30 Hour Famine

Awesome weekend. I've done the 30 Hour Famine before. Just not quite like this. In days past it has always seemed like a glorified lock-in. The kids come and get a kick out of taunting each other the whole time with stories of big juicy steaks, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a HUGE glass of sweet tea (I should stop there. #1 I'm giving myself away with the sweet tea line...it was probably me taunting...and #2 it's making me hungry...) They don't eat for 30 hours, but to take their mind off of the slight...seriously...slight...hunger pains, they spend their time watching the latest movies, playing on rented inflatables, putt-putting, or other things of the like.

Not this time. The kids were challenged...I was challenged.

We started the evening with making supper. No, not for us. We took what we made (or helped make, i should say) over to the local Salvation Army and watched as people that were really hungry came through the line with slightly wary, but definitely grateful eyes. A bunch of smiling, peppy high schoolers dished out the goods to individuals who I'm sure wondered what exactly our motives were. I don't blame them. I've done service projects in the past to make ME feel good. How selfish. But tonight, I think our kids were definitely going to get at least a little bit of a feel for what it's like to be...homeless...or hungry...or enslaved. Once the plates were piled high with food, the kids scattered amongst the crowd and sat down to conversations with strangers that would open their eyes to an important fact. These people were...people. Just like themselves.

After washing the dishes and leaving behind plenty of leftovers, we moved from our first stop to our second: Our Community Place. A local joint that has the dreams of becoming another "beacon of HOPE" in the Valley. Cardboard boxes were passed out to each of the kids as they were told, this was home for the night. They quickly began to build their "cardboard community", shelter for an evening. With cardboard boxes much nicer than any you would find in a local dumpster (i would soon find out just how sturdy they were- enough to withstand wake up kicks from the boys in the morning), they made temporary homes along with skylights, doors, and chimneys. It was fun to watch them be creative. We hoped to get the message across that this is life for some people, and not only when it's nearing summertime warmth.

Once our beds were in place, we all gathered around a projector screen where many kids saw things they'd never seen before. The story of the "invisible children" soon became the heartbeat of many as local high schoolers from Harrisonburg realized they wanted to do something about the injustice in the world. Watching kids walk for miles each day just to get a spot on a cold, wet, cement floor where it was safe...or at least more safe...seemed to strike a nerve. Silence followed, and kids made their way to their boxes shortly after, probably feeling overwhelmed, as I did, about the huge need, and their tiny existence. People needed their help. More people than just those at the local Harrisonburg Salvation Army. More people that were...people. Just like themselves.

With the sunrise came a new day. Running on very little energy, the kids spent the entire morning mowing, raking, pulling weeds, planting flowers, and trying to help where they could in the community. Not a complaint was heard.

Even the end of our fast was a learning experience. Instead of us all eating at once and all the same thing, we were split up into groups with red dots, yellow dots and blue dots. The red dots sat at a fancy table and were served pancakes, sausage links, fresh fruit, milk and all kinds of good stuff. They could have as many "second plates" as they wanted. They yellow dots sat at decent tables, had to serve themselves, and got to eat cereal and milk. When the food was gone, they were done. The blue dots, the large majority of the group, had to sit on the floor, and eat burned sticky rice with their hands. The point was to show that the majority of the world lives in poverty while a small percentage holds most of the wealth. It was astonishing to see it played out that way.

Through all of it, I think the thing that I learned the most was that we are all equal. We're all the same. People are people. The only difference between myself and a child in Africa who has nothing to eat today, tomorrow, and many more days to come until his bowl of sticky rice arrives to hold him over till the next meal comes days later, is that for some reason I was born here. Is that fair? Absolutely not.

I want to do something about it.