Beacon of Hope

Beacon of Hope

It's a sad thing to witness poverty first hand. To hear the sounds of despair rising up with the smell of fecal matter decaying in street. The stench is only made worse by the suffocating heat of the sun. I am unable to tear my eyes from children playing half naked among thorn brush and broken glass while their parents try to keep card board and tin hovels from collapsing. I came here to change the lives of one family, but I shall soon see that it is my life that will change.

Ciudad Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico. A city without hope and without a future. A city where crime, drugs, and prostitution are as common as an American football game on a Friday night. I could smell it before I could see it. I could feel the anguish of those trodden down by poor working conditions and even poorer wages. I could hear the hopeless pleas for help. I could see the desperation of those wanting to get out of their hell as they ran from the American Boarder Patrol. For some, this desperation and suffering was about to end. At least in some small part. I was part of a small group of people who had traveled here to give two families a small ray of hope. This hope was a small two roomed stucco house.

Although the houses were small, it would take two teams of 18 people a week to complete them. I had thought that it was I that should be happy to be presenting this gift to them. However, I was met with exuberant joy the day that my team arrived to begin work on our house. The sounds of laughter coming from the children as they ran to meet us and the tears of the parents as they watched us pour the foundation of their new house nearly overwhelmed me. We worked tirelessly for days to complete the project and then, as we were nearing completion, we invited the children to help us coat the outside of the building with stucco. They dove in head first making a game out of the task. Within a few short hours we were done. But before we could present the building to its new owners a very special thing happened, the entire family came out of their previous residence carrying what amounted to two weeks worth of food to celebrate a new beginning. This time I was overwhelmed. I was unable to touch the food that was given to me. Every bean and piece of rice was radiating the gratitude of the family and had somehow become too sacred to allow me in its presence. When the time had come to finally present the family with their new house I was compelled to look around. What I saw stirred every fiber of my being. I was not the only one effected by this token of gratitude, every eye was flooding with tears of joy.