Normally I reserve sentiment. I suppose, however, that this holding in reserve can within the correct time frame, and circumstances, like the clouds holding in containment reserves of water, lead unavoidably to a downpour.
I sat watching a reportage (on a Spanish TV channel), switching now to a story, real life situation concerning illegal immigration;
A woman who had struggled to sneak across the Border from Mexico. The first time, years ago, when caught, she was sent back.
Mexico is a beautiful place, Nature wise. Scenic panorama. Yet a country in turmoil. Power struggles, political regimes, every one struggling for the piece of the pie. Cesspools of tremendous profits in drug money. Poor folk believing that drug money will give them that piece of the pie denied them by their own class limitations. Fear of course has a great deal to do with this, and anxiety, having to live with a poor sense of self value. Very few jobs, much poverty.
No wonder that some flee across to the “Mountain of Gold”, America.
Perhaps here they will, etch out a living. Crews of drug gangs over there slaughter innocent villagers (displaying heads of those who would oppose their reign of terror) to keep them in line.
To get back to the news report; At present, she had been married a few years, having, made it safely on her third attempt, and met a legal man, now the proud parents of three children. Yet never having (for fear) reported her status.
A Church given her Sanctuary for three years, in which time she had met the man who would become her Husband.
On the day preceding this report (on television), she was in the house with the three kids. Outside the door, a crew of immigration officers, banging on the door, demanding that they open up, calling out the woman’s name. Someone, had maliciously ratted her out. Someone, no doubt who thought themselves to be a “real” American. What was one moment a peaceful and loving scene, now found a Mother trembling with fear. Kids, who could not make sense of this, looking up to the Mother’s face, then to the door still locked.
She was one child short, at her arms, at her legs, at her skirt.
The door opens.
A little girl steps through it.
These words, I heard the reporter quoting the little girl to have said to the men with drawn guns; “Why do you want my Mommy, my Mommy is a good person. My Mommy cooks food for me, she buys me clothes, she washes my laundry, she……” this was all I could hear for the moment, when trembling with tears, these two words came out of my mouth; “Oh God…..”
How can a Child make sense of all this……
The mess we have created.
I can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org, at Biblically Referencing Human Nature on facebook and also on facebook as Miguel Angel Oquendo