It's been far too long since I went somewhere to help somebody else and nearly just as long since I went to the third world. I have a confession to make: This trip is absolutely all about me. Don't be fooled to think I am some kind of humanitarian giant. I am a self-absorbed Westerner who needs a good dose of "blessed are the poor in spirit" and there
seems to be little other way to do this than get on a plane and go imerse yourself in the situation. I am hoping that by placing myself in this environment to do manual labor for ten days to help our missionary friends I might just be saved from myself. Sure, we're going to do some good things, but don't let the proverbial right hand know what the other is doing, and hereby miss the bigger picture, right?
Not that you have to get on a plane for this to happen. It can clearly happen in the quiet of your own heart, to reach a place of poverty of soul that might transcend your circumstances, but at this point in my life I'm pretty sure I need to feel the heat, smell the smells and develop some very real back aches and calluses associated with manual labor in a tropical environment.
Our team leader told us not to expect anything when we go. How silly. I am expecting to hopefully leave behind that person who lives inside of me who seems to be spoiled, self-centered and enamored with shiny stuff with cool packaging. He needs to die.
I might just dig a hole with a shovel and bury him there, never to return...
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