In the small village of El Carrizo in the mountains of southern Honduras, a little boy walks by the vacant area next to the building that serves as the village church. He has been told that missionaries from the United States are coming soon to build his village a Sunday School Building and also a house for him and his family.
He shakes his head in disbelief. "Why would total strangers from America travel all this way to build my family a house?" he asks himself. He tries to imagine what an American looks like. He wonders if they will be friendly. He thinks of stories he has heard in Sunday School about strangers taking care of people but has a hard time believing that it could actually happen to him.
The little boy runs into the open doorway of his house. It is a one room hut made of mud and paper scraps with a ramshackle rusted tin roof and dirt floor. The only furniture is a hammock and one plastic chair for his mom, his dad, and his brother and two sisters.
"Are these people angels?" he asks his mom, who is in the corner making tortillas and cooking them over the open fire. She hugs him, laughs, and tells him that yes, in a way, they are angels because God has heard her village's prayers and is sending the Americans to help their village. "Will they have wings?" the little boy asks, incredulously. His mother smiles, hugs him again and then looks into his big brown eyes. "No, my child, these are God's angels here on earth. They are coming to work and worship side by side with your father and the rest of the men of our village. They are just people like you and me. They have children and families too. They are just from another country. They have no wings."
"But," she said as her eyes filled with dusty tears, "if you look closely at them you will see the face of Jesus."
this is a test; this is only a test; do not pass go; do not throw tennis balls
ReplyDeleteIn the small village of El Carrizo in the mountains of southern Honduras, a little boy walks by the vacant area next to the building that serves as the village church. He has been told that missionaries from the United States are coming soon to build his village a Sunday School Building and also a house for him and his family.
ReplyDeleteHe shakes his head in disbelief. "Why would total strangers from America travel all this way to build my family a house?" he asks himself. He tries to imagine what an American looks like. He wonders if they will be friendly. He thinks of stories he has heard in Sunday School about strangers taking care of people but has a hard time believing that it could actually happen to him.
The little boy runs into the open doorway of his house. It is a one room hut made of mud and paper scraps with a ramshackle rusted tin roof and dirt floor. The only furniture is a hammock and one plastic chair for his mom, his dad, and his brother and two sisters.
"Are these people angels?" he asks his mom, who is in the corner making tortillas and cooking them over the open fire. She hugs him, laughs, and tells him that yes, in a way, they are angels because God has heard her village's prayers and is sending the Americans to help their village. "Will they have wings?" the little boy asks, incredulously. His mother smiles, hugs him again and then looks into his big brown eyes. "No, my child, these are God's angels here on earth. They are coming to work and worship side by side with your father and the rest of the men of our village. They are just people like you and me. They have children and families too. They are just from another country. They have no wings."
"But," she said as her eyes filled with dusty tears, "if you look closely at them you will see the face of Jesus."