Heaviness

6-18
Today was hard. Not because I was lonely. The church here is wonderful and everyone talks to me constantly. I even talked to dad this morning to wish him a happy Father’s Day in yesterday (have to love the time difference). Not because the food is bad. It’s still awesome, and I’m learning to deal with constant rice. Not because of the language or cultural barrier. I’m starting to get more used it, it’s kind of fun a lot of the time, gives us tons to talk about, and I’m enjoying trying to pick up some tagalog. I’m also gaining more courage to use it. And to initiative conversations. And I’m getting quite content in my private inner English musings, thoughts, and prayer as people around me chatter incomprehensively. Today wasn’t even hard because the streets in Navotas flood during high tide. Literally, 5 hours a day, it goes from a few inches to 3 feet deep in places, murky water everywhere. It was actually hysterical when they loaned me some rubber boots and I tramped around through a foot of water as the Philipinos just walked through in their flipflops. I may have looked ridiculous, but for once I was glad to stand out… who knows what one might catch from that water, and I can’t afford bad feet for the rest of the summer.

No it was definitely hard for another reason. The poverty is getting to me. My heart is getting heavier the further along this journey I go. How can our world be this messed up? Maybe last week my heart was able to convince itself that what I was seeing was just one isolated place, that really, the rest of the Philippines (or the world) isn’t as bad. But today it was just house after house after house. We went to one school with 55 kids in a class. And by local standards, that’s pretty roomy. The next one had 70-80 in every class. People live in shacks built on bamboo poles hanging over the water and get flooded every day, because they have no where else to live. This is hard to see. It’s hard to believe. I don’t want it to be real. It’s one thing to see kids with cleft palates on TV. I had to hold back tears when I saw it in real life.

Sadly, I think my response to poverty up to this point in my life looks a lot like the house I’m staying in this week. It may be in a sea of poverty, but there are lots of nice DVDs and a warm TV glow to drown it out. And the movies are nice and convincing and have enough emotion and conflict and pain and glory and resolution and love and sacrifice for me, thank you very much, all tied up in a two and a half hour package, and when it’s over I can get a snack and go to bed. It’s a better reality than the one outside my door (or my neighborhood or country). Don’t get me wrong, my host family is wonderful, and they do a lot through this church and FH to help those around them. But I can see myself reflected in their insulation from those around them.

I don’t think I will be able to do that anymore. I don’t think I can be the same. My heart won’t let me.