MISSIONER NEWSLETTER – Winter 2025

Rick Dixon, El Salvador

Saori and Carla prepare a new round of craft materials for neighborhood kids—small acts of creativity that spark confidence and joy.

It is said the road to happiness is filled with potholes. After four months back in El Salvador, I’d like to add dust to this take on happiness.

Between the community of Los Planes, where I live, and El Cedro, where I work, there’s nearly a 2,000-foot elevation change. Los Planes, at 3,000 feet, looks south toward El Cedro and the Pacific Ocean. The 45-minute bus ride to El Cedro starts out on a nicely paved road, but soon turns to cobblestones, then asphalt, then broken, washed-out cement, and finally dirt with deep gullies—much too narrow for the old yellow school buses that travel it. These buses from the United States complain dreadfully. Gearboxes sound like popcorn machines filled with rocks. I think of The Little Engine That Could, and the words I think I can, I think I can loop through my mind.

An aging school bus rattles up the mountain road toward El Cedro.

One Friday afternoon, I was on a bus returning to Los Planes when it broke down, and then the following Monday morning the same bus broke down again on the way to El Cedro. I got off and waited for another bus; the driver apologized and gave me a quarter back. Even so, it took two hours to reach my destination, but more than anything, I felt sad for the old bus, lying there like an old man broken down on the road. It’s heartbreaking.

But then it’s amazing. The broken-down bus gets repaired and continues to transport passengers over its route, giving us beautiful views of the ocean—especially in November when winds sweep haze from the coast. Blue water, white sand, green jungle, and swamps line up one behind the other in a giant Thanksgiving parade. It’s breathtaking. “The heavens declare the glory of God. There is no speech, there are no words; neither is their voice heard. Their line is gone out through all the earth.” (Psalm 19:1–7). For “line,” I like to say “musical chord,” for this mountainous jungle sings its hallelujah to God through wind, silence, and sea.

The community center in El Cedro, La Casa del Cipote (The House of the Children), is run by the Sisters of Saint Vincent de Paul. The area is underserved and very poor. Many families live isolated in the jungle, and Monday through Friday mornings more than a hundred people come to the comedor to pick up food prepared by Santos, the cook. (Once a month, the children of these families are weighed at the center to make sure they’re getting enough protein and are adequately nourished.) Many of these children attend the kindergarten program from 8 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. Monday through Friday. Maryknoll lay missioner Josh Wetmore developed a beautiful library for them, and since he will be returning to the United States in December, he asked me to help manage the library, which I gladly accepted.

Young “librarian” Saori shares books and stories with children from her hillside community, nurturing imagination, pride, and a love of reading that refuses to wait for perfect conditions.

What can I say about the children and my work here? I could tell you about reading stories with the children in the library and about the tutoring programs. I could tell you how far behind many kids are in math and reading—and how many more have improved and are now reading at grade level because of Josh’s work over the past four years. But what I most want to share is the spirit of the children and what they have taught me.

More than a few kids in El Cedro, as in La Esperanza, live only with a mother or grandparents. Many fathers, and sometimes mothers, have gone north to the United States to search for work and never return—never heard from again. I often think how these kids would give anything to wrap their hand around even the little finger of their fathers or absent mothers, and hold it as the most valuable treasure in the world. Sometimes a child will look at me and reach out a hand or arms with a great burst of hope and joy. I stare into their faces, and it’s like looking into the heavens that declare the glory of God—God speaking through these little ones: “Behold and see, the moon and the stars, the work of my fingers.”

It makes me feel very small, so I reach out to hold a child’s finger or hand, knowing we are one in this immense universe—knitting together the dust and tears of our hearts. Hearts that also propel me down the road a few miles (well, actually about 40) to La Esperanza, where I go once a month.

Saori, age 12, chooses 10 books from the orange wheelbarrow (our library’s mobile unit) and lends them to kids who live around and on top of her house (La Esperanza is a very densely populated area, quite the opposite of El Cedro). She also helps kids read and does a few storytelling and craft projects with them. Each month she gets a new batch of books, and we go to the main library to get a few craft supplies. Presently there are three groups like Saori’s. These little ones are learning to be librarians. They are responsible for their own reading and for the children in their charge; they do it with incredible pride—with just one complaint: “Once a month is not enough!”

So, I bought a motorcycle. Now the road between El Cedro and La Esperanza—around a beautiful volcanic lake—takes just a bit over an hour instead of the two- or three-hour bus ride through San Salvador traffic. Sure, there are some potholes and dust, but I’ve never been so happy.

Thank you for all your love and prayers!
Rick

Please consider supporting my mission work in El Salvador with a donation through the link below.

I invite you to walk with me as a “COMPANION IN MISSION.” Companions in Mission are friends and generous donors who give financial gifts on a regular (usually monthly) basis. For more information, visit Become a Companion in Mission. Thank you so much for your generosity!