The Phillippines is a beautiful country: tropical, hospitable, and full of life. Like all other countries, though, parts of the Phillipines are plagued by severe poverty.
One of the places we visited in the Philippines was called Smokey Mountain, but carried the nickname “Happy Land”. We went to do a feeding as part of our ministry, and teach a bible lesson. This particular village had become a trash dump. It was once a village of refuge, and hosted people from all over the Philippines and elsewhere who didn’t have work. After some time, people who had nowhere to dump their trash began to use this village as a dump.
When we arrived, it immediately started pouring rain. We quickly unloaded everything we needed for the feeding, a simple meal of spam and rice, and trudged through the mountain and the trash to the village. As we walked, we were ankle deep in garbage, the juices from the rain and the trash soaking our socks and sticking between our toes. We were soaked head to toe in torrential, typhoon downpour.
Just as I was reminding myself to check my attitude, we got to the food shelter. As we began to set up, kids started to come from every direction. Some naked, some clothed in rags, all looking curious and shy. My team and I went out to greet them, and they began to laugh, and ask us how old we were, what our names were. Even though these kids were noticeably starving, and there was food waiting on the other side, they wanted relationship with us.
We started singing and dancing, right in the middle of the pouring rain, and the kids were elated. They laughed, sang, jumped into our arms. I began to cry. Like, really cry. And strangely, not because my heart was broken for them, but because they reminded me that life is abundantly beautiful.
In the middle of a trash dump, in the middle of typhoon rain, in the middle of some of the worst smells I’ve ever smelled in my life, precious, hungry kids held our hands and danced and sang with us. They didn’t feel bad for themselves, they were covered in joy.
That message is too important not to share. I came on the race expecting heart break. Expecting sadness, to pity people. Over the last few months, God has been opening my eyes to what a full life looks like. So many days, I miss my bed, having air condition, eating as much food as I (think I) need. And I thought that was what people needed. I thought people needed an out. I thought I was coming on the race to fight poverty. As it turns out, I think that’s what I will do when I get back to America.
On the race, I have seen physical hunger and thirst. I have seen homelessness. I have seen destitution. But I have seen beauty and fullness of life that has filled me to the brim with hope. I have seen true community. I have seen women care for orpahend children as if they were their own. I have seen families fight for each other, live with one another, put each other first. I have seen a life completely void of materialism. I have seen people live on less than what they need with gratitude and splendor, and share the little they have with others. I have seen miraculous provision that could only have been from God, and the dependance on God that comes from relying on him to provide your daily needs. I have seen enormous genorosity. Smiles, and gratefulness, and laughter in its most raw form.
I vow to take simplicity back with me. I vow to live below my means, to recognize how very blessed I am, and to choose to find abundance in the people around me, not the things. I vow to live only on what I need, and not be driven by want. And I vow to remind myself daily that joy is always possible, and gratitude is always an option.
It was easy to see poverty and wallow in sorrow and broken heartedness. It is much harder to process the realization that my pity was toxic. To realize that these people didn’t know that they were poor until a well-intentioned missionary brought out their iphone, their camera, their wallet. People don’t need my pity, they need my love. They need my open eyes. They need to learn from me, and to teach me. And the lessons I have learned have been more valuable than any of the things (maybe besides pictures of my family) that I have brought with me on the race, and any material thing that I am going back to.
So I can’t go back to living my life normally. I can’t go back to my own poverty. My poverty of storing, and binging and hoarding as if I don’t serve the God that provides more than enough for me. I have learned where fullness of life comes from. I have seen such raw community, and I can’t wait to go back and pour into the people I love so much, who have loved me and served me and supported me.
