Dirt under My Fingernails

When I first visited the Tegucigalpa Garbage Dump three years ago I was surprised how hard it was to keep my lunch down as I watched vultures fight over raw meat.

When I came to AFE on a mission trip two years ago I held it the whole time so that I would not have step foot in the “bathrooms.”

When I moved here nearly a year ago I vowed never to drink from the well at AFE that provided the only water for the surrounding community (to avoid the possibility of Montezuma’s revenge).

A week ago I found myself filling up buckets at that very well, glorying in the beautiful bubbles that sprayed from the facet and the sound of the water wooshing into the bucket. A city pipe had broken and my house had been without water for a week. To continue with our day-to-day activities we had been purchasing bottled water from the grocery store to shower, cook and wash dishes, and even flush the toilet. It was getting very expensive and I was starting to lengthen the time between bathing, flush only when absolutely necessary, and recycle dishwater. Needless to say, the bathrooms at AFE began to seem clean in comparison and as I filled up buckets from the well, I noticed that I had dirt under my fingernails.

At that moment all of the times I had judged the cleanliness of those around me sprang before me, with the conclusions I had jumped to as to why they did not appear as “clean” as me.

I believe Jesus once said: "Don't pick on people, jump on their failures, criticize their faults— unless, of course, you want the same treatment. That critical spirit has a way of boomeranging. It's easy to see a smudge on your neighbor's face and be oblivious to the ugly sneer on your own. Do you have the nerve to say, 'Let me wash your face for you,' when your own face is distorted by contempt? It's this whole traveling road-show mentality all over again, playing a holier-than-thou part instead of just living your part. Wipe that ugly sneer off your own face, and you might be fit to offer a washcloth to your neighbor.” (Matthew 7:1-5)

The other day we took a team of Americans to visit the garbage dump. Half of them stayed in the bus because they felt too uncomfortable or disgusted to enter the garbage where the people work, where some of our AFE children still hang out. Forgetting that I was in their seat three years ago, I found myself silently judging “those privileged Americans”….May God help me.