Christ Come

'Cristo Viene' is the name of the girl's home where I work. It means 'Christ Come' and yesterday I desired his return in a desperate way.

The bus took me an hour and twenty minutes out to a town called San Luis where a few of the homes gather every Sunday for a church service. Yesterday was my day to take charge of the girls but, when I arrived (a little late), the location was void of people. Returning to the one and only road back to the Nacer home, I was waiting on the edge and watching as a man crossed the two lanes. His silhouette appeared as the letter 'Z' against the still rising sun. The crutches were as crippled as the man himself. Each step spanned a few slim centimetres as he struggled to cross the road. Meanwhile, a transport truck quickly approached the stumbling sir. From a few hundred feet away, I earnestly prayed that the man would cross the half-way point and that the looming vehicle could decrease enough in speed to give him a few more precious seconds. Helplessness paralysed me but not as much as it must have overcome the now trembling man slumped at the side of the road.

The man boarded the same bus as I. Actually, he didn't board. Two battered crutches were stored under a seat as two other passengers pulled him by the armpits, face down and along the floor, onto the bus. His shriveled, twisted legs were clothed in ragged, baggy, and dirty pants. He rocked on his seat and I noticed that he had a sweet, safe face. Within seconds, the smell of urine filled the air and when I got off the bus, I noted that he had wet himself.

I have not a clue where this man was going. Perhaps a church service to remind himself that his present reality will come to pass. Perhaps a local bar to drink so much that he temporarily forgets his sorrows. The dust on the dirt road to Nacer was darkened by my tears. My eyes and heart weep for the shame and sadness that exists in this world. My depths cry, "Cristo viene! Christ come! " Please come.