Some things to think about...

As we walk around the dirt streets here and see shacks made of cardboard in litter-filled lots right next to huge, air-conditioned, gated houses, where kids are walking around in shoes two sizes too small, with nothing to eat for dinner and no one to clean the dirt off their faces, there is a lot to think about and lots of questions flooding my mind.

One of my Westmont buddies from Page Hall days, Ryan Zoradi, recently went down to El Salvador for a few months after graduation to discover for himself how he can make an impact on the poor and needy, and an email he wrote expressed a lot of what I am thinking and figuring out here. So instead of trying to re-write it, I am going to share some of it with you all. I you are impacted as much as I was.


¨I would love to insert a clean little conclusion here about all that I have learned over the last six and a half months, how I figured myself out with all this time to think, and how I can tangibly measure all that I have done in this community. The reality is living in poverty, and poverty itself, is messy. I'm always asking myself: What is the best way to help my friends in need? When does charity become reliance and manipulation? Is it ok to even call my friends here poor? Likewise, judging my personal growth is equally challenging. Have I become more selfish or less since arriving? Will I indulge in American comforts more or less when I've gone this long without them? Why can I only see how far I have to go as a person when I feel like I´ve come so far?

Clearly I will leave with more questions than answers, but I prefer questions because they elicit dialogue—and this is where you come in. I would rather talk to you one on one about my questions and what I've learned than try to explain it all here. Dialogue is a two-way street and allows both of us to question, receive feedback, and see themes from a new angle. And honestly, a one-way sermon via email will so quickly turn into me pretending like I have life figured out and/or you swiftly hitting the "back to inbox" button, so let's not go there. With dialogue in mind, I am going to list off a few questions that we can try and answer together next time we talk or email. Also, they will help you avoid the ole "How was El Salvador?" question (but don't feel bad if you still ask it).

What is the importance of consistency in relationships?
What is the difference between top-down community development and bottom-up?
Why is it so important to do the little things well?
What is competition's place in the world of nonprofits?
Can we grit our teeth and force ourselves to act more like Jesus through habit or a change in environment?
Why is serving others so unnatural?
What is a biblical view of globalization? Where do the cross and outsourcing
meet?

I want to leave you with a quick story, something to hold onto until we get a chance to talk more in depth. It is a story of God redeeming me and working through me, of Him taking a heart that has been hardened by wealth and apathy, and softening it through one pair of big brown eyes. I have to back up a bit and first clarify that I came to El Salvador to learn how to care about the poor. Because honestly, I don't think I used to care. Halfway, three-quarters of the way through my trip, I desperately wanted to dwell with the poor, I really wanted to care, but I avoided them. I knew which neighborhoods were most impoverished and I just didn't go there. I picked up Mother Teresa's My Life for the Poor, which can be read in an hour, and didn't finish it for almost three months. The book was too convicting, too true, too simple, and too messy. Even starting to love like she did would turn my life on its head. I want to control things and surround myself with people who make me feel loved and popular, who have something to offer me, not those who drain my energy and take advantage of me—the outcasts, the dirty, the needy, the weak, and the abused.

Then God starting doing that thing that He does. I went to Nicaragua and saw sons of prostitutes, daughters of drug dealers, and children who just couldn't safely go home anymore, cared for and loved. I read Robert Lupton's For Theirs is the Kingdom (a very highly recommended, brief read) and listened to my friend Micah say at the Thanksgiving table she was thankful that "God is with the poor, that they are special to Him." I ran into some kids I used to hang out with whose mom can't consistently put food on the table. Then I saw those big brown eyes. They belonged to a dark-haired twelve year-old girl and I don't even know her name. Tattered clothes. Dirt from head to toe. Knees bent unnaturally inward. Huge smile. By her mumbling, I could tell she was mentally challenged, she couldn't make out a word, but her eyes spoke for her. She was fixed on me, maybe because I'm a gringo, but I think because she was hoping I would love her. I then watched in disbelief as her little brother beat her over the back with a three-finger-thick stick. The other kids laughed, claiming it was ok because she didn't cry, and therefore, she must not feel pain. I ran to her, fighting through the stench of feces and threw my arms around her, saying "No, ella es bonita…ella es bonita." I then noticed a piece of string resting on her foot. At first, I thought it was just a piece of rope that got caught on her while she was running barefoot. Then, I realized it was tied around her ankle and there was another piece attached to it, dragging a few feet behind. Her family kept her tied up. She didn't feel pain and she needed to be tied up, I don't think they considered her fully human. I do think that she needed that hug, and so did I.

Mother Teresa once said, "It is Christ you tend in the poor. It is his wounds you bathe, his sores you clean, his limbs you bandage. See beyond appearances, hear the words Jesus pronounced long ago. They are still operative today: What you do to the least of mine, you do it to me. When you serve the poor, you serve our Lord Jesus Christ." I´m convinced it wasn't me running to help that girl, it was the Holy Spirit answering my prayer and working through me. The Holy Spirit in me tended to the presence of Christ in her. The perfect love of the Trinity, in action, right before my eyes. Because of this experience and countless others, my time in El Salvador, was worth it. ¨

Wow. I have many similar quesitons and experiences that have been swimming around in my head, and Ryan you put them into words far more eloquently than I ever could. We are Christ´s hands and feet on this earth, and when we care for the lost, forgotten, lonely, dirty, hungry and unloved, we are caring for Christ Himself. Thanks for your example and words Ryan, I needed them all the way down here in Peru...