I had entered an entirely different world. The air was warm and humid, not chilly; and the locals spoke Spanish, not English. The poverty I witnessed was something I had never encountered before. It was as if I had fallen out of my world—a world focused on me—and had dropped into God’s world.
With other high school seniors and some teachers, I volunteered in the San Salvador area of El Salvador for a week. There I helped mix cement for a new house and classroom, paint a daycare, and laughed and played with local children. But mostly, I learned about the importance of human love.
I loved these Salvadorans, even though I had known them for only a week. It seemed as though I had known them my entire life. They helped me to know myself better and to see God’s role in my life. It didn’t matter if I was playing board games with the kids, joking with the adults, or pouring cement, I just felt so blessed to be there. Those we interacted with gave us love, comfort, and encouragement. I wanted to do so much more for them than was possible in one week.
Despite all the “things” we did, our team discovered that the most important service we provided was the “service of presence.” We learned that we provided comfort for those in pain and those living in poverty by simply being there and showing them that they are neither forgotten nor alone. They thanked us repeatedly for our help, while I felt as though I should be expressing my gratitude to them.
What the Salvadorans needed most was our community. I found I needed it, too. One afternoon, after a long day of cement mixing, a local man helped me clean my shovel. Let me explain: cleaning a shovel is an activity for one person. You just pour some water over the blade and scrape at the cement residue with a rock. Some might have considered the man’s help to be no big deal, but it was important to me. Maybe it’s because of our North American individualistic culture, or maybe it’s because I can be a little “closed-off” at times, but this man taking the time to help me touched my life. I didn’t need his help but he gave it anyway.
I remember frequently the friends I made in El Salvador. I often wish I could return there, but, as Mother Teresa once observed, love begins by taking care of the closest ones—the ones at home. So now I am beginning to rediscover love here at home. The “service of presence” that I gave in El Salvador I can also give to those here at home however I am able. I can love strangers, my friends, and my family, right here at home. I can support them in many ways, even with something as insignificant as cleaning off a shovel.
—Rachel
In what ways are you “closed off” and how can you share yourself and your gifts with others?
Who do you know that could benefit from the “service of presence?”