From 1990 to 1994, my husband and I, along with our two young children, had the privilege of serving with Habitat for Humanity International in La Paz, Bolivia. We were sent to Bolivia to organize a brand new project and get it up and running.

We soon learned that anxious landowners are eager, ready and raring to build. But first, materials need to be purchased, experienced local house-builders need to be found, local landowners need to be organized into groups to work on each other's homes, and local families that qualify for Habitat materials need to be selected. All of this requires a local purchasing committee, a local money managing committee, and a local family selection committee. 

Given these requirements, it took about a year to organize all the committees and purchase the materials. Families were then organized into groups of four, and they, in turn, then worked on building each other's houses.

Towards the end of our time in Bolivia, the committees decided to celebrate the progress by throwing a picnic for the committee members. The houses we’d built were in El Alto. El Alto is at 14,000 feet. It’s barren, brown and cold, and also where the poor live. Better-off Bolivians lived an hour down the mountain where there was grass, palm trees and balmy weather. It was a real treat to go down the mountain and there is where the celebratory picnic was to be held.

The park where we gathered together had a fenced-off area to play soccer and relax, but was otherwise unremarkable. We ate barbequed chicken cooked on a grill made from half of an oil barrel. 

I’d picked my chicken bones pretty bare and was looking about for a trash can. As I searched, I enjoyed the feelings of belonging, of accomplishing so much together, of making a difference.

I had no luck finding a trash can and decided to look for a deserving dog for my scraps. It was then that a member of one of the Habitat committees saw me searching about and said, "Why don't you give your scraps to that little girl over there by the fence?"

I had not even seen the girl, much less thought of giving her my scraps. I gave them to her. She eagerly accepted them. Pain pierced me, pain like the Grinch felt when his heart "grew two sizes." 

I wept for my bounty and my blindness.

Who is right in front of you but you do not see? Pray for God to open the eyes of your heart.