We’ve been in Guatemala for less than 3 days. I knew when we first landed in Central America that this country would have a huge impact on my life. I could feel it as I looked out over the rooftops during that single night we spent in the city before entering Honduras for September.
Now, we’ve reached November. I’ve been to four different countries and seen a lot of things that should have broken my heart. I’ve definitely been moved, don’t get me wrong, but nothing has affected me too deeply. It’s hard for me to understand why. I kept fearing I was coldhearted, or even worse, numb. Why was I feeling so little? I’ve fed hungry children their first and only meal of the day. I’ve seen whole families living in shacks with dirt floors, metal walls and a single mattress for a bed, I’ve prayed over sweet old women who haven’t been able to walk for years and I’ve played with kids who’s parents have been killed by gang members. I honestly haven’t felt wrecked over anything yet though. At least not until today…
My team and I piled onto the empty, metal floor of a heat-box on wheels and headed out. We made several stops along the way, loading in bread, water and other containers of food. We contorted ourselves to fit all 13 of us in and continued our journey. I was sweating before we’d even left, but at this point I was drenched. In fact, my teammate lovingly informed me that it looked like I’d just washed my face! This van had no windows so we weren’t aware we’d arrived at our destination until the stench reached our noses. The back doors were thrown open and the sun temporarily blinded us. We quickly scrambled out, desperate for cool air. Cooler it was, but fresh it was not, by any means. There I stood, gazing out at a valley full of trash. Mounds upon mounds of junk, as far as the eye could see. A combination of smoke and steam rose from below. Flocks of vultures swarmed above and flea covered dogs rummaged through nearby waste. Surrounding the dump were strategically placed pieces of decaying wood, scrap metal and other recycled items, creating shacks people called homes. The residents stood below, waist-deep in garbage. A truck drove past, loaded with fresh, black bags. I watched as children ran alongside it. Men leaped onto the moving vehicle, eager to explore it’s cargo before anyone else could rummage through it.
I was snapped out of my heartbreaking observations by the request for water. The children needed to wash their hands before they ate. I tripped over dirt covered t-shirts, styrofoam boxes, crushed pop bottles and crumpled paper as a man led me to a nearby hose. My shoes sunk into the sewage smelling mud as I filled my bucket. Tons of children passed me by, smiling and humbly waving. They were the poorest of poor yet they still had so much joy; so much innocence. They didn’t deserve to be there. No one did. This was the first time my heart broke on the Race. At that moment, I was thankful for the beads of sweat dripping down my face because they masked the tears that were streaming from my eyes. I couldn’t show I was upset. I couldn’t reveal how wrecked I was because this was life for them! This was normal! To show my heartache might be insulting. To show my pity may be offensive or condemning. The last thing I wanted was for them to feel shame, so I turned my pain-filled grimace into a smile and waved back.
I’d seen places like this in movies. I’d heard about it through other contacts in Honduras, but I guess I’d never fully let the weight of it hit me. It’s so easy to deny such terrible conditions exist when I’m so blessed, but at that moment, it was very real.
I had the comfort of knowing my time at the dump was only temporary. Soon I’d be able to shower. I’d spend the night in a bed and I knew roughly when my next meal was coming. For these people, that wasn’t the case. They had no retreat. How was it possible for them to live here? How was it right? How was it just? Sweet children, covered in grim, wearing clothes that were no-doubt found by their parents among the trash heaps. Beautiful woman still managing to decorate themselves with discarded jewelry and hair bows. In a place most find disgusting, these people had managed to find life. They had happiness. They had hope. It’s still hard for me to understand why God would allow people to live in such poverty, while people like me, are so fortunate, but I could feel his love for them so strongly!
Our host shared the story of Job with them before we washed their hands and gave them plates of pasta, chicken and tortillas. I have never felt more like Jesus. I was reassured in that instant that I am supposed to be here. I’m meant to be on the World Race, in Puerto Barrios, Guatemala, working with Case Verde Ministries, serving people in the trash dump. We’re to visit once a week for the rest of the month. I don’t think it will get any easier, but I’ve made friends I’m excited to see again. Through them, God’s light shines in the darkest of places.
