I will never look at a blue plastic tarp again without seeing the hungry eyes, ragged clothes, matted hair of the people who live in what I call the 'blue tarp slums'. Any unused land seems to have a makeshift shelter thrown together of crooked poles, blue tarps, maybe a few palm leaves covering the holes.
Bible School at the local church had ended this afternoon with joy and laughter. Children making the colorful necklaces and bracelets that told the Wordless Book story--the Gospel in color. Little did I know the background of some of the flashing eyes and smiles as they tapped my arm and said "Ma'am, ma'am" vying for my attention.
As night fell, we headed out to a blue tarp slum along the dried-up canal where one of Johnpaul's men is starting a new church. The 'poorest of the poor' is a much used phrase, but it is the only way to describe the little neighborhood of perhaps 30 shelters. A crowd gathered as we emerged from the vehicle, young men, old men, women, countless children, and babies....so many little babies. A little hand grabbed my arm and a face smiled up into mine--Sandiya from the Bible School! Several of our children came from right here. I had never guessed.
We sat in a place of honor--a few plastic chairs and a sleeping cot draped with a blanket. Children sat on the ground before us and curious adults joined until we had a large crowd merging out into the darkness. So many bodies, so many souls, so much poverty. Albert preached the Gospel with Johnpaul interpreting--news of the One True God and how to get to His presence after we die. Hope. Love. Forgiveness. Eyes were riveted on him, and many heads bent in prayer at the end.
The initial shock of the slum conditions soften with the smiles and interaction. Lost in a multitude of people, each soul wants to be known, me, myself, I am worth something to someone. So many begged to have their photo taken. I think it was that basic human need to say 'someone knows I exist.' That is what God wants us to tell them, tell the nations, tell the world. "I know you exist, I know you by name, I love you. I want you to know Me."
With several of our Bible School children clinging to my hands, I walked through the area. A lady begged me to come into her home... I have tears in my eyes now. (I almost did then.) It was made palm mats, about the size of a large walk-in closet of an American home. Yet it was neat and clean. This poor woman had neatly folded her few belongings on the shelf across the far end; her cooking pot was by the door; her dirt floor was spotless, swept clean. She is by far a better housekeeper than I am. I pray God that someday she will actually have a house. But it could be that she was born under a blue tarp, will give birth on the dirt floor of her hut, and maybe die there. All I can do is make sure that she has heard the Good News of Jesus Christ, and pray that she will live alongside me in my Father's house.
