Wednesdays with Grace
A Message from Ricsy Damaris
Ricsy Damaris is a sixth-grade student at the Brazos de Jesús School, near El Ocotillo, Honduras. Apparently, there is no record of her birth as her exact birth date is unknown and she possesses no national identification number (the Honduran equivalent of a social security number). Until two years ago, when she began attending Brazos, she had never completed a full year of school. Ricsy tells me that she is eleven years old.
Last Friday, on our last day with the children, Ricsy, knowing we would be leaving, approached me and said, “Please pack me in your luggage so that I can return to the United States with you.” I laughed because I thought Ricsy was joking. When I looked into her eyes, the shocking gravity of the moment truly struck me. Ricsy was not joking; she was deadly serious. I had no doubt that Ricsy would have gladly contorted her tiny body into my suitcase if it meant she could come to the United States. And, here, I had laughed at her request. If there was ever a moment I wish I could take back, it was that moment.
Seeing Ricsy’s resolute seriousness, I thought about how to respond. Taking a chance, hoping she would understand, I said, “For people of faith, we know that, although we may be separated, we will always be together, again.” Ricsy listened, paused, and asked to see my phone, indicating that she wanted to type a message, as the Spanglish with which we were communicating seemed inadequate. This is what Ricsy typed on my phone: Dios es grande y nunca nos separara de estar siempre con ustedes le agradezco a Dios que lo pude conocer me dio mucho gusto
Translated, Ricsy’s message is: God is great and will never separate us from being with you. I thank God that I could know [H]im. It gave me much pleasure.
Love, as powerful and wonderful as it is, also brings pain for there is no one we love from whom we will not be separated, at some time. Separation, and the resulting pain, is an unavoidable aspect of love.
Several nights before Jesus’s crucifixion, when the end was near, a woman burst into a quiet dinner between Jesus and his disciples. Weeping, she broke open an exorbitantly expensive alabaster jar, anointing Jesus with perfume. The value of this jar was equivalent to an entire year’s wage. In discussing this story, CS Lewis said, “The allegorical sense of [the woman’s] great action dawned on me the other day. The precious alabaster box which one must break over the Holy Feet is one’s heart. Easier said than done. And the contents become perfume only when it is broken. While they are safe inside they are more like sewage.” By breaking the jar, the woman was offering her own heart, willing to break it.
In the image above, Ricsy is holding a flower she made from discarded garbage. That Friday, on our last day, we were told the school was holding “Recycling Day.” Garbage, at and around the school, maintains a pervasive presence, almost blending into the background. We were not prepared for what we would see.
Above is a dress made by the children, and their parents, from garbage. Note the girl in the red dress, which is made from discarded potato chip bags.
This other dress is made from used newspaper. These are only two examples, for we saw so many more. We viewed dioramas made from garbage resembling an iPhone, a TV camera and a working water well. The time and skill it took to make these items, from garbage, is remarkable.
Consider the effort, proficiency and commitment it takes to create these items from a place like this:
Miracles occur in our world, if we take the time to see them. For Honduras, considering the seemingly infinite and inexorable political, social and economic problems bestting that country, the Brazos school is, in my opinion, a miracle. Teachers works for less than miniumum wage, while the school struggles to pay its water bill. However, somehow, someway, they create beautiful dresses for little girls out of garbage. The children at Brazos are loved. They smile, laugh, play and are happy. With every reason to look upon life as shunned outcasts, they fashion beauty from trash.
Yes, with love comes pain, for we grieve for those from whom we are separated. We offer love and in doing so sometimes break our own hearts. But we love anyway; if anything, we love even more. We double down on love, even in the darkest times and places in this fallen world. Because what choice do we have? In doing so, however, we can see miracles; miracles of love. A little girl, born in a garbage dump, who doesn’t even know her own birthday, knows that her faith means that she and I will see each other again, one day. A mother, experiencing what must be unimaginable grief, planning for her child’s funeral, tells her minister, “Go preach the gospel.” We are a family of faith who clings to the promise of the Empty Tomb. From a tragic and unexpected death, arises the opportunity to deliver the Gospel to others. From garbage, emerges beauty. From death, springs hope, resurrection and life.
Oh, death, where is thy sting?
In Christ,
Mort Taylor