The Glass Floor

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” ~ Marcel Proust, French novelist (1871-1922)


The short, man-bridge spanned a small river which bordered the southern edge of the dump. We were told fish, extricated from the fetid waters, was consumed by the locals. Entertaining the thought anyone would eat anything which came from the poisoned runoff was too disturbing to contemplate. At the end of the bridge, to our right, an old man was fighting a losing battle. Air-borne trash filled his yard even as he raked it into small heaps; as if trying to exercise some control over his life. His attempts were doomed to failure, but he pressed on as did we.

We completed our crossing and started up the steep hill; the massive dump, seemingly unending, lay to our left. Hedge rows and fences prevented us from going to our right. The only way was up. Two plain-clothes policemen, replete with ancient military weapons, kept watch over us; preceding us up the steep hillside.

We passed “St. Prisca’s Childhood Rehabilitation Centre.” St. Prisca, a first century martyr, was a thirteen year old girl imprisoned and tortured to death for her beliefs. The irony of naming this children’s center after her was lost on most of us. Little black hands reached out through the bars of the gated entrance, just to touch our hands, to connect with us some how. The moment passed and we moved on.

On our right, a solid gate appeared. A sign announced the entrance led to the “Boma Rescue Centre”. The inscription at the bottom of the sign read: “mtoto auye na mzazi hali uchafu”. I could only make out the words “children” (mtoto) and “no parents” (na mzazi).

The Boma Rescue Centre is appropriately named as workers literally “rescue” children from the dump of Dandora, Kenya. Dedicated volunteers regularly venture into the vast garbage dump in search of the lost. Some are abandoned. Some run away from home because of abuse. One small girl, who cuddled up with one of our fellow female travelers was only four years old. Without the rescue center all of them would be left to survive on what they could forage from the 400 tons of garbage dumped each day or die by whatever misadventure befell them.

We headed for the main building. The children were waiting for us inside. We passed piles of shoes at the doorway. The dimly lit shelter was constructed of corrugated metal and 4x4’s. A gap of one to two feet was left between the top of the wall and the roof line. A gap protected by chicken wire; poor man’s air conditioning I thought. Child-like frescoes covered the walls.

Seated on backless wooden benches we celebrated Mass together: a group of comfortable urbanites from Los Angeles and a pack of kids from Kenya whose prior address read simply, “the city dump.” The great social reformer, Dorothy Day, once professed what attracted her to the Catholic faith was “the rich knelt down with the poor” and so we worshiped together.

Mass ended and it was the children’s turn to entertain. Not surprisingly they sang songs and performed dances. The singing and dancing ended. A table and two chairs were placed in the middle of the floor. A series of skits followed. One would have expected funny and/or familiar tales would be acted out; the products of the simple and innocent minds of children. These skits however, were horrifyingly adult. They depicted drunkenness, drug use, physical and mental abuse and marital infidelity. In short, the skits depicted their reality; the realities which had molded their lives; the path by which many of them had come to the rescue center.

The skits ended abruptly and we headed outside. The actors became children again. We distributed stickers, posed for pictures and, with a glance over our shoulders, started back down the hill toward the safety of our bus; armed guards trailing behind. As we got to the bridge I glanced to my left. The little old man was still waging his battle against the trash; his bent body swinging the ancient wooden rake as best he could; papers still swirling around him. A last look and I headed for the sanctuary of the bus and the sanitary wipes in my bag.

Dr. Timothy Leary, the infamous advocate of psychedelic drug use, is sometimes credited with asking the question: “What is reality anyway?” While there is no simple answer to the question, I would profess a great deal of our realities are conditioned by our life experiences. Dr. Phil would say, “There is no reality, only perception.”

As upper middle class Americans, who could afford to travel to Kenya, our reality was clearly different than those of the children we met at Boma Rescue Centre. For us a hardship might be defined as a flat tire, a difficult boss, a bad relationship, or losing a job. For these children hardship is no food, no clean water, no decent clothes or shoes, no family or emotional comfort and possible injury, illness or death.

These differing realities create a “glass floor” of sorts. Hardships beyond our own experience are difficult to comprehend. Even when confronted with the realistic images provided by modern media it is difficult for us to conceive “hardship” or “need” which is much beyond our comfort zone of existence. Case in point, the TV Series, “The Simple Life” humorously depicted life in rural America as a “hardship” for Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie. Ironically, to the people we met in Kenya, that same rural life would have been luxurious.

Gratitude is fueled by need, not by satisfaction. Therefore, experiencing need first hand through ministry, even vicariously, helps drive us to greater levels of gratitude. This is why ministry is so important! Ministry (sharing our gifts of time, talent and treasure) nourishes the minister as well as those being served. It shatters the glass floor and brings us in contact with the realities of those for whom we are called to care. It provides us with the realization of how much we really have; how gifted we are, in comparison with the rest of the world’s inhabitants, vividly demonstrating the many reasons we should be grateful.

In turn, deep, heart-felt gratitude, conscious acknowledgement of how much we have been given by God, should naturally lead to increased generosity. There is an important dynamic created by being fully participative in the gifting of time, talent and treasure (not time, talent or treasure). Each enhances the experience of the other. Service in ministry enhances gratitude which, hopefully, increases our desire to be generous.

Timothy Leary spent his life trying to enhance his psychedelic experience. On the other hand, fully participative stewardship enhances our spiritual experience and our lives.


Dear God: Put me to work! I need to be more grateful!


“We do not see things as they are. We see them as we are.” ~The Talmud

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.