Wednesday´s activities brought us back to the city where the highlight of the day was a mass distribution at a local gymnasium. We started out at the municipal offices of a community called Cerro Navia. Local officials met with us to introduce us to the area, an impoverished neighborhood dominated by Chileans recently arrived from the countryside and by immigrants from Peru and other nations. Here, we were told, the unemployment rate is 35% (compared to 7% - 9% nationally), and health issues are a major concern. We learned that ambitious plans are in the works for a new vocational education facility, but until funding is secured for construction and operations the school can be no more than an architect´s model on display at the mayor´s office.
Although government officials are hard pressed to meet the needs of Cerro Navia´s population, individuals bring what improvements they can to the lives of their neighbors. After meeting with representatives of the mayor´s office, we took five wheelchairs to a nearby day care center for children with physical and mental handicaps. The Casa de Acogida Amigos de Jesus is operated by one woman who founded the facility on her own initiative, and it depends largely on donations to provide a safe environment for about 36 children in the area. The director, along with several volunteers, cares for children who come from tiny, overcrowded homes and families that lack the resources to meet even their most basic needs, let alone handle the challenges of their disabilities. The staff of the center feed and bathe the children, and they provide them with a respite from the dangerous and often abusive conditions they face at home. The wheelchairs we brought would remain at the school, allowing the staff to assist the children more effectively.
When we arrived at the center, we entered through the front door of a small converted house. Outside was a patio shaded by a makeshift awning and a dusty play yard where most of the children and volunteers were gathered. The volunteers placed some of the children in wheelchairs immediately, and told us how happy they were to have them. One volunteer was especially pleased to see that the wheelchair seats are constructed from plastic because, she said, this will make it easier to keep the chairs clean despite frequent problems with incontinence among the children who need them most. The children themselves, however, seemed most pleased simply to have so many visitors. The lollipops we handed out were, as always, a big hit. And all enjoyed having their pictures taken. In addition to the hundreds of digital photos that we take to document our mission, we also take Polaroids to leave with wheelchair recipients and their families. Many have never had a photo of themselves, so these are a special treat and the children clearly enjoyed them.
With every distribution there are always a few individuals who stand out for us in some way, whose situation is particularly moving or whose response is especially touching. At the day care center, we met a girl named Marjory who reminded us that the wheelchairs are only part of our mission. We were told that Marjory is eighteen years old, but she looks no more than twelve. She is unable to speak, and the staff told us that she often spends most of the day crying. When we arrived, however, the staff took her out of a battered child´s wheelchair that was clearly much too small and placed her in one of the chairs we brought. With this, her tears stopped, and we assumed that she was happy to have the new wheelchair. But as we circulated among the children and spoke with the staff, we noticed that Marjory seemed restless. She squirmed as though trying to get out of the chair, and she made unintelligible noises that seemed to express frustration. Roy approached her and reached out. She grasped his hands, and before he realized what she was doing, she had pulled herself from the chair and was standing on the ground before him. Shakily, but very deliberately, she began to walk. Roy continued to support her, but he let her take the lead. She found her way to a small group of children, volunteers, and mission trip members seated on the patio some distance away. Abruptly, she sat down and began to wave both hands happily. We realized then that, however beneficial wheelchair might be to her, what she wanted most of all was to be part of the excitement our visit brought.
Following our visit to the day care center, we went directly to the gymnasium. Thanks to the remarkable efforts of Steve, Grace, and many others who work with FEDES and the community of Cerro Navia, a crowd had gathered to organize the distribution effort. Hundreds of assembled wheelchairs had already been trucked in and unloaded. Volunteers manned registration tables where information about recipients would be properly documented. A local organization that works with mentally handicapped children had arrived to cater the event,and some of the children themselves hovered about in crisp white shirts with black bow ties, ready to carry trays among the crowd. Costumed dancers prepared to perform traditional dances in a ceremony to celebrate the occasion.
Amid this hustle and bustle, we prepared for the arrival of buses that had been sent out hours before to collect disabled individuals and their families. We checked wheelchairs tires to be sure they were fully inflated, and as the buses arrived we rolled the chairs to the area where the buses would unload. The only ramp in the gym had to be kept clear for our wheelchair recipients to enter the building, so all the chairs had to be carried up stairs and a group of young boys jumped in to help us with this. The men of our group, along with several Chilean volunteers, stood on the steps of the buses and helped people into their new wheelchairs. Some could walk down the steps with the support of others; many had to be carried. Janet, the physical therapist in our group, was on hand to ensure that the disabled were moved as safely as possible.
After all five buses were unloaded and the wheelchair recipients were seated inside with their families, the ceremony began. We sat facing the recipients and watched their faces as local politicians made their speeches. It was clear that many had dressed for the occasion. One woman in particular stood out: She wore her Sunday best, including an elegant red hat, and she sat up very straight in her wheelchair. She seemed to look upon the event as a formal occasion demanding a serious air and studied propriety. We were reminded that these wheelchair recipients may not have had the opportunity to leave their homes, or even their bedrooms, for quite some time, making this event a memorable occasion.
Following the speeches and the dance performances, empanadas and wine were served. Along with the local dignitaries, we were served first, and all of us felt uncomfortable eating and drinking before the wheelchair recipients; we wanted to be able to move among them, talk with them and their families, take photos, and hand out candy. On the other hand, we knew that the disabled children had worked hard to prepare and serve this food, so we didn´t want to set it aside unfinished. It was a relief, therefore, when the children began to serve the wheelchair recipients as well. From that point, we all relaxed and began to enjoy the moment. We went to each recipient greet them, take picktures, and check that the foot rest was properly positioned. As we talked later, someone in our group mentioned that as he kneeled on the floor make adjustments to the foot rests, he thought of Jesus kneeling before his disciples to wash their feet. It was a powerful reminder of the reason for our presence there.
It was a long day, and we were all exhausted by the time we returned to Steve and Grace´s house. We showered and went to bed right away, but many of us had trouble sleeping that night. We had experienced a number of distributions now in a variety of contexts, and we were conscious that our time here was more than half over. We were beginning to think more about our return home and how this mission would affect us. Our thoughts were full as we considered the implications of our service in Chile for our plans to serve in the future.
Yesterday we went to the coastal city of Valparaiso for another day of distribution ceremonies, along with a tour of the congress building and an elegant lunch hosted by a senator. We returned fairly early to the house, ate a relaxed dinner, and got a good night´s sleep. During devotions this morning we felt much better rested, and we voiced many of our recent thoughts about service. Those who have been on mission trips before have already grappled with the issue of further service, and some have already come to terms with the effects of this intensive experience and decided how they will continue to serve. Those of us who are experiencing this for the first time, however, are just beginning to consider this seriously. The youngest member of our group, Bob Longman´s thirteen-year-old granddaughter, expressed our feelings well: She said she knew this experience would change her life, because her grandfather told her it would. But she couldn´t have anticipated the impact of all she has seen and felt. I think we all recognize the sharp contrast between our naive anticipation of this trip and our memories-- vivid, complex, and provocative-- of the actual experience. This will be food for thought for some time to come and, hopefull, inspiration for meaningful action.
One final, personal note especially for Mickey Longman: Bobs sends all his love, plus Happy Birthday!
Friday, April 11, 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Delivering Wheelchairs in Rural Areas
In my last post I described our visits first to a small town not far from the home of our hosts, then in a poor neighborhood of Santiago. Yesterday, however, our work took us to a rural area well outside of the city. Whether this variety in distribution sites has been a coincidence or whether it reflects the thoughtful planning of our hosts I don´t know, but it has certainly enriched our experience by providing a broader perspective on the significance of our efforts. After distributing wheelchairs in the city itself many of us were frustrated. We had the sense that many individuals and families struggled in a kind of crowded isolation, and that the gift of a wheelchair, however valuable in itself, was a drop in the bucket, providing only the smallest relief in lives filled with hardship. But yesterday we saw none of the urban anonymity that had so depressed us. Rather, we felt the strength of a close community that supports its weakest members with a network that offers unity and strength despite its poverty.
Yesterday morning, we piled into three vehicles and drove to an area well outside of the city. We passed farmland, orchards, and broad stretches of dusty, uncultivated land as we headed toward the foothills. A community leader among a group of three small villages had opened his home to us and to several disabled individuals and their families. In addition, he had welcomed leaders of many surrounding communities. We were greeted with delicious homemade empanadas and a performance of traditional songs. The musicians encouraged us to sing along, replacing some of the lyrics with the syllables la-la-la-la in order to overcome the language barrier. We spoke with the wheelchair recipients, learning what we could of their circumstances.
As before, we were struck by the dedication of family members. One wheelchair, for example, had gone to Camilla Perez, a twelve-year-old girl with hydrocephalus. She was accompanied by her nineteen-year-old sister and primary caretaker, Anna. Their parents work, so Anna has taken full responsibility for her sister, carrying her wherever necessary. As Camilla has grown bigger, however, it has grown difficult for Anna to carry her, so both sisters were becoming more and more isolated. Anna told us she was looking forward to taking her sister out to the plaza and visiting the zoo. Camilla herself couldn´t speak, but she smiled up at us continually and made sounds that Anna called a "song." Anna was calm and smiling throughout our conversation, clearly devoted to her sister and showing no bitterness over the restrictions on her own life.
After visiting with several wheelchair recipients and their families, we watched a small ceremony in which Bob Longman, one of our group leaders and a long-time supporter of our mission, presented wheelchairs to various community leaders. These chairs will be kept at the community centers and used to transport many disabled individuals to medical facilities as necessary. Without these wheelchairs, many are unable to get to hospitals or clinics for the medical attention they need. The tears with which some representatives accepted the chairs, were evidence of both the deep need in their communities and the care they offer their members.
The next several hours were spent delivering wheelchairs to the homes of individual recipients who were unable to attend the gathering. The first recipient was Gumercindo Peralta, a seventy-two year old man who had developed diabetes eight years earlier. The disease damaged his legs, and he had been unable to walk for two years. This past December, both legs were amputated. Every morning his grown sons stop by his house on their way to work and carry him from his bed to a chair on the patio outside. There he remains all day in the shade of lemon trees and grape vines until his sons return him to his bed on their way home. Gumercindo is a strong man, and the wheelchair will give him a level of independence he hasn´t known for some time.
Among the last people we visited was Miguel Sevedra, a ninety-eight year old man dying of cancer. His farm stands at the very end of a dusty road, in the shadow of the foothills. As we climbed out of the van and the trucks, we saw dogs, chickens, geese, and horses wandering in the dust outside a wooden shack. The animals looked ill, and the little farm was unkempt. Mr. Sevedra´s daughter met us at the door and welcomed us into a large room constructed of wooden slats on a dirt floor. In contrast to the scene outside, this room was very neat, swept clean of the dust that covered everything outside. Mr. Sevedra lay on a kind of chair on which he could stretch out his legs. His daughter had bathed and shaved him and dressed him carefully in clean clothes. He was covered with an impeccably clean blanket. It was clear that all his daughter´s energy went into her father´s care.
We spoke to her for awhile about the challenges she faced. She had lost her mother when she was very young, and she began to cry as she told us that Mr. Sevedra had been both father and mother to her. He had been diagnosed with cancer four years earlier, and it was now advanced. A few days before, he had received a dose of morphine to help with the pain. She knew he didn´t have long to live, and tears showed her dread of his passing.
She told us of a local festival that had brought the family some comfort just a few weeks earlier. The festival of Quasimodo began over a hundred years ago to protect the priests who brought communion to the sick at home. As they traveled, the priests were often assaulted by thieves who stole the gold and silver communion vessels. So the townspeople began to accompany the priests in procession, and today the people commemorate this once a year by following the priest on horseback as he goes from one house to another. We learned that hundreds of people on horseback had accompanied the priest when he visited Mr. Sevedra to give him communion.
As we left, we each spoke briefly to Mr. Sevedra and wished him well. There were tears in his eyes, but his handshake was strong, and even now it was easy to see the young cowboy he had once been.
After delivering the wheelchairs, we returned to the home where we had gathered earlier. The women of the community had prepared dinner for us, and we ate at a long table in a sort of outdoor kitchen where stoves stood beneath a wooden shelter. We ate fresh tomatoes, corn, potatoes, roasted chicken, and bread served with a delicious salsa. It didn´t feel right to be waited on, but we knew that to refuse this service would be an insult. I´m not sure I´ll ever get used to being treated as a celebrity, but such warm welcomes are a strong testament to the value of the wheelchairs and the importance to these communities of knowing that people far away care enough to bring them.
When we returned to Steve and Grace´s home in the evening, we relaxed for a few hours before going to bed and talked for a long time about our experiences so far. All of us agreed that it was often uncomfortable to visit the wheelchair recipients: The language barrier means that we cannot always express ourselves as we would like. The physical distance that American culture demands among strangers makes us feel awkward accepting the hugs and kisses of so many we meet. We worry that when all of us crowd into these tiny homes, we are intruding-- and staring as we´ve all been taught not to do. And of course, we are saddened by the pain and hardship we see.
Sometimes, too, we find it difficult to overlook the filth and the odors that are often a part of poverty and illness. This reaction brings feelings of guilt on top of everything else. Every one of us has been impressed (and a little ashamed) by the warmth that Steve and Grace bring to all of these people. Grace in particular never hesitates to reach out to each disabled person we visit, holding their hands, hugging them, kissing them. Her kindness and affection clearly mean a great deal to people who often have little contact with anyone other than their primary caretaker, and who may never experience such tenderness and fellowship with anyone outside their immediate family. We told Grace that she is a model for each of us, and her example has helped us all to move closer to the ideal she represents. She tells us only that her own model is Mother Theresa of Calcutta, insisting that it is her example, and that of Jesus himself, that should all follow.
When we recalled that we have spent only three days here, we all felt just a little surprised; it seems much longer since we arrived. We´ve all felt some change within ourselves in this short time, and we wonder how much more we´ll change in the days that remain.
Yesterday morning, we piled into three vehicles and drove to an area well outside of the city. We passed farmland, orchards, and broad stretches of dusty, uncultivated land as we headed toward the foothills. A community leader among a group of three small villages had opened his home to us and to several disabled individuals and their families. In addition, he had welcomed leaders of many surrounding communities. We were greeted with delicious homemade empanadas and a performance of traditional songs. The musicians encouraged us to sing along, replacing some of the lyrics with the syllables la-la-la-la in order to overcome the language barrier. We spoke with the wheelchair recipients, learning what we could of their circumstances.
As before, we were struck by the dedication of family members. One wheelchair, for example, had gone to Camilla Perez, a twelve-year-old girl with hydrocephalus. She was accompanied by her nineteen-year-old sister and primary caretaker, Anna. Their parents work, so Anna has taken full responsibility for her sister, carrying her wherever necessary. As Camilla has grown bigger, however, it has grown difficult for Anna to carry her, so both sisters were becoming more and more isolated. Anna told us she was looking forward to taking her sister out to the plaza and visiting the zoo. Camilla herself couldn´t speak, but she smiled up at us continually and made sounds that Anna called a "song." Anna was calm and smiling throughout our conversation, clearly devoted to her sister and showing no bitterness over the restrictions on her own life.
After visiting with several wheelchair recipients and their families, we watched a small ceremony in which Bob Longman, one of our group leaders and a long-time supporter of our mission, presented wheelchairs to various community leaders. These chairs will be kept at the community centers and used to transport many disabled individuals to medical facilities as necessary. Without these wheelchairs, many are unable to get to hospitals or clinics for the medical attention they need. The tears with which some representatives accepted the chairs, were evidence of both the deep need in their communities and the care they offer their members.
The next several hours were spent delivering wheelchairs to the homes of individual recipients who were unable to attend the gathering. The first recipient was Gumercindo Peralta, a seventy-two year old man who had developed diabetes eight years earlier. The disease damaged his legs, and he had been unable to walk for two years. This past December, both legs were amputated. Every morning his grown sons stop by his house on their way to work and carry him from his bed to a chair on the patio outside. There he remains all day in the shade of lemon trees and grape vines until his sons return him to his bed on their way home. Gumercindo is a strong man, and the wheelchair will give him a level of independence he hasn´t known for some time.
Among the last people we visited was Miguel Sevedra, a ninety-eight year old man dying of cancer. His farm stands at the very end of a dusty road, in the shadow of the foothills. As we climbed out of the van and the trucks, we saw dogs, chickens, geese, and horses wandering in the dust outside a wooden shack. The animals looked ill, and the little farm was unkempt. Mr. Sevedra´s daughter met us at the door and welcomed us into a large room constructed of wooden slats on a dirt floor. In contrast to the scene outside, this room was very neat, swept clean of the dust that covered everything outside. Mr. Sevedra lay on a kind of chair on which he could stretch out his legs. His daughter had bathed and shaved him and dressed him carefully in clean clothes. He was covered with an impeccably clean blanket. It was clear that all his daughter´s energy went into her father´s care.
We spoke to her for awhile about the challenges she faced. She had lost her mother when she was very young, and she began to cry as she told us that Mr. Sevedra had been both father and mother to her. He had been diagnosed with cancer four years earlier, and it was now advanced. A few days before, he had received a dose of morphine to help with the pain. She knew he didn´t have long to live, and tears showed her dread of his passing.
She told us of a local festival that had brought the family some comfort just a few weeks earlier. The festival of Quasimodo began over a hundred years ago to protect the priests who brought communion to the sick at home. As they traveled, the priests were often assaulted by thieves who stole the gold and silver communion vessels. So the townspeople began to accompany the priests in procession, and today the people commemorate this once a year by following the priest on horseback as he goes from one house to another. We learned that hundreds of people on horseback had accompanied the priest when he visited Mr. Sevedra to give him communion.
As we left, we each spoke briefly to Mr. Sevedra and wished him well. There were tears in his eyes, but his handshake was strong, and even now it was easy to see the young cowboy he had once been.
After delivering the wheelchairs, we returned to the home where we had gathered earlier. The women of the community had prepared dinner for us, and we ate at a long table in a sort of outdoor kitchen where stoves stood beneath a wooden shelter. We ate fresh tomatoes, corn, potatoes, roasted chicken, and bread served with a delicious salsa. It didn´t feel right to be waited on, but we knew that to refuse this service would be an insult. I´m not sure I´ll ever get used to being treated as a celebrity, but such warm welcomes are a strong testament to the value of the wheelchairs and the importance to these communities of knowing that people far away care enough to bring them.
When we returned to Steve and Grace´s home in the evening, we relaxed for a few hours before going to bed and talked for a long time about our experiences so far. All of us agreed that it was often uncomfortable to visit the wheelchair recipients: The language barrier means that we cannot always express ourselves as we would like. The physical distance that American culture demands among strangers makes us feel awkward accepting the hugs and kisses of so many we meet. We worry that when all of us crowd into these tiny homes, we are intruding-- and staring as we´ve all been taught not to do. And of course, we are saddened by the pain and hardship we see.
Sometimes, too, we find it difficult to overlook the filth and the odors that are often a part of poverty and illness. This reaction brings feelings of guilt on top of everything else. Every one of us has been impressed (and a little ashamed) by the warmth that Steve and Grace bring to all of these people. Grace in particular never hesitates to reach out to each disabled person we visit, holding their hands, hugging them, kissing them. Her kindness and affection clearly mean a great deal to people who often have little contact with anyone other than their primary caretaker, and who may never experience such tenderness and fellowship with anyone outside their immediate family. We told Grace that she is a model for each of us, and her example has helped us all to move closer to the ideal she represents. She tells us only that her own model is Mother Theresa of Calcutta, insisting that it is her example, and that of Jesus himself, that should all follow.
When we recalled that we have spent only three days here, we all felt just a little surprised; it seems much longer since we arrived. We´ve all felt some change within ourselves in this short time, and we wonder how much more we´ll change in the days that remain.
Monday, April 7, 2008
My First Wheelchair Distributions
It is after 10 pm now in Santiago. We arrived early yesterday morning, but it seems as though we´ve been here much longer because all that we´ve seen and felt in our first hours here has been overwhelming. Airport security checks, ten hours at 32,000 feet, immigration and customs-- all these seem distant and insignificant compared with the thoughts that crowd our minds now. We have learned much about the operations of FEDES, the organization run by our hosts, Steven and Grace Colon, and We have met many of the wonderful people who work with them. We have had a first glimpse of Santiago and the neighboring communities. Most importantly, we have given out over twenty wheelchairs, and we are looking forward to giving out hundreds more over the next couple of days. We have only just arrived, but we have already seen so much dedication, hope, faith, pain, need, determination, resignation, perseverance, and grace.
After Steve picked us up at the airport and made us welcome in his beautiful home, we had a few hours to rest. Few of us slept on the plane, so we napped briefly and settled into the place we will call home this week. In the evening, we went to a small town called El Monte to distribute wheelchairs to members of a congregation there. We met the mayor at the local school, and community members welcomed us with a small reception. We had planned to stay at the school until it was time to join the church service where we would give out a dozen wheelchairs, but the mayor told us of a local festival that was going on at that moment and invited us to attend. We boarded a bus and went to see the annual fair that dominates the municipal calendar. From a stage where musicians accompanied townspeople in a traditional dance, the mayor introduced us, and we received a warm welcome. We had just a half hour to wander among the crowd, but I was glad to have a glimpse of the community. Many people greeted us warmly, shook our hands, kissed our cheeks. At a corral where men and boys in traditional costume rode horses in a kind of barrel race, we were welcomed and cheered. I began to understand-- just a little-- how welcome our efforts were in this community.
When we left the fair, a bus took us to the tiny Pentecostal Church of Chile. We unloaded a dozen wheelchairs and lined them up in the aisle of the church as the musicians tuned their instruments and the children played among the chairs. We participated in the service as best we could despite the language barrier, trying to pick up the Spanish words to the familiar hymn, How Great Thou Art. But I was impatient to see the disabled men, women, and children of the congregation come forward to receive their wheelchairs. I wanted to see their faces suffused with happiness when they first sat in the wheelchair. I confess I was a little disappointed when the first few chairs were given instead to able-bodied people who would take them home to their disabled family members. But I knew that I was missing the point: I was not there for my own emotional gratification. It should have been enough to know that I was representing an organization that had helped to relieve some hardship; it should have been enough to know that the presence of our group made the gift of the wheelchairs more personal.
And some wheelchairs did go directly to recipients who had attended the service with the help of family members. One 98-year-old man who had been unable to walk for over a year received a chair. As happy as he was to have the wheelchair, it is the face of his son that I will not forget: His expression showed that it changed his life too. It was wonderful to see the joy and relief that came from seeing his father receive this gift.
This morning we took a tour of the vocational school run by FEDES. We saw the warehouse where wheelchair shipments and other donations of medical supplies are stored. We toured the impressive culinary arts training facility that allows many poor people of this community to get good jobs and escape the poverty that they have lived with. The curriculum is comprehensive, training students not only to cook, but to run a commercial kitchen efficiently and to use the latest technology. Steve and Grace told us how much the wheelchairs have helped in the growth of this school by giving their organization credibility and attracting the attention of powerful politicians and community leaders whose support is essential to their success.
In the afternoon, representatives of the mayor´s office accompanied us as we delivered wheelchairs to the homes of more than a dozen people in one neighborhood. There were more than fifteen in our group, yet one after another families welcomed us into tiny houses with just two or three rooms. I felt as though I was intruding, gawking, useless with my broken Spanish and awkward, self-conscious manner. But I was also moved by the enormous dedication of family members. In many cases, a single individual cared for an aging parent or disabled child despite extreme poverty. Many of the houses we visited were little more than shacks, with walls of brick or ancient plaster, no electicity, minimal plumbing, dirt floors. Families were doing their best to care for the elderly with little food and no medical attention. It would be so easy for this hardship to bring despair and neglect. But we saw only warmth and caring. I cannot mistake this for happiness, but it is a foundation for hope.
We also visited a few people who had already received wheelchairs. One man I will not forget. At the age of 52, he is dying of cancer. His wife died five years ago, and he has only his 11-year-old daughter. Since she must go to school, he is alone much of the day. His daughter does not have the strength to lift him into his wheelchair, so he is confined to his bed most of the time. He can move only by pulling himself with a rope secured to the foot of the bed. He turns on the light with a wooden board long enough to reach the switch on the wall. A portable radio sits on the blanket beside him. Often, the only food he has is whatever the neighbors bring him. But every Saturday his brother visits and takes him out in the wheelchair. I reflected that the wheelchair could make little practical difference in his life, yet it was an important part of the only respite he had from the isolation of his bed. When we arrived, he could barely speak through his tears. It was very hard to leave him.
It is late, so I won´t write more tonight. Tomorrow we will deliver dozens more chairs to two communities even more impoverished than those we saw today. I know that I will feel helpless, awkward, and frustrated. But I pray that I will recognize whatever it is that God wants me to see, and that I will know how to make the lessons I learn bear fruit.
After Steve picked us up at the airport and made us welcome in his beautiful home, we had a few hours to rest. Few of us slept on the plane, so we napped briefly and settled into the place we will call home this week. In the evening, we went to a small town called El Monte to distribute wheelchairs to members of a congregation there. We met the mayor at the local school, and community members welcomed us with a small reception. We had planned to stay at the school until it was time to join the church service where we would give out a dozen wheelchairs, but the mayor told us of a local festival that was going on at that moment and invited us to attend. We boarded a bus and went to see the annual fair that dominates the municipal calendar. From a stage where musicians accompanied townspeople in a traditional dance, the mayor introduced us, and we received a warm welcome. We had just a half hour to wander among the crowd, but I was glad to have a glimpse of the community. Many people greeted us warmly, shook our hands, kissed our cheeks. At a corral where men and boys in traditional costume rode horses in a kind of barrel race, we were welcomed and cheered. I began to understand-- just a little-- how welcome our efforts were in this community.
When we left the fair, a bus took us to the tiny Pentecostal Church of Chile. We unloaded a dozen wheelchairs and lined them up in the aisle of the church as the musicians tuned their instruments and the children played among the chairs. We participated in the service as best we could despite the language barrier, trying to pick up the Spanish words to the familiar hymn, How Great Thou Art. But I was impatient to see the disabled men, women, and children of the congregation come forward to receive their wheelchairs. I wanted to see their faces suffused with happiness when they first sat in the wheelchair. I confess I was a little disappointed when the first few chairs were given instead to able-bodied people who would take them home to their disabled family members. But I knew that I was missing the point: I was not there for my own emotional gratification. It should have been enough to know that I was representing an organization that had helped to relieve some hardship; it should have been enough to know that the presence of our group made the gift of the wheelchairs more personal.
And some wheelchairs did go directly to recipients who had attended the service with the help of family members. One 98-year-old man who had been unable to walk for over a year received a chair. As happy as he was to have the wheelchair, it is the face of his son that I will not forget: His expression showed that it changed his life too. It was wonderful to see the joy and relief that came from seeing his father receive this gift.
This morning we took a tour of the vocational school run by FEDES. We saw the warehouse where wheelchair shipments and other donations of medical supplies are stored. We toured the impressive culinary arts training facility that allows many poor people of this community to get good jobs and escape the poverty that they have lived with. The curriculum is comprehensive, training students not only to cook, but to run a commercial kitchen efficiently and to use the latest technology. Steve and Grace told us how much the wheelchairs have helped in the growth of this school by giving their organization credibility and attracting the attention of powerful politicians and community leaders whose support is essential to their success.
In the afternoon, representatives of the mayor´s office accompanied us as we delivered wheelchairs to the homes of more than a dozen people in one neighborhood. There were more than fifteen in our group, yet one after another families welcomed us into tiny houses with just two or three rooms. I felt as though I was intruding, gawking, useless with my broken Spanish and awkward, self-conscious manner. But I was also moved by the enormous dedication of family members. In many cases, a single individual cared for an aging parent or disabled child despite extreme poverty. Many of the houses we visited were little more than shacks, with walls of brick or ancient plaster, no electicity, minimal plumbing, dirt floors. Families were doing their best to care for the elderly with little food and no medical attention. It would be so easy for this hardship to bring despair and neglect. But we saw only warmth and caring. I cannot mistake this for happiness, but it is a foundation for hope.
We also visited a few people who had already received wheelchairs. One man I will not forget. At the age of 52, he is dying of cancer. His wife died five years ago, and he has only his 11-year-old daughter. Since she must go to school, he is alone much of the day. His daughter does not have the strength to lift him into his wheelchair, so he is confined to his bed most of the time. He can move only by pulling himself with a rope secured to the foot of the bed. He turns on the light with a wooden board long enough to reach the switch on the wall. A portable radio sits on the blanket beside him. Often, the only food he has is whatever the neighbors bring him. But every Saturday his brother visits and takes him out in the wheelchair. I reflected that the wheelchair could make little practical difference in his life, yet it was an important part of the only respite he had from the isolation of his bed. When we arrived, he could barely speak through his tears. It was very hard to leave him.
It is late, so I won´t write more tonight. Tomorrow we will deliver dozens more chairs to two communities even more impoverished than those we saw today. I know that I will feel helpless, awkward, and frustrated. But I pray that I will recognize whatever it is that God wants me to see, and that I will know how to make the lessons I learn bear fruit.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Our mission will be led by Deborah Anderson
Our mission will be led by Deborah Anderson, ever-enthusiastic and industrious member of the Free Wheelchair Mission board. She will be accompanied by supporters Joe and Susan Rubio, Janet and David Grattan, Bob Longman, his sons Neil and Roy, Roy’s wife Doris, and their three daughters. I’m Jeanine, database manager for the Free Wheelchair Mission and official blogger for our group.
Our hosts in Chile will be Steven and Grace Colon of FEDES (Fundación Educativa de Desarollo Economica y Social). Their organization has been an active Free Wheelchair Mission distribution partner. FEDES focuses on education and social and economic development, and they are dedicated to bettering the lives of the poor and disadvantaged of Chile. The concept of human development embraced by FEDES is aimed at satisfying spiritual, emotional and physical needs, as well as providing training at an individual, family and community level, enabling people to create a stable, safe and peaceful social environment that will be conducive to the development of families and children.
We will depart from Los Angeles on April 5th, 2008, and return on April 12th. We hope you’ll check in with us on this site to see how we’re doing and learn more about Free Wheelchair Mission’s efforts on the ground in developing countries!
Our hosts in Chile will be Steven and Grace Colon of FEDES (Fundación Educativa de Desarollo Economica y Social). Their organization has been an active Free Wheelchair Mission distribution partner. FEDES focuses on education and social and economic development, and they are dedicated to bettering the lives of the poor and disadvantaged of Chile. The concept of human development embraced by FEDES is aimed at satisfying spiritual, emotional and physical needs, as well as providing training at an individual, family and community level, enabling people to create a stable, safe and peaceful social environment that will be conducive to the development of families and children.
We will depart from Los Angeles on April 5th, 2008, and return on April 12th. We hope you’ll check in with us on this site to see how we’re doing and learn more about Free Wheelchair Mission’s efforts on the ground in developing countries!
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