The City Dump and God's Grace

Last summer we took a trip to the city dump.
Let me just say...this is a place that uses all 5 of your senses.

You can feel the grime on your skin.
You can hear the workers of the dump.
You can taste the cities trash when you open your mouth to talk.
You can see the mounds of trash and the people digging through it.
You can smell the odor of rotting trash.

We didn't go back to the dump this year.
That doesn't mean that I've forgotten what it's like or the people that live there.
Yes, you read that right. The people that LIVE there.

The city dump is home to at least 6 generations of people. They live there. They work there. They give birth there. Amongst the trash that I throw away when I am there. Little children dig through what I didn't want.

This year, I was sitting outside getting ready to start my day. I was snacking on some strawberry wafers. The garbage truck pulled up and thoughts flooded my mind of last years visit to the dump and what the inside of that truck held for the people working there. Inside the garbage, old food, and things thrown away were someone's lively hood. The only way of life they had ever known...and would probably ever know.

As the garbage truck pulled up and came to a stop outside of our house, I couldn't help but watch the men come collect our trash. I was about to start praying for the men and their families when out jumped a boy, probably not even 13 years old, from the back of the truck. I instantly got a huge knot in my throat. That little boy should be at school. He should be running and laughing and playing with his friends. Not gathering garbage. But he was. This boy, this handsome, precious little child of God, was about to pick up trash that we had spent the last two days collecting. More than likely, he probably dug threw it to find food. Let me rephrase that, to find a MEAL. Scraps of food that had been sitting in the heat were going to be his source of food. Now, if that doesn't get you, then you need to wake up.

My prayer instantly turned to this little boy. With tears literally streaming down my face, I begged and pleaded with God to protect him, to give him a hope for a future outside of the dump, and to prick his heart with the knowledge of a Father that loves him unconditionally. I don't know this little boy. I don't know if I will ever see him again. I don't know his story. But what I do know, is that I haven't stopped thinking about him. I haven't stopped praying for him. When things in my life get a little rocky...I stop and think about him. When I stare at my pantry at the endless amount of food and think that I don't have anything, I think about him. I think about all the people at the city dump, digging through the days uneaten food, hoping to make a meal out of it for themselves.

After that morning, I didn't feel bad for throwing away food at dinner. To be honest, while I was completely thankful for the meals that I was blessed with, a part of me wanted to throw away as much as I could, just so someone- a mother, a father, a child- could eat the next day. Reminders of God's grace were never far from for the rest of the week. By His grace alone am I allowed the meals I eat each day. By His grace am I blessed with a job that provides for me. By His grace do I have a roof over my head and warm blankets each night. By God's grace am I given the chance to share with you all the seeds He is planting in a country foreign to most of you.

God's grace...is a wonderful thing. Wouldn't you agree?