Tuesday, June 10, 2014
A Gift of Blood
The second half of Enrique's Journey describes a priest who dedicates his life to helping the migrants in Nuevo Laredo. His name is Padre Leo. Padre Leo gives the migrants food, clothing, shelter, and love, and Enrique is one of the people whom this unusual priest helps. The extent and intensity of Padre Leo's dedication to the migrants becomes especially evident in the author's discussion of the medical attention the migrants receive under the priest's care, when it is revealed that "if they need blood, Padre Leo is the first to donate" (Nazario 173). It is a great sacrifice and a phenomenal expression of love to spend one's life providing necessities to those in need, as Padre Leo does; however, to give one's own blood to complete strangers is a completely different level of giving. Padre Leo is giving himself, both figuratively and literally, to these people, and one cannot help but wonder why. Yesterday, I had the privilege of serving lunch to kids in a very poor neighborhood in Nashville. There were African-American, white, Hispanic, and Burmese kids all gathered together to play and eat. The mix of cultures and the happiness of the children were astonishing and beautiful, and I plan to return as soon as I can to serve them lunch again. Perhaps the beauty resulting from helping those in need is what drives Padre Leo to be so dedicated in his service to the migrants. Have you ever experienced this kind of beauty? How did it make you feel, and what was its effect on you?
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The happiness on someone's face when they are shown kindness by someone else is beautiful. One time I was in the Publix parking lot in Bellevue, waiting for my mom to come back from shopping after school one day. While I was waiting, I found a piece of paper in my backpack and folded a tiny paper crane.The windows of our car were down, and a woman came out of the store and was putting her groceries into her truck, which was next to our car. She was mumbling angrily under her breath, so I leaned out the car window and gave her the crane. She started crying and smiled, and said that I had made her day. The look of joy that appeared on her face was something I will never forget, and it made me feel really happy that I could brighten her day.
ReplyDeleteAfter traveling to Honduras this summer I experienced the same love and beauty in helping others. We went to a home for girls who have been abandoned or taken from their homes for many reasons including lack of money, abusive parents, poor conditions, etc. It was our job to bond with the girls from the home who were between the ages of about 2 up to 20. Many people ask when we come home "So what did you build??" and although we do jobs here and there like painting the walls or fixing the playground, the only things we "build" are relationships. Seeing how much love was exchanged just by getting to know and having fun with the girls made me see that building something does not bring two people together. Spending time with the girls my age was the best part of the trip for me. We danced, had things in common, and sang and listened to some of the same music. I felt so close to these girls because they were my friends, not just some group of people we were helping. There was one particular 15 year-old who was very shy and almost bitter. I didn't know why she was in the home but assumed that her past may be making her act this way. One highlight of my trip was being able to get her to come out of her shell. I let her listen to my music and we bonded over our favorite singers and songs. Seeing her interact with enthusiasm was something unforgettable. I could see just how powerful and important friendship is, and I couldn't have been happier.
ReplyDeleteI've noticed a lot of people commenting with personal experiences from mission trips (including myself), but stories from those trips lend themselves too well to these post topics to resist adding one more. When I was in Honduras, we stayed in a tiny volunteer house next to an orphanage with kids aged 9 months to about 16 years. We hung out with the kids a lot and would usually end up playing soccer ("love" is too weak a word for what Hondurans have for soccer, "devotion" or "obsession" works better.) One night, however, we found a pack of tennis balls and convinced the kids to play catch instead. A girl named Maria claimed me as her partner, grabbed a tennis ball and dragged me over to an open spot to play. Now, for what fantastic skill everyone had in soccer, they had absolutely no hand-eye coordination. You could toss the ball right to them and they would barely be able to grab it. Maria quickly grew frustrated, but I helped her practice, and within 10 minutes, she could catch the ball about once every three times (a massive improvement from before). I had not seen her smile much, but she beamed at me more and more as the evening went on. It was cool to see her get better, and I was honored to be able to teach her, even if it was only a game of catch.
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