The sun beats harder on the equator than on other points on the globe. I haven’t researched why this is, but in Quito, at an altitude of 9,350 feet, working on a cinderblock house on the sunny side of a brown cliff/neighborhood, it feels like a frying pan, slowly sizzling me on the hand-mixed, concrete floor.
I take a break, walk out on to the edge of the dust-dirt road of the family’s hodgepodge compound. I have to duck under castoff cupboard door that serves as a transom to the sheet metal front door. Mounds of recyclables, the family’s sole, stable source of income, are piled in various degrees of rust.
From this vantage point I can see a large swath of the northern reaches of Quito, all the way to the airport, where planes occasionally take off, magically clearing the surrounding mountains. Quito is hourglass shaped, the North wealthier than the South, but the farthest ends of each are the poorest.
The sun beats down angrily. The dust swirls, occasionally blowing grit into my nostrils, eyes and ears.
I sit down on a broken cinderblock and eat my cheese sandwich, wondering what I’m doing here and how we could possibly be making any difference in this sprawling, smog-filled city…
Walking back with a pack of fútbol-uniformed ruffians, I carry the bag of soccer balls, trying – albeit unsuccessfully – to keep them from hosing each other down with their water bottles, or running through the café on the corner, or haphazardly walking in front of an oncoming car.
We only have one week for soccer camp, one week out of the entire month to try to get to know thirty pre-teens and teenagers, thirty kids who want to play soccer (a sport I know quite little about, despite having über-fan Dane as my freshman year roommate), thirty kids whose names I can’t remember even though I’m trying my hardest.
There’s no way to apologize that I only have one week, nor a way to apologize for my lack of soccer-coaching expertise…
Ecuador is Month 7 of the Race. Just over the halfway mark of the journey. During training for this year, staff and alumni Racers warned us that Month 7 (and Month 8…) would feel like a desert, a hard place, a trial, a slog.
In Quito, we stay at a beautiful missionary house, Casa Blanca, hosted by the staff and interns of Inca Link and work with a fantastic, extremely well-run ministry named Pan de Vida (Bread of Life). I am so thankful for the opportunity to be here with them, yet I can’t help feeling that I’m doing the stereotypical “Weeklong Mission Trip!”-thing – leading sports camps, building a house – that I was hoping to avoid.
But then the Lord opens opportunities I could not have foreseen. Opportunities that can and do occur during weeklong ventures (I don’t want to berate or judge weeklong trips, they have a true role and purpose), but certainly occur more casually during longer excursions.
During our workdays at the Lema family’s house, we bring some extra sandwiches to pass around to the men working on the new construction. We lunch together and Dani and Ryan would play with the kids during our rest from work. On the third day, the Lemas tell us that they would like to host us for lunch the following day. Lunch with a family in Quito? Of course we accept.
Next day, we see various preparations for lunch as we work. Unlike our usual American hours of eating somewhere between 11 AM and 1 PM, they prefer 12:30-2. Finally, we put down our shovels and trowels and climb up the stairs to the modest, one-room house, shared by a family of at least 5, if not more. Our team is ushered to sit on the two twin beds and are served large plates with maiz tostada, small salad, rice, and cuero.
To some, the meal of boiled pigskin and crunchy corn might seem off-putting, and indeed, it does to me initially. However, after sitting down with the whole family and enjoying a DVD recording of a WWF competition (my teammate Patrick is an avid fan), the Lema family tells us how much of a joy it is to have us in their home. Although several teams have come through Pan de Vida to contribute construction help over time (a bathroom, a foundation, etc.), we are the first that they have invited into their home, the first that knew would not judge them for their humble circumstances. I realize, while the pigskin takes all my strength to chew, that the Lema’s pulled out their best for us, offering us their mites, their loaves, their oil.
A few days later at the house, we are invited in to the home of a brother, who lives in a one-room basement home beneath the Lemas. The wife had just had a baby and we are invited to see the newborn. We spend time passing the baby between our arms and ask what his name is. What we are not expecting is the question of if we would be willing to name him! Clearly, the construction project that had seemed so futile a week before, just one of many families in need of a sturdy roof (Pan de Vida works almost as a Christian social-services organization, inviting families to meals on Wednesday and Saturday and then over time, assigning a case worker to each family and encouraging participation in other family and child services), was more impactful to the Lemas than I imagined.
As for the soccer program, I become great friends over the week with Fernando (name changed), a boy who is picked on by other kids for his oversized glasses and flannel shirt. Little did he know that he would be on A-game as far as style goes if he was in Seattle or San Francisco. He lights up with smiles and we banter back and forth. Later in the week one of the case workers checks in on him during our lunch and he says that his father had passed away just a few weeks prior and he had not had a chance to inform them. Of all the children to find in the group of thirty, and I could not have possibly known all of them, I get the chance to befriend and spend time with Fernando, to bring him a chance to be a part of a soccer program (a desire of all kids in the city) and to give him opportunities to find joy and peace in the midst of mourning.
At the beginning of the month, sitting on the cliff, looking at Quito, missions felt meaningless. So many people need help in many different ways, how can one person, one team make any difference? And is any difference even worth it?
Leaving Ecuador, my heart still breaks for those without a solid roof, those without opportunities to play sports, to wear a uniform, to be a part of a team. But I rest in knowing that for now, it is not I who am tasked to “fix” it for everyone, to solve every problem of every need. I can’t. It’s not in my strength to do so! I instead continue to pray, that the Lord will bring more hands, more feet, more willing heads and hearts to work together to serve for the long-term needs of the people of Quito. I rest in knowing that I’m not the solution and that others are continuing work – through Pan de Vida, Inca Link and other ministries – to bring earthly and eternal hope to the people of Quito.
Matthew 5:25 – 34 and Matthew 7:7-12 : In Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, we see the promise that the Lord is the one who sustains us, who cares for us and that our Father (God) is a good father, that he gives us good things. We can trust that even in the midst of hardship, trials, not understanding the extent of poverty in Quito, that He is working, that He has a plan. We are called to continue serving others, to be the bearer of good news and good things in His name.
