To the Venezuelans,
Yesterday, I came face to face with roughly a hundred of you. From small children, to grandparents, to pregnant women about to pop, I served you at Pan de Vida. I stood behind a table full of donated clothes and watched as you scrambled to find things you needed. As I watched, I didn’t really process what was going on, why you were here. What I understood was that people needed help, and that I was here to provide it. I smiled, tried to help you in some broken Spanish, but mainly I watched. And as I watched, I saw you tear apart the piles that my friends and I spent two whole days organizing. I thought about how hard it was going to be to redo all the work that I had just done, that my friends had just done. I tried to keep things straight, but instead gave up after the men’s and women’s clothes were mixed. After the shirts and jackets and pants were no longer in the same pile. Instead, I simply folded clothes and focused more on my own issues rather than my own. Afterwards, as your children played upstairs and you sat downstairs, listening to how you can get on your feet, I was cleaning up the mess you made, and I was annoyed, and maybe a little angry. I was upset because the clothes we were cleaning up needed to be redone. You are the reason that they’re a mess. I was exhausted and wanted a break. I’ve had a cold since Monday and I’ve been acting like it’s the end of the world. It’s already so hard to breathe at this altitude, adding a stuffy nose and occasionally a mild cough is not fun. When we were told to reorganize yesterday and not wait until Monday, I was sad that I couldn’t sit and just chill. When we needed extra help and we had to rely on another group of people for it, I was mad because they didn’t know our system. We had figured everything out before. We had a way of doing things that we all mutually understood, and they did not. We liked to make piles and then take them to the room, they liked to take one to two items in at a time. It was all a huge mess, and I wanted it to be orderly. It’s not that I don’t like the other group, it’s the fact that I don’t know them like I know my own group and so I was upset. When we were finished and had been asked to stay longer for a meeting, I was mad because I wanted to go home. I was excited to sit in silence and just read my Bible. I was excited to get home early compared to the day before and just rest, on my own. I was angry instead of serving God the way I’m supposed to. I was angry, instead of serving you, instead of praying for you, instead of playing with your kids or helping you as you left, instead of loving you. And for that, I am sorry. I’m sorry for being so focused on myself and the worries of my life. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you and for not serving you wholeheartedly. I’m sorry I didn’t realize how bad things really are for all of you. As we left, I finally began to realize everything, the heaviness and pain of it all.
To the man with the sleeping child- when you first walked up, I realized how hard it was going to be to shop, yet I didn’t say anything, as I assumed one of the other volunteers would grab him. As time passed and you reappeared in front of me, looking at clothes with a lady that I’m assuming was your wife, I realized you were struggling. When I took your son in my arms, I was overwhelmed with joy because I got to hold such a beautiful child. I’m assuming he was no older than 2 or 3, but the longer I held him, the more my arm hurt. I decided to sit down and just hold him close as he slept peacefully. Never once in this moment was I angry and when you came back for him, I was sad to say goodbye. As you took him back, you said thank you with such happiness and excitement, and I thought nothing of it. But now that I look back, I’ve realized that holding him for ten minutes was probably a larger deal for you than it was for me. Chances are, you are living on the streets and have no where to go. Your son probably sleeps on the ground every night, not sleeping enough as is, while also needing naps daily. You probably hold your son for hours on end each day just so you can give him a safe place to rest. I may have only held your son for ten minutes, but I hope it provided you with the rest you needed and gave you the chance to be worry free for a short time period.
To the women with the baby- you showed up shortly after I handed the man back his child. Your son must’ve been a year old, if not younger. I quickly offered to hold him and you obliged. I held him on my hip and tried to keep him from crying, because I could tell that he did not want to be away from you. I was able to keep him calm for about five to ten minutes until my teammate upset him. You took him back and I could tell you were grateful for my help. As I think back, I realize that you are probably all that your child has. He won’t remember this growing up, but he has journeyed with you to this foreign place. You probably have no home and I doubt he can really walk, so he is always on your hip. I hope that in holding him, it showed you that you are not in this alone.
To the lady looking for a jacket- as you looked for a jacket, I realized you wanted one because it got cold. You searched and searched and I realized that no one got out the larger sizes. I brought them up and you were able to find one, even though I don’t think you could’ve closed it. Now, I think of how cold it is at night and how badly you must’ve needed that to stay warm. You were so desperate that you took a coat that doesn’t even close, because the added layer would at least provide some warmth. I hope that your coat provides you the warmth you are in search of.
To the numerous pregnant women- as each of you arrived, I thought about how hard your travel here must’ve been. All of you appeared to be 9 months pregnant and I could tell that you were all in search of maternity clothes. I felt bad in knowing that there wasn’t a lot, but I let you go and thought nothing more. As I listened to my friends speak about how sad they were for you, I began to realize and understand what a tough situation you were in. You are here in a foreign country, with probably nowhere to go, and you are about to birth a child. Your economy is broken so your money is worth nothing. You have no way to take care of a child, let alone give birth to it in a safe place. I hope that the people who talked to you today provided you with information to make you feel safe and know that you are not in this alone.
To the lady in the orange shirt- I spoke to you and felt bad as my Spanish failed me once again. Eventually I was able to help you and show you where the different sizes were located on the table. I let you go and didn’t think about you again. A mere five hours later, I saw you again, standing outside at the bus station, selling what looked like candy bars. It was then that the realization of this issue hit me. There are thousands of people living on the street, doing whatever they can to make a living. I hope you were safe last night.
To M- you may not be from Venezuela, but you taught me a lot today. You weren’t feeling well but you still came to work. I watched as you would take a short break and you looked absolutely miserable. Somebody told me you had had a headache and that you didn’t have medicine. In my mind, I thought it was some type of stomach bug. I take for granted the kind of medicines Americans/I/we have access to. How I have the ability to make it through each day when I’m feeling sick, while you chose to suffer through because you needed the money. I want you to know that I think you’re incredibly strong and amazing. Realizing how much my minor cold affected me is embarrassing. I hope you are feeling a lot better.
I’m sorry for being too caught up in myself to realize the real issue at hand. As we left Pan de Vida and everyone seemed down, I realized what was wrong with me. I’m sorry I didn’t feel any pain or have a heavy heart as I served you, like so many others did. In a way, I feel shame for not being broken, but that is not of the Lord, but of the Devil. I may not have felt anything, but I still understood, and I’m continuing to understand, and maybe even feel. I think I didn’t feel because God is teaching me that I don’t have to. Something I have struggled with is being okay with not having physical presence. Just because I can’t see God, doesn’t mean he isn’t there (Hebrews 11), but my issue is that I feel the need to have a feeling, something, anything, to help me know he is here. Just because I didn’t feel like crying over your situation doesn’t mean I care any less. God is showing me that I am perfect the way I am, and that my heart doesn’t have to be broken every time I serve. His plan is perfect and my heart will break for what it needs to break for. I’m sorry if I didn’t serve you to my full potential yesterday but I hope that the small things helped you in some way. I pray that you are all safe and okay. God is watching over every single one of you. Don’t lose faith and be strong, you’ve made it this far. I may have only met a hundred of you, but my heart hurts for the hundreds of thousands of you going through this.
