This past week marked a huge turning point in my time on the World Race.
I had the privilege, {though it was initially hard to consider it that} to visit the main garbage dump in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, the country’s large, developing capitol. The people there greeted us with what looked like black ski masks on their faces, swarming around us like bees as our van pulled up. I was terrified. We were told not to take any of our belongings, such as cameras or purses, but I opted to take my water bottle; even that seemed like a luxury item. I knew we’d need water though, because the climate was cool and dry, but quickly increasing in temperature as the minutes passed by. We said a prayer with Pastor Hermando, who has been coming to the dump for years to minister to people and was to lead our trip that day. We piled out of the van as a heard of “gringos”, afraid to get too far from one another.
I couldn’t help but instinctively hold my breath. The stench was enough to knock you over. I hadn’t eaten that morning, otherwise I probably would’ve thrown up, but it took all of my strength not to do so as I choked back the gags, beginning to feel my stomach twist into knots. I know that sounds horrible, but it's the truth of the matter. It was the craziest place I've ever been.
Here’s the thing, though; the reality of it all:
human beings live here.
People have lived here for years. Babies are born here and never leave here. Women are outnumbered, and the men in ski masks are wearing them not only for intimidation, but to shield their faces from the wind, dirt, and to keep the awful smell from entering their nostrils. I’m not sure that anyone could ever adapt or get used to it, no matter how long one lived there. My skin curled as I saw hundreds of huge, black vultures circling the sky around us, fending for their own lives as they dove like missiles into the heaps of what once was, items people had mindlessly tossed, items that now became food and shelter to thousands. I saw hundreds of cows, and many homeless dogs wandering. Mange and disease doesn't describe their conditions properly. They were barely living. The entire city of over 4 million people’s garbage goes to this one location.
Imagine it. Just for a moment. Imagine the rotting, the intense decay that is constantly going on amongst these people that call this place “home”.
One thing I’m learning on the Race is that home truly is where your heart is, and that can be so many places all at once. It’s true; I’ve laid my head to rest in many places that have become like home to me. Unlike me, however, many of these people have no choice; they are here out of desperation, necessity, or a last resort.
But after the initial anxiety that came with it all, God opened my heart and said,
"Suzy, these are your brothers and sisters. Love them."
{if i look shocked, it's because I was.}
And so with that, all that i could do was pummel the metaphorical walls that society has put up and say "no" to fear and trembling. I dove in, and reached out for their hands, for hugs from the dirtiest people I've ever met. We exchanged names and smiles, and we started to speak, me in my broken spanish, of course.
{this guy spoke pretty good english, and collected metals from the dump that he would then trade in for money in the city each day.}
But what happened next was a shock, though almost inevitable. Music was the greatest weapon we had, and as we began to sing and dance, people flocked from all over the dump to where we were, surrounding us in one large circle. Large pieces of cardboard became drums. Plastic bags became synthesizers. And these people became my family.
{brit and I danced and sang with this woman. we prayed for her and her family. and then they exchanged sunglasses. she was so sweet.}
it's amazing how beautiful the views are from here, too, beyond all the garbage was life and green mountains and vallies. I know this will be one of Jesus' first stops when He comes back. Restoration is coming here and I just know it'll be made new. While this may all seem like a bunch of seemingly empty and poetic words, written by a naive young woman from the middle of Missouri, God is teaching me huge lessons about love and the lack thereof.
Love is a choice. Love is simple. Love can come to us in the strangest of ways, when we least expect it. And if God is love, and God is in us, then doesn't that propel us forward to…love…?
So if "home" is where the heart is, I would say my home is now amongst heaps of garbage, with some of the most beautiful people I've ever had a chance to meet.
And in so many words and images, I think that's all that I really wanted to say.
