"You're gonna want to get new shoes before you go." This was my advice to prepare for our ministry at the city dump. That, and prepare for your heart to be broken. What was I about to get myself into?
So I bought a $10 pair of shoes and prepared for the worst.
The journey to the dump gave no hint of what we were about to encounter. The countryside was so beautiful with green trees, gorgeous hibiscus flowers, and distant mountains.
The smell hit me like a ton of bricks.
Men and women sorted through the trash barefoot, barely glancing where they walked. Most of them work at the dump, collecting bottles and cans so they can provide food for their family. A naked child ran through the garbage, it was his playground.
I was overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness. What could I possibly do to help?
We made our way over to a platform where mothers and their children were anxiously waiting. After singing songs with the kids, we began to distribute food. Some kids tried to hide food or save it for later, knowing this might be the best meal they would have all week.
The platform had a wall on one side to protect from the sun's glare. The boards were dark and warped, light coming through the cracks. This is hope, I thought. God places this light, this hope in us that shines through our brokenness. If we were all put together, the light couldn't shine through.
So I tried to love on the kids, to give them enough hope to light up the darkness, if even for a moment. I met Belma and Elza, seven and nine, sisters. They are such gems. We ran and chased and tickled. I couldn't put them down for a second. My arms were so sore the next day. But it was so worth it.
These kids, despite their situation, demonstrated more joy than I have seen in a long time.
They are the light through the cracks.
