Gringa Missionary Snowwoman

The temperatures are dropping. It is getting colder here in Chile as the Southern Hemisphere heads toward winter. The morning air is cold, damp, and anything but fresh. I can see my breath as I walk down the street to Señora Claudia's house for breakfast. I clomp through mud and puddles of stagnant water, thanking God that I have steel toed, rubber work boots. Breakfast is a humble serving of bread and butter along with a cup of boiled water. I am thankful that the water is boiled and I pray that the boiled water has thoroughly cleansed the mug I am about to drink from because I have observed the precious grandpa of the house washing the dishes in cold water without soap. I decline the coffee and tea that is served and I spoon a few scoops of chocolate mix, from my secret stash, into my cup. I realize I am missing an essential ingredient to perfect my cup of hot chocolate, but that is beside the point. Milk is not being served, so with a grateful heart, I sip my warm beverage and thank God that I have something warm to drink and that he provided me with the gift of chocolate mix from a little store down the road.

After breakfast is finished I head down the road looking like a freaky gringa snowwoman with my scarf, hat, gloves, and many layers of clothing. My outfit is completed with my red work smock-apron-vest that says "Youth With a Mission" in Spanish on the front and "Humanitarian Aid Volunteer" on the back. Although I am cold, I thank God for the fact that the cold weather has seemed to freeze my body odor. The cold is a true gift in this regard because my current shower routine has me showering around every 4-5 days.

With my growing Spanish vocabulary, I greet every person I pass on the street. The little barrio (neighborhood) of Santa Clara where I am living and working is a buzz of activity. Huge trucks are coming and going moving piles of rubble and dirt. I hear the clip-clop-clip-clop of horse hoofs from a horse drawn cart that is transporting supplies. Across the street an old man and young girl are digging through the remains of their once beautiful home, hoping to find remnants of treasured belongings. An elderly man struggles to push a wheelbarrow full of wood and construction tools down the pothole filled road. I look at all my surroundings and I am puzzled. It is hard to imagine what this neighborhood once looked like. I am told it was beautiful and lovely, but that is hard to imagine when I am surrounded by destroyed homes. I find it difficult to differentiate between the lines of poverty and destruction from the earthquake and tsunami.
I pass a few more houses with people eagerly waiting outside for my assistance and I assure them that their name is on the list for help and my group will be pleased to help them shortly. But for the moment, my attention and focus turns to the Señora in front of me. I enter her recently constructed home that follows the Chilean government's guidelines for construction of emergency houses and I set to work. I measure, I mark, and I cut the chunks of styrofoam that we are using for insulation. As I continue to measure, mark, and cut again and again, the small home where I am working transforms into a winterwonderland as bits and pieces of styrofoam start floating through the air. I giggle because this missionary snowwoman now has a snowy environment to match her snowwoman attire.
As my team and I finish insulating one tiny home after another, I thank God for the opportunity to be here. I pray that God's love will be with the people of this community and I pray that when the cold, cutting, winter that is just around the corner arrives that these precious people of God will not only be warmed by the home they now have to live in, but that the will be warmed from the inside out because in the name of God, one gringa missionary snowwoman gave what she could to share God's love.