This was my fifth trip to Casa Hogar - four times with Sirva and one time on my own with my family - and it was a truly wonderful experience. This group of "Sirva-ers" was incredible - full of fun, compassion, depth, dedication, and generosity. I am blessed to be counted among you all. Thank you.
There were two things that struck me more on this trip than on the previous ones. First of all, it felt like I was coming home. The time that we have put into building relationships with Cecy and Modesto and with the children has resulted in a rich harvest. We trust eachother and we care about eachother. There was no hesitant renewal of friendship time - rather it was like greeting your favourite relative who you only get to see once a year. That felt like such a beautiful gift to me - to be wholeheartedly and unreservedly welcomed into their home and hearts is a great honour that I cherish. Secondly, I was struck by some odd contrasts - like a flock of lime-green butterflies that rested on a pile of grey dirt and rocks, or a group of us walking through a field, toting our cell phones, ipods and mp3 players, as we passed by our dear friend Moises who was slowly tilling the ground using a plow pulled by his two mules. I was especially struck with this contrast one day as we travelled in the van along the rutted, dusty road that leads to Casa Hogar. Here we were, a bunch of rich, white, North American folks, happily listening to Queen's "Fat bottom girls you make the rockin' world go round" as we passed by these homes that we would describe as shacks that line that dusty road and hide in the shadows of the surrounding mountains. I couldn't help but wonder what life was like behind those walls. Were those people happy? Sad? Suffering? Content? It would be terribly ethno-centric of me to assume that because they didn't have the 'stuff' that we surround ourselves with that they must be unhappy. Who knows what love and sorrows live behind those walls? Would it, would they, be so different from me? I was struck more than ever on this trip that we are all divine image bearers, we are all equally loved children of God. And our one and only advantage, that of material wealth, is not an advantage at all, but can be a burden and a barrier. Do I truly trust God as my provider? As my source of joy? As my source of identity and self-worth? If so, why do I strive so hard to prove myself, why do I surround myself with so much stuff? My material wealth should not so much be seen as my right for my hard work and intelligence - after all, who could truly say they work harder than Cecy and Modesto - but rather as a gift from God that comes with an obligation: to share with my fellow image-bearers. Hans demontrated this concept in his humble way as he stopped at one of those homes on the side of the dusty road and gave them gifts with no fan-fare, no thank you's needed - just one child of God sharing with another. So simple, and beautiful and right.
I experienced one final study in contrasts as we returned to the land of riches and privilege. As we walked along the tree-lined Riverwalk in San Antonio, i noticed a man who seemed out of place. As well- dressed people walked and talked or sat to eat in one of the restaurants that line the riverwalk, this man sat and just watched people as they passed by, seemingly oblivious to his existence. They must have noticed him, an old, bearded homeless man in a Santa hat; he was terribly out of place. I passed him by too, but ten steps past him I hesitated and went back. "Hello Santa," I said. "Are you taking wishes?" 'No," he replied, "I'm all out of wishes." I stood and talked with him a while, two image-bearers sharing thoughts for a moment. He was wise, articulate, and kind. He took my hand and noticed my wedding band. "Cherish your relationship" he said to me and he encouraged me to look up a poem by Robert Frost entitled "Master Speed" and to read it aloud with my husband. I promised that I would. I gave him some money and looked into his eyes as I thanked him and said good-bye, all the while wondering which of us was the good Samaritan after all.
There were two things that struck me more on this trip than on the previous ones. First of all, it felt like I was coming home. The time that we have put into building relationships with Cecy and Modesto and with the children has resulted in a rich harvest. We trust eachother and we care about eachother. There was no hesitant renewal of friendship time - rather it was like greeting your favourite relative who you only get to see once a year. That felt like such a beautiful gift to me - to be wholeheartedly and unreservedly welcomed into their home and hearts is a great honour that I cherish. Secondly, I was struck by some odd contrasts - like a flock of lime-green butterflies that rested on a pile of grey dirt and rocks, or a group of us walking through a field, toting our cell phones, ipods and mp3 players, as we passed by our dear friend Moises who was slowly tilling the ground using a plow pulled by his two mules. I was especially struck with this contrast one day as we travelled in the van along the rutted, dusty road that leads to Casa Hogar. Here we were, a bunch of rich, white, North American folks, happily listening to Queen's "Fat bottom girls you make the rockin' world go round" as we passed by these homes that we would describe as shacks that line that dusty road and hide in the shadows of the surrounding mountains. I couldn't help but wonder what life was like behind those walls. Were those people happy? Sad? Suffering? Content? It would be terribly ethno-centric of me to assume that because they didn't have the 'stuff' that we surround ourselves with that they must be unhappy. Who knows what love and sorrows live behind those walls? Would it, would they, be so different from me? I was struck more than ever on this trip that we are all divine image bearers, we are all equally loved children of God. And our one and only advantage, that of material wealth, is not an advantage at all, but can be a burden and a barrier. Do I truly trust God as my provider? As my source of joy? As my source of identity and self-worth? If so, why do I strive so hard to prove myself, why do I surround myself with so much stuff? My material wealth should not so much be seen as my right for my hard work and intelligence - after all, who could truly say they work harder than Cecy and Modesto - but rather as a gift from God that comes with an obligation: to share with my fellow image-bearers. Hans demontrated this concept in his humble way as he stopped at one of those homes on the side of the dusty road and gave them gifts with no fan-fare, no thank you's needed - just one child of God sharing with another. So simple, and beautiful and right.
I experienced one final study in contrasts as we returned to the land of riches and privilege. As we walked along the tree-lined Riverwalk in San Antonio, i noticed a man who seemed out of place. As well- dressed people walked and talked or sat to eat in one of the restaurants that line the riverwalk, this man sat and just watched people as they passed by, seemingly oblivious to his existence. They must have noticed him, an old, bearded homeless man in a Santa hat; he was terribly out of place. I passed him by too, but ten steps past him I hesitated and went back. "Hello Santa," I said. "Are you taking wishes?" 'No," he replied, "I'm all out of wishes." I stood and talked with him a while, two image-bearers sharing thoughts for a moment. He was wise, articulate, and kind. He took my hand and noticed my wedding band. "Cherish your relationship" he said to me and he encouraged me to look up a poem by Robert Frost entitled "Master Speed" and to read it aloud with my husband. I promised that I would. I gave him some money and looked into his eyes as I thanked him and said good-bye, all the while wondering which of us was the good Samaritan after all.
Alana
The Master Speed
By Robert Frost
No speed of wind or water rushing by
But you have a speed far greater. You can climb
Back up a stream of radiance to the sky,
And back through history up the stream of time.
And you were given this swiftness, not for haste
Nor chiefly that you may go where you will.
But in the rush of everything to waste,
That you may have the power of standing still—
Off any still or moving thing you say.
Two such as you with a master speed
Cannot be parted nor be swept away
From one another once you are agreed
That life is only life forevermore
Together wing to wing and oar to oar.
1 comment:
Thank you for your post Alana. It was very challenging and wow-ful.
I love following the Sirva blog, and will go if God sends me (a lot of obstacles would have to move - so I'm leaving that to Him. But for now, in Winterpeg, I follow the travels of my church family and am encouraged, and blown away each time.
Thank you for sharing your learnings, and thoughts. It's much appreciated.
xw
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