morazan, indeed in all of El Salvador.

It is important to this town that they carry the story forward. The people are aware of that responsibility and have opened the museum and other sites that others may see and hear of their struggles and their losses during the war. It is in the teaching of history that we can open all of our minds and hearts to do what we can to avoid war. This place and these people have not let their history turn to hatred or anger though. It feels to me as if Perquin and Morazan have seen so much violence that they have come to know that they can no longer be violent. While parts of El Salvador suffer from one of the highest rates of crime and violence in the world, this battle scarred area remains safe and peaceful. Talk about beating swords into plowshares!

We walked around the town and saw children in school, people worshipping, teens playing soccer. We even met some members of the El Salvador Army as they walked down a hillside. Nowhere in this town did we feel anything other than peace and a definite sense that even though the land and the people wear their scars for all to see, there is not shame. Even though they have seen and felt horror, they have emerged from the other side and are focused on God's consistent ability to bring life out of death, hope out of horror, growth out of destruction.

I hope that I can learn from Perquin that my scars are able to support new life. I pray that I can never again hide the holes left in my own personal landscape but rather trust that God will fill them in. The depressions in the hillsides of this town give it character. It is obvious to me that the same is true of it's people. Thank God for Resurrection.