Sunday is Market Day

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Sunday is one of my favorite days.  Many Mexican people work 6 days a week, and since Sunday is their only day off, it is a real family day.  A day for errands and fun and rest and food and shopping.  We have decided it will be the same for us.  Turn off the computers and get out into the community.  If we have children staying with us, they are dragged along, and we feel like a real local family.  We always start with church – a lively bilingual experience with young Mexican families and old grey-haired gringos.

The afternoon is for the pool or the beach, but first is the market – the tianguis as it is called here.  This area of Banderas Bay is interesting because it is a real mix of developed Mexico (Walmart and Home Depot and Costco) and undeveloped Mexico (dirt roads and horses and chickens).   We live in a very Mexican neighborhood and have chosen to do most of our shopping at the local shops and stands – the fruit store and the fish store and the many taco stands and street restaurants.  And on Sunday it’s the tianguis in the dry river bed.  Blocks and blocks of tables set up to sell produce and clothes and toys and tools and electronics and miscellaneous junk.  New stuff and used stuff.  This is where we go to buy our fruit and vegetables each week – giant bags of bananas and pineapples and avocados and even eggs that add up to $10 or $15.  Enough for the entire week.

I thought you might like to see some of the sights we see each week and to watch the video of us driving through the neighborhood on our way home from the market in our little blue golf cart.   It’s long – 5 minutes – and it’s bumpy, but it shows exactly where … and how… we live.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now, jump in the golf cart with us….

 

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This is certainly not the life I expected to live here – but it’s the life we love!   Thanks for joining us on the ride.

A Special Gift

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27591021_10155218685851198_145060427_nIf you’ve been following my personal Facebook page, you’ve seen the new project Grant and I and our friends Francisco and Michael have been working on – raising funds to help our little deaf friend Gael get a Cochlear implant.  Gael is one of our children at Manos de Amor and he has been deaf since birth.  He is now 6 and has only recently been seen by hearing specialists to diagnose his hearing loss.  We now know that although he is profoundly deaf,  he is a candidate for an implant – which means he WILL HEAR and speak someday.

But it is expensive – $45,000 USD for the operation and Gael’s mother has absolutely no possibility of even dreaming about such a gift.   She is young and is trying to raise two sons on a tiny salary.  That is why Gael lives in our Children’s Home during the week – his mom cannot handle the expense or his very active and unmanageable behavior, which most certainly stems from the fact that he cannot hear and has no language for communication.  He is super busy and somewhat naughty – but he loves Grant and will calm down when Grant picks him up or cuddles him.  He is smart and so badly wants to communicate.

We cannot stand the thought of this very bright boy growing up without ever hearing when we know there is a solution.  We know we are rich in comparison to most of the children in this country.  We know that all of you who are reading this are in the top few percentiles of wealth in the world.  We know that none of us blink at spending $5 for a grande non fat double shot extra hot something or other.   $20 for a bottle of wine when tap water would quench our thirst.  New shoes because the color trend has changed this season.  How can we let a little boy remain in silence?  Without words?  Without hearing his mom’s voice or his little brother’s laughter or his own voice?

If you can find a way, will you share some of your abundance with Gael?  Even if the sacrifice hurts just a bit?  Giving yourself away will always open the door to a fuller heart and deeper joy.  It’s what we were created to do.  Let’s give Gael the Gift of Hearing!!

Here are the links you will need:

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My One Word for 2018

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my-one-word-2This country has stolen my heart – and when a heart becomes connected to a person or a place or a cause it means there is the potential for that heart to be broken.  To be busted wide open.   When you love something, it has the power to hurt you too and Mexico has brought me much love along with some pain.   As I grow closer to the children of Manos de Amor, I see the suffering they carry.  Two new little boys who are so malnourished, their shoulder blades stick out like sharp knifes pushing against their t-shirts.  A sweet little 10-year-old girl who was so excited to meet the dad she hadn’t seen in years and instead found herself being repeatedly raped by him.  Three little girls whose mom promised to pick them up on Christmas Eve and then disappeared for 6 weeks.   Just. so. much. pain.

I thought carefully about my word for this year.  My guiding value.  The one thing I want to focus on, remember, search for, chase after.  At first, I thought compassion would be my word.  More love for the people I rub shoulders with.  But as a difficult December moved into January, I noticed something happening in me.  I was getting discouraged and a bit cynical and even a bit hopeless.  The stories were piling up and my heart was getting bruised.

That’s when I read a Scripture verse and found my word – well it’s actually a phrase – for this next chapter.

“Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”    Philippians 4:8 NIV

Whatever is lovely.  I get to choose to think about what is lovely.  Yes, there is pain and suffering and injustice here.   Too much.  I have chosen to spend each day grabbing it and fighting against it.   But I know that the way to keep my heart soft is to train my mind to think about what is true.  To look for what is noble.  To overcome the crap by embracing the lovely.

So I have started looking and counting and recording.  How many good and lovely gifts can I see around me? How many will there be in a year?  Here is just the start:

  1. The sunrise and palm trees framed in my bathroom window every morning
  2. A fountain garden oasis in the middle of an office complex
  3. A coconut that broke a headlight but didn’t smash a windshield
  4. Breakfast with a view of bobbing boats
  5. Immigration card ready just in time
  6. A tiny orphan falling asleep in my arms
  7. Buttery popcorn
  8. Hot coffee and a good book in bed
  9. A husband who gets up at 5:00 to sit with little girls
  10. A home with extra rooms for the broken children who need a family
  11. Long distance friends who still love us
  12. A few unexpected moments of sleep
  13. Bacon and eggs and perfectly ripe avocados for breakfast
  14. A tiny “I’m sorry” from a little one who strayed from love
  15. A glass of wine at the end of a full weekend
  16. The smell of bleach and ajax in an almost clean bathroom
  17. I’m so Happy” sung by children who have little reason to be
  18. Sound of a marching band going by at midnight
  19. A giant pot of tamales followed by little laughing dancers
  20. My tiny garden oasis – torches and candles and fountain and wine and a wooden saxophone
  21. A goat and a turkey and a tuba – fun afternoon ride around town

And at least 40 more so far.  Honestly, I’m finding it harder than I expected.  I forget to look. I forget to rejoice.  I forget to be thankful.  Complaining is way easier.  But that’s the whole point of the ‘word’ – to embrace a new thing and to grow. So for this year, I choose to focus on whatever is lovely.   What’s your word for 2018?

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It’s Raining Coconuts

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Our poor little Azulita has had a lot of issues from the potholes and speed bumps and curbs in our neighborhood – and today from the skies.

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Many stories.  Funny, irritating stories.  First the keys lost in the ocean which led to a tow truck to the dealership which led to the smashed windshield which led to many weeks of Mananas.

     A Crappy Week of Mananas

     The Car Adventure Continues….

There was the especially giant speed bump hidden in the shadows in San Vicente one night which led to the broken radiator which led to the broken air conditioner which led to many more weeks of Mananas.

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A few weeks ago there was the curb that jumped out of nowhere which broke the radiator again and the air conditioner lines again which led to the welder guy which led to the backwards welding which led back to the welder guy which eventually fixed the problem.

 

20180119_104729And then today.  We were driving home from the Immigration office celebrating the issuance of our new green residence cards.  Heading to a celebration breakfast date. On the beautiful and smooth tree lined streets of Nuevo Vallarta.  What could possibly go wrong here?  And then the sky was falling Chicken Little.  As Grant slowed for a speedbump, a coconut fell out of a tree, smashing our headlight and bouncing down the road spraying its refreshing water along the way.   Sigh.  Here we go again.  On the up side, our windshield wasn’t smashed, our convertible roof was up, Azulita’s body wasn’t dented.  Just a headlight.  And probably many weeks of Mananas!  The adventure continues.

Just in Time…

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We’re officially Mexicans for 3 more years – the last step on the road towards becoming Permanent residents. It has been a surprisingly easy process, although not without typical Mexican bumps – the most annoying being the Bureaucratic Lineup from Hell. This last process meant 6 trips to the Immigration office to present application forms, bank receipts and fingerprints. The Christmas break created an expected slowdown but last week the awaited message showed up online saying everything had been registered and we could come to the office to be fingerprinted – the final stage before issuance of the card. It did seem silly since we had been fingerprinted in the same office 1 year ago, and 1 million copies had been made then. But I have learned to follow Mexican bureaucracy without question and I was not going to start ‘whying’ at this stage.

Normally we would not be particularly concerned about the timeline. Mañana would be just fine. But I must leave for Canada on Tuesday to attend meetings and I can’t leave without my renewed card in hand. Time matters this time so when we got word that our application was ready for fingerprints we headed to the Immigration Office in Nuevo Vallarta. The office opens at 9:00 and we arrived by 9:30 only to find we were already 42nd in line. Seriously. 41 grey haired gringo couples ahead of us. All clutching a dog eared file folder full of papers to be sorted, shuffled and stapled.

We had no choice – I was running out of days. We bought a cup of coffee from the nearby coffee shop and settled in for the wait. Which turned out to be 4 hours long. The clock read 1:30. 4 long hours. Waiting to be told that the application was not ready. WHAT? My online profile told me to come, it would be ready. No senora…. maybe tomorrow. Well of course it wasn’t ready.

We returned the next day – at 8:15 – to take the 10th place in line. By 9:30 we had been fingerprinted and today we returned to pick up our coveted card. With one day to spare. Tuesday I fly out as a Mexican resident, a green card with an unsmiling photo to prove it. All is again well.

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For the next 3 years we will be considered Temporary Residents and then we will automatically become Permanent Residents. And by automatically I mean 6 appointments, long lines, more papers and fingerprints and payments. But we are approved, accepted, welcomed, official. Just in Time!

An Uncertain Christmas

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Generally, I like change.  I like when surprises sneak up on me.  I like when things are new, unexpected, adventurous, unknown.  You can’t move to Mexico and expect things to look even remotely familiar.  But Christmas is different.  Christmas is about tradition, about recreating memories, about things staying the same.  And for that – well this Christmas I was just a bit sad.  This is the first Christmas that we have not been with our own daughters.  Flights were too expensive; job vacations were too short.  This year it didn’t make sense.  Still, reason and common sense gave way to se24899711_10155086227796198_3210385353696014323_nlf-pity.  After all, this was the year I thought we would finally build a proper family Christmas.  Among our 3 loads of belonging, we had moved our big old Christmas tree, our stockings, our ornaments.  Snowmen and stockings and candles and the tiny Nativity scene.   My roasting pan and that old gravy bowl.  My tablecloths and napkins and those cute little snowball place card holders.  Everything I needed to finally make a family Christmas dinner in this new home.  Familiar.  Safe.  Traditional.

So when we agreed to postpone our family time until spring this year, I admit I was disappointed.   I briefly… really briefly…. considered flying north to them but I knew that was not right either.  We were needed here and as December unfolded, I began to see the plan emerge exactly as it was meant to.   Since the last weekend of October, we have enjoyed opening our guest rooms to three little girls who need a home and as Christmas approached, I realized our tree and our decorations and even our stockings still had work to do.

Of course, as often happens here, the road became bumpier and more uncertain the closer we got to Christmas weekend.   It looked like we would have the girls for the weekend.  We shopped –  for toys and groceries and surprises.  We hung our own daughters’ stockings in preparation for Santa’s arrival.  Nope.  They’re going with mom.   Tears from everyone.  Nope.  Mom changed her mind – please come get them.  More tears.  More pain.  So much pain.  But finally, it was Christmas morning and I looked around our breakfast table and rejoiced that our chairs were full and our table was overflowing with Christmas treats and Christmas love.  Unlike my own daughters, these children hadn’t even considered looking under the tree or looking in the stockings.   I had however found a letter under the tree on Christmas Eve written by 10-year-old Marely.  “Santa, they say you’re not real but I still believe in you.  If you are real, please tell me the truth -Yes or No”.  Over breakfast, when Grant said, “I wonder if Santa came, she actually looked pretty angry.  “No.  There’s no Santa”.  “Well, let’s look”.  They ran to the stockings and I was elated with the pure joy on Marely’s face “He came, Santa came”.  I don’t know what she really believes, but for this year at least, she got to experience being a child with a stocking full of treats and gifts under a tree.

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Christmas Eve Candlelight Service

 

 

Christmas morning surprise!

That evening, we had a traditional Canadian Christmas meal in our tiny garden.  On Friday I thought there would be just 5 of us, but by Monday night our family had grown to 13.  Canadians, Americans, Mexicans of all ages.  Spanish and English jumbled together.  So different than our normal tradition.  So exactly the same.

 

As always, the happy stories are mushed together with the painful stories.  The joy of a Christmas weekend is paired with some truly difficult moments and I have new respect for all foster moms and adoptive moms who love children who come from difficult places.  The same little hands and arms that gave generous hugs of joy, left painful bruises and scratches when they realized mom wasn’t coming for them.  Gifts that were purchased with love were stolen and hidden away.  So much laughter mixed with so many tears.  But that is the whole point of the Christmas story.  A baby coming into a broken world.  Love wrapped in flesh.  A father to the fatherless and the orphans.  Peace that passes understanding.  Not the Christmas I expected but oh the Christmas I will cherish.   Joy to the World!

A Long Awaited Christmas Gift for Pricila

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You know well the story of our little weekend girls who have not been able to attend school because they have never been registered with the Mexican registry.  In Mexico the rule is “No birth certificate = No school.”   In Canada, that process happens in the hospital when our children are born – it is free and it is easy.  It is automatic and I never had to question whether my children would be allowed to attend Kindergarten when that big day arrived.  But here, it costs money to get a birth certificate and it means going to a few different offices and filling out reams of paper.  So some moms just don’t get it done and that means their children will never receive an education.  The children who come from difficult places, who need education the most, cannot access it.  This has been the case for Britani and Pricila and Mama Vero has been working for many months to get the papers processed.  Unfortunately, mom must be involved in the process and that has not always been easy in this family.  But over the past couple of months mama has been living nearby and has been cooperative.

The process has been long and it has been difficult. Surprise, right?  Because Britani is now 7, her papers were no longer available at the hospital where she was born.  They had been sent up to Tepic – a 2 ½ hour drive through winding mountain roads.  Veronica, our Super Hero Orphanage director, made 2 trips there but must now hire a lawyer to start a whole new process because too much time has passed.  Since the process was underway, the school allowed Britani to begin classes but only for 2 months.   If the papers aren’t here in 2 months she will not be able to continue.  Unfortunately, the clock is ticking down and it is not looking good.  But it is just a matter of time and perseverance and eventually Britani will be registered and in school permanently.

Yesterday the word came that Pricila’s papers were ready to be signed, fingerprinted, sorted, copied and stapled and this morning we all headed over to the Registration office.  Pricila put her tiny little fingerprint in all of the correct boxes, Mama signed the papers, and then Grant and I, as her Padrinas, signed as the witnesses.

That made me think about our roles in these little girls’ lives.  We have indeed been witnesses… to so much –  their pain, their poverty and their brokenness.  Their laughter, their affection and their hugs.  We have witnessed their sad faces and their joyful hearts.  We have witnessed their pranks as they snuck up on a sleeping Grant and scared him half to death.  We have witnessed their messy morning hair when they knock on our door at 5:30 am and their late night pyjama movie parties where they slather their popcorn with ridiculous amounts of hot sauce.  Last week I witnessed a single tear from Mareli as she watched the ending of a happy Christmas movie.  Oh how we hope that we can continue to witness these precious lives and maybe more importantly, we hope to BE WITNESSES to them … of love, of family and of future hope.  Of God’s love for little orphan girls.

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But for today, Feliz Navidad Pricila – next month you’re going to Kinder!

More Chasing After Illusive Papers

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This week we tackled the next step of our legal residency and while it was eventually successful, it was not without the expected challenges.  As our first year of Temporary Residency comes to an end, it is time to renew our residence status for 3 more years and renew our Temporary Import Permit (TIP) for our truck.   The good news is that there is lots of information online as to how to do both of those things.  The bad news is that absolutely none of it is accurate.  Rules change here often, and online advice has not kept up.  We decided to start by heading directly to the Immigration Office to get the correct papers and procedures.  The process is pretty simple, even though it will mean 5 trips to the office in Nuevo Vallarta:  One to get the correct papers and instructions;  two to deliver the papers and photos and many copies of everything and to get the form that must go to the bank;  three to take the financial paper to the bank and return with the receipt and again many copies;  four to get our fingerprints taken when the application has been approved and; five to pick up our new Residency card.   The clerks at the Immigration Office are friendly and helpful and although it is time consuming and really poorly organized, it is not difficult and hopefully we will get an email next week saying we are approved for 3 more years and can come to give our fingerprints (which we just did a year ago and …. uhhh… they haven’t changed).

The vehicle was a little trickier.  There were so many different opinions online as to how to renew its TIP.  We asked the Immigration officer and she said we needed to go to the Customs office (Aduana) in Puerto Vallarta – across from Costco, beside the wine store.  Okay that works – I need groceries, I need wine, we can make a day of it.   When we walked into the Aduana office I stood in shock – there were DOZENS of people waiting for an appointment – maybe HUNDREDS.   It was a huge building with SO MANY PEOPLE and none of them appeared to be speaking any English.  The first woman we talked to told us we would have to take the truck back to the border.  Ah no.  Another person please.  Finally the English-speaking supervisor appeared, gave me the form we needed and told us she couldn’t help us.  We needed to go to the Aduana office at the airport.  They could help.  Sigh.  Every post I had read online said the office at the airport was absolutely NOT the place to go.  But I was more than happy to get out of that madhouse –  the airport was the next stop.

When we got to the airport, we wandered around for a while looking for the Customs office.  We found the Immigration counter – but no Aduana office.  We approached the Information Desk and a Spanish clerk directed us to the office we were looking for.  “Go outside and turn left.  Go to the end of the building, go around the corner and walk until you find the only grey door.  Knock on the door until someone comes and then tell them you want the Aduana office.”  Okay – sounds easy.  Even in Spanish, I thought I understood.

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Imagine eyes staring through that slot!

We eventually found a grey door, but there was literally nothing on it indicating it was an Aduana office.  In fact, as I stared at the door, I notice a tiny slot in the door with two brown eyes staring at me.  After jumping out of my skin, I told the eyes that I was looking for the Aduana office.  “Uno momento”.  And the slot slid shut – was I at a government office or a rent-by-the-hour motel?  After waiting for 5 or 10 minutes, a Customs officer opened the door, and we explained what we wanted.  He took our papers and began looking through them.  And I mean ALL of our papers.  Papers in our file folder that had absolutely nothing to do with this process were inspected.  “Okay, let me get someone to help you.”  Big grey door slam.   After we waited in the tiniest triangle of shade for 15 or 20 minutes, another Customs Officer came to the door and we told her our story again. She looked over our papers and told us we needed 2 copies of these papers, 3 copies of those.  Again, the copies.  “There is a copier in the middle of the airport.”  Okay we will be back with our copies.  But the desk in the center of the airport said “No Copies.  Maybe at the nearby business mall.”    Which meant leaving the airport parking lot.  We had, of course, parked in the absolute last stall of the parking lot, and when we got to our car we realized we had forgotten to pay for our parking at the machine – INSIDE THE TERMINAL, at the furthest spot from where we were now standing.  We trekked back to the Arrivals area of the airport, paid to get out and drove a mile or two to the mall where we indeed found a copy store.  After getting our copies, we headed back to the grey door.  We knocked on the door, spoke to the eyes, waited 10 or 15 more minutes in the blazing sun and eventually another Customs Officer – now our 3rd – came to the door, inspected the papers, shuffled the copies around and told us to wait a few minutes.  It was now 2:00 – we had left home at 9:00 – and we were hot, thirsty and hungry.   But in another 10 or 15 minutes the grey door pushed open and the Officer handed us our papers – with the needed stamp.   Our truck is in – again.  For 3 more years.   And I am considering taking donations, so Customs at the Airport can have a sign, maybe even a desk and a chair, to help weary travelers who don’t want to stand outside in the parking lot while papers are being shuffled.

3 times waiting – at least – and we’re all fighting for that one triangle of shade

As we have worked through all the steps to live in this country, I have been frustrated but I am also super excited.  No one would ever go through all of this craziness unless they knew they were meant to be here, unless they were already rooted in the soil and breathing the air.  We have been grumpy, we have been angry, we have laughed, we have cried – but we have never doubted.  And that makes me happy.

How Can We Help?

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The thing we have struggled with the most and continue to struggle with is how to best help the people we find in our path here.  Every day we see a need, feel some pain, touch a wound and we are not sure when we can or should help.  It is not just about money – maybe it’s least about money.

I have told you many stories about some of the families we have come to know and love.  Recently I have been sharing about the 3 girls who have stayed in our home after mom lost her house.  We are living week to week in that story and last weekend we waited at the orphanage on Friday afternoon to see if mom would come for her girls.  2 of them were in school (yay!) and the agreement was that at 4:50 she would come to pick up her youngest and then walk to the school to gather her other 2 for the weekend.  We waited and at 5:27 we decided she mustn’t be coming and we needed to go pick up the 2 at school at 5:30 and bring them home with us.  I was relieved.  We jumped in the golf cart and about 4 blocks from the orphanage we saw mom slowly walking towards the school.  So now my conscience had a battle.  Should we meet her, hand over her 5-year-old who was with us and deliver her to the school to get the others?  Or should we turn down a different street, so she didn’t see us, go get the girls and take them home.  Honestly, I didn’t want them to go home with her – but she is their mom and she appeared to be doing the right thing – although late and without her youngest.  So, we pulled up and

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Watching Mom walk away with ‘our’ girl

offered her a ride to the school.  I knew the oldest daughter would not be happy – she wanted to go home with us – so we quickly left before we were seen by the girls.  No one needed a scene outside the school.  We continued on to drop off 3 of the other Mans de Amor children in another town 20 miles away and stopped for some seafood.  We were quiet – I imagine this is how divorced parents feel when the ‘other parent’ gets their kids for the weekend.  We were worried, angry, frustrated.  But we are not their parents and it seems mom is trying.

About the time we were leaving the restaurant, I looked at my phone and saw a number of missed calls from the orphanage director.  She had the girls, mom didn’t actually want them that weekend because she had no beds in her ‘new’ home.   Relief.   They would be ours for one more weekend at least.

We headed back to Bucerias to pick them up and then we were faced with another moral dilemma.  We had an extra bed in our garage.  Our friend Diana had left it there and told us to give it to someone who needed it.  I knew the orphanage had another little bed to be given away.   We could help them set up their house so that they could again have their daughters with them.  I could make happen the exact opposite of what I wanted.   Oh, the struggle that went on inside.  No bed = the girls stay with me.  Beds = the girls go home.

I talked to Veronica that night and she said “let’s meet tomorrow morning and take them the beds.  Also, they want you to take your truck and help them get all the things that were thrown in the street when they were evicted from their last house.”   I knew – albeit grudgingly – that this was the right thing.  Let’s help them make a new home.

Saturday morning, we drove to their new house to pick everyone up.  House is a bit of an exaggeration.  There was a tiny cement room.  The yard was surrounded by a wire fence and miscellaneous filthy blankets were attached to the fence to create walls.  There was a piece of tin over it all.  That was the home – a fenced yard.  But it was theirs and it was not much different than many others in the neighborhood.

Off we went to help them find their discarded stuff.  We drove into one of the worst neighborhoods in Bucerias.  Grant and I had driven through there before in the golf cart and had said we didn’t think we better come back – a little rough.  But we helped them load and unload their few belongings and left them to set it all up.  The littlest one

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Family Saturday errands

stayed with mama and we took the 2 middle girls to the swimming pool for the afternoon.   I was very upset – I didn’t want them to go live in that little house – and when some tourists at the pool tried playing with the girls I grabbed our stuff and said “Let’s go” – no stranger is going to talk to my kids.   Except they’re not my kids and the home their mom is making for them is all she can provide.   The best way to help right now is to empower her to be the best mom she can be – offering support when she needs it.  That is what my mind tells me, my heart was struggling to agree.

That night the two youngest daughters were excited to stay with mom.  The oldest still refused and stayed with us.  We had some good talks about the importance of family and we told this angry 9-year-old we would be there if she needed us.  If you are scared, you know where we live.  She talked about her other siblings – besides the three of them there are 3 more brothers, 2 more sisters.  The sisters live with Grandma.  She doesn’t even know where the brothers live – Brian and Juan Carlos and one other. They are just teenagers living on their own.   It was a sad conversation and I feel so much pain for this child and for the mom who has lost all but 2 of her 8 children.   For now at least, the girls will continue to come to Manos de Amor during the week so mom and her boyfriend can find jobs.  Our weekend house will be open if they need us.

This family is not the only one we contemplate helping each week. There are constantly people showing up at our door selling things, needing things – maybe legitimate needs, maybe scams.   There is one young man who comes once or twice a week and rings our doorbell and asks if we have work.  We get him to sweep leaves or wash our car or other small tasks.  We give him 20 or 50 pesos, usually whatever food we have around.  Grant noticed his shoes were almost completely worn out and gave him some sandals.  Another day some pants.  A leash and some food for his scruffy little dog.  Well you’re not going to believe this.  Today he came to our door as usual and this time he said – “I am Juan Carlos.  You know my sisters.  You know my mom.”  It was one of the lost brothers!  For the past 4 or 5 months we have been feeding and clothing the brother of these three sweet little girls.  No one but God could have joined us all together.

I don’t know what our continuing role will be with this family.  The oldest daughter does not want to go home with her mom.  She does not like the mom’s boyfriend.  I don’t know that it is right for us to keep her with us.   I want to support a relationship but how can we help it become a healthy one?  How can we help reunite the brother with his siblings and his mom?

Today we stopped at the orphanage and all 3 girls surrounded us and gave us letters they had written to us.  Yesterday they had been in a fight with one of the boys in the home.  The letter said they were sorry for fighting.  (I didn’t know anything about the fight – not sure why I was getting the apology 😊) And then the last sentence of each letter – one to Grant, one to me.  I love you Grat. (They can’t say Grant).  I love you Karen.  Hugs all around.   And the story continues.