Growing Pains

It always amazes me how, though I ask the Lord to stretch and grow me, I am so prone to complaining about the discomfort growth often brings. Tonight, this discomfort came in the form of culture shock. ...Que bueno.

I came here with the intent of not only knowing the exterior of Buenos Aires, but with the desire to know the needs of its people -- a far less glamorous part of this city -- as well. I knew that volunteering in the community would be a great means of exposure to that, so I was extremely excited when Rafa, our program director, informed all of us that service learning is a huge component of our time in BA.

Last weekend was our first service learning experience. Our whole group went out to Adulam -- a small, Christian, socialist community on the outskirts of BA -- last weekend, where we helped the 20 or so families there plant gardens, move brush, and clean up their land. Though at face value none of us had a thing in common with the people of Adulam, we soon realized that despite the language barrier and profound difference in economic status, our brotherhood in Christ was common ground enough for an incredibly rewarding experience.

I left Adulam feeling so encouraged, both by the spirit of the people there and by the evidence of my entire group's heart for service. After sharing the day together, my friends Brittany and Hannah and I agreed that continuing to get involved with the local community was a priority for all of us. So, when the opportunity to make and deliver sandwiches for the families at El Hospital de Niños was mentioned yesterday, we all decided to dive headfirst into BA service learning, part deux. Seven other students signed up for the activity tonight; the ten of us made about 100 sandwiches, met up with Fernando (a local man who frequently volunteers at the hospital), and headed out to deliver food to the families who stayed overnight with their children.

As we pulled up to El Hospital in the midst of a torrential downpour, I quickly realized that my idea of a typical children's hospital (something like Texas Children's in Downtown Houston) was incredibly inaccurate in this situation. El Hospital de Niños is revered in Argentina as the best of its kind; families from all over South America come to get help for their sick children, and none of them are charged for the care at the public facility. However revered by the Argentine people, though, this hospital would have been shut down ages ago, were it in the United States. The facilities seemed ancient; mothers slept workout mats on the floor by their children's beds, several families shared rooms without privacy curtains, and despite the kind doctors and overall good intentions evident in the halls, "standard" sanitation seemed to have been lost in translation. It was amazing to me how different our standards of living must be, for all of these families to come to this hospital to receive the "best" care possible for their children. Furthermore, it hurt my heart to see the mothers of precious children, many less than a year old, trying to stay strong without family or any support system near. Though our first offer of the sandwiches was commonly refused with a "No no, está bien, ya cené (I've already eaten dinner)," a second offer found the mothers not only accepting one sandwich, but asking for 2, 3, or even more, to be saved till lunchtime tomorrow or for the family members coming later. Armed with nothing more than my bag of meagerly-dressed baguettes, I found that praying with the mothers I met and asking for the Lord's peace and healing in their families was the only way I could feel any power at all; though they couldn't understand my English words, prayers were my only means of assistance, as nothing I myself could do would improve their situations.

I know that God was so present in that hospital tonight, but the sadness I felt in my heart when I left was undeniable. Though there is so much beauty to this city, there is so much behind its walls that daily cries out in desperation for the grace of God to save it. I have become so numb to what it truly means to feel desperate the Lord, but I was quickly reminded of how helpless we are without Him. The culture shock brought on by tonight was unexpected, yet I know it comes with purpose. There is pain that comes with seeing the needs of others, but there is so much hope that comes with knowing the One who can satisfy them. As I continue to seek out areas of service in this city, I know the Lord will continue to show me just how much I need him. And even with the discomfort that comes with growing pains, I trust that the Lord will use them to stretch me and mold me into exactly the person He desires for me to be.

"Yet, O LORD, you are our Father.
We are the clay, you are the potter;
we are all the work of your hand."
- Isaiah 64:8

Love from Abroad,
Margaret