Mexico

Our family just returned from spending Spring Break down in Mexico.  We have been tourists there before, but this time we decided to go on a trip with a little more intrinsic value.  We volunteered our time at a home for needy children on the Baja peninsula, 200 miles south of San Diego.

Twenty-three other people joined us, including retired couples and families with young kids.  There was plenty of work for everyone.

The parents in our group had similar motivation – to show our children how fortunate we are to live in America.  Everything we enjoyed while there - from the food we ate, to the showers we took, and the electricity that gave us light, is considered a luxury to many of the locals.

No one in our group complained about the three-minute shower limit, we were just happy to have a shower after weeding or digging ditches all day as the hard winds pelted us relentlessly with sand.  No one complained about leaving their electronic devices at home for the week, we were just glad to have electricity, as many homes surrounding us, did not.  I thought long and hard about what the locals do after dark, sitting in a home no bigger than 20 by 20 feet with a dirt floor and no lights.  It must be a long, boring night.

At the beginning of the week we all helped ourselves to seconds or thirds when we sat down to eat, but once we found out that the food not eaten in the cafeteria went over to the soup kitchen, where the poorest of the poor line up each morning, we were all happy to serve ourselves less by week’s end. There’s not always enough food leftover to feed the ones that show up, so knowing we were keeping food from the mouths of the hungry made that little sacrifice an easy one.

As a kid, I remember my mom always telling me to clean my plate because there were “starving kids in Africa.”  My smart-mouth response then was, “Name two.”  Well, I still don’t know their names, but I saw their faces last week in Mexico.

We also went to play with children, but when some discovered they were lice infested, they kept their distance.  I put the kids on my lap, swung them around in circles and lifted them up high so they could shoot the ball through the hoop.  Others have gotten lice for doing less.  I figured if I get lice, the memory of these attention starved children and the sounds of “otra vez” (one more time) will be all I need to sustain me through the inconvenience of getting rid of it.

In my opinion, if we are to serve with a true servant’s heart, we must be willing to serve outside our comfort zone.  My son did not buy into this philosophy at first, but by week’s end, I heard no more complaints out of him. 

Mission Accomplished.