I went to church with my Mama Tica and Papa Tico and a dear friend, Manny, on Saturday night. I wanted to go because I miss my own church, and also because I knew it would mean a lot to them if I joined them, but I am not going to lie, when I heard it was an evangelical Christian church, I was a little bit nervous. I had no idea what to expect accept for the fact that it was a two hour service, completely in Spanish. I was pleasantly surprised in many ways. I was comforted by the fact that the location was so similar to what Crosspoint once was; a small gym with folding chairs, a small stage and a small band. I was comforted by the fact that the environment was warm, safe, and welcoming, despite the fact that I was the ONLY blonde in the entire service. I enjoyed the message for the most part, although there were some fundamental elements that I strongly disagreed with; I understood all of the Spanish (YAY), and the two hours actually flew by. But I must say, even if I hadn't understood the Spanish, I would have been touched by this service, because what really seeped into my soul wasn't the words, or the music, but rather the peace, safety, and comfort these people found while with their community, surrendering to something so much larger than themselves. I found myself looking at the people around me, soaking up their joy, perhaps more than I even looked at the Pastor. I am constantly amazed by the beauty that shines through some of the most desperate, broken places, when people come together, as one, to worship, love, and just be together. My spirit was rejuvenated.
Then yet again, yesterday, my heart was on fire. I met Sergio in Guadalupe at 9:00 and together we took the bus to "Los Cuadros" to do another "Caminata." I had absolutely nothing on me but enough money for the bus, because carrying a phone, a purse, a backpack, anything... would just make my blonde hair stand out even brighter, and make me that much more of a target. On the bus, I asked Sergio what exactly our plans were for the morning, and he told me that there were five different homes he would like to go visit so that we can sit and talk to the mothers.
The first house we went to was the home of a single mother with three boys, one of whom is in our class. She warmly welcomed us into her tiny, uncomfortable home, and asked us to sit down and talk to her as she continued working. We sat down and she pulled out a razor blade, pulled a huge laundry basket towards her, and began to show us how shred old tee shirts, cloth, etc... so that it was in its natural form of tiny long strings. Once undone, she would throw the string into a plastic bag and start on the next piece. When I asked her what she was doing, she told me that she buys this old fabric, strings it, and then sells it to mechanics, construction workers, etc... and they use it to wipe up oil, dirt, grease... and this is her main source of income. Sergio then proceeded to ask her about her husband, who has another family and another wife. She told us he hasn't been around at all, that the boys are heart-broken and she is overwhelmed, and that she is working on a divorce. I could feel the sadness in her words, when she said that all she wanted was to raise her boys right, but she often didn't know how to make it through the day. I honestly think we were the only people in the world that she had to talk to.
After this woman's home, we went to the homes of two other families who were surviving similar stories. When we asked about the 12 year old daughter at one of the homes, the mother told us that she was traumatized because two days before she was walking home and got jumped by some men who assaulted her, and took everything she had. She was now scared to leave the house.
The fourth home we went to was the one that really hit me the hardest. From the outside, this home looked similar to the rest, but as my dad has always told me, "you never know what goes on behind closed doors." We knocked, and one of our students walked out the "door" and then invited us to come in. When we walked in, it took everything in me not to burst into tears. The home in its entirety was about the size of my bedroom, and was shelter to six children under the age of 12, a woman, and her husband who made my nerves run wild. There were two rooms: a bedroom, and a kitchen/living room/dining room. The smell was awful, I am certain that there was deadly bacteria floating in the air, and the eyes on this woman were the darkest, saddest, most desperate I have ever seen. When her husband spoke, she flinched; when we asked her questions, she provided timid, one word answers; I wanted nothing more in the world than to scoop her up and run away with her... help her find a way out of the pain in which she was drowning.
And then the last home was a married woman, whose husband worked twelve hour days, six days a week. This home was a little bit nicer and a lot bigger. The children were clearly well behaved and well taken care of, but the bitterness that was pulsing through this woman's veins was as toxic as anything I have yet to see (I cannot say that I wouldn't be the same). As soon as we sat down, words poured from her mouth about how awful her world, outside of her home, was. She explained to us that her children are best friends, because they aren't allowed to leave their home except to go to school because the people around there are too dangerous, the environment is too detrimental. She told us about how the people who live a couple of doors down killed someone, how if she walks down the street, she could be assaulted, and how the only safe place for her family is inside her home. But she invited us to come into her home to be with her whenever we wanted to.
I must say, I left and my heart felt like it was full of cement: cold, hard, untouchable. But Pete's words from Sunday's service came to my mind, and brought me an overwhelming sense of comfort. Comfort not only in the fact that I was a little ray of sun in this dark place, but also comfort in the fact that one day, all of this evil will be wiped clean, and all that will be is goodness. It is hard to believe in a God sometimes, that can deal such an unfair hand to such beautiful people, such precious children, but then I see people like Sergio, overflowing with compassion, love and joy, and I know that people like him couldn't exist if there wasn't a God. People like him are here to share the love of God with people who otherwise wouldn't ever know Him.
"Be faithful in the small things because it is in them that your strength lies."
Mother Teresa
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