We stepped off the bus and were immediately covered in flies. Protect the sandwiches and swat at your arms because these flies weren’t leaving.
At first, we talked a little bit and took pictures of our surroundings. By the time we had given food to the first family that lived in the dump, no one spoke. It was a holy, sacred silence. Walking up a path partially made of garbage will do that to people.
It seemed so pointless to me. Here we were, a church group on a mission trip, giving Mexicans pathetic sandwiches and some snacks. That was all we could do. That, and pray with them.
What is prayer to me? It’s almost useless. It’s just to make someone feel better.
What is prayer to them? Prayer is life-changing, sin-forgiving, nightmare-erasing. Prayer gave them hope, while I had no hope for them. Chris, the day after we visited the dump, thanked God for freeing that girl from her nightmares. There was no way he could have known. No way.
Didn’t I come all this way to teach them? Shouldn’t I be the one to impact their lives? How come they are the ones that taught me about prayer?
They believed in the power of prayer, while I don’t–not nearly as much as I should. I guess the difference between me and them is that they have to rely on prayer. They literally have nothing to lose. I falsely believe I have nothing to gain.
Perhaps I should take lessons from those Mexicans.
Perhaps I should pray more.