Ingrata

I saw a blind girl the other day navigating the mercurial streets of Quito with her walking stick. She seemed about my age, with beautiful long black hair and kind features. A subtle ache crept into my heart, which I quickly dismissed and went about my business. At my office building, as I clambered to the elevator hurriedly pushing the button for my floor, a delivery guy managed to rush in before the doors closed. You could tell he was Venezuelan from a mile away because of his light skin, green eyes, and very distinct coastal accent. I saw that he was delivering pizza to some teachers. As he departed, he smiled a radiant, wide smile that made his green eyes glimmer, and for some reason I was struck by that smile and his discernible innocent demeanor. It was like his gratitude for having a job, however “menial,” was tangible. That same ache I had felt earlier in the day with the blind girl struck a chord in my heart again, which I promptly ignored. On my walk home from work, at the intersection where I turn right, I saw a little boy in a wheelchair. The left side of his head was entirely caved in and his arms were shriveled; an irreversible disability which would plague him for the rest of his life. The sight of that precious little boy in the wheelchair caused the now-familiar ache to vehemently surge in my soul, refusing to be disregarded. I found a little nook in the street and broke down and cried. I cried for the blind girl who would never be able to see the spectacular mountains and volcanoes that surround her city. I cried for the Venezuelan who fled the tyranny and despotism of his ravaged homeland to deliver food to people who might always look down on him. I cried for the maimed little boy, who did nothing to deserve such a cruel fate. And I cried for my selfish indifference and the noxious and hugely misguided notion that I was somehow above it all. Too “busy” to stop and ask the blind girl if she needed help getting to her destination. Too “self-important” to make conversation with the Venezuelan about what he loves about living in Ecuador or just life in general. Too detached and insensitive to smile and greet the boy as if he were a normal human being with no regard to his deformity. What arrogance! What egotism!

Of all the compelling narratives about Jesus, perhaps the one I find most striking is his miracle of feeding the five thousand. A frequently told anecdote that perhaps has lost its astonishing significance in the telling. Jesus and his disciplines were exhausted. They had been working and traveling all day and were so busy that they did not even have a chance to eat anything. So Jesus suggested “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place to get some rest.” (Mark 6:31). Then they took off on a boat to a solitary place so they could get some food and recuperate after a long day of selfless ministry. But surprise!! By the time they got to their destination, there were thousands of people waiting for them. Remember, it was late in the day, they hadn’t eaten anything, and they escaped to that place precisely so they could escape! Jesus, being legitimately the most important person ever to walk the face of the earth, could have very understandably said: “Look guys, let’s reconvene tomorrow. I’m tired and hungry and have been on my feet all day. I promise I will attend to your needs first thing tomorrow” – then subsequently dismiss the crowds. But what did Jesus do instead? He had compassion on them (Mark 6:34). He fed them spiritually by talking and engaging with them, and fed them physically by supplying fish and bread.

The humility of Jesus in this parable astonishes me. He could have easily thought to himself and told his disciples, “I am the MESSIAH!! I have super important work to do and I really need to unwind. After all, I’m going to be brutally tortured and murdered pretty soon, can I at least have ONE NIGHT to myself after a long day for some peace and rest?” And yet there I was, vastly insignificant and unimportant, presuming myself too busy to help the blind girl, make conversation with the Venezuelan, or greet the crippled boy.

I think that we as Americans, living in one of the richest and most powerful countries in the world, get stressed out by need. Yeah it may pain us a little bit, but we see it and disregard it, just as I did. We choose to do nothing because “oh man, the need is so great, what can I do?” Another remarkable feature of that story is that Jesus was not overwhelmed by the need. Jesus saw thousands of people when he was probably not at his best physically or mentally, and was filled with compassion for them and used what he had on hand to help meet their needs.

I have learned many things living and working in Ecuador this past year. One of these things is that I am ungrateful. When is the last time I stopped and thanked God for my two functioning eyes? Or that I was born in a free country and not a dictatorship? Or that I am healthy and whole with no diseases? My encounter with those 3 individuals that day has radically woken me up to how selfish I am. Thankfully, there’s this little thing called grace that miraculously rescues me from the worst parts of myself. Last weekend I worked all weekend at a conference, and on the bus ride on the way home I was so looking forward to putting in my headphones, watching the Cubs game, and taking a nap. But one of my very fragile volunteers came up to me and said, “Can I sit with you?” I knew, given her nature, that this would mean no headphones, no baseball, and no napping. My first instinct was to make up some excuse that I wasn’t feeling well, or that I was tired and just needed some chill time. But I thought of the blind girl, and I thought of Jesus. What did Jesus do when he was tired and hungry? Compassion. So she talked for the entire 2 hour bus ride back to Quito and I listened intently, but at the end of it…she asked me what I would do in her situation, and it was there that I was able to use what I had on hand to help meet a need. All she needed was an objective listening ear, some encouragement and a nudge in the right direction.

As I venture back to the United States, I hope to not fall back into that posture of self-importance and ingratitude. I hope to always be reminded of the smile of the Venezuelan delivery guy, so happy to be alive and working. I hope to always remember and emulate the humility, kindness, compassion, and selflessness of Jesus. I hope to not ignore or be overwhelmed by the need, but with a full and grateful heart, do what I can to inject a little joy, and maybe…some hope.

Until next time,

Stephanie