There’s a bit in the fifth (?) installment of The Chronicles of Narnia that I think about a lot. The heroic children of “our world” though lucky enough to find themselves in Narnia, are in trouble. They have ventured deep under the earth in search of a lost prince, and Evil has them in its grip. She has them sitting cozy around a fire, nearly convinced that the sun, the forest, the fresh air, Narnia itself… never existed. In the comforting trance of her enchanted fire, they are warm and cozy, and willing to deny reality.
Luckily, the children are accompanied by a hardy marshwiggle: Puddleglum sees through the lies, and throws them all back into reality.
When we landed in Manila on Tuesday (having completely skipped Monday) some of the girls in my van said, “This doesn’t quite feel real yet.”
I felt the opposite.
I felt like Puddleglum had kicked my comforting fire.
Don’t misunderstand me; I loved being with my family. We made good food, laughed (and squealed) so much, and enjoyed everything we could do in and around our beautiful home. It was awesome. But for most of the world, our peaceful lakeside porch that I love so much… is not reality. I knew that.
So the crowded streets of Manila felt more real to me than most of the past month in the States. And I kid you not, it was like driving right into the beginning of Slumdog Millionaire.
People live under highway overpasses.
Chickens and stray dogs outnumber those people.
Right outside the gates of the ministry center where I sleep, five thousand people live in the same kinds of makeshift shacks that cover Mumbai in the first scenes of that movie.
For the past few days, we’ve been running around with the children in the streets, playing and eating lots of good food. And yeah, we did play in a waterfall in the jungle for an afternoon!
The kids just call us “tita” (sister) or “tito” (brother), and it intimidates me when they yell back and forth in Tagalog.
But none of it truly wrecked my heart until this morning.
This morning, in the heart of the Cuatro slum, we went to a funeral. A 28-year-old woman named Marichel died two days ago, and she had known one of the ladies on the World Race staff who came out for this week, our launch week. Two of Marichel’s friends came to the ministry center last night, and asked us to come see her.
So I went this morning. About 30 of us did. We had no idea where her house was, but somehow we ended up walking straight there.
We stayed there for a solid hour and a half.
Marichel left four children behind. I held them and cried with them.
They will grow up with only their grandfather, and there’s nothing I can do about it. So we just cried.
My heart is still grieving with this family that I just met. There is no way to know what difference it made to them to have 30 strange white people show up on their doorstep today, but their faces will stick with me. They don’t even know my name.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is WEEK ONE on the World Race. We’ll leave for our “actual” ministry site on Monday morning… and you WILL want to see what happens at Threads of Hope.
Until I post again, I’m asking you to anticipate some extremes. In this life I’ve chosen, our highs will be unbelievable, and our lows will be heartbreaking. But that is reality. I’m asking you to share in it because it will be hard, and I can’t carry the weight alone.
So do this for me: if you’ve read this, leave a little comment. Just a little nod to let me know you’re with me, even if it’s just “hi” or a smiley face.
-Katie
