• Teenage missionary's journal

• Unseen fruit

• Journalist missionary's journal

A young Guatemalan boy holds on to his mother's dress while waiting to see doctors
at a Vine International medical clinic Nov. 3, 2002, in the village of
La Esmeralda at Rio Dulce, Guatemala.

GUATEMALA — The pavement came to an end about 25 minutes outside of Mazatenango.

The road, flanked by what appeared to be a forest of coffee shrubs, grew progressively more rugged: Crater-like potholes and melon-sized rocks hindered the path, while 20-foot stretches of mud threatened to suck down any vehicle that dared to pass.

The convoy of two vans, a Toyota Galloper SUV and an ambulance bounced, lunged and spun its way up the mountainside, refusing to falter — that is until the ambulance, the last in line, but carrying the all-important medicine for that day’s clinic, lost power.

The two inhabitants — a Guatemalan national and a Heritage High School student — watched as the other three vehicles snaked out of sight.

No one in the other vehicles knew the ambulance was in trouble until the team reached the clinic site, a Quiche Indian village about two miles up the mountain,.

Thus began the third of four medical clinics conducted by a team of medical professionals and lay people working with Vine International — a clinic that would begin and end with anxious moments.

Vine International is non-profit Christ relief ministry headquartered in Knoxville, Tenn. Founded in 1993 by Woody Woodson, Vine currently provides a pipeline of medical supplies to Central American doctors, clinics and hospitals.

The ministry has a stateside warehouse on Singleton Station Road in Louisville, Tenn., from which it ships supplies to a newer warehouse in Quetzaltenango, also called Xela. Doctors come to the warehouse and receive needed medical supplies free of charge.

The medical clinic trips actually developed later as something of a sideline, but a beneficial one for the ministry. During medical clinic trips, Vine uncovers medical missionaries who are not aware of the supplies pipeline.

The morning of Friday, Nov. 1, a team of 12 people left McGhee Tyson Airport in Alcoa, Tenn., for Guatemala City via American Airlines. A 13th member from New York joined the team during a layover in Dallas.

Each team member was allowed one personal bag (a maximum of 70 pounds) and assigned a 70-pound duffel bag filled with medicine. However, when Vine’s warehouse manager Bruce White arrived it was discovered that there were actually 35 medical bags, not the expected 13. American Airlines charged Vine $1,000 for the additional bags.

"It’s been years since an airline has charged for overage," said Dr. Bruce Allsop, a Vine board member from Knoxville who was also on the team.

Arriving in the midst of a thunderstorm in Guatemala City, the team’s journey began with a night at the Central American Theological Seminary in Guatemala City. After four hours of sleep, the team made a six-hour drive Saturday to Rio Dulce, located just west of Guatemala’s coast on the Caribbean Sea.

The team was ferried to the river village of La Esmeralda by a hotel launch making two trips. It was a long walk from the river’s edge to the community building where the clinics were to be held. As the team approached, children stopped their play to watch the "gringos" with curiosity.

Mike and Karen Rhea, missionaries from Florida who live in the nearby village La Bacadilla, invited Vine to conduct the La Esmeralda clinics.

Allsop and Dr. Steve Masters of Fountain City, Tenn., were joined at the La Esmeralda clinic by Dr. Noel Rodriguez, who heads Hospital Shalom in Mazatenango, and Dr. Hector Melgar, who leads a clinic in Guatemala City. Melgar brought along his son, Javier, to help. A fourth Guatemalan national who assisted, Dr. Carlos Monson, has a clinic in Guatemala City.

Clinic veteran Chris Hughes, who worked the clinic triage station, is a 34-year-old insurance agent for Tennessee Farmers Mutual in Loudon County, Tennessee. A combat medic and surgical technician during his stint in the Army, Hughes served as the primary triage person during the four clinics.

The triage station is the first contact in a treatment line that included:

ä the recording of blood pressure, heart rate and other medical information;

ä the dispensing of worm medicine and vitamins; treatment by one of the physicians;

ä and stopping at the pharmacy for any prescribed medication.

"I can’t diagnose, but I have a medical background," Hughes explains. "I can do basic triage, I can help in the pharmacy, and with Spanish."

Hughes made his first trip in fall 1999, and this is his fourth venture with Vine.

"This was the first trip where I’ve been able to do some translation and help in that area," he said.

Chris’ wife Linda, 46, is also on her fourth trip, having first come with Vine in Spring 1997.

This is the first time the Hugheses have come to Guatemala together.

Linda is a registered nurse who works at MediLife Pharmacies in Cleveland. She worked in the pharmacy the entire trip, along with 17-year-old Elizabeth Trexler, who attends Heritage High School in Maryville, Tenn., Lisa Loos, 32, of Johnson City, Tenn., and Lesley Hughes of White Plains, N.Y.

The tropical heat was sweltering and the team worked to stay hydrated. Despite the heat, the crowd waiting outside was calm; youngsters watched "The Jesus Film" on a television set and ate oranges while they waited to see the "doctores Americanos."

Inside, Knoxvillians Mike Turner, 32, Mike Perry, 51, and Buzz Trexler, 46, worked "crowd control," moving patients to the table where they would be given worm medicine and bags of vitamins. Then patients would be guided to a seating area as they waited to see the doctor. The final stop in the clinic was the pharmacy.

At La Esmeralda, Dr. Steve Masters noted the usual illnesses found by Guatemalan medical teams.

"Typically there were respiratory problems, GI (gastrointestinal), and then some vague symptoms and problems, occasional abdominal pain, occasional gynecological problems that we couldn’t handle."

He said several needed to find a gynecological doctor because of pelvic problems.

He also recalled treating a little girl with pneumonia. "She had a fever, a cough, and couldn’t hear breath sounds on one side of her lungs," he said.

"The problem with what we do (in mission clinics) is you have to practice seat-of-the-pants medicine. You really have to triage people and it’s hard not knowing the networking referral system," Masters said. "And the people that you treat typically need follow-up, so it’s always a good idea to have some kind of follow-up system.

"That’s why I’m happy about what’s happened here," he said. "In Rio Dulce they actually have a nurse who’s going to stay there for awhile and be there."

The situations that really stuck out in his mind were those rooted in culture and lifestyle choices.

"There were two or three young girls who actually had been sexually active, not married. And I think that we were able to at least tell them about the Lord’s grace and how they’re supposed to be pure," Masters said. He credited a young interpreter named Mario with helping to reach the teens with the message that they need to "remain pure, that they don’t need to perform for their boyfriends, and that the Lord will sustain them ..."

"Apparently it’s a cultural issue where the men feel that they can have sex with any of the women around, and that’s supposed to indicate virility and that kind of thing," Master said. "And the young girls are just kind of victims of that, that cultural problem."

Masters said one of the girls decided she was going to break up with her boyfriend, "because she said that’s the only way and that’s the appropriate thing to do.

"And the other one said that she was going to come back to the local church," Masters said. "And a third one decided ... she was going to get married, actually."

By the end of the second day of clinic work at La Esmeralda, the team had served nearly 600 people. As night fell, and the mosquitoes arrived, the team hauled the remaining medical supplies down a rocky path to the Rheas’ waiting launch and waited on the boat from the Hotel Catamaran.

The stay at Rio Dulce ended with a feeling that much had been accomplished. By the end of the second clinic, the various work areas had settled into a groove. And the people seemed genuinely grateful Vine had come.

The long ride back to Guatemala City on Monday, Nov. 4, was highlighted by a stop at Fundaninos, an orphanage Vine assists with a vitamin program.

The team then traveled to Mazatenango (Mazate) in preparation for a clinic at a mountain village outside the city.

It would be the most memorable one of the trip for most of the team — for the wrong reasons.

Just before the ambulance broke down on the way to the mountain village clinic, the convoy had stopped to allow John Diehl to park a nearly new Volvo that was having a tough time negotiating the rough road. It was the second such vehicle for Diehl, the first having been carjacked as his wife, Alda, was driving the just-purchased auto out of the dealership’s parking lot in Guatemala City.

(Diehl is an American who has lived in Guatemala for nearly three decades and operates, Xela Sin Limites, a travel agency in Quetzaltenango. He also assists Vine in dispensing medical supplies from its warehouse in that city, which is located about 7,500 feet above sea level in the cone of a long dormant volcano.)

Leaving the Diehl vehicle behind, the convoy continued to slowly make its bumpy way along the road, which was flanked by coffee trees.

As the SUV and two vans entered the village, people could be seen lining the road, most wearing the colorful tribal dress. The clinic team waved, but the village’s inhabitants largely stared without expression. There was an uneasy feeling from the start.

As the convoy stopped at the clinic site, an L-shaped building with a sign reading "Clinica Cristiana Al Ea Xejuyup." (The sign appeared to be a mixture of Quiche and Spanish that may loosely translate to "Christian Clinic at Xejuyup.")

A huge crowd was already gathered and lined up tightly packed chest to back.

It wasn’t long before the team realized a vehicle was missing: The ambulance with all of the medicine.

"It’s probably stuck in the mud," someone said, and several members hiked back down to the road. A check at the last stretch of mud failed to find the ambulance. Dr. Noel Rodriguez and two other team members headed back down the road in the SUV searching for the missing vehicle. It was discovered right where the team had stopped.

"The engine just shut off," Elizabeth Trexler said.

The SUV headed back up the mountain to retrieve a van for transporting the medicines from the powerless ambulance.

Once the medicine arrived, Diehl said there were "confirmed suspicions a rumor is circulating that Americans are stealing children for their organs."

Woodson said it was an old rumor that he thought had long since died off.

Nonetheless, while the people were obviously awaiting medical care, it would appear that few if any were otherwise happy to see the Americans.

Pastor Pablo, an itinerant preacher who lived down the mountain in another village, invited Vine to conduct the clinic at Xejuyup.

The clinic started about an hour and a half late and was further slowed down by translation problems.

The villagers by and large spoke neither Spanish nor English, but Quiche, one of the many Mayan dialects. Pastor Pablo assisted the three doctors — Allsop, Rodriguez and Masters — while a young teen-age girl assisted those handing out worm medicine and vitamins.

There was one door leading into the clinic area, where Chris Hughes’ triage station had been set up about six feet inside the door. But there was none of the same calm cooperation experienced at Rio Dulce. Here, the people kept pressing and pushing their way into the building, bottlenecking at the triage station as doctors were unable to quickly move patients through the system.

"For me, being in the triage, and being the gatekeeper of the people coming in, that was a different type of attitude that I’ve seen in the clinics," Hughes said. "It was a lot more aggressive — people running over old women, trying to push in front of people — and that hindered us a lot as far as trying to get people in an orderly fashion.

"You know, even though you have to take into account some cultural differences, that was on the far extreme of what we see," he said.

At one point, Hughes said trying to control the crowd resembled trying to "herd cats."

By about 4 p.m., the open area next to the triage station was filled with people waiting to move to the next station, but there was nowhere to go.

Knowing that time was running out, John Diehl stepped forward and with a booming voice told the crowd no more people could enter the clinic. Those who had not been to the triage station would not be seen. Still, the crowd refused to abate.

Pastor Pablo then stepped into the triage area and sought to convey the message in Quiche.

Still, the crowd did not budge.

Diehl then walked past the triage station, past those whose blood pressure had already been read and were awaiting the doctors, and stopped just in front of the worm medicine table.

At that point, Diehl resorted to a mixture of English and Spanish, this time addressing the team: "That’s it, from this point back, no mas, no more, we have to be off this mountain before 5 p.m.," he said.

Stunned, the team slowly began shutting the clinic down.

"We could come back in the morning," one member was overheard saying.

"No, they’re expecting us at the clinic in Xela tomorrow," another said.

"It’s not fair ..."

There was a heaviness in the air; an expectation that anything could happen.

"We need to pray hard," a voice said, occasionally repeating itself.

As the pharmacy began shutting down, Pastor Pablo climbed through a nearby window and stood on a ledge above the crowd, and began speaking in Quiche.

No one knew what he was saying, but to Woodson it was obvious the pastor was preaching.

In all of the years he had served in Guatemala, Woodson said, "I had never heard anyone preach in Quiche before. It’s beautiful."

After the last patient was served, and the last duffel bag of medicine was lifted over the heads of the villagers to the waiting hands of John Diehl, the remainder of the team walked through the crowd to the vans.

There was no shouting from the crowd, no expressions of anger, only watchful, sullen eyes.

Woodson stood with the team members at one of the vans.

"I think we need to pray for Pastor Pablo here," he said, then directed Pablo to a seat in the van. There, the team laid hands on the small man as Woodson prayed.

An extraordinary thing then happened: As Woodson prayed for the pastor, Pablo could be heard lifting up in Spanish a tearful prayer of thanks for the medical team.

Afterward, the convoy left the village, moving past the same nearly expressionless faces that had greeted the team about six hours earlier.

"The people there seemed to be in fear, suppressed, leery, and maybe that they didn’t see gringos that much and so they were a little apprehensive about that," Dr. Bruce Allsop said later. "But I also think that there’s a very heavy spiritual cloud over that village and the people of that village. There was a lack of courtesy amongst themselves, even more than us. They didn’t treat themselves well. The children were in fear."

Allsop said the spiritual heaviness was reflected during the time of prayer with patients.

"A couple of times there was seemingly some heavy intense warfare going on. Those are so hard to define, but I just think that most of the team would sense and agree with that same sensation that the spiritual warfare was heavier there."

It’s likely Dr. Steve Masters would agree given his experience with one patient.

"She came with the complaint of having seizures and then she described the seizures, and it didn’t sound like true seizures," Masters said, noting that "she seemed rather depressed and despondent and in spiritual bondage.

"So I asked Pastor Pablo to pray for her and as he started praying she started doing some bizarre head motions that weren’t seizure-like and then she basically collapsed, she fell down, but a controlled falling to the ground and the pastor kept praying and I think that was a real deliverance of a person."

The doctor said, "After she fell, she was saying some gibberish, not even Guatemalan gibberish or Spanish gibberish, then she started praying as the pastor was praying, repeating after him.

"I’m not exactly sure what he was saying, other than hearing the name of Jesus."

Allsop also sensed that perhaps the ambulance breakdown, which delayed the clinic for about an hour and a half, played into the spiritual warfare.

"I don’t know if it’s possession or influence, but a couple of women were actually depressed, making noises, having a history of eight, 10 hours at a time laughter spells. There was just clearly some spiritual activity going on there," he said.

The physician said he believes the ambulance breaking down may have been the result of the "prayer power of the saints all over the world, especially in United States."

"I wonder if there were not angel reinforcements needed and there was a battle waging just like we found in the New Testament and there was a delay. And for that delay God sent a fairly minor electrical breakdown to slow things down for us to have our coverage.

"The more I think about that the more I realize that very well could have been what happened."

Woodson, too, saw the "darkness."

"Yeah, that was an intense clinic and one of the things I think is poverty breeds that," he said. "Poverty breeds feeling like you gotta get what you can get. That’s what I sensed was there. There was darkness. It was the epitome of self-centeredness, is what it is and poverty is just a symptom of that, but helps perpetuate it."

Woodson said many of the people didn’t even know if they were sick. "All they knew is there was a doctor there and there was something to get," he said.

"You realize that again there’s an opportunity for people to hear something different. And that’s why we’re there, of course," he said. "God just put (Pastor) Pablo there right at that moment, to help them to see something different than why they were there.