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There's times when Jesus speaks to you through others, and this is exactly what happened on this trip. My bond
with these people was short (we were there only one day); but God allowed for me to bond with these kids and people regardless of time.
I got a chance to bond with a small boy, "Jerry" for about 15 minutes, but I fell in love with him in 5. :) Something about this kid screamed out to me, "hug me!! love me!!", and for those short 15 minutes, that's what I did. I didn't get a chance to know much about Jerry, aside from the fact that he lives in the small street that we went to; that and that he has a bike he likes to ride. Jerry and me were kindred spirits-- old souls that were put in this earth to laugh & feed off one another. We connected without saying much and our spirits danced for those short 15 minutes... I know that the next time I go, I will take a package specially for him. And I know that I've thought of him and prayed for him ever since.
... I also met "Carlos". I came accross Carlos while I was taking pictures of a family's home (their backyard is a dumpster, and yet the little girls that inhabit the home, along with their mother, make the best out of it-- they've designed a "home" out of old wood and blankets, a market, a dr's office, and a restaurant-- all in a small space about the size of a storage unit and with toys and trinkets they've collected throughout the years)... Anyway, while I was taking these pics, I saw a man in the dumpster area and piling up dirt with a shovel close to the home. Carlos reminded me a lot of men that I've seen in my troubles throughout Mexico. Dark skin, that reflect the years of labor kissed sun, dry strong hands, and the strength of a man well before his years. I asked Carlos what he was doing and he said he was trying to pile up some dirt together close to the small "balcony" the family had where the girls played. You see, the balcony didn't have any sort of wall or fence, it just kind-a slid off into the dumpster. If one of those girls were to fall from the balcony into the dumpster it would be like a 10-15ft fall... So Carlos was piling up dirt so that in case any of the small girls did fall, they'd at least have a soft landing. I asked Carlos whether he was getting paid for the work he was doing, because honestly it seemed tedious and ardious, and he said no. He said he was related to the girl's mom, and that he was just looking out for their welfare. He said that he had been out of a job for a while. While it is true that Carlos strength surpassed his years, his body still appeared weary (normal for his age, I'm assuming he was 50-55 years old), the wrinkles were apparent in his dark skinned face, and he talked with a soothing paced voice that can only come from wisdom. It struck me how kind-hearted this man was. There he was, out of a job, having payed his dues, and instead of relaxing at home-- there he was shoveling away, putting others before him, enduring the hot sun. Adding another day of labor to what, has already been, a long life of it.
I kneeled down, reached my hand towards Carlos, and held his hand for a good 5 minutes. I looked into his eyes, and saw humility. His hand, as rough as sand paper, and yet tender to the touch. I told him that God rewards those who put others before themselves, and he said, "You can't lose your faith. That's what you take to the grave." ... My mind raced with thoughts of the struggles and tribulations that this man probably went through in his life; and as I kept looking into his eyes I realized that there was nothing I could say to this man that he did not know. If anyone could teach anything to anyone about God, His mercy, and love it was him-- not me. Not only could he probably give me a 2-hour long sermon on the grace of God and the strength He's given him throughout his life, but he was showing it.
Carlos gives and serves when he doesn't have to. He works without pay, he works for others without needing anyone to notice... He simply gives, because something bigger than him tells him to do so.
I did not take any pictures of Carlos. I thought about it. I thought about doing a closeup of his humble eyes, his sun drenched face and warm smile. I thought of asking a buddy to snap a shot of us holding hands, talking--- me on the balcony, him in the dumpster with a shovel in hand. They say a picture is worth 1,000 words, but I tell you-- no picture would've done Carlos justice.
... I also met "Carlos". I came accross Carlos while I was taking pictures of a family's home (their backyard is a dumpster, and yet the little girls that inhabit the home, along with their mother, make the best out of it-- they've designed a "home" out of old wood and blankets, a market, a dr's office, and a restaurant-- all in a small space about the size of a storage unit and with toys and trinkets they've collected throughout the years)... Anyway, while I was taking these pics, I saw a man in the dumpster area and piling up dirt with a shovel close to the home. Carlos reminded me a lot of men that I've seen in my troubles throughout Mexico. Dark skin, that reflect the years of labor kissed sun, dry strong hands, and the strength of a man well before his years. I asked Carlos what he was doing and he said he was trying to pile up some dirt together close to the small "balcony" the family had where the girls played. You see, the balcony didn't have any sort of wall or fence, it just kind-a slid off into the dumpster. If one of those girls were to fall from the balcony into the dumpster it would be like a 10-15ft fall... So Carlos was piling up dirt so that in case any of the small girls did fall, they'd at least have a soft landing. I asked Carlos whether he was getting paid for the work he was doing, because honestly it seemed tedious and ardious, and he said no. He said he was related to the girl's mom, and that he was just looking out for their welfare. He said that he had been out of a job for a while. While it is true that Carlos strength surpassed his years, his body still appeared weary (normal for his age, I'm assuming he was 50-55 years old), the wrinkles were apparent in his dark skinned face, and he talked with a soothing paced voice that can only come from wisdom. It struck me how kind-hearted this man was. There he was, out of a job, having payed his dues, and instead of relaxing at home-- there he was shoveling away, putting others before him, enduring the hot sun. Adding another day of labor to what, has already been, a long life of it.
I kneeled down, reached my hand towards Carlos, and held his hand for a good 5 minutes. I looked into his eyes, and saw humility. His hand, as rough as sand paper, and yet tender to the touch. I told him that God rewards those who put others before themselves, and he said, "You can't lose your faith. That's what you take to the grave." ... My mind raced with thoughts of the struggles and tribulations that this man probably went through in his life; and as I kept looking into his eyes I realized that there was nothing I could say to this man that he did not know. If anyone could teach anything to anyone about God, His mercy, and love it was him-- not me. Not only could he probably give me a 2-hour long sermon on the grace of God and the strength He's given him throughout his life, but he was showing it.
Carlos gives and serves when he doesn't have to. He works without pay, he works for others without needing anyone to notice... He simply gives, because something bigger than him tells him to do so.
I did not take any pictures of Carlos. I thought about it. I thought about doing a closeup of his humble eyes, his sun drenched face and warm smile. I thought of asking a buddy to snap a shot of us holding hands, talking--- me on the balcony, him in the dumpster with a shovel in hand. They say a picture is worth 1,000 words, but I tell you-- no picture would've done Carlos justice.
Winter 2010: ?
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