Lessons from the trash heap

I have been aware lately of how easily i slide into living this comfortable American life, forgetting that the majority of the world is suffering in ways i cannot even imagine. And ashamedly, I must admit that I even struggle to pray for God to break my heart for the things that break His. It is uncomfortable to go there. And Americans like comfort. A lot.
We support a few kids through various organizations, and I am still prone to grow callous toward the real life horrors that they face on a regular basis. I feel guilty throwing the Compassion International quarterly magazine away, so i put it aside til i have 'time' to read it. Sometimes it takes months for me to get around to it. I am so consumed with my own comfort and ease that I can't even make time to read about the poor and needy... let alone break for them, pray for them, or consider the blessings I've been given are just that-- blessings-- not rights. What kind of Christian (follower of Christ) does that make me? Do i really worship (revere, honor, and depend on) God? or do i worship comfort?
After (finally) reading through the articles of this Winter's issue of Compassion Magazine, I was challenged anew to get on my knees and repent for the sense of entitlement i have to all 'my' things, attitudes, and expectations of my little life. I don't feel guilty. I feel awakened. I feel thankful for my healthy children, my husband's job, my many material (undeserved) blessings... i feel like i can face my trivial trials without complaining! Seriously, when was the last time you went a whole day without complaining about ANYTHING?
I fell asleep (in my clean, warm bed) after reading about the children who walk barefoot in the trash heap all day to support their families, with the question rolling around my mind, "Lord, does your heart break more for these poor and needy children who live in the garbage, or for me, who lives in complacent wealth and looks the other way?"
which is more disgusting?
who is really the poor one here?
What do we filthy rich know about God's Heart, when we are so attached to the things of this world? And complain when we are deprived of our so called rights to comfort, entertainment, fashion, status, etc?
The answer I believe God would give is that His heart breaks for all of us. He longs for the children in the trash heap to know that they are not garbage-- that they are loved beyond measure-- and that He died to set them free to be loved and accepted, even in the midst of their desperate circumstances.
He longs for me to release my grip on all that I think will bring me peace and happiness-- to realize it's all garbage compared to HIM-- and to lay down my life for those less fortunate-- to offer hope and love to the needy. not just the physically/financially needy, but the downcast, the desperate, the questioning and hurting, orphans and widows, the mourning, suffering, lonely, angry, rejected-- the neighbors, friends and strangers i pass by everyday and choose not to hear their silent cries, or offer hope, in the name of my own comfort.
Oh Lord, help me to go there. to get uncomfortable. to walk into the trash heap of people's lives and extend the only true hope that exists -- for the rich and poor alike.

****
Here is one of the short articles that opened my eyes once more to the work that God is doing, and wants to continue to do through ministries like Compassion, and through the lives of those 'more (or less) fortunate' than we might think:

"Lessons from the trash heap"
FROM THE HEART OF THE PRESIDENT [of Compassion International]
WESS STAFFORD
I have hated poverty ever since I understood that it was responsible for the deaths of
nearly half my boyhood friends in the African village where I grew up. I especially
hate that it is most cruel to innocent, vulnerable children. So I fight back. I cannot
thank you enough for fighting alongside me at Compassion. I wish each one of you
could see how powerfully God is using you to rescue and protect “the least of these”
who need your help the most.
The daily grind of relentless, abject poverty damages children’s
developing sense of worth, smothers their dreams, and far too
often steals their health and life. As you will see in this issue, some
children grow up where no child should ever be — near the dangerous
environment of big-city garbage dumps, scavenging for survival. But
Compassion is there — and so are many of you.
I once took a group of Compassion supporters to Guatemala. I knew
that visiting the capital city’s huge dump would be a tough experience,
but I wanted them to have the opportunity to encourage the children
who live there every day — the poorest of the poor.
Our van came to a stop in that miserable wasteland, surrounded by
mountains of disgusting debris. The stench was overwhelming in
the sweltering heat. Hordes of flies immediately swarmed us, and we
could barely hear each other over the roar of the bulldozers. After
the visitors had been engaged with the children for a few minutes,
I noticed that one person in the group had refused to get out of the
van, and he was fuming.
“Wess,” he said, “you told me Compassion’s ministry is about hope and
dreams. Then you bring me here. There is no hope here. No dreams are
possible. I see only tragedy and despair. Nothing good could happen
here.” There wasn’t much I could say in that moment to calm him
down, so I left him in the van and breathed a prayer.
That evening we gathered for a small banquet with formerly sponsored
children who had qualified for Compassion’s Leadership Development
Program (LDP). We arranged for the visitors to sit at tables with
the LDP students. During the meal, I walked around the room to
greet people. I slowly approached the table of my angry friend and
tentatively asked, “So, how are things going here?” My friend, who had
been so upset earlier, looked up at me with tears in his eyes and said,
“Wonderfully. We have the best table of all.”
“Really!” I replied. “Why is that?”
“Because of her,” he answered, pointing across the table to a radiant
young Guatemalan woman. “She is amazing,” he continued. “Ask her
where she grew up.”
She smiled at me and said, “I grew up on the city dump you visited today.”
My eyes welled up with tears, and I thanked God for His divine
orchestration of the seating arrangements. I asked her name. “It’s
Aury,” she replied. “I have been accepted at the university as a
business major.” Amazing indeed.
“Aury,” I asked, “what do you know now from having grown up in that
awful place?” I will never forget her response.
“I know two things. First, I know what it feels like for people to look
at you and think you are garbage. When I was very small, the dump
trucks wouldn’t even swerve to avoid hitting me — the drivers thought
I wasn’t worth the effort. If I had been killed out there among the dogs
and vultures, probably nobody would have even dug a grave for me.
I was already where I belonged — garbage in the trash heap.”
It broke my heart to hear that. “And what else do you know, Aury?”
I asked gently.
She beamed and said confidently, “I know that nobody is garbage. We
are all loved by God and He has a perfect plan and purpose for every
life. That’s what I know.”
By now, everyone at the table was in tears. My friend, his anger
transformed to awe, whispered to me, “That’s not all. She doesn’t have
an LDP sponsor yet.” By the end of the evening he had sponsored her.
Aury has since graduated from college and started her own business.
She owns a store not far from the dump where she grew up. When she’s
not working, she often gives back at the Compassion child development
center she attended, on the dump’s edge. Because of her childhood
sponsor, she went to school, received health care, and had a safe place
to play and grow. She became a Christian and began to dream of a
better life. Her LDP sponsor made it possible for her to attend college,
where she developed skills to be self-supporting. Poverty was defeated
in Aury’s life because people who cared stood up for her. Now she loves
the children at that same center, and to them, she is a beacon of hope.
Some people don’t want to know that children live in wretched conditions
like these. Thank you for not looking the other way. Together we are doing
heroic things to serve the local church in these desperate places, enabling
them to lovingly intervene to save children’s lives and change their
futures forever. If you doubt it, ask Aury!

*the rest of the magazine's articles can be found here.
to learn more about Compassion International, click here.