Unpacking from a 45 day, 7,350 mile, 16 state and 13 bed road trip, requires more than doing laundry and hanging clothes back up. It’s the unpacking of the dozens of encounters, scenes, meals, Buc—Eees, and conversations I had along the way. There is one particular unexpected morning I can’t put away in a convenient memory box.
We had driven nearly 800 miles from California to our half way point in Las Cruces, NM. We had two days to make it to Stephenville, Texas, where grandson Mattias was going to be part of his spring jazz concert honoring Duke Ellington. Our route took us down the California coast from Palos Verdes, where we made a hard left on highway at highway 10 near San Diego. We then drove across the entirety of two states, and well into New Mexico. We made it to Las Cruces just in time to watch the sun disappear. The Super 8 had good ratings and it was cheap with free breakfast.
I headed down to breakfast eagerly awaiting my Raisin Bran and coffee, only to be met with about 60 people jammed in the space. It was obvious that this was a collection of families. The young woman who was managing the space came up to me and said, “These folks will take about a half an hour. They are awaiting their busses which will take them to the next stop”. I was standing in their midst and my eye made contact with a young boy who was about seven. “Buenos Dias”, I said. It took a few seconds and then a huge smile opened up, complete with missing front teeth.
I was transported back to the winter of 1970, where I spent six weeks going all over Mexico as an undergraduate Phillips student. It was called “Inter-Term”. The month of January was dedicated to innovative learning experience. That it was, as it became very clear to me that I had a whole lot to learn about the incredible culture and history to my south. Pyramids were not just in Egypt.
The young woman who managed the breakfast room was a ray of light. She went about her work making everyone feel welcome. As the room emptied we sat for breakfast. It was there she told me that this was an every day occurrence. “They leave from here for all sorts of places—Chicago, Houston, Kansas City and Denver, to mention a few”. For me the “They” became “Him”. There he was with his mom and his little sister—a stranger at the mercy of forces, politics, laws, and the generosity of so many.
I remember thinking, “Why did you speak to him”? Truly, I wanted him to know that he was seen. That this old man with a cane noticed him. That he was welcome in a world that might seem hostile. In no way am I the hero of this story. I have no idea what realities brought him to this place. The complexities of what is happening at our borders has many causes, and the current unwillingness to address it is a matter of sheer political gamesmanship. Of this he and his little sister know nothing.
This I do know— Jesus said, “ For when I was hungry you gave me something to eat, when I was thirsty you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in…”
Amen,
Onward and Upward,
Mark
Lyfting Me Up 