Just Give Them Love

I look down, and see smiling faces.  Faces that hide stories, and have seen things that I can’t even imagine.  I look down and see malnourished bodies and dirty hands reaching up to me, wanting to hold my hand, and even climb on me.  I look down and see questions running through their minds. “Do you see me?”  “Do you hear me?”  “Do you actually love me?”

My squad and I had the opportunity to go to Smokey Mountain and to a dump that is a home to hundreds of families.  Smokey Mountain is about 15 to 30 minutes outside of Manila which holds thousands of people who live in poverty, while Manila holds thousands of people who live in luxury. The average life expectancy of living in Manila is about 80.  The average life expectancy of living at Smokey Mountain is 20.  There, we were able to do a couple of ministries.  We were able to do two feedings that fed hundreds of people.  When we walked down alleys saying “feeding”, and at just at that word, hundreds of people came running out of their houses with their bowls in hand, ready to devour any kind of food that was set before them.  We also were able to pass out sandals to the people that needed new shoes.  We walked down streets, and saw how they make money off of charcoal “factories”.  How they are willing to work in a smokey sooty area, where their lungs are being destroyed, but it brings in some form of money.  We saw hundreds of people living underneath a bridge.  We walked down streets, and saw how people could make a house literally out of nothing.  it’s so hard for me to describe what i saw on smokey mountain because there was so much emotion and it was such a different experience, but here’s a very sloppy version of some of the things i saw on Smokey Mountain…

I step out of the jeepney.  I look around me and I realize that I’m standing in poverty.  I see houses that house 7 people when the house is as big as my bathroom.  We begin walking down a street, and children covered in soot come running up to me.  Screaming and giggling with joy of seeing us, they reach out their hands.  I look into their eyes, and already see stories oozing out.  I then begin to feel that familiar feeling that I have felt more than I could even imagine: that pain in my chest as my heart begins to break once again.  I see malnourishment, poverty, sexual perversion, human trafficking, and then I see my Father.  I see Jesus in a child form looking up at me, smiling, not being able to contain all the joy they have as they see an American to play with.  I see Jesus skipping home with a container of food for their family.  I can feel just how much my Father loves each person that I come in contact with.

As they day progresses and as I make relationships with the children and adults, I start thinking of what I can do for these people.  I start thinking of the money I have in my bank account and how it could feed a couple families for a long time.  I think of the possessions I could give that they could sell so they have some income.  Maybe I could place them in an apartment and give them a better living condition.  I see a child running around naked, I could give them my shirt, after all, I had a tank top on underneath.  More than anything, I want to trade places with the kids.  I want to  take them out of the cruel world they grew up in, and place them in the safe world I grew up in.  I want to do anything for them.  And then my Father spoke: “Jessica, these are my creations that I have poured myself into.  These dirty faces you see are so precious to me.  I have put a part of myself into each face that you see.  I didn’t bring you here to bring these people out of their situations, but to share my name, and show the love I have for them.”

I see hundreds of dirty hands reaching out to me, and I get it.  I see what my Father sees, and I feel what He feels.   I felt compassion for every face that I saw. I could probably tell you only one kid’s name, but I couldn’t stop loving those kids.  I couldn’t stop giving thousands of kisses, and receiving the messy sloppy ones.  I couldn’t resist the hugs that left dirty hand prints or a black smear on my clothes.  I couldn’t stop talking about my Savior with anyone that would listen, even if they didn’t understand me.  I was that person who kept praying for anyone who passed me by.  I then realized that it’s not my job to change things for them.  I can’t change their living conditions, how much food they eat in a day, or even how they are treated.  My job is to show love, to love, and point them directly to the one who loves them so much more than I can.

I look down, and see a face.  A face that will never leave my mind.  A face that has so many questions racing through them.  Questions that I can answer.  “Do you see me?”  “Yes, I do see you.”  “Can you hear me?”  “Yes, I can hear you loud and clear.”  “Do you actually love me?”  “I love you so much more than you could ever imagine.  I love you so much, that I’m going to introduce you to my best friend who loves you much more than I ever could.”