Beauty from Ashes

How does one write about children who live in
a garbage dump? It's not a Lemony Snicket story
or some dark dystopian tale. This is real. These
children are real. In 2017 we still live in a world
where children live in garbage dumps...in
Madagascar, in Cambodia, in the Philippines, in
Guatemala. The list goes on and on.

Today, Bruce and I went with an Iris medical team to visit children living in Antananarivo's garbage dump. We had been wanting to experience this aspect of Iris' community outreach for some time, but I can honestly say I didn't know quite what to expect. Were these children simply abandoned? Did they have parents who were too sick/disabled/drunk/lazy to work? Truly, I had no idea.

The dump itself is situated on a sort of island in the midst of the city's rice paddies. And it's not just a dump, it's actually a village with a road running through the middle. There are small, crumbling homes and some shopfronts. The people who live there comb the dump for items that can be made into handiwork -- colorful mats, baskets, even shoes. As we walked down the street, we saw many of the residents sitting in front of their homes sorting, cutting or weaving. They were literally creating beauty from ashes! These people were certainly not lazy. They were industrious and creative, but most were desperately poor and some were outcasts from the community, people who believed they belong in a garbage dump.

During the day, their children wander the dump in search of useful items. It was shocking to see them walking through heaps of burning rubbish in bare feet. Until recently, school had not been an option for any of these children. But the chief of the village is a compassionate man, so he offered two rooms of his small home to become classrooms. He could not pay for supplies or teachers, but our friends at Iris, knowing that the need for a school was great, have worked with a church in the US to sponsor this little school, which now has thirty students and two teachers. It was a joy to sit in the classroom with some of the smiling students who had their very own backpacks and notebooks.

We concluded the day by visiting the mother of one of the children involved in the Iris program. She had been suffering from severe abdominal pain for a week, and her husband was quite worried. With the Malagasy doctor who had accompanied us, we entered their tiny one room home and prayed for her. We don't know God's plan for her, but we know how much He loves her, and we know He has the power to heal. She wept as we prayed. We then took her husband to a pharmacy across from the US Embassy to get a prescription, which we hope will provide relief.

So what were my conclusions from the day? Poverty like this is hard to witness. Human beings, loved by their Heavenly Father, should never believe they belong in a dump. And yet joy was not absent. And the work that I see Iris doing here brings hope.

Before Jesus went to the cross, He said, "Very truly I tell you, whoever believes in me will do the work I have been doing, and they will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father." (John 14:12)  If we are to do what Jesus did, then we are to bring his love to those who are suffering, to those without hope. And thankfully He empowered us to do so by sending the Holy Spirit. We are to be His hands, His feet, His heart. In His love is great power -- power to heal, power to restore, power to achieve the impossible. So hope is never lost, but we must accept our calling to be messengers of hope..."to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair." (Isaiah 61:3) This is our hope!

Masina*

The road has the appearance

Of velvet ribbon,

But feels like a washboard.

In the distance only fires

For cooking, for warmth.

Wind smells of smoke and grass

Stars like pinpricks overhead,

Not enough to compensate 

For the absent moon.

The night is ink 

Spilled across the dusty land.

Nighttime envelopes Madagascar.

His presence is here.

*The Malagasy word for “holy"

ONE

A single tree stands on the plain

Alone
Shaped by the wind
Isolated
But not forlorn
It feels the rhythm of the earth
Belonging to creation
One

                                                                           Southern Madagascar 2015

Scratching in the Dirt

Reflections from Madagascar
(Reposted from July 2013)

After a very full weekend, we headed up the coast for a short stay and some much needed refreshment in the coastal village of Ifaty.  We took advantage of some tourist opportunities including a morning of whale watching and an afternoon zebu cart ride through a baobab forest.  We arrived back in Toliara this afternoon having thoroughly enjoyed our little side trip.

Upon our return, I headed out to visit some struggling families in the neighboring village.  My guide was an American missionary named Linda who works predominantly with women who have experienced trauma in their lives.  She works with prostitutes, abused wives, child brides, victims of trafficking... the list goes on and on.  Linda just jumps right into any situation and truly loves these women and their families.  It was amazing to watch her work.

After our brief respite at the beach, it was a little jarring to go right back into the abject poverty that exists in the village.  One of our first stops was a home where a young woman lived who was struggling with a troubled marriage and very little food with which to feed her family.  She had been a child bride, although she is now 18.  She sat in the dirt in front of her home with her young child, her husband and another male family member.  

Linda asked how she was doing, and the young woman expressed concern about a health condition with which she and her little girl were struggling.  Linda indicated that she would stop by tomorrow to bring both of them to a local clinic.  The young woman agreed, but as I watched her face, I couldn't help but think that I had never seen someone whose face looked so utterly hopeless.  There was no life in her eyes.  I can't imagine having lost all hope by the age of 18, but sadly, this is the reality for many young Malagasy women.  

We offered to pray for this woman and her family and then all sat down in the dirt and held hands.   As we prayed, a cute little chick hopped into the center of our circle.  It stayed there, scratching in the dirt, trying to find something, anything, to eat.  I watched the chick and thought about how this little bird's existence was not unlike so many Malagasy families -- scratching in the dirt just to survive.

Poverty is so widespread in Madagascar that it is hard to wrap your head around.  Human beings, created in the image of a loving God, should not have to scratch in the dirt to survive.  And yet, for many of these families, there is no other way of life.  

As we leave Toliara tomorrow to begin our three day journey home, I am left with a mixture of emotions.   This year I believe I have gained a greater understanding of Malagasy life, but it has left me increasingly overwhelmed by the desperate needs of these people.  The poverty is huge, but I have to keep reminding myself that God is bigger.  He is the one who "raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap." (1Samuel 2:8)  This is literally the need of so many Malagasy, and it has become the cry of my heart.