Dying to Myself - Explore Archived World Race Alumni Blogs

This trip has been a lot about dying to myself, dying to the things I feel entitled to, dying to the people I want to serve and dying to the idea that I am better than some. From the dump of the Philippines to the train station homeless shelter, God has showed me that once we truly let go, we’re able to see the world and those in it the way God does, with love.

The first day of ministry we walked into Casa Maria, a nursing home for the least of these in Antigua, and came face to face with a dead body. That’s right, a dead body was simply lying under a white sheet in the front lobby, a single candle lit.

Throughout the day no one ever mentioned the body or who exactly had passed away, leaving us to wonder what type of life that person had led. Did they have children? And if so where was their family now? The body quietly remained in the lobby for the majority of the day, a silent reminder that eventually death would come to us all but quicker for those we were working with.

The nursing home is nothing like the ones I’ve visited in the states. To be honest, even visiting my Grandpa in his expensive Assisted Living with his private room and spotless facilities depresses me. It is a venture I must prepare myself for, “I will never end up like this” I end up telling myself as I walk in and sit by his bed in his dark, quiet room.

I spend the time struggling to make conversation and wondering how I can make a quick escape. This month I will be unable to make a fast exit, I will be serving at Casa Maria five days a week, 7 hours a day. God has a funny way of putting us directly in the situations we feel we can’t handle and then making them the experiences we fall in love with.

The back room of the home is for those who are unable to pay. A large musty room with 20 something beds where everyone sleeps. Each day the residents are wheeled out into a small courtyard to spend their day, sitting. The first day we walked back to the courtyard you could feel the heaviness. This was a place people were sent to die. Without money for medical care, they were simply fed and given a bed to sleep in. Very few smiles were present that first day and the idea of spending an entire month much less a day there was overwhelming.

We began walking up to people and sitting with them. Practicing my Spanish, I tried to make conversation with those willing to invite me into their lives. Noticing that their nails were dirty and their hands were dry we decided to bring nail polish and lotion their hands the next day.

By day two we walked in and a slow clap arose from the back. They were excited to see us back again. The atmosphere already felt lighter and we began walking around asking the ladies “podemos pintar las uñas?” Many refused a nail painting at first but by the end every Abuela had fancy hot pink nails.

Each morning we braid the woman’s hair and lotion everyone’s hands. I hear Britni next to me “so what would you like done with your hair today, a waterfall braid?” hearing no response she replies, ”Oh you’d like me to do my own masterpiece? Perfect!”

Many of the women don’t say much but smile and hold our hands. Two of the women sit in their chairs, silently weeping to themselves as we hold their hands and pray for them. “Gracias, gracias, gracias” many of them chant as tears stream down their face. “Soy triste” many of them say, I am sad. On our first day two of the women sat in their wheel chairs in the back crying as we rubbed their backs trying to figure out what was wrong. Our translator ended up figuring out that they were so happy we were there to sit with them.

We have now spent one week in the nursing home and so many stories of family and hardships have become known. I’ve already begun to fall in love with each resident, realizing how difficult it will be to leave them in three short weeks. Please pray for our team and all the elderly that we are serving this month.