Finding the Needle in a City Dump

One of my continuous prayers is that the Lord always set my eyes to those who are weak, broken, and need something in life to have faith in because everything else has let them down. I ask for the eyes of God in this world. Today I received an answered prayer.

I am currently in my third day in Tegucigalpa, Honduras with my friends doing numerous service projects. Whether it be building houses, feeding the poor, giving out ropa, or just loving on some beautiful people; I feel like we're doing it all- and I'm loving it.

Today we set out for the city dump. Approximately 1200 people are living here. Men, women, children, aunts, uncles, babies, abuelas y (pronounced eee) abuelos; they are all there. This place is the definition of homeless. The dump is their bed, their bathroom, their shelter.

Humbling. Broken. Questions.

I was one of the men who passed out food from the back of the truck today. Preparing for this task was tough. Don't get me wrong I enjoy service projects as much as the next team member here but I will admit I'd rather be listening to people's lives, philosophizing, or sleeping. I just don't like the fact of doing something for someone and not being able to build a relationship beyond hola y hasta luego.

I prayed for our group before the trip for divine appointments.

So the truck was surrounded with the homeless grabbing at our food in the back of the truck and it was heartbreaking. My legs started to shake. Literally yelling fila, fila! for them to get back in the line telling them to back up from the truck- it was heart wrenching. Pause for visual.

A man approached me con su amigo and just leaned against the bus. He had his food and refused more when I told him to take more water. Refused. This opened my heart. Why would this homeless man in 90 degree weather refuse mas agua? He told me to give it to the boy begging beside him. The boy who had three waters, a PB and J, and a banana in his hand- this man told me to give that boy more and refused more for himself. This man has nothing. Nothing. NOTHING.

I am interested now.

He was wearing a cross necklace made out of wood. I asked him if he knew Jesus- he said yes and we smiled. He gave me his name ("Anthony"), and then told me he liked the verse on the back of our team shirts. Oh yea, this man also spoke English- well. Which is good and from God because I couldn't have communicated all of this totally in Spanish.


Divine.

I asked him to read the verse word for word in English from our shirts- he nailed it. I asked him if he had a Bible- he said no. I knew what I had to do because there was a reason I met this man, this man who in a crowd of 1200 homeless hondurans- spoke and read English. I went to the bus, grabbed my Bible and handed it to him. His eyed swelled with tears. I showed him words in rojo- the words in red that Jesus spoke and told him to read it every day. He said he would read every night. The Holy Spirit wasn't done just yet. I told him he had to share; that he has to talk about Jesus with these people.

My turn to cry.

Thankyou Lord. For your loving self and spirit.

The conversation with Anthony moved me. The spirit was moving and I allowed it- Anthony received it. I don't know entirely why, or can't entirely comprehend why God still uses me to do His work. I fail every day. Every hour. I failed on the bus to the dump. And doubted His power when I saw for myself the over thousand homeless. Yet...He still moved. He still used me. He can and will use you. Soften your hearts to hear Him. He won't dissapoint. I promise. I am living proof.

His name is Anthony. Pray for him.