I have also decided that the domestic mission (right here in the good ol' US of A) is by far - by far - the hardest mission I have yet to encounter and I believe so on many levels. For starters, when I was in Ecuador, I often found myself thinking that things would be so much easier if life in the "third world" was only just a little more sophisticated or if we had just a few more resources or the infrastructure of the "first world". But now, back in the illustrious "first world", still serving the poorest of the poor, my bubble has been burst and I am fast becoming quite disenchanted with this great sophistication and organization. On my darkest of days, I am convinced that this structure around me is every bit as corrupt, pitted and fragmented as the cheaply made walls that have recently crumbled in Haiti, exacerbating a natural phenomenon into a national disaster of the greatest magnitude this hemisphere has seen in centuries. Except, the difference between the corruption that riddles Haiti and the corruption that surrounds me today is that this corruption here is hidden behind layers of fancy paint, premium hardware and Armani suits. The difference is that the corruption here is well hidden and well protected by a tightly woven honeycombed government structure that is so well built that it is impossible to bring down from the outside but so closely wound that it is rotting from the inside out from lack of fresh air and light of day. The reality is that we have just as many self-serving, greedy, corrupt and dare I say semi-evil, persons of power as the "third world" countries do. The difference here is that our bad guys just dress better and live longer.
Then there comes the different kind of poverty that lives here in our "first world." Yes, just like many other places, we have hungry people, sick children, places without clean water and a dearth of education - but the places that have this don't have run-down donkeys and chickens running around, just boarded up buildings and cars up on bricks. Instead of muddy ruts and ditches, it is a concrete jungle with a new breed of animal. But even beyond the physical poverty that exists here, a poverty that is more profound and proliferates every class level, is this growing, gnawing darkness of soul, of depravity and baseness that is too horrific to speak about because, well, unless it's your job, you don't need to know about it. What I will say is that every day I see unspeakable crimes committed against children and most of these crimes leave no marks or physical scar. I see children, four five and six years of age, turning quickly from victim to victimizer, sexually abusing their siblings and other children. Or little ones biting, hitting and banging themselves against walls in order to relieve the mature emotional distress that is greater than their little psyches know how to handle. Sure, the whole world has its share of depravity and abusers. But after living immersed on three different continents and becoming intimate with the varying cultures, I have yet to see depravity that matches what we have here in our own United States, our land of freedom and opportunity.
So that is what I mean about the difficulty of serving the domestic mission. I find myself facing things here that I had never fathomed before and therefore, could never have prepared myself to see. I am thankful for my faith even more as I am once again experiencing the feeling of powerlessness and ineffectiveness that I once felt because I couldn't get clean water to the children in my charge. Except now, I feel like I am shouting into the wind as our society is rushing toward the precipice, with our children in the forefront and the closest to the danger of the edge. I feel like I am positioned beneath the crushing wheels of the great auto-bot government beast, designed for efficaciousness and sophistication but now run amuck from years spent masterless and unguided, ever since it became unacceptable for ethics and morals to govern for the greater good - replaced by capitalism without conscience and government by greed.
I find myself longing for the simplicity of my precious "third world" where, even though the internet signal went out more often than the tide and electricity could be taken out for days by a stiff wind, often carrying the water supply with it. Because, even though it was a baser way of life, the earth cannot lie and deceive, the fisherman will still go out at night, lighting the ocean with the lights of their lanterns and they will return at daybreak, with payment for the work of their hands. The waves will crash against the cliffs, shaking the house and rocking me to sleep and in the morning, the greatest variation in how the sunrise pours in my window is if a cow has managed to get in front of it as it grazes outside my room. Yes, there are needs and there often is a solution that lies in technology that we don't have, but at least the needs are straight forward and simple like hunger, parasites and clean water. To cure hunger, you give to eat and solve the problem, at least for that day. This cannot be said for what it takes to cure the poisoned soul of a six year old who has seen things beyond the imaginings of even most adults. A bowl of rice and beans and a glass of juice cannot cure that child.
And so, I look to my Higher Power (therapeutic name for G-o-d), for wisdom, strength and ask Him to take over tending the needs long after my small hands grow weary. And I ask my faithful supporters, who once sent me prayers, power bars and sunscreen, to now redouble the prayers and to take a moment to gain a greater awareness of the needs right outside your doorstep. It took a tragic series of earthquakes for the world to finally turn its eyes on Haiti and serve a country that has been gasping in the throes of death for decades and oppressed by the weight of corruption that pressed against the chests of the majority, long before any buildings came crumbling down. Please God let America wake up long before a tragedy forces us to awake and heed the cries of our brothers and sisters.
