Mexico: Angels who Live in Mud
The beauty of this moment overcomes me: watching the dust, float through the morning light.
Sitting with a small head in each arm and fingers grabbing at my stretched shirt; in the room with the Jesus painting and walls that are yellow.
Little Beto, who is the sweetest thing I’ve ever met- and Axel, the quiet one with a heart of gold. It’s time to say goodbye to these little angels who live in mud, but I don’t want to.
God has broken my heart in the desert; and left it shattered on a tile floor somewhere in Mexico. I will remember them: how they obsessively kick around a deflated ball, through posts with no net; how beautiful their eyes are when they look up at me; and also their hearts, which are so full of excitement.
The determination that I saw in those eyes so bright and free, are oppressed by circumstances out of their control.
Their angelic laughter floats to me across the continent; and I am ashamed that I have not done more. Because they need people like me, and people like you.