Easter Mexico Work Camp 2001

"Goodwill Hunting" by Cynthia Smith

"Do you have a house just like mine?" she asked as she took my hand and dragged me into the shack where she lived. With her dark hair, dark skin, and dark eyes, she led me through what she called home. It was a thin-walled, leaky-roofed, two-room shack. The air inside was clouded with dust, and the girl's sheets were musty and clammy. But she lived there, day in and day out, in the rain and the sun, in the cold and the heat. How could I tell her that my room alone was only a bit smaller than her entire house? All I could say to her was that I had a Barbie just like hers and a blue sweater just like hers. I told her that we, in fact, have some things in common. "Como nuestra risa!" she said. Being six, she did not judge on appearance. I am blonde with blue eyes and light skin, but she saw no difference. She only saw my smile and heard my laugh. To Lala, it was only this that mattered.

What a difference from my hometown of Los Angeles, California, where appearance matters more than anything. When I was younger, I thought that every town was like Brentwood. The wide, paved streets, the bustling cars, and the gourmet restaurants seemed commonplace. I complained about not having a bigger room, not having a television, and not having the kind of ice cream I wanted. But with each trip to Tijuana, my perspective on the world changed, and I realized just how lucky I am.

In the past six years, I have made eight trips to Tijuana to build houses for the less fortunate. Through Amor Ministries, my youth group has been able to build four homes each year for different families in Tijuana. We usually spend four long, hard days on the work site. We start by shoveling and mixing cement to lay the foundation. The second and third days are spent building the walls and roof and then assembling the frame of the house together. After that is done, we nail tarpaper and chicken wire around the house and finish the roof. The last day is spent stuccoing the house and putting in the doors and windows. When the house is complete, it is time to leave. Before we depart though, each group gives their family house-cleaning supplies, blankets, food, and toys. Finally, we say a prayer for the family and say good-bye.

I do not do this work for recognition. And I do not do this work so that I can say, "I do community service. " My parents wanted me to participate in a program at school that recognizes those students who do over 100 community-service hours per year, but I refused. For me, this recognition defeats the purpose of serving the community. I do not do this work simply so that I can stand up and get an award. Seeing the faces on the family when we complete a new home for them is the reason I go to Mexico. That, in itself, is enough of a reward. Like ribbons tied around my finger, their faces remind me of how lucky I am.

As much as I do not want to brag, I must admit that I have changed from these trips. I have realized that I take a lot of things for granted: running water, electricity, a healthy family, a healthy dog, nice clothes, everything right down to a toilet-seat cover. I hesitated for over a year about buying a pair of "dark denim" jeans instead of sticking with the slightly faded pair that I already own. After seeing the devastation in Mexico, I realized that the $48 could be used for more important things. It is a question of need over want. Last Christmas, the $48 was used for a much better cause. I spent it, along with half the money I had made the previous summer, at the Angel Store in my church. The Angel Store is a liaison to more than 13 charitable organizations. Through one group, I was able to donate 15 one-day "mobile clinics" that give medical aid to more than 150 women and children. Instead of having to travel to the hospital, the hospital comes to them. And on top of that, it is free! I made this donation in the name of my friends and family. Before my first trip to Mexico, I never would have considered this type of Christmas present.

This is ironic because the base of Christmas is Christ, and His purpose was to humbly serve others. By going to Mexico, I am trying to follow Christ's example and live as the hands and feet of God. However, I am not a perfect person. In fact, I ended up buying those trendy jeans. Was that purchase a sin? Did I sin even without wanting to? Will I ever be a normal teenager in Brentwood, California after I have seen the havoc in Tijuana? I have not made one decision since I returned from Mexico without remembering the families and the children like Lala. And I don't think I ever will.