Salvador: The Truth Behind the Fiction

Last updated on: May 3, 2016 at 11:01 am by Margaret Blair Young

Salvador: The Truth Behind the Fiction 2016-05-03T11:01:02-07:00 Margaret Blair Young

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“At some point, God will ask you to sacrifice on his altar not only your stories about your own life but your version of his stories as well. Your softly lit watercolor felt-board version of scripture stories and church history must, like all your stories, be abandoned at his feet, and the messy, vibrant, and inconvenient truths that characterize God’s real work with real people will have to take center stage. If they don’t, then how will God’s work in your hungry messy, and inconvenient life ever do the same?

When God knocks, don’t creep to the door and look through the peephole to see if he looks like you thought he would. Rush to the door and throw it open.”
― Adam S. Miller

I am about to give an alternative narrative to someone else’s story. I give it because I think it is more accurate than that given by the other person. It is surely not 100% accurate, since each of us sees the world through our own filters, but it includes others’ experiences and even their sense of betrayal when certain secrets were revealed. I am convinced that when each of us reviews our life in a sphere which demands empathy and compassion, we will see not only our experiences and actions but how they impacted others around us. Ugly secrets we thought we had kept will reveal themselves as doorways to unthinkable consequences. Our sudden outbursts of anger will linger in the hurt feelings of those who felt our rage. The many ways in which we cast ourselves as either hero or victim will return to us in echoes of self-deception, self-justification, and self-involvement. We will see all whom we overlooked or even damaged while we were focusing on our own image.

I am not the star of this story. I lived it only as a bystander. Each who participated would tell it differently. In many ways, the story simply exists as itself, a pattern which many have set or have inadvertently followed. It does include betrayal. Of that I am certain.

One who felt deeply betrayed was my father. I do this blog post series in tribute to him, to the truth he lived, and to his boldness in confronting what he perceived as evil– to name it, to condemn it, to do what he could to heal its consequence, and to repent for the part he played in endorsing it.

I will, for now, present five scenes which I will develop in upcoming posts:

Scene 1, 1961: Carlotta de Yalibat, from Coban, Guatemala, is living with us in Provo, Utah. She wears her black hair in a long braid. Her blouse, called a huipil, is embroidered with bright flowers, and her skirt, called a corte, is from a Guatemalan loom. I am six years old, in first grade, and I want to show off this exotic woman to all of my friends. She does not attend church with us, because a man named Dale Grover (this is the only name I have changed) comes every Sunday to take her to a Spanish-speaking ward. Dale had served as a missionary in Guatemala, and loved the people. He loved Carlotta (whom we called “Hermana Yalibat”), and she loved him. Once, Hermana Yalibat came to my school as my “show and tell.” I laid my head on her lap and she stroked my hair. I was validated before all other first graders.

We know that our father loves both Dale and Hermana Yalibat, and that the three of them freely inhabit a world we cannot yet comprehend, a world which includes not only Spanish but Kekchi, Hermana Yalibat’s Mayan dialect. Dad is working on translation projects with her.

Scene 2, 1971: Dad tells us we must not mention Dale Grover to our grandparents, because they do not believe in his work. In fact, they think he is an “apostate.” We are certain that our grandparents simply do not understand. Quietly, we fill envelopes with flyers about the foundation Dale has established to help hundreds of people like Hermana Yalibat. He is working miracles in Guatemala and has sacrificed his whole life by moving to a place near Coban–with his wife and children–to help the Mayan Indians. There could be nothing more heroic. But heroes are often misunderstood. Once, when my little sister reveals to Grandma Groberg that we have been stuffing envelopes for Dale, Grandma gives my dad a stern look.

Scene 3, 1975: Our whole family goes to Guatemala, and we visit Dale and his family. We are astounded by the good he is doing. He tells us about how misunderstood he is, and we pray for him.

Scene 4: April, 1978:
Dad and I, with some returned missionaries and two Mexican friends (Lluvia and Olivia), and Dad’s protegee, John Robertson, return to Guatemala. We go to Dale’s plantation. Dad and John will supervise the RMs in making dictionaries of the various dialects they have learned. I will go to another city, a city I love, called Momostenango. Dad and I will be out of communication for a month while I do my own projects in Momos. I will live with a Quiche family, the Zarates. Before I leave, however, Dale talks to Dad and me about a very bad church leader named Elder Bradford, who is rich, white, and does not love the Mayan people. Elder Bradford does not like Dale. Dad and I shake our heads in sympathy. I can see J.B., one of the RMs (one whom Dad and I met while he was still a missionary working with Dale, who was the “district president” at the time), pacing. He is only yards away from us. I see him pace and glance at us occasionally. He is unsettled about something. I can sense that.

Scene 5: May, 1978:
I leave Momostenango, having decided to join Dad and the others with Dale. Miraculously, I find my way, though I had no idea of how to get to Dale’s house. (I will describe that miraculous trip later in this series.)

It is morning when I arrive. I am directed to where my dad is working, up a hill. I go to him, we hug, and I announce, “I think I’ll stay here.”

Dad looks at me hard and shakes his head in a firm NO. “Let’s get on the bus,” he says, referring to the bus we had taken to Guatemala, which is parked a few yards away. We get in. Dad closes the bus door. “You are not to come here,” he says.

I wait, confused, and see Dad’s eyes fill with tears. “Dale has apostatized,” he says.

And then the story comes. My dad weeps as he tells it.

These are the main scenes. I will fill in the blanks in the blog series.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Previous Post

April 28, 2016

On a Day When I Miss My Dad

Next Post

May 6, 2016 Salvador: The Truth behind the Fiction, Part 2

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