Tomorrow morning, Transiberian railway. Im living in a dream..... what makes me think that I can change the world? Usually the people who are crazy enough to think that they can, do. I went to the garbage dump today, I was sick, but its my last day in Mongolia, and to the poor people who make a living collecting trash, germs are the last concern on their mind. We drove with the local pastor and his family, and co pastors and worship leader. No pictures, they advised. Why? The people at the dump dont like to be exploited. Imagine that, neither do I. They didnt pick this life, they just do the best that they can with what they have, and who wants to be plastered on a magazine for all the world to see? Walking through the litter, cold hands, despite the wool jacket and fleece onesie Im wearing, swarms of crows fly and then land some yards away. I am walking on a literal mountain of refuse, and this is where these people call home, sweet home. This is their source of food, income, stability. Garbage...ones man trash is another mans livelihood. No pictures, no accolades. This is how they live, and who am I to offer them anything else but equal companionship and deep love? So our group sits down, we make due with what the people there make due with, plastic bags, sacks, anything to keep our clothes from the refuse. We pass out tea, pass out cookies, smile and our translators ask their names. Yes, these dump workers have names, faces, stories. They even have dreams and hopes. The group is asked if they have anything to share. I make a feeble attempt at a story that is translated and listened to intently until bags of used clothes are passed around for the group to look through. I don;t know what to say, dont know what to do, so I spot an older lady, someones mother, someones sister, someones daughter, someones grandmother. I strip off my fuzzy wool $4 pink coat that I have worn these past three weeks and I offer it to her. She puts it on one sleeve at a time. I tell her shes beautiful, I remind her that shes someone important, Jesus loves her so much. Words arent cheap if theyre from your heart. She smiled, and her sad wrinkled enfolded eyes sparkle like a little girl at Christmas time. I wish I had more. I spot a man who is wearing a torn coat, he looks cold. I strip off my fleece onesie and I give it to him. He smiles, my heart melts. The group passes out the rest of the tea, they hug the people, love the people, and then we go. We walked away, not heroes, just normal people sharing what we have through the same grace that is shown to us day by day. Time, food, clothes. Its not much but its something, because after all, love looks like something. And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is why I am here writing this email tonight.
Posted on: Wed, 20 Nov 2013 14:59:26 +0000
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