I get into a big white van. Three people in front; eleven are squished in back. We sit facing each other, glad we are not facing the traffic because without control it is better not to know what is going on. There are no lanes on the road we are on. There are lines, but they are negotiable and neglected. More often than not the lines suggest two lanes but there are three. We sit this way in the heat, sweaty and on top of each other, for around thirty minutes and what seems like much longer.
We are joyous as we arrive at our destination. Finally, time to get out! But there is an unpleasant smell that greets us. The smell of dirty sitting water, the smell of wet trash, the smell of decay. I look around and realize I am in the middle of a graveyard, but not a pretty one. This graveyard does not have grass, trees, or flowers people have left for loved ones lost. This graveyard has cinder blocks stacked high into walls of dead bodies. Most graves are closed like they are supposed to be, but there is the occasional one which has been broken into. Human bones are exposed because the living around them were hungry for their things.
I begin looking around and realize people live here. There is even a school for their children! Then I see their dwellings, and begin to understand why there are so many graves. The woman who brought me here gathers my team for a tour, so I follow, only later to realize I would not have followed if I knew where she was leading me. I jump over a dirty puddle of muck and grime and walk gingerly along the little available dry ground. People peer out at me from their humble homes – pieces of plastic, cardboard, or metal haphazardly placed together in hopes of calling a space “their own” and shielding themselves from the rain that pours every afternoon. I look these people in the face, see their smiles, their gentle eyes, and realize that they are BEAUTIFUL. They welcome me into their neighborhood as they study my strange skin and ways.
As I continue on the narrow walkway, feeling claustrophobic as the walls and damp darkness seem to close in on me, I look down. I instantly realize looking down was a mistake. It was much better to be unaware than to realize I am now walking on wet, old, rotting, wood which seems thrown together without much thought. Below the wood are piles of trash, which did not comfort me until I begin walking on that same wood over a dirty, polluted ocean. My mind jumps to the worst and I wonder what I will do if I fall through. I come up with no back-up plan, and grasp on for something to hold as I see places where the wood has broken before. “What happens to people when they fall?” I think, but then immediately my focus shifts to a toddler slipping and sliding along the edge of the wood. “Have babies fallen into that water?” My fear is still with me, but my focus can no longer be on me. This is where people live. I have been welcomed here. I try to walk through carefully with my eyes focused on the people and not the ground. They know I am afraid and I cannot fool them. They may see me as silly or ridiculous, but I know they are thankful I have taken time to visit – they do not get many visitors.
I am relieved when it is time to turn around, but realize I have a long way to walk back. I know I will make it and am determined to love people along the way. I know God put me here to love these people, and I am going to do it. I also know God is asking me to trust Him. If He had told me beforehand what He wanted me to do instead of throwing me into it, I would have said no.
This was my reality a few days ago. I literally felt like Indiana Jones, or like some game I made up as a child had come to life. Instead of falling to my death in imagined boiling lava if I lost my balance and fell off the seat cushion, I may have literally fallen to my death in a heap of trash if I stepped on the wrong piece of wood. The most astonishing thing about it is that people live there. It is their home. It is where their families are and where they find relationships and community, which for many are deeper and richer than we understand in our independent selfish culture. To some it is all they have known; to many it is the place they would always choose. As people we are often most comfortable in the familiar.
Some of you may be wondering why people live in the dumps, and the sad answer is that it is the most strategic place for them to live and support their families. Most members of the family spend the day and night searching through others’ junk in hopes of finding plastic or anything else of value. I go into the dump in galoshes while babies go barefoot or in their parents’ flip-flops that are ten sizes too big. There is nothing to protect them from the disease lurking in the water.
But you know what else I found there besides the thick smoke, rampant disease, piles of trash, and pungent smell? I found JOY. These people are poor in spirit, and God loves their desperation because these people know they need Him. His heart is close to them and Matthew 5:3 is true – these people are receiving the kingdom of God. I have so much to learn from them about humbleness, faith, and contentedness in all circumstances. Be praying that I would learn and would have something to give. I am praying that Christ will be seen in every glance of my eyes and smile. The Lord’s grace abounds and I am hopeful. It is wonderful to see Him working.
