An experience that’s been heavy on my heart since April…
Gloom and fog loomed over the mountains of Pig’s Peak, Swaziland. I zipped up my rain jacket and started wandering down the uneven dirt road. Most mornings in Swaziland I worked in the garden but on this particular morning a few squad mates and I volunteered to visit a family nearby the orphanage where we lived. Our job was to bring the family a food parcel, assist with medical check-ups, pray with them, and offer any additional help that they may need. A few days prior to going on the visit our host stated, “if you were not mentally or spiritually in a strong place it would best not to visit.”
I prayed about the visit before agreeing, knew that I would be fine, and was even excited about spending some time getting to know a local family. After living in Nepal, witnessing the gut-wrenching poverty, and praying with people in alarming circumstances, I thought I was prepared for this home visit. Seeing those things first hand in Kathmandu was a shock to my system, but I was ready now.
My thoughts were wrong, my heart had not been desensitized, and I was not ready.
Despite the overcast weather, I woke up that morning in an upbeat mood. I sauntered down the dirt path with my teammate, frequently stopping to take pictures. In month 4 everything still feels like an exciting picture opportunity. We were mesmerized by anything that was different from home- I remember walking past mud huts and marveling at how “cool” they looked. As ridiculous as it sounds, it never actually occurred to me that those mud huts were not just there to make the surroundings look more like the Africa stereotype that was branded in my brain. No, I hadn’t mentally registered that those huts are actually where people live because they can not afford to live anywhere else.
As soon as I walked up to the front door my adventurer spirit was brought back to a hard reality. This is not a tourist excursion to marvel at, this is a home. This is real life.
I was embarrassed of the ignorant, selfish bubble I’d let myself get caught up in. This was not about collecting stories and pictures for a scrapbook- it was and should always be about pouring out and serving others.
My heart sank as we stepped in the front door. I became speechless. This 10’x10’ space, with a dirt floor, one shoe-box sized window, and grass mat beds, is the entire living space for a family of five. This is where they live out everyday life.
There was little to say to one another, but the silence spoke so much. We sat on the ground with the family as each person received a check-up and handed over the bundle of food- a small drop in the bucket of the family’s true needs.
Through broken English and the efforts of a translator we found out that the husband/father was in an accident in 2007 that left him with a broken leg. The man stated that this injury made it very difficult for him to work and he constantly experienced shooting pain from his hip down to his foot. This long-standing injury affected his walk and his ability to climb up and down the hillside they live on.
We asked if we could pray for his pain. He agreed and pulled up his pant leg so that we could see and lay hands on the injury. As his leg was revealed to us, my eyes welled up. His skin and mangled scars blanketed a snapped, misshaped Tibia that never truly healed. After the injury this man was never able to go to a hospital. His leg was still broken and he had been living out daily life this way, as the provider of a family, for 8 years.
As we prayed, tears streamed down my face. I so desperately wanted to see this man’s pain be taken away. I wanted to know that Jesus was there, a confirmation that this man’s suffering was recognized, and that He would make things right.
Time and time again, this year is opening my eyes to the great amount of suffering and injustice in our world. I’ll never understand. I hate that I couldn’t do anything more to help this family. This has become one of the hardest things for me handle during the Race, it has drawn me to have greater dependency and trust in God.
We see the heartbreak, we help to the best of our abilities, but ultimately we are just strangers passing through some else’s real life.
