Friday Reminder

Friday mornings at 8:30, the same face has peered through my gate for almost three years. She pushes a two-wheeled wooden cart down our cobblestone street with usually two or three children in tow. For the last 10 months, there has been an addition of an infant car seat wedged in the back right hand corner of the cart with a tiny baby girl sleeping.  By the time she has reached our neighborhood, she has pushed that cart with her dainty frame for almost a mile.  She told me a couple of years ago, she lives down by the river in a community that is an "invasion" of squatters. By "invasion," I mean land that has been taken by a group of people instead of purchased. Most riverfront property in this city is an "invasion".  She comes our direction on Friday because it is trash day in our neighborhood.

Trash is not a public service in Honduras.  Most trash is disposed of by burning.  Our trash is taken care of by a "private service." By "private service," I mean that the residents of our neighborhood pay a small fee for some men who have purchased an old, beat-up, run-down, U-haul type truck that has most likely been sent down from the United States as salvaged to come by and pick up the trash. Sometimes, they come by twice a week like they should, sometimes once a week, sometimes not at all for weeks on end.  Their absence is typical if they aren't being paid sufficiently or are on strike. And the sad trash truck has no place to lay it's head each night so it's a gamble if it gets to rest in our neighborhood. 

      The beauty parked in front of our house. 

Smells fresh in the morning when I wash dishes.

Here in Honduras, you can bet if there is no public trash service, there is definitely no public recycling program.  This leads me back to that sweet tired face I see every Friday morning.  She comes to our neighborhood to dig through everyone's trash for plastic.  She can turn the plastic in for money which acts as her income. Three years ago, she asked me if I had any plastic bottles or containers that I could spare.  From that time, I started separating our plastic out into a different bag for her so she doesn't have to dig through our trash.  It's a job I would not like to have.  In Honduras, you don't flush your toilet paper...it goes in the trash.  And all other trash is a breeding ground for maggots and pestilence.  

She sometimes through a gappy smile asks me very specific requests. Do I have women's clothing? Do I have a crib mattress? Do I have baby clothes and disposable diapers so she can deliver another babe in the hospital? She always asks so politely, seemingly without expectation or visible disappointment if I don't have said request. She is quite delighted and overly zealous in thanking me and the Lord when I can meet her requests.  She is different than most to me. While it is clear to a commoner that she is among the most physically impoverished in our city, she has a twinkle in her eye, a grin, and a grateful attitude every week that makes me confident she is rich in Christ.  I am thankful for her gentle reminder every Friday that the Lord fills us with a richness that is better than any earthly possession.

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus. -Philippians 4:12,19