The very little town of Santa Cruz

Yesterday, I took a short road trip to a puebla (small town) called Santa Cruz.

Santa Cruz is 40 kilometers east of Nogales. The town lay behind the mountain range that runs north-south to the east of Nogales. I have wondered what lay behind the mountains that I can see from the Cuirim House. Here was my chance to find out.

The only road to Santa Cruz is dirt, full of rocks and extremely bumpy. A good speed that wasn’t too uncomfortable was about 35 miles per hour. The mountains were beautiful and there were more trees there than in Nogales. There were several scenic areas with dry river beds full of small rocks, large deciduous trees and lots of small animals. The road wound up the side of the mountain higher and higher. There were rocks that looked like marble and rocks of red, yellow and orange. Some rocks we found looked like volcanic rock. The sound of the wind through the trees was musical.

One place we stopped there was a dry waterfall with a shallow cave next to it. Unfortunately, after discovering it, it didn’t occur to me to take a picture. It reminded me of hiking through the Blue Ridge Mountains in autumn. By lunch time, we entered the town.

Santa Cruz reminded me of a small, out-of-the-way Mexican town that you see in movies with dusty streets, tumbleweeds, old men sitting in front of houses and the occasional barking dog. I wondered what in the world do people do to make a living. There were no farms, no factories, and few businesses of any sort.

In fact, there are no proper restaurants in Santa Cruz. We asked several people and we were directed to different houses but could not find a restaurant at these houses. The last person we talked to invited us to take lunch with her. As we sat in her kitchen and she served up beef stew, beans and flour tortillas, she said that there were no restaurants in the town but people sell food from their homes. She was an older woman with three adult children living in her home. She has 10 children total with one son having died some years ago. She answered our question as to what people do for work in Santa Cruz. Our hostess said that most everyone either sells marijuana or arranges for it to be delivered to the U.S. across the desert. That would explain the really nice houses and really nice trucks all through a town in the middle of nowhere. Miguel shared with her how Jesus Christ has changed his life and saved him from his drug addiction. We gave her $10 for our meal and left after blessing her and her house.

As we left, I saw something I had no expected. Growing on a fence next to the road was……….honeysuckle! I couldn’t believe it. I have thought often during this spring that this is the first time ever I will not see or smell honeysuckle because I am in Mexico. I didn’t think it grew in the high desert. But there it was, beautifully draped across the wire mesh and smelling as fragrant and fresh as always. I am grateful for this gift from God. He knew that I have wanted to smell honeysuckle and there it was!

The road to Santa Cruz comes within 25 yards of the US/Mexico border. The border fence in and around Nogales is solid steel, at least 20 feet tall and is topped with razor wire. Here the border fence consists of 7 strands of barbed wire fixed to metal poles and is about 4 ½ feet high. On the US side, there are pieces of steel welded together to make another fence. I imagine that it keeps drug runners from crashing their big black Chevy Suburban 4X4s through the barbed wire. Miguel contemplated entering the U.S. illegally but then changed his mind.

The trip back was beautiful as a storm front swept in, framing the mountains of green and brown against the blue-gray sky and it rained for the first time in 3 months.

The Kid's Café

In our neighborhood, there are children who do not eat a nutritious meal regularly due to poverty or parental neglect. To address this need, the Kid’s Café was developed as a ministry partnership between Cuirim Outreach and Iglesia Vida Nueva (New Life Church). Three times a week, Miguel Correa cooks a hot meal for the neighborhood children. Typically, between 70 and 80 children are served at the Kid’s Café each day. The menu changes from week to week. Sometimes Miguel cooks traditional Mexican food (well, it is just food here in Mexico). At other times, he serves more American style meals like hamburgers or spaghetti. Here is Miguel:

Older brothers and sisters bring their younger siblings and sometimes their parents visit to eat and talk. I myself know that several of the children come from families who are barely surviving financially and who could never afford to buy quality meat or vegetables. Before each meal, the children are led in a prayer of thanks to God for his provision.

The Café is more than just a place to eat. Usually after each meal, a member of the church leads the children in a Bible study. This past week, Lourdes taught the children about the Fall of Jericho. She used a flannel graph presentation. It reminded me of being a kid in Sunday School.

Before the lesson, Octavio led the children in a prayer for the victims of a terrible school bus accident in Nogales in which six children died. After the lesson, Octavio led the children in marching around Miguel's truck seven times, blowing whistles and yelling as the Israelites did at Jericho. I wish I had my camera when they did this because it was extraordinary to watch.

The Kid’s Café draws the attention of our neighbors toward Jesus Christ by meeting both their physical and spiritual needs. It has allowed the church to witness further into the neighborhood and offers church members a place to serve, to bless and be blessed. It is a place where children receive instruction on living rightly before God and their neighbors.

Thanks for praying for this work and for these children and their families. Thanks to all of you who give to the Kid’s Café. As donations allow, we are hoping to be able to build a playground at the Kid’s Café, too.

Dios te bendiga!

They came, they saw, they mixed cement

The Cuirim House recently hosted a group of high school students from New Covenant School in Lynchburg, Virginia. The group was led by Chaplain Bart Martin, Coach Andy Ashcroft, and Marion Patterson, the principal of the lower school. This was the first time a group from the school has visited Nogales. The project for the week was to repair the soccer field that we built last year. The repairs were needed because thieves have systematically stolen over half of the fence since Christmas.

Repairing the soccer field was the perfect job for the group from New Covenant School. The coach mentioned to me that all but one of the students played soccer for the school. Thus, the plan was to secure the existing fence, replace the missing fence and have a soccer game with the neighborhood kids to celebrate the work.

The group arrived Friday afternoon and immediately set to work. All of the students pitched in and did great work. Carlos, our construction chief, hatched a plan to secure the existing fence in about 5 inches of concrete at its base and to secure it to the posts with LOTS of wire. To make cement here, we take equal parts of gravel and sand and mix that with a 100 lb. bag of cement and add water. All of the mixing is done by hand with shovels. The mixing of cement can be back-breaking and the students worked with gusto. By evening on the first day, the existing fence was almost completely secured with cement. The next day, the students replaced the missing fence.

As the day’s work finished, the students cleaned up and played soccer with kids from the neighborhood. Coach Ashcroft was the star of the game, getting attention more for his outbursts in Italian than for his playing.

The next day the students made about 150 ham and cheese quesadillas to take to Grupo Beta, a government office established to help Mexican nationals who have been deported and are far from home. The deportees are taken by U.S. Customs agents to whatever border crossing is closest to where they were caught. Very, very often, the deportees are hundreds or thousands of miles from their families in southern Mexico and have no money to get back. Grupo Beta has a very limited budget and is unable to help feed the deportees much of anything. We took the quesadillas with us and spent time with some of the men sitting in front of the Grupo Beta.

The men were very appreciative and I was able to have a couple of great conversations in Spanish. By ministering to the down trodden, New Covenant School put Jesus’ command into practice and the students were able to see that the immigration issue in flesh and blood, rather than in news reports. We had lunch at Burrito Jaas, my favorite restaurant in Nogales and then attended the Sunday service at Iglesia Vida Nueva, the church with which Cuirim Outreach works closely.

On Monday morning, the group helped at the Kid’s Café. Some students served food to the children while others washed dishes. After the meal, we played a pick-up game of soccer with some of the children and teenagers in the street in front of the café.

We then finished the work at the soccer field, the remaining work being securing the new fence in cement. The afternoon of their last full day in Nogales was spent at the tourist market. We ended the day with a tour of different areas in Nogales that reflect both the extreme poverty and the influence on Nogales of foreign manufacturing companies.

While visiting, the group engaged in the Celtic pattern of work, study and prayer. The three times a day chapel helped to get us focused and then re-focused on the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. The students examined the immigration issue first hand and they worked with their hands and hearts in repairing the soccer field. We thank God for their work and for the gift of working among the poor in Nogales.

Further South of the Border V: Ramon’s Ark

This is the final installment of the story of our trip to Navojoa. In the last installment, our group was leaving Los Alamos for Navojoa.

The trip back to Navojoa was interrupted by a federal police check point. I was driving (of course) and we were motioned to pull over. They looked at all of our papers. We all stood outside the truck as they called in our information. After a few unnerving moments when I wasn’t sure what was going on, we were given back our papers and were allowed to continue toward Navojoa. I learned from Carlos that the federales are always looking for drug runners traveling between Navojoa and Los Alamos, where they go to transport their drugs by light aircraft.

We entered Navojoa as the sun was setting and we decided to pool the last of our money to buy food to have one last cook-out with Juan Pablo and his family and neighbors. The food was fantastic. As we ate, I realized that this was why I had not lost much weight since arriving in Mexico. I can't say enough about how great the food is here. For a future post, I am working on a tour of my favorite restaurants here. Here is Carlos prepping the food:

While we ate, I was talked into singing the opening lines from a popular Mexican song, Como Me Duele. We followed the meal with a cup of instant coffee (for which I have developed a taste) and a conversation about the new life that is available through Jesus. Miguel and Carlos gave their testimonies, living examples of the power of God to make all things new. Two people expressed interest in life with Jesus Christ but were not ready to commit themselves. We prayed together and said our good-byes. Pollo, Juan Pablo’s brother, adamantly stated to me “Mi casa es su casa” (My house is your house). It is good to know that I have a place to lay my head when I visit Navojoa next time.

It was 11:30 p.m. as we packed the truck and prepared to hit the road. I was very awake (thanks to the powerfully strong instant coffee) and I was the first to drive. As I watched the back of the Isuzu being packed, I was relieved that I saw no animals. I told to Carlos that we had dodged a bullet. He then told me that the medium-sized box in the back was full of chicks and baby turkeys. I discarded my nightmare fantasy of our becoming a traveling petting zoo. This seemed manageable.

During the drive north, we were stopped at two other checkpoints, both manned by the Mexican Army. Both times they searched the Isuzu, inside and out. Miguel said this was normal when travelling the highways of Mexico because the Army is looking for people transporting drugs. As the soldiers searched the vehicle in the cold morning air, I was thankful that in the U.S. our Constitution forbids the use of the Army to police citizens (not yet anyway). During almost the entire trip, I heard nothing from the animal box behind my head. However, as the sun rose, the box started chirping and gobbling and there was the sound of flapping feathers inside. I watched the lid of the box move up and down. I instantly had a vision of the car running off the road as we tried to corral the birds, feathers in our mouths and our eyes scratched out. I piled our bags on top of the box and the problem was solved. The remainder of the journey was uneventful. As we turned into the Colosio, the clock read 7:00 a.m. With a "sale pues", I crawled into bed, thankful for the experience, the safe journey and the gift of sleep. ¡Viva México!

Earlier this week, a house up the hill from the Kid's Cafe caught fire. Thanks to the high winds, the proximity to the neighbors and the highly combustible building materials, the fire rapidly spread to neighboring houses. In the space of about 10 minutes, four families were left homeless and what little they owned was but smoke and ash. I was astonished at how fast the fire spread. A water truck stopped and discharged its entire load to try to control the fire until the fire trucks arrived. Neighbors ran into the houses to make certain no one was inside. Others ran in to carry out the propane tanks used for cooking so they wouldn't explode when the fire reached them. As the fire continued to spread, the neighbors realized that their house was going to burn next. They ran in to carry out what they could before the flames reached their door. I felt despair as I watched these events unfold, knowing that there was nothing to do but pray that the fire wouldn't spread to more homes.

While the homes were burning, the women cried and were comforted by their more fortunate neighbors. All the while, the neighborhood children squealed with excitement as the flames grew and the fire trucks arrived. It seemed to take a while but the fire was brought under control. As the bomberos (firemen) were packing up their equipment, I surveyed the smoldering remains of the four homes and reflected on the transient nature of life and especially the things with which we surround ourselves. Within hours, the victim's neighbors, who have so little themselves, were walking around the neighborhood collecting money to give to the fire victims to start over again. I later learned that two homeowners were at work and didn't even know that they had lost their homes until they crested the hill and saw the ruins.

Later in the day, driving by the site of the fire, I was amazed to see the same families that had been crying earlier getting to work clearing the charred wood. This is what I have observed in Mexico; this way of resigning oneself to your circumstance and then moving forward with life. This might be the most powerful impression that I have of Mexico. Regardless of almost any misfortune, Mexicans seem to be able to move on without being stuck in feeling sorry for themselves. I think about words like indomitable and intrepid and I think about Mexicans. Aside from their hospitality, the Mexican's ability to move forward through tragedy is probably what endears me most to these people.

There are no ordinary people

I was sitting behind the Cuirim House this morning, watching the day start on the hillside opposite. I watched people as they walked down steep paths from their homes towards the main road. I watched men, young and old, mix cement and lay block as they added a new room to their small house. I watched the water trucks, announcing by loudspeaker their presence with a catchy tune and an indecipherable commercial message. I listened to the music wafting up the hill.

As I absorbed all of this, I was reminded of a quote by C.S. Lewis. In an essay called “The Weight of Glory” from a collection of essays by the same name, Lewis reminds us of the truth that all human beings we encounter are objects of the Divine Love. They and we are all created beings in the image of our Creator.

Lewis entreats us in the last paragraph of the essay to practice truly loving our neighbors as ourselves. Lewis says “It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which… you would be strongly tempted to worship or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations-these are mortal and their life is to ours is as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals with whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit – immortal horrors or everlasting splendours. Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbor is the most holy object presented to your senses.”

God help us to love him with all of our heart, soul, mind and strength AND to love our neighbor with the kind of love that God has for them. I am cut to the quick as I write this. In my rare moments of clarity, when God has gifted me with lucid thinking, I see my family, friends, co-workers and strangers through His eyes. In those moments, I understand the weight of their coming glory or their coming damnation. I realize that I am talking to someone with whom I will forever be intimately connected through the common bond of Christ or someone who will forever be cast from the presence of the God.

Let’s ask God to help us to love those who are hard to love. This is hard and it takes time to direct our minds to see past people’s behavior but we can start with the desire to love them as Jesus loves them and us. Let us always remember that we are not worthy of the love of God. He loves us in spite of ourselves.

Further South of the Border IV: Los Alamos, City of Gringos

What I realize now, thinking back on the adventure, is that in the back of my mind during the entire trip was the dread of traveling with farm animals inside of a vehicle for 8 hours or more. Any one who knows me knows that I have a nose that will sniff out the slightest odor. It is a gift and a curse. I anticipated being nauseous for the duration of our trip home and I was preparing myself for it. I kept secretly hoping that the search for animals would prove fruitless.

After finishing our meal at the outdoor market, we drove to Los Alamos. The highway leading to the city was surrounded by beautiful hills. Carlos mentioned that Los Alamos is very popular with Americans who come down to hunt and fish for vacation. I was aware that there are areas in coastal cities like Mazatlan, Sinaloa with enclaves of American ex-patriots but I wasn’t aware that Los Alamos was one of them. As we drove into the city, I began to understand why. We first drove to the plaza. It was beautiful and, on one side, was the Catholic church. Within the plaza was an absolutely beautiful gazebo surrounded by plants and flowers and palm trees.

The ceiling of the gazebo was a work of art:

We walked into the church silently as there were several people praying. It was very much like previous Mexican churches I had been in and I appreciated that it was open to the public during the day instead of only during Mass.

We walked around a bit and absorbed the atmosphere. As we talked I learned that Americans living in Los Alamos outnumber Mexicans. I found this surprising and yet not surprising. If I were to retire to Mexico, Los Alamos would certainly be one of my choices. This also explained the number of police officers patrolling the city on foot, all polite and extremely helpful. I guess the city knows that to keep the area attractive to Americans, they need to supply what Americans want: police protection and lots of restaurants and shops.

On one of the hills surrounding the city is a scenic overlook. We drove up there to take in the sights. It was really beautiful and I wish the picture here could convey the openness, the smell of the blossoming trees and the feel of the wind blowing. At the summit of the hill was a gazebo and several seating areas hewn from stone. Artistry and craftsmanship seemed to emanate from the city below us, so full of color and life.

We posed for a group picture before heading back down and toward Navojoa.