Walking the streets of Smoky Mountain became a challenge when trying to avoid the trash mixed with dirt that is now mud due to the rain. There would be trash sticking out that we would use as a stepping place to avoid some of the mud and keep our feet just a tad bit dryer. Walking a little further, I find myself having hard time breathing and I began to cough from all the smoke that is around me. I start to ponder how anyone could live in these conditions and be ok with it. I also ask God why am I so lucky to be born in America with really nice stuff and the people of Smoky Mountain have to live on trash piles, wear ratted clothes, and breath in smoke from the charcoal that they make. It makes me sad to think that the average life span of the people here is only early to mid-twenties. This would mean that my life would already be over or soon to be over.
With about 30 missionaries that day in the dump, we broke up into teams to pass out food, pass out clothes, pass out linens, provide basic first aid and medical treatments, pray over the sick, and love on the people that came to us. We were being the hands and feet of Jesus. We were helping the least of these. It brought so much joy to bring in 80 boxes of clothes and linens just to give away.
Every child that I played with, I gave them a kiss and said a short prayer. These are God’s children and I thank God that He is going to continue to provide the things that they need. I may not be able to change the situation that these people live in, but it brings me great comfort that God continues to watch after them.