She handed me two unripe mangos her family had picked earlier that day from trees that were not ready.
hot tears were dripping off her cheeks onto the cool, concrete floor of that small house. In my broken Spanish, I had asked her how she was & she opened her heart to me like she had opened her home.
“My husband’s motorcycle is broken, so he can’t go to work. We don’t have money for food. All we have is these unripe mangos.” Continue reading “SOUR MANGOS”
I remember walking into her house. I specifically remember how empty it was.
Similar to the numerous other brightly painted concrete houses we’d been in and out of, there wasn’t much furniture to begin with, but she–
She had barely anything. Cold walls and floors in sharp contrast to the relentless Dominican heat. I don’t know where her family was, if she had a family, but she was probably only a little older than me, I think.
We asked about her name, her age, her life; frankly, I don’t remember her answers because I can only remember her response to our question: how can we pray for you?
Her response changed my life. And I believe, friend, that it will change yours too, if you let it. Continue reading “GRATITUDE”
He saw that something was wrong.
He knew that justice was not being served. Continue reading “DIRTY HANDS”