It was during our class missions trip to Terrazas, Mexico when I realized what it truly means to be human. Our group of grade 12 students stood in front of the Mexican family’s finished house, as the intense afternoon sun shone down on us. Every house around us- many no better than shacks- seemed to be the same color: a bland, lifeless grey, much like the color of dust. The smell of sewage and gloom lingered in the air. The ground was dusty and dry; we were sweaty, tired, and overwhelmed by the heat. We had worked stuccoing their house for the past two days, and our job was finally completed. As a group, we had also pooled together some money and bought each of the children and the grandmother foamy mattresses and pillows. They now held their new beds in their arms and they began telling us how thankful they were for our work and our time, but most of all, for being able to meet us. After each of the family members had finished thanking us, the majority of us had begun to cry and we sadly began to say our goodbyes.
It was then that the grandmother of the family approached me, with tears in her eyes and embraced me in a hug. She was sincerely thankful, and it showed in the way she hugged me, and how she spoke, saying “Thank you,” and “God bless you” in Spanish again and again. Throughout the time we worked on the family’s house, I had felt a special connection with her. Every time our eyes met, we would each smile- and then, for some reason, we couldn’t help but laugh with one another. Words weren’t necessary to communicate. In that moment, as we hugged one another, it felt like the barriers of life (language, social status, nationality, possessions, wealth, age) all fell away. It was as if all that was left were two human beings blessed by one another.
Something powerful lies in the act of unselfishly helping another human being- it is so incredibly fulfilling. In that moment, as the grandmother and I hugged, I think that a piece of God’s purpose for my going to Mexico, personally, was fulfilled. A cold glass of water was thrown on my perception of the less fortunate- I had always felt a certain pity for them, almost looking down on them in a sense. However, everything I experienced in Mexico taught me a great deal about what it means to be human. All too often (particularly in North American culture), we allow the differences between the nations of this world to separate us. In truth, we aren’t as different from each other as we sometimes think we are. Regardless of race, religion, or poverty level, we share the same condition- we all fall down; we all fail; we all hunger to be fulfilled by something outside of ourselves. When one is placed in a situation such as traveling to Mexico to serve the poor, an awareness of this ‘human condition’ is ushered in. Really, the extent of one’s riches or possessions doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, the truth is that we are all human: at times broken, hurting, and lonely, but through whom God is able to do great things.
I found myself, standing on a dusty road underneath the scorching Mexican sun, no longer able to hide behind my reputation, my insecurities, my possessions, my achievements. There I was, I was covered in dirt and sweat, wearing old clothes, tears running down my face, and yet so very content. In that moment, I was humbled; I was blessed. I was at peace with the human being I am.
