we drive through busy streets and bushels of plantains. we pass by a public hospital and a run-down baseball field. we enter the barrio on a dirt road that was made more for a four-wheeler than a fifteen passenger van. the terrain is completely different. what once was a vacant lot now has tin and wood shacks everywhere. naked children chasing homemade kites. goats grazing on small mounds of trash.
Santa Lucia.
i've never liked its unofficial name. la mosca, the fly. i mean, i get it. the name makes sense. its just that the name is almost a stamp of doom for the people living there. it doesn't boast of education and prosperity and hopefulness. it screams of desperation and poverty and despair.
the trash was burning again. the dump must have a new owner. it was so nice when there wasn't a mountain-size pile of trash burning and blowing smoke and stench into the streets. the smoke meant one thing. flies. flies everywhere. i was afraid to breathe with my mouth open and walk too briskly for fear that one might enter in.
the kids weren't healthy because of it. they were being fed by the nutrition center so they were a healthy weight but their skin had sores and infections. those pesky flies. can't they just leave the kids alone?
it caught me. right in the middle of feeling like i was in my groove. like i was right where God wanted me. like i was making a difference. right when i felt like hope was being restored in The Hole and i was doing something tangible. it caught me. there are hundreds, maybe even thousands of places just like The Hole. and a lot of them are worse. places like Santa Lucia.
i wasn't prepared for this flood of emotion. and just when i thought it couldn't get any worse, a little boy about landon's age walked by with a limp. nothing more than a limp. for all i knew, he could have stubbed his toe and didn't want to put his weight on it. but in my mind his twelve year old mother contracted a virus from the flies during her pregnancy and it caused a malformation in his hip joint causing it to develop unnaturally. this four year old boy doomed to life with a limp and ridicule and laughing and unemployment and loneliness. i cried.
when my own despair sank in the Soft Whisper, whispered, "one day at a time. we win in the end." that's all it took. i wiped the now streaming tears from my eyes and remembered He gets the victory. even in places like La Mosca. especially in places like La Mosca.
Santa Lucia.
i've never liked its unofficial name. la mosca, the fly. i mean, i get it. the name makes sense. its just that the name is almost a stamp of doom for the people living there. it doesn't boast of education and prosperity and hopefulness. it screams of desperation and poverty and despair.
the trash was burning again. the dump must have a new owner. it was so nice when there wasn't a mountain-size pile of trash burning and blowing smoke and stench into the streets. the smoke meant one thing. flies. flies everywhere. i was afraid to breathe with my mouth open and walk too briskly for fear that one might enter in.
the kids weren't healthy because of it. they were being fed by the nutrition center so they were a healthy weight but their skin had sores and infections. those pesky flies. can't they just leave the kids alone?
it caught me. right in the middle of feeling like i was in my groove. like i was right where God wanted me. like i was making a difference. right when i felt like hope was being restored in The Hole and i was doing something tangible. it caught me. there are hundreds, maybe even thousands of places just like The Hole. and a lot of them are worse. places like Santa Lucia.
i wasn't prepared for this flood of emotion. and just when i thought it couldn't get any worse, a little boy about landon's age walked by with a limp. nothing more than a limp. for all i knew, he could have stubbed his toe and didn't want to put his weight on it. but in my mind his twelve year old mother contracted a virus from the flies during her pregnancy and it caused a malformation in his hip joint causing it to develop unnaturally. this four year old boy doomed to life with a limp and ridicule and laughing and unemployment and loneliness. i cried.
when my own despair sank in the Soft Whisper, whispered, "one day at a time. we win in the end." that's all it took. i wiped the now streaming tears from my eyes and remembered He gets the victory. even in places like La Mosca. especially in places like La Mosca.
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