I'm the one member of the team that visited Ecuador last week who hasn't yet blogged about it, so I thought I'd take a moment to reflect on the trip.
Today I'm blessed to lead a comfortable, middle-class life in the United States of America. But when I visit sponsored families, it doesn't take long to fit in; after all, these are the children I played with as a child growing up in South America. Their moms and dads were the people down the street. This proximity helped me understand that people living in dire poverty are not just faceless statistics; they have names, faces, fears, hopes and dreams for the future.
Walking into their homes is always a reality check. It's hard to reconcile the bare cinderblock or thin-slatted walls, the paneless windows, the rusted tin sheets with the sun shining through in a thousand places, the threadbare furniture and the stacks of clothing and personal effects around the walls -- piled there because there is no closet or wardrobe, no dresser, no place to store anything -- with the gracious smiles on the faces of your hosts. And at some point during the visit, most likely one of the young daughters of the family will quietly slip into the room, proudly bringing you a glass of Coke.
You quickly do the mental math and realize what that single glass of Coke represents to the family. With a daily income that might not exceed a couple of dollars -- if it comes in at all -- a glass of Coke is liquid gold. As you quietly murmur a word of thanks, you see the faces of your hosts light up with real joy at the ability to honor their guest. Any thought of turning down their offer vanishes and, humbled, you make sure they see how much you really enjoy their kindness.
I wish every sponsor could make a visit to their sponsored child. It will forever change the way you think about life. You'll be able to put names and faces on courage and graciousness.
And, of course, you'll get a glass of Coke.
Today I'm blessed to lead a comfortable, middle-class life in the United States of America. But when I visit sponsored families, it doesn't take long to fit in; after all, these are the children I played with as a child growing up in South America. Their moms and dads were the people down the street. This proximity helped me understand that people living in dire poverty are not just faceless statistics; they have names, faces, fears, hopes and dreams for the future.
Walking into their homes is always a reality check. It's hard to reconcile the bare cinderblock or thin-slatted walls, the paneless windows, the rusted tin sheets with the sun shining through in a thousand places, the threadbare furniture and the stacks of clothing and personal effects around the walls -- piled there because there is no closet or wardrobe, no dresser, no place to store anything -- with the gracious smiles on the faces of your hosts. And at some point during the visit, most likely one of the young daughters of the family will quietly slip into the room, proudly bringing you a glass of Coke.
You quickly do the mental math and realize what that single glass of Coke represents to the family. With a daily income that might not exceed a couple of dollars -- if it comes in at all -- a glass of Coke is liquid gold. As you quietly murmur a word of thanks, you see the faces of your hosts light up with real joy at the ability to honor their guest. Any thought of turning down their offer vanishes and, humbled, you make sure they see how much you really enjoy their kindness.
I wish every sponsor could make a visit to their sponsored child. It will forever change the way you think about life. You'll be able to put names and faces on courage and graciousness.
And, of course, you'll get a glass of Coke.
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