Catalina
It was our first trip to the MTI worksite.
Instead of taking part in the manual labor, I went as a translator on a prayer walk through the community near the worksite (yes, Dad – its just like trustee work day). We meandered through the poor neighborhood, noting the multi-colored shack-like residences and the mud-filled streets. People were going about their business, hanging clothes on the line, making lunch, kids playing with anything they could find. This is one of the poorer neighborhoods in Matamoros; running water and electricity were not the norm.
We prayed for work, so that the people might be able to care for their families. We prayed for food, so that they could feed their hungry children. We prayed for unity amongst the neighbors, that they might help one another. We prayed for health and for strength and for the eyes to see a God who loves no matter the circumstance.
And then we met Catalina.
She was directing us around a huge puddle in the middle of her street so that our shoes wouldn’t get muddy. She was probably 70 and had long white hair. Her back was curved from years of caring, washing, cleaning, loving…and she had one of the brightest smiles I can remember seeing.
We stopped to talk with her just for a moment; we didn’t have too much time to spend with her. She said in a hushed voice that her name was Catalina, and that she would like us to pray with her if we could. Being missionaries, of course we obliged 🙂 Around her neck she wore a necklace with a pendant of the patron saint of the village. There’s a lot of that here in Mexico. The mix of Catholicism and indigenous traditions has left the people here with a shell of a “religion”, a meaningless set of rituals that are more linked to superstition than to God. A lot of times I wonder how we can get so close and get things so wrong.
After saying Amen, she looked up at us with tears in her eyes. We promised to return if we got the chance. Some other girls went to visit with her weeks later, but I never got the chance to go back and spend meaningful time getting to know her. Even though I don’t know her well, I imagine that she is a woman with thousands of stories about everything ordinary that isn’t ordinary at all. I think about her often. And when I do, I smile.
