The Mirror

Monday night, I found myself standing in front of the mirror. Just standing there for like five minutes...staring at myself. Analyzing myself. It has been a long time since I've really taken a good look at myself. My eyes look tired. My face droopy. Yeah...droopy. Gravity is calling my skin to head south for the winter. I'm not sure when I got so much gray in my hair, but it's there...peppered throughout the brown strands that are retreating from my forehead like a frightened army. I'm about 12-15 pounds overweight. The shoulders that once stood squarely in place now slouch slightly forward...hanging in surrender. I'm a mess. And the evaluation went deeper than the physical too. In that eternal five minutes, I also examined my life. Yesterday, I was 28 years old...excited to see where my career and life would take me. Would I be moving out of the country? Or to another state? I hopped from Texas to Tennessee to Colorado in a matter of 14 months, chasing dreams. Today, just 24-hours later, I'm 41...and worried about whether I should sell my house and move across town. I'm tired. And what few dreams I have revolve not around experiencing life...but avoiding death. Financial death. Emotional death. Spiritual death. Death...not life. And what have I done with these 41 years? If I were to die today, what would people say about me? Have I left any semblance of a legacy? How many real "friends" do I have? And why has making friends never been a priority to me? What friends I do have is because they made the effort...not me. Why have I been so selfish? Never willing to give back. Never willing to open myself up to anyone? Is it because I really don't like who I am...so I figure no one else would either? Why do I struggle so much with God? Church? Why is it that I would rather spend an entire day alone, by myself, than an hour with a group of people? I absolutely dread social gatherings. I mean dread. When did I become that person? Funny thing about mirrors. They don't lie. They show you exactly what you put in front of them. So there I was, in front of this reflective glass, wishing I didn't recognize the person standing there. But sadly, I know him all too well. And I don't care for him too much.

Living Amongst the Dead

“How long have you lived here?” I asked the young Filipino girl standing before me with a baby on her hip.
She smiled, exposing her decaying teeth. “All my life.”

All her life. Here, in one of the most despicable, degrading places for a family to raise a child. A cemetery. But not the type you and I are used to. There’s no neatly mowed lawn, lined with perfectly symmetrical rows of headstones.

There are no flowers gently placed at the head of each gravesite. In fact, it’s hard to tell where one grave ends and the other begins. To say this cemetery is in disrepair is a gross understatement. Garbage lines the muddy streets. Broken headstones and cracked open tombs slant along the moldy, muddy slopes that have been beaten down by far more rain than they can handle. Small stone statuettes are scattered throughout—cement angels kneeling—not out of reverence, but rather a sort of submission to the macabre of it all.

A 20-foot tall wall lines the cemetery. Upon closer inspection, you find that the wall is made up entirely of tombs…stacked one on top of the other. The wall of the dead.

Amidst the crow of a rooster and the bark of a stray dog, you hear the giggle of a child. Little boys and girls skip along the gravesites, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the entire site is covered in death. This is their home.

Hidden along the massive wall are openings the size of small doorways…perfect for a Filipino. An average American might have to duck to enter. Beyond these doorways, are homes—more like shacks made of scraps of wood and tin. It’s not unusual for a family of six or seven to call one of these shacks home. It’s where the young Filipino girl was raised…and where she will raise her baby. It’s beyond heartbreaking. No child should be raised here. No baby should have to breathe this moldy air…walk barefoot through this garbage. No child’s bed should be just on the other side of a wall from a corpse.

Compassion International is here to bring life to the cemetery. By teaching these children about their Heavenly Father, Compassion is giving Filipino boys and girls a chance at new life. It’s the very heart of the Great Commission. Because of Compassion’s ministry, some of these children will not spend their entire lives hidden within the wall of the dead. Nor will their children. This is truly light in the darkest of places.

We all live in cemeteries, I suppose. We are all skipping among the dead through this world of broken homes and hearts. The question is: what are we doing to bring life to the cemetery?