It’s my goal to become a pediatrician. My dad always said he thought being a doctor was one of the best professions. It wasn’t for the money—my dad’s not like that—it was the ability to touch lives. I never remember wanting to be a doctor, until I had an experience I’ll never forget.

During Christmas break last year, I went to Mexico on a mission trip. The poverty there was overwhelming. When I first saw it, I remember thinking, “Oh my gosh, all those commercials on TV about the poverty in poor countries are real.” But seeing it on TV and being there are two totally different things. Being there, you not only see it—you can touch it, smell it, hear it, see the hopelessness in the faces of the adults, and the pain everywhere. The huts the people lived in weren’t fit for animals.

Our ministry was going out to camps and doing puppet shows. Old people and women with their children all came. The careworn expressions on the adults’ faces showed the struggle they went through to survive. The puppet show made them laugh and helped ease some of the suffering—for both adults and children. After the puppet shows we handed out food, clothes, candy, and shoes. The appreciation they showed for the smallest kindness was unbelievable.

It was the children, however, that touched my heart most. They were freezing, sick, and filthy dirty. The way they responded to a little caring was amazing. They seemed the only ones untouched by the pain and hurt they were suffering. It almost seemed they were adjusted to it.

We went to an orphanage there. The babies were stuffed into a long room of cribs, along the walls. They were so sweet and happy to be held. There was a little 3-year-old boy there. At two years old, his mother had shackled him hands and feet and locked him in a closet for two months. She fed him bread and water. He’s happy now and loves to be held, although he still wasn’t walking.

Then, in almost no time, it was over and we were coming home. When I stepped into the airport at home, I was stricken. Looking around I noticed many clean, well-fed children. I saw people in nice clothes and remembered back to the camps where the people were garbed in rags. Here were these people blessed with so much wealth, and they didn’t even know it.

Then when I walked into my home, the relief of being back in my cozy corner was comforting. But I had this little niggling feeling when I looked around. Here I was, with my Christmas tree and gifts, but all I could see were the faces of the children I’d seen. They were still there in Mexico . . .hungry, dirty, in pain.

Why was I here in a position of plenty, relatively speaking? What could I do to help these children’s lives be a little better? I pondered this until it came to me. If those children could possibly get good medical treatment from a loving person, they’d be better off. So here I am, going to college to become a pediatrician. My goal, as a doctor, is to treat children in underprivileged countries.

By Liberty Elliot