I'd heard about the community that lived in the dumpsite. I was quite familiar with the ministry Glory Reborn has there. But I never ever imagined that it could be as difficult to see as it actually was.
Before we even arrived, children had jumped on the back of our van and others were running behind it. As soon as we stopped, they instantly lined up, single file directly behind the van. Some of us handed out crackers, a few doctors from Finland listened to people's chests, and antibiotics, tylenol and other drugs were given out according to need. I squatted nearby and little children came to talk. It was so lovely to be able to ask them questions in their own language. I was shocked how much I remembered from last time! As we walked along after the clinic, all the children came with us, on our backs, in our arms, holding our hands.
As we left the road and entered the dumpsite a smell so foul met my nose I could do nothing but consentrate on walking so I didn't turn around and run. I can't believe I complain about going out to empty the compost, when these people live in a place that smells worse than my compost pile. We passed a huge mountain of white paper cups. Then a similar mountian of styrefoam containers. The ground squished under my feet and if you didn't step on the tires or coconut shells or backpacks or pieces of cardboard that were laid down, you would sink right down into the black flilth.
As we passed people's homes, those fluent in our group spoke with them, and the rest of us smiled and said good afternoon. They were all very smilely and friendly. It was so bizarre that these people were LIVING here! We passed a house that looked like the leaning tower of Pisa. I felt sure if anyone so much as breathed on the second floor the entire thing would come crashing down. Most houses were only one story though, or one with a small one above it. We passed under an arch way covered in beautiful pink flowers. It seemed strange that such beauty could be found in such a place.
When we finally came out to the road again, we saw what looked like bleached sand dunes stretching into the distance. But it wasn't sand dunes, it was garbage. Children ran about on the hills closest to us, laughing, and chasing each other.
I have seen many poor places in my life. I was in a dumpsite community in India last summer. But somehow, this one filed me with the most sorrow, the most hopelessness. It is such a dreadful situation to live, to raise a family. Yet I know that there is hope. And if I think of Jesus, walking through that dumpsite, what would he do? I don't think he would start programs to get them out of there, or programs to clean up the houses, or make better paths. I don't think he would start any programs at all. I think Jesus would sit down and gather the children to him and love them. He doesn't care where people are living, he just loves them exactly the way they are. I don't even know what I could do for these people to improve their situation, but I know I can love these kids, and with the amount of love they show me, I know that will be easy.
Before we even arrived, children had jumped on the back of our van and others were running behind it. As soon as we stopped, they instantly lined up, single file directly behind the van. Some of us handed out crackers, a few doctors from Finland listened to people's chests, and antibiotics, tylenol and other drugs were given out according to need. I squatted nearby and little children came to talk. It was so lovely to be able to ask them questions in their own language. I was shocked how much I remembered from last time! As we walked along after the clinic, all the children came with us, on our backs, in our arms, holding our hands.
As we left the road and entered the dumpsite a smell so foul met my nose I could do nothing but consentrate on walking so I didn't turn around and run. I can't believe I complain about going out to empty the compost, when these people live in a place that smells worse than my compost pile. We passed a huge mountain of white paper cups. Then a similar mountian of styrefoam containers. The ground squished under my feet and if you didn't step on the tires or coconut shells or backpacks or pieces of cardboard that were laid down, you would sink right down into the black flilth.
As we passed people's homes, those fluent in our group spoke with them, and the rest of us smiled and said good afternoon. They were all very smilely and friendly. It was so bizarre that these people were LIVING here! We passed a house that looked like the leaning tower of Pisa. I felt sure if anyone so much as breathed on the second floor the entire thing would come crashing down. Most houses were only one story though, or one with a small one above it. We passed under an arch way covered in beautiful pink flowers. It seemed strange that such beauty could be found in such a place.
When we finally came out to the road again, we saw what looked like bleached sand dunes stretching into the distance. But it wasn't sand dunes, it was garbage. Children ran about on the hills closest to us, laughing, and chasing each other.
I have seen many poor places in my life. I was in a dumpsite community in India last summer. But somehow, this one filed me with the most sorrow, the most hopelessness. It is such a dreadful situation to live, to raise a family. Yet I know that there is hope. And if I think of Jesus, walking through that dumpsite, what would he do? I don't think he would start programs to get them out of there, or programs to clean up the houses, or make better paths. I don't think he would start any programs at all. I think Jesus would sit down and gather the children to him and love them. He doesn't care where people are living, he just loves them exactly the way they are. I don't even know what I could do for these people to improve their situation, but I know I can love these kids, and with the amount of love they show me, I know that will be easy.
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