Wendy Robinson – Twenty-Seven Years of Yes
I met Wendy Robinson three years ago. By then, she had already been coming to Guatemala for decades. And it didn’t take long to understand that she wasn’t just another volunteer.
She was — and is — a figurehead.
Small in stature. Signature blue bangs. Seventy-Four years young. Unmoving in conviction. Calm. Direct. Slightly mischievous. She follows the rules — mostly. I get a sense that under the surface — she’s a bit of a rouge —the kind that knows exactly which rules matter and which ones can bend if it means protecting the team or a patient. She’s been like a team mom to many.
This year marks her final year on the Robinson-Jensen surgery team. Though “final” feels like the wrong word. Retirement, perhaps. Transition. A passing of something that has been carefully built for nearly three decades.
She knows the streets of Antigua better than the back of her own hand. She knows your question — and the answer — before you’ve finished asking it. At least in this context. At the Obras, she is something of a local legend. Staff greet her by name. Faith In Practice, Obras staff and network directors hug her in the hallways. Patients and families recognize her — constantly.
Everyone wants to say hello to Wendy.
Wendy first came to Guatemala in 1998.
Her husband had gone the year before, back when Faith In Practice only had surgery teams. He returned to Corvallis, Oregon and told her, “I think you would really like this.”
At the time, she wasn’t a medical provider. She didn’t speak Spanish. She was a lawyer with the Oregon Department of Justice. But she knew how to negotiate, to delegate, and about advocacy.
So she came as a cook. Out of one small kitchen in a casita at Hotel Quinta de Las Flores, she did all the shopping, prepped, cooked, and washed all the dishes for 45 to 55 volunteers. One kitchen. Fifty people. No catering crew. No commercial setup. Just willingness.
That’s how it started.
She learned Spanish so she could contribute more fully. Not just observe — participate. Translate. Advocate. Solve problems. She began helping with logistics and over time, she began serving on village teams and Global Nutrition Empowerment (GNE) training trips — helping to educated illiterate communities about diabetes. Year after year, she returned.
Since 1998, Wendy has participated for nearly three decades on surgery teams. Nineteen years with the village teams. Three GNE training trips.
But longevity alone doesn’t explain her impact, and the numbers aren’t the story.
The story is growth.
It’s the way she holds space.
For the team.
For patients.
For the chaos when it inevitably appears.
Wendy talks often about community — about flattening hierarchy. About surgeons who run their OR rooms but also are the first to haul a trunk. About volunteers who don’t sit back and watch.
“You can’t just let other people do the work,” she says. “You have to carry the trunks in. Pick up the trash. Answer the questions.”
“This is a participation program,” she says. “Not a spectator program.”
And she lives that.
If you’ve ever watched her move through the Obras, you understand. You won’t see her standing aside while others haul trunks. She carries them. You won’t see her ignoring a problem. She negotiates it without fanfare. You won’t see her separate herself from the work because she’s “earned it” — and she has earned it.
And yet she still does the work.
Over time, this mission didn’t just change Wendy’s life, it has became her family story. Her son has come as a radiologist. Her daughter has served as an administrator. Her son’s mother-in-law has joined as a nurse practitioner. Her niece came this year. Her granddaughter joined on a village team.
This isn’t just service. It is Wendy’s quiet theology of action.
She speaks about gratitude in a way that feels practiced — not rehearsed, but lived. Patients often tell her, “God bless you for coming.” She tries to to mirror that back home. To thank people more deliberately. To live with sincerity.
“Many of these Guatemalans have deep faith,” she says. “It may not be the same as mine. But it’s strong.”
She speaks of the Quaker tradition of serving quietly in war zones — as ambulance drivers, healers, present in the aftermath, going in after the battle ends and tending to the injured. She sees echoes of that here. She has learned to listen. To sit in silence.
“To really listen,” she says. “Stuff comes out from people that does not come out otherwise.”
It has changed her.
And when I asked her what she hopes for this team after she steps back from the surgery side, her answer was immediate.
Community. She sees that spirit here.
She doesn’t want a divided team — with surgeons over there, everyone else orbiting around. She wants a continued “flattened” OR room where teamwork runs on respect, professionalism, and empathy rather than power.
Shared responsibility. Shared laughter. Shared fatigue.
She wants people to come here to Guatemala, to do good work, feel respected — and then want to return, again and again.
Wendy believes this a life-changing medical mission.
Not only because patients’ lives are changed.
But because the volunteers leave here changed, because they see a different way to interact in the world — and take that home with them.
Wendy Robinson has been saying yes to this work for nearly twenty-seven years.
She has learned Spanish to participate more fully. She has built networks across Guatemala. She has raised a generation of family members inside this mission. She has carried trunks, carried conversations, and carried responsibility.
So yeah, Wendy is stepping back from the surgery team.
But if you watch closely, you’ll still see her.
Handing out small gifts to village volunteers — simple tokens of gratitude. Hugging someone in the hallway. Carrying something heavier than she probably should.
There are people who come on a mission trips.
And there are exceptional people who quietly build them.
Thank you Wendy for your continued dedication to serving others.
Brian Jensen
Team blogger, Robinson – Jensen Surgery 888
