I don’t think you get it.

But it’s not your fault, really. It’s not.

When you see this picture, you don’t see what I see.

You see a Gringo wearing a silly Royals jersey with a bandana that doesn’t match.
You see a little girl who appears to have forgotten to put on all her clothes this morning.
You see a little smile on the girl’s face.
You don’t even know what’s going on with the Gringo.
You probably don’t care.

When I look at this picture, I’m broken anew.

I see a girl who two days earlier probably didn’t know what Love was. She never felt it—and even if she’d heard of it, there’s no way she believed it truly existed. It was merely Santa to her, something else she’ll never understand.

I see a girl who’s hungry.
Not only for the food her body is often neglected of, but for love, attention and someone who freaking cares. Somebody who isn’t just going to write her off as another mouth to feed, another child to look after.

I see a girl who often doesn’t know where her next meal will come from. A girl who doesn’t know the next time she’ll be able to muster a smile.

I see a girl who dreads the darkness because her resting place is in an indention in the ground with 5 of her siblings.

I see a girl who probably doesn’t even realize her 10-year old sister with AIDS is a ticking time bomb, set to detonate whenever nature takes its course.

I see a girl who finally, after years of existing, is able to know what it means to be loved deeply.

I see a girl who doesn’t want this short, simple moment where eyes meet to ever end. Because when it ends—and she knows it will end—she’ll have to return to her former life.

I see a girl whose future is uncertain, her house is eroding and her family is cramped.

I see a girl who now has felt Love, not from any person, but from her Maker. The kind of Love that truly touches the soul.

I see this and I weep, both tears of joy and despair.

I am in despair because there’s nothing I can do from a thousand miles away to continually love on this young girl. There is nothing I can do, apart from prayer, to ensure this girl feels Love. There’s nothing I can do to ensure this child gets the little bit of food that she needs to sustain her life—all the while I am surrounded by a nation riddled with obesity.

While the despair is immense, the joy is triumphant.

I know this young child, probably for the first time in her life, knows that there is something out there that is greater than her condition, her physical hunger, her brokenness.

She has seen Love. And Love is all she needs.

This is one little girl, from one little nation, from yet a smaller city in a world full of brokenness.

You probably didn’t see that.

And you probably are lucky because if you did, you’d have to care. And if you cared, you’d have to help. And no one is in the spirit of helping anyone else—WE’VE ALL GOT OUR OWN ISSUES TO CLEAN UP, RIGHT?

No. You don’t see what I see.

But I wish you did.

"…Blessed are the eyes that see what you see." – Luke 10:23

This is just an excerpt from my journal from Tuesday, March 24th:

After visiting Casa Hogar Vida and having siesta time, we went to the dump. I knew it would be hard and blow my mind, and it did. At first it looks just like any normal dump – trash, messy, vultures, not pretty. But then, you look closer and see people DIGGING through it, people sitting in make-shift shacks amongst it all. Or then, you walk up to this enormous pile of rotted food, bloody meat that look like they just came from a slaughter house. It was absolutely disgusting. Cow carcasses, bones, bloody, rotting meat — and they had to stand and dig through this to look for plastic bottles.

 
Soon the vultures came. And flies were everywhere, and talking with the people working there, you could just see the flies crawling all over them; their pants and clothes. This is their LIFE. This is their everyday, all the time, no escape LIFE. They don’t get to come "visit" for an hour or two and then leave, get in a bus and wash their hands. NO. This is their life, everyday, all the time. And it’s horrible. All day they dig through the trash for plastic bottles, sorting them out, and only making about $3 a day.

I talked with a 14 year old boy who had been in school until 6th grade, but had to quit school after that year. He said he really liked school, and his favorite subject was math. He said that this was his first year working at the dump. He wanted to be at school. He doesn’t like it here. …He is choking up at this point… THIS BOY IS FOURTEEN!! 14 years old! He shouldn’t be working in a DUMP, he should be able to be in school. But he CAN’T. He said that someday he hopes to go back to school in some kind of vocational studies, but a big part of me doubts and wonders that will happen. Which sucks. It’s not fair. He’s 14 years old, and he may have to dig through trash for the rest of his life.

Also at the dump was a married couple, who I talked with for awhile while everyone was waiting for their new shoes. I talked with the man one on one for awhile before his wife joined us, and he was very nice, and sweet. He told me I had a very beautiful face. I think I can honestly say he was the nicest man I talked to in Honduras, not counting the amazing men of the church. He was so easy to talk to and seemed genuinely happy. He was happy, and he worked in a dump.

Soon we called his wife over, and she was wonderful as well. She couldn’t stop smiling. They were so…. happy. Peaceful. Genuine. I couldn’t fathom this. After talking for awhile, I felt in my heart that it was time to ask them more about their faith. I asked Tyler to come and talk with me. I had asked before if they went to church, and they said that they did. With Tyler, we asked, that if they were to die today, would they think they would go to Heaven. With utmost certainty, they replied, "Yes.". When we asked more questions, they had all the right answers, and I honestly believe they have a deep personal relationship with Christ. The one thing that they said, though, that I will never forget, was this statement: "it’s not good works or deeds that get us into Heaven. it’s our faith. Without faith in God, we have nothing." …WE. HAVE. NOTHING.

This blew my mind! How could two people be so sure, so confident, passionate, sincere, and excited about their faith and hope in Christ and live and work at a city DUMP?!? It puts my faith to shame. Hearing their hearts and responses was so exciting and encouraging to hear, and immediately tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t stop crying. THAT moved my heart. I mean they were just great people in their faith. It makes me sad to think that they have to endure this everyday, but I just pray that someday they find ultimate rest.

After we got back on the bus, I kept crying. I couldn’t and can’t get those two stories out of my head (the 14 yr. old boy and the couple with amazing faith). These are real people, real stories, real lives. This isn’t something they do for spare money or to help the environment. This is their life. I was at the dump for about 2 hours, and got to leave. Got back on the bus and went back to a warm meal, a shower, and a soft bed to sleep in. I don’t know what to say. I’m broken.

One minute you’re in the friendly confines of an upper-middle class hotel, and the next you’re staring poverty and all its friends in the face.

It’s humbling and heart-breaking. You’ve seen the pictures on TV and seen the infomercials about helping feed a starving child for only $.10 a day, but you don’t really believe what you’re seeing can be real. You can’t fathom such devastation when you’ve only known of luxury.

Walking down an uneven, trash-filled, grass-barren path surrounded by barbed wire for who knows that purpose—they had little to protect—you have no idea what is about to hit you. It feels like a commuter train hitting you head-on at 60 mph. But it’s not. It’s worse.

It’s the sight of what most Americans would assume to be an over-sized outhouse with tin and other loose materials hanging to keep out rain and sun. But it’s not. It’s the home to 10 kids, several adults, and eight dogs.

And in an instant those infomercials are a lucid reality.

The stomachs of the children are deceiving. Their stomachs bulge like a beer belly but it’s not because of obesity—it’s malnutrition.

Even when it’s right in front of you, sometimes you can’t help but question if what you see is reality. Probably because you don’t want it to be. You wish it were only a nightmare.

Without much Spanish-speaking capabilities, it’s hard to communicate freely, but the pain and anguish is portrayed in a universal language.

The puffed-out tummies. The dirty, torn clothes. The sight of more than 12 people living in a house no larger than most compact mini-vans.

If I were blind, I might be fooled. Every time I asked the children how they were doing I received the same reply: “bien.” With each “bien” my heart sinks further. Another part breaks. Good?

Malnutrition. A broken home. Sanitary conditions don’t exist. Good?

That’s humbling. Even with a language barrier, the smile on the children’s faces and the laughter they elicit and we share for only moments makes it clear.

They are “bien” because somebody appears to care. Someone will get dirty and play soccer. Someone will ask them, “como estas” and actually show their words aren’t empty.

The Body of Christ came alive at the Ortez Families’ shack. Nineteen Americans left the land of good and plenty and land of comfort to personify Christ’s love in Honduras. And none of them left unchanged, unbroken.

For myself not only was it immensely humbling and heart-breaking, but a time to rejoice in the power of my Lord Jesus Christ.

I felt God tugging at my heart for the past few months. I felt him leading me toward my calling. I felt him altering my path. But I wasn’t sure where he was leading me.

When I arrived in Honduras, it felt like a homecoming. My heart was finally at peace; I finally felt as though Christ was unveiling my lot in life for furthering His kingdom.

Whoever says the course of a week can’t change the course of a life has never met my God, the God of the Universe. The God that is always faithful. Always perfect. Always gracious.

Throughout the week, growing in community with fellow local Honduras believers and even those I went on the trip with, I felt as though God was giving me a taste of what he has in store for me.

While it would be irresponsible for me to speak for God and claim that my lot in life is as a missionary in Honduras, I feel as though God is leading me down the path of missions—something I may have never truly realized without a 10-day heart-renovating experience.

While I don’t know where I’m going, I now know where I’ve been. And I know our God is faithful.

I learned you can’t always fix the problem, but a little Christ-like love and attention can turn a bad situation into a smile and a cheerful “bien” reply from the heart.

And God looks at the heart: “The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7.

This is love. Austin and Melvin sharing a smile.

These kids are on their way to a healthy life thanks to the Malnutrition Clinic. It’s beautiful to see how Christ is living through his people.

Robby’s spiritual gifts include being tall. It’s truly a gift. The kids LOVED him. And he loved them.

These are two of the Ortez Family Children. Day 1: I sat with the girl in the white shirt standing up and was broken because she could barely muster a smile. By day Three Christ love was beaming through his people so much that this little girl couldn’t STOP smiling. This is love.