Zonglazolta

The best illustration of this is something I just wish that you could experience. You’d have to hop a jet to do it. Once you arrived in Xalapa, Mexico, you’d have to snake your way up into the mountains to the “land that time forgot.” Nestled in the lush mountain forest, you’d find a little village called Zongzolta. Just as you entered that little village, you’d find a church, not much of a building, but a wonderful congregation that knows all about being willing to share.

Back in September, we showed up for a service and the people were there. Even though they had to miss work to come on a Tuesday, they showed up and worshiped. After we were through, we walked down the village road to one of the member’s homes. It wasn’t much, but they invited us in for lunch. We had to walk down this hallway, and, in order to get into the kitchen where we were meeting, we walked under a walkway that only had a tarp over it to keep the rain out. We sat down to eat, a little unsure of what they’d bring to us. These people had very little . . . except the coffee that they picked in the fields. Yet, that day, they served us what must have been an absolute delicacy to them. They served us pork. I don’t know how often they were even able to eat pork, but that day, they sacrificed. They gave us their wealth, yes. But more importantly, they gave us themselves. You know, you don’t have to be rich to be generous and you surely don’t have to be rich to share yourself.