Mamíta´s Story

Slowly chewing some morsel of food and trying to focus while Mamita talked my ear off, I couldn´t help but be distracted by thoughts of what I would write if this aging, one of a kind woman were my topic. I looked down at my plate, which boasted a portion size fit for a 300 pound lumberjack, and considered all the quirky and lovable traits of Nelly de la Torre. Reaching down to pick my ear up off the floor, I dusted it off, and decided that this dear and unusual lady would be the subject of my next blog.

Carefully tucked away in an inoperative and retroactive washing machine, you will find hundreds of plastic bags. Faithfully stacked in the cupboard, one can encounter dozens of vacant styrofoam trays previously bearing meat, veggies, and other grocery type things. Resting peacefully in a cardboard coffin, lie a multitude of matches that have already served their purpose. Not so far away from this phosphorous grave, are bags of bread chunks, hard enough to knock a grown man to the ground if thrown with enough aggression.

You´re asking the same question that I and many others have asked...why?!? This question marks my mind everytime I see her eccentric collections. I have come to a conclusion. This bazaar behaviour betrays a past blotted with poverty and times of extreme desparation. I have heard of similar reactions coming from those who have lived through war times, where living off of nothing becomes a most desirable skill. Surviving periods of deprivation and indescribable hunger can lead to hoarding tendancies even when the plentitude returns and the stomachs are satisfied.

Mamita and her son, Davíd, have borne more struggles than I could experience in ten life times. Mamita was a single, unmarried mom living in a macho culture where social assistance is nonexistent and survival depends on personal persistance. Bitter and abandoned, she determined to surpass her situation and worked at the post office for what became a 23 year career. God was not a part of the equation, perhaps due to His maleness and her total snubbery of all men...except Davíd, the reason she threw herself out of bed every morning.

In an act of divine gentry, Davíd experienced the utter joy and peace of accepting Christ at the age of 15. His conversion, however, made him miss "almuerzo", the unforgivable sin in the eyes of most Bolivian mothers. In a panic, mamita went searching for her prodigal son, not realizing that he had already been truly found. In a strange twist of the parable, she saw him at a distance, down the road. Her initial rejoicing at finding her lost son turned to despise and criticism when he immediately told her about this Jesus he had met. She forbid him to speak about those "evangelios" and wondered about his mental health.

This forbidding sent Davíd into a 7 month fast from breakfast so that God would change the heart of his mom. Already a skinny kid, mamita noticed that he was losing weight and threatened to bring him to the hospital. It wasn´t until the odour of 28 weeks worth of breakfast gave away the tactics of one determined child, that mamita realized what he was doing. This only reinforced her opinions about Jesus and His followers. Friends would come to the door, desiring to pray with Davíd and his mom would beat them away with her brooms.

One Christmas, a concert was happening at a nearby church. Davíd desparately wanted to go with his mom, but she was adamant to stay home and told him not to bother either. After long intervals of praying and circling his mom´s bed, he asked her one final time...and she agreed to go...grudgingly. Everytime she tells me this story, the tears track down her wrinkly cheeks. As she entered that space, she felt the presence of a spirit quite contrary to her own. A beautiful voice sang a message of glad tidings not only for all men, but for her, a beaten, emotionally bruised women of questionable past. The Holy Spirit dropped her to the floor that night in a puddle of wet brokeness. A new born son walked home with his newly born mom that evening.

While you reflect on a another young mother, unmarried, and expecting her own timely treasure, remember too that the glory and wonder of that night transcended to a Christmas not so long ago and changed the eternity of one quirky, Bolivian mother and her boy. Merry Christmas!