What is real life? Often on the world race we talk about “race life” and “real life”. “Real life” pertains to things back home… things that remind us of America, or family, or anything “for real”. It seems we have to constantly remind ourselves that this is some kind of reality, because often it feels like a dream where we will all wake up in about 6 months and go back home to resume life like nothing has changed.
In our attempt to stay grounded in this weird reality, someone will blurt out, at random times, statements like: “This is our life… can you believe this is our life right now…People paid money for us to be here… We paid to do this”… It is always the same statements, only the tone changes. Sometimes it is said with excitement – like when the plane is landing in a new country, other times it is said with disgust – like when we step out of a bus and our feet land in a big, wet pile, of sewage, or sometimes with complete awe – like when we see how big and powerful God is. The one I use most seems to be disbelief… almost confusion that this could be any kind of “real” life…. that this could be my life.
Here are a couple of examples:
Wednesday we went to one of Mother Teresa’s “Missionaries of Charity” to volunteer for a few hours. It was a home where disabled people are cared for. We went in and were greeted by a nun who told us that most of the residents were very disfigured and mentally disabled. She said a lot of them were left out like garbage to die before they were found. We were told that the ones that were tied up in plastic bags as babies are the ones that were the worst. We were briefed about not taking pictures and led in to help. Some of us helped fold clothes that were laying all over the ground, drying in the sun. I worked peeling potatoes and bananas that were to be part of dinner. A lot of volunteers go to help feed the residents because almost all of them are unable to feed themselves. While there I watched the nuns – washing clothes, cooking, feeding, loving… I thought about them and how this was their life – their whole life. This wasn’t just something they were doing for a month, or for 11 months, then they would get to go home to “real life”… this was it. It made me really think about what it means to be a servant – to be someone who could really, REALLY, give their whole life to serving those that could never give them anything back in return… to be someone who would give up everything to really, REALLY, love those that the world has classified as the least of the “least of these”. Am I a servant? Do I even know what it means to be a true servant of the Lord / for the Lord? This is something I am still working through with God, but yes, however temporary, this is my life right now.
Thursday we did home visits. This is where we literally go into people’s homes and visit. Our first visit was to a home where a member of the church, named Alice, wanted prayer for healing. We went, we prayed, we believed God for healing. Then we went into the slums where another member lived. Pastor Joseph said this woman had a baby a couple months ago and has not been able to be at church for awhile and he wanted us to visit with her and pray blessings over the baby. We walked through the slums, through the garbage, through the sewage, through the people, through the flies, through the metal “houses”, through the dirt and dust… We got to Margaret’s home and were welcomed in to find her, her baby, here sister, and two other neighboring children there waiting on us. She gratefully welcomed the 4 of us in. We walked into her 8 square foot home…. yes, I said 8 square feet… and sat down to visit. As I looked around I saw a woman who was trying to make the best possible home for her family with what she had available – there was definitely a sense of pride in that 8 square feet. There was a twin size bed and a basket that were separated from us by a curtain. We sat on the other side of the curtain where there was a love seat and two chairs and a small coffee table. There was a shelf behind us that held some dishes, a cup with toothbrushes in it, and a small 10″ TV. I felt very welcomed and right at home. We were served some ice cold coke while we talked and smiled over the baby. We prayed for them and left for lunch. As we walked out of the house and back through the slum, through the garbage, through the sewage, through the people, through the flies, through the metal “houses”, through the dirt and dust… I broke. How is it possible for people to call this home? How it it ok that people live like this? How in the world could I ever think I am living a hard, sacrificial life when I get to go back to America…. in about 6 months I will be back living a life of luxury and Margaret and baby Angel will still be right where I visited them on some random Thursday. This is something I am still working through with God, but yes, however temporary, this is my life right now.
What is real life? Often on the world race we talk about “race life” and “real life”. “Real life” pertains to things back home… things that remind us of America, or family, or anything “for real”. It seems we have to constantly remind ourselves that this is some kind of reality, because often it feels like a dream where we will all wake up in about 6 months and go back home to resume life like nothing has changed… well, maybe one thing has changed… because I have definitely realized that there is no way I will be able to return home the same as when I left.
