We went to the dump Friday for ministry. It was the most impactful day of the race. Bare with me as I try to relay my experience with you and know that my words will never do it justice.
I was given the opportunity to share a message with the people working there. I shared what God has been sharing with me. A message of His goodness and how His beauty is reflected in each of us. I was asked that my message pertain to identity because that’s something they struggle with most. They think they deserve to work in the dump. They think they’ve done something to deserve being amongst the lowest of the low. It was incredibly overwhelming. So much hopelessness surrounded by such incredible beauty.
The dump is located on top of a hill overlooking the city of Granada with mountains scattered in the distance. The green of leaves, plants and grass is so rich. The sky was such a pure blue with pristine white clouds scattered throughout it. The contrast of the breathtaking view to the grotesque muck and trash at my feet was total black and white. One extreme to the other.
They brought us empty bleach containers found in the dump and asked us to fill it with water for them and their children to drink out of. All we had to clean the containers with was water. It was barely a rinse. And that was enough for them. It had to be. It was all they had.
Men and women alike were working. They are all self employed. Raking through decomposing banana peels, rotted food, and unidentifiable trash trying to find plastic or glass bottles that they can sell for recycling. At best, they could make $1 a day. At best. How much they make is dependent on how much they find. Their rakes were wooden poles (probably a broken broom someone threw out) with a metal hook at the end (also found in someone else’s trash).
There was one lady named Daniela. I found out she has four children. Four children. Supported by $1 a day. Can you even fathom that? Can you fathom supporting yourself on that income? $365 a year. At best.
How am I supposed to deliver a message of goodness and expect them to grasp how wonderful they are? I cannot. I can say the words God gave me and pray hard that worth sits in their soul until they feel it. How do I even deserve to be here right now? I don’t. I keep praying that this day swells in my heart forever. If I share nothing else of my time on the race, at least I can talk about them. There were little girls who greeted me with big smiles, dirty clothes, and very worn shoes.
We were there to share a message and serve a meal and spend time with them. It didn’t seem like enough.
Afterwards, I was speaking to the man who setup this ministry and I asked, “do you think us coming lifts their spirits or not?” Essentially, why are we here? Do they even want us intruding in their lives? He said, “yes absolutely it does. In their minds, they know that people spend their resources on things they love. And people’s greatest resource is time. So for us to spend our money on a meal and then spend our time serving them, makes them feel wanted and gives them worth. They think ‘these people think I’m worth enough to spend all this time with’.” That’s it. That is all we do. Just spend time with them.
How many times in this life do we withhold our time from people who need to know they’re worth it? How often could we change the way someone sees themselves by spending time telling them they’re seen?
This ministry goes to the dump twice a week and we can only stay for about 2 hours because the workers don’t want a big interruption in their work. Makes sense. If I only make money off what I find and I have children to support, I would want to spend as much time as I could searching.
As we drove away, the mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters and children we served waved and smiled as if we were all great friends. It was a warm “thank you for coming. You are appreciated” goodbye.
Those people are strong.
And they deserve to be known.
