Life at 10,800 feet is much simpler. The sun is out one minute and behind clouds the next. We go to bed early and line up to shower. In the evenings and mornings, and often the afternoon too, the whole valley is consumed by clouds, and we walk around in layers of sweatshirts and blankets. Tea is a go to favorite. We all sleep on pads in the empty room that will be the living room. Some people set up their tents out back on the one flat section in the whole hill. The hill is so steep you can’t see the bottom from the top. The sun burns exposed skin very quickly, after all it is the equator. Food disappears extremely fast between our thirty hard-working, hungry selfs. Above all, it’s gorgeous up here. Wild flowers and long green grasses blow lightly in the wind. All around are the rolling green hills, with rows of crops or herds of cattle. Far below are the clustered white buildings with splashes of color that make up Quito.
Manual Labor at 10,800 feet is much harder. My days are consumed by a variety of hard work. Recently, everyone assigned to “clean up crew part 2” including myself, dragged ree bar all the way across the hill. The first pile was thin rebar and it was fairly easy to drag two or more at a time, but the second pile was the thick rebar. Taking two all the way across the hill was extremely unbelievably difficult. By my second trip I was panting hard and my arms felt like I had been rock climbing for hours. I did it, but only with God strengthening me. Even if I could do it without God’s strength, I wouldn’t want to. Without God it would suck, but I love it, and I have no reason to. I’m not necessarily very strong. If the 80-20 rule is accurate and 80% of the work is completed by 20% of the people, which it probably is, I am definitely not part of that 20%. Yet I was doing my part, and that’s what counts, here at 10,800 feet, and in life.
After we moved the piles of rebar, it was time to move the cinder blocks, and then the huge pile of wood. We started with the long planks and began to make a stack on top of the cinder blocks, halfway across the hill. As I was carrying the planks of wood, the verse that says pick up your cross and follow me took on a new meaning for ne (Mark 8:34). Not that carrying planks of wood comes close to carrying a cross, but it got me thinking. While I believe God delights in blessing us and giving us good gifts (Matthew 7:11), I know He never said believe in me and I will make your life painless and perfect. Instead He said to His disciples “Look, I am sending you out as sheep among wolves. So be as shrewd as snakes and harmless as doves. But beware! For you will be handed over to the courts and will be flogged with whips in the synagogues. You will stand trial before governors and kings because you are my followers. But this will be your opportunity to tell the rulers and other unbelievers about me. When you are arrested, don’t worry about how to respond or what to say. God will give you the right words at the right time. For it is not you who will be speaking—it will be the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.” (Matthew 10:16-20). Doing manual labor in the mountains above Quito Ecuador it never something I thought I would be doing the year after high school, but here I am. I’m here and I love it. It’s amazing to be here, and I am delighting in carrying wood around because it’s not just me, but God with me giving me strength, and this beautiful community of people He has given me.
I was here at 10,800 feet the first week of March and this week, in between I saw my parents for the first time in six months at PVT (Parent Vision Trip). It was a week where everyone’s parents came and it was a great time to catch up and find a bit of home. As it drew near to say goodbye we were sad, but I realized again how truly glad I am to be here doing this. As I arrived back at 10,800 feet I rejoiced. I was back. Back in the beautiful rolling hills, back in the cold, back with Kyser the dog, back for more manual labor, back in to this place I love.
However, I often forget I love this place. I often get caught up hating the exhaustion from walking up that hill, passing buckets of concrete, and hauling cinder blocks around. I start to resent the cold of the never ending cloud, the wait for the shower, the room all the girls share, my air pad that deflates through the night and ends up being just a big piece of plastic on the cold hard ground. Then I remember all I have. I remember that down the hill, still in sight of the house is a community with no running water and no electricity. Here I am with my blankets, my mostly hot showers, my clean water, my lights, my everything.
One night, I sat and looked at out the dark hillside. I watched the street lights in the distance shine blurry through the fog. I wondered about the community down the hill somewhere. I wondered about the people this house will help one day, when it’s all finished. I stared into the night and wondered and dreamed with God. Maybe I’ll come back here someday, maybe I’ll be somewhere else entirely, but I want to make a difference, somewhere, somehow. For now, I’m trusting God with my next step and finding vision for the future. As I go, I want to remember what I have, I want to remember to give thanks in all circumstances, I want to remember what God says, and I want to remember I don’t want to do this in my own strength or in my own pride. This is my goal. When I try to do all these works on my own I’m acting in pride, I’m not simply doing my part, or letting God work in me. I’m trying with with a lot and accomplishing a little, instead of accomplishing a lot with a little. So the next two months, every time I forget, every time I find myself grumbling and bitter about my circumstances, I’m going to remind myself what I have and name seven things I am grateful for.
