Day 2 (later) - Mendoza
We went to the children's home today. We had a few main tasks: to paint the upper balcony and install new shelves in the pantry. I started off organizing one of the side rooms used as a storehouse for donated clothes and toys. This included about an hour of beating dust out of rugs with Alex and Stephen. I felt a little useless with the carpentry - I became a human vise grip while others ran the show. Surely this is a glimpse of God's kingdom. We did simple things, like beating rugs and scraping paint. Some guys even put down their work just to play with the kids. But, by God's guiding and providential will, the whole was greater than the sum of the parts. This is building for the Kingdom.
However, the highlight was the meal. Before lunch, the house was in complete chaos. Our clothes were covered in paint, many of the kids’ hair was covered in the same paint, the lunch table was covered in sawdust and bent screws, and the kitchen bustled with noise and activity. No one quite had a handle on the situation. Most of the people in charge spoke only Spanish and details got lost in translation. People in the patio yelled up to the roof that plates were already coming out of the kitchen. As the dust cleared in the main room and the table was set, there were not enough chairs in the building, so a few students traipsed chairs from the church two blocks away. While waiting, we sang (or yelled) a song over the hubbub. Then, amidst the continued cheerful bellows of the children and the conversational hum of the adults, a sudden hush came upon the whole building. Lunch was served.
We had (essentially) chicken-fried steak [editor's note: this is called "milanesa"] and potatoes with beef empanadas and salad. For dessert we had birthday cake for Adam. Afterwards, the proprietor of the home, Rudolfo, spoke about its founding. After his wife Adriana had a vision of suffering children, they carried out a church mission in the outlying slums of Mendoza, whereupon they met Jesús, the oldest son of an alcoholic indigent who no longer worked. Rudolfo and Adriana decided to provide meals for Jesús and his younger siblings, but only at a neighbor's house. This convinced the father to sign paperwork to subsidize meals from the government. He missed being able to be with them (even though they had become malnourished because of his neglect). So Rudolfo and Adriana set up a children's home run by volunteers and funded by donors. Through their seven (?) years of existence, God has provided their every need, even providing milk for the kids' breakfast while the volunteer cooks were in the process of praying for it.
This meal was especially touching; it came out of their own pantries and was prepared and served by volunteers. The owner himself personally served and bussed our table. Surely this was the feeding of the five thousand; the more abundantly this man and his colleagues gave, the greater surplus everyone (including them) had. Surely this is the woman who gave abundantly of her two denarii, as opposed to the rich men who gave out of their abundance. Our later meal at the French bistro was wonderful - a few courses, delightful dessert, helpful service. But the children’s home was not a meal, but a lavish feast, given abundantly out of meagerness. And most beautiful, while the owner spoke of the dark tales of suffering children in Guaymallen, was the sound of laughing children, innocently playing in the presence of their God who gave out of His own abundance.
- Jacob G.
However, the highlight was the meal. Before lunch, the house was in complete chaos. Our clothes were covered in paint, many of the kids’ hair was covered in the same paint, the lunch table was covered in sawdust and bent screws, and the kitchen bustled with noise and activity. No one quite had a handle on the situation. Most of the people in charge spoke only Spanish and details got lost in translation. People in the patio yelled up to the roof that plates were already coming out of the kitchen. As the dust cleared in the main room and the table was set, there were not enough chairs in the building, so a few students traipsed chairs from the church two blocks away. While waiting, we sang (or yelled) a song over the hubbub. Then, amidst the continued cheerful bellows of the children and the conversational hum of the adults, a sudden hush came upon the whole building. Lunch was served.
We had (essentially) chicken-fried steak [editor's note: this is called "milanesa"] and potatoes with beef empanadas and salad. For dessert we had birthday cake for Adam. Afterwards, the proprietor of the home, Rudolfo, spoke about its founding. After his wife Adriana had a vision of suffering children, they carried out a church mission in the outlying slums of Mendoza, whereupon they met Jesús, the oldest son of an alcoholic indigent who no longer worked. Rudolfo and Adriana decided to provide meals for Jesús and his younger siblings, but only at a neighbor's house. This convinced the father to sign paperwork to subsidize meals from the government. He missed being able to be with them (even though they had become malnourished because of his neglect). So Rudolfo and Adriana set up a children's home run by volunteers and funded by donors. Through their seven (?) years of existence, God has provided their every need, even providing milk for the kids' breakfast while the volunteer cooks were in the process of praying for it.
This meal was especially touching; it came out of their own pantries and was prepared and served by volunteers. The owner himself personally served and bussed our table. Surely this was the feeding of the five thousand; the more abundantly this man and his colleagues gave, the greater surplus everyone (including them) had. Surely this is the woman who gave abundantly of her two denarii, as opposed to the rich men who gave out of their abundance. Our later meal at the French bistro was wonderful - a few courses, delightful dessert, helpful service. But the children’s home was not a meal, but a lavish feast, given abundantly out of meagerness. And most beautiful, while the owner spoke of the dark tales of suffering children in Guaymallen, was the sound of laughing children, innocently playing in the presence of their God who gave out of His own abundance.
- Jacob G.