We spend our afternoons this month walking the streets going in and out of the shacks that house the people of this village. My team and I along with our ministry contact Fungi set out with our water bottles, sunglasses, and high hopes of being able to share joy and hope with the community. It did not take me long to realize though the huge barrier we would face with these people. They watch as seven white people with nice clothes, huge smiles and naive opinions about the world come into their 55 square foot space home with no AC and dirt floors. They see our healthy skin and eyes and look down at their babies playing in the mud with broken glass and trash from the open sewer outside. They hear our hope and joy for the future and wonder if they will be given one. They look at us like we have no idea what a struggle is, and honestly, we don’t.
We have met countless Christians living in these homes that share their hearts with us about years of seemingly unanswered prayers. I listen to their stories of sadness and pain and do my best to offer the churchy answers that seem like the right thing to say. I say “God has not forgotten you” and “trust that God will supply your needs” but walk away wondering if that is true. They fight my claims that God has a prosperous plan for them with stories of rape, death, fires, and abuse. I feel the sting of inadequacy as I am asked “have you ever lived in a place like this?”
I am still learning how to respond to these people and pray that God would give me words that would not fall on deaf ears. Through seeing the sadness and desperation of this place gives me two options. I can look at these people here and say “my God is not a good God because He lets people suffer here” or “My God is a good God because He blessed me to come and bless them in His name.” I am in awe of the blessings that God has poured out of me and feel fortunate to be in a place that highlights Gods sovereignty, despite understanding.
