Over 40 years ago, as a tensions were mounting and bullets flying in Nicaragua, Justa Duartes Canales was busy running her family’s farm and raising eight children. She has scrimped and saved to make sure she could send all of them through high school; an opportunity she herself was never afforded. She read her bible at night and prayed over each of them, confident in God’s plan for her babies. One evening, her prayers were interrupted as the front door flew open. When she looked up from her rocking chair, her eyes met a slew of muddy soldiers with draw guns. They demanded use of her farm and commanded that she vacate it immediately. Not to be stirred, she stood up and looked evenly at the men. Without a quiver in her voice, Justa told the soldiers to try again. She reminded them that guests in her house had to knock, and no one wore muddy boots past the threshold. Not used to being told no, the men so taken aback that they listened. They stepped out of the house, knocked on the door, and removed their shoes when she invited them in. For the next few months, Justa hosted the soldiers on her farm and put them to work. They were so captivated with her fiercely gentle ways that they became protective over Justa and her family. When rations ran low, soldiers used their ration cards to bring things home for the children. When one of Justa’s sons was being forced into the military, they snuck in him to El Salvador to keep him safe. After the war, many of them continued to visit Justa and spent time as farm hands to ensure that she could provide for her family. Her bravery and wild love didn’t just save her farm that rainy evening- it saved the men who knocked at her door.
This is my favorite story, but I simply can’t do it justice. It is best heard while sitting on Justa’s porch, interrupted 17 times by passing neighbors and Justa offering you corn bread and popicles in a bag. It isn’t as good when you can’t see her gentle brown eyes that crinkle up when she laughs about scaring those soldiers. I can’t convey the way her tone and pitch changes, nor can I show just how tender she is when she talks about her children and the Lord that loves her. Doña Justa, known as Mama Justa to her community, is the portrait of grace and strength. She led her community after Hurricane Mitch devastated their land and took the lives of their families. She rallied for a water system, a school, and a feeding center. She worked tirelessly, and she never asked for recognition. She simply loved well.
My eyes are welled up with tears as I write this. Y’all, what a lady. I imagine she leapt into the arms of Jesus last week before he could even get out the words, “Well done". I do not know how to describe how much we will miss her. She left quite a charge, and its time to follow in her footsteps.
If you have a Doña Justa story to tell, please email it to kelly@cuentosparacambios.org. We will translate it and send it to her family.