Flat tire. Late for work. Can’t afford my dream vacation. Gym membership fee went up. Renewal of my nursing license is due. Ate too much junk food. Need to call the insurance guy. Had a 14 hour work day. Might not see my family for every holiday. Can’t find the right outfit for an event. Dropped my cell phone and it broke.
Sleeping in the streets tonight. Don’t know where is my next meal is coming from. My clothes are torn and shoes too small. Lost my family in a natural disaster. Need to feed my little brother. My safety is constantly threatened. No education. Dreams for what future?
This is a fairly accurate example of a typical “problem” list I would have at home, contrasted with the types of problems that an elementary-age child in the slums of Honduras faces on a daily basis.
On Saturday, my squad was given the chance to visit a local colony and spend time with the youth living there. Several years ago, a small mountain community was wiped out in a flood, destroying homes and lives. Families were broken and children orphaned as the surviving people were taken to live as refugees and attempt to put their lives back together. Many of the people were brought to this colony.
We rolled up into the colony with very strict warnings about the safety of ourselves and our belongings. I assumed our presence was largely overlooked or even an annoyance to this community…who wants a bunch of noisy, Jesus-loving gringos taking over their soccer field, playing guitar and children’s games, and speaking in broken Spanglish all afternoon?
Luckily, as it turned out, we were quite a hit. The pastor that set everything up for us told my team mate that he had never seen so many people come out and spend time with their neighbors there before Saturday. Apparently everyone wanted to see what the huge group of noisy white people had to offer. In the process, playmates were found, neighbors greeted, fingernails painted, bracelets made, frisbees thrown, skits performed, songs sang, and friendships formed.
Once we were back on the bus and heading back to camp, pieces of people’s conversations began to come out about the people to whom we had just ministered. We learned that many of the children we had played with sleep in the streets or on the soccer field, with no homes or parents to care for them. It is not uncommon for school-aged children to wander the streets and try to sell fruit to support themselves and meet basic needs. When asked how many siblings a child has, the number was often very high, and it is because many “brothers” or “sisters” are actually street children that have been taken in. Sharing the message of hope and joy available through Christ is the best thing that we could possibly have done, and lives and families have been transformed over the years for people in this community that have come to faith in Him.
Suffice it to say that my problems are beginning to be put into perspective, and conditions of poverty are probably going to get even more severe in Africa and India. The temptation to put it out of your mind when you leave a place like that is huge. You don’t want to imagine that the 7 year old that you played frisbee with is going to sleep in the cold dirt with a growling belly, while you get a stomach full of rice and beans and have a warm tent to sleep in. But for that child, it is his reality.
The things that are “problems” for me would be cause for great excitement for him. To have a flat tire means you have a car. To be late for work means you have a job, and that you received an education to have that job. A belly full of anything is a blessing. Tears over missing my family means I have a family to miss.
I am not condemning America for what we have, nor am I saying that we don’t have real problems with health, life, and relationship. But I am praying that God will remind me, both on the Race and once I am at home, to count my blessings. So, so many people in the world, including tiny children, go without their basic physical and emotional needs being met on a daily basis.
I have always been fed. I have always been hugged. I have always had a safe, warm bed. I have always been told I was loved. My whole family is alive and well. I have been told about how Jesus loves me since I was a tiny child. I have received more education than more than 99% of the rest of the world. And so, so much more.
Really the only way for me to respond to these situations is with gratitude to my Father in heaven, and a renewed desire to give of my bounty.
I am going to start calling my problem list my blessing list. Scratch an inch below the surface of your problem list, and I bet you will find the same thing.
