Brokenhearted...But or And

Ermila has a little convenience store in the front corner of the market. She is kind, willing to work at a conversation and a very dedicated Catholic. Today while we were talking the subject turned to our children. I think it hit a nerve. She has three children. One daughter has traveled to England, Germany and Japan. The traveling has changed her daughter who has turned her back on Catholicism and has embraced of all things – Buddhism. Oh the pain, the pain for a mother who wants her daughter back and the pain for a daughter who has nothing to come back to.

It was just a matter of being at the right place at the right time. We looked down on a graduation reception that was taking place at a medical school. Palm trees lined the perfectly manicured lawn. White clothed tables holding exotic flower arrangements and lavished with food dotted the lawn. When guests arrived they were served wine by sharply dressed young men in tuxes as the mariachi band played in the background. Just across the street the sun was setting on one of the poorest sections of town. It is home for those who try to scratch out a living day by day. Smelly trash lines the muddy streets where the children play. Marcus is ten but neither he nor his sister attends school. Another family lives in a rusty boxcar with windows cut open like a sardine can. Life is much different here and much simpler – survival.

We know Juan and his family reasonably well, and we should. We take the weekly pilgrimage to their little store every Friday to purchase cola and chips for family night. It didn’t take many trips there to notice the images up in the far left hand corner of their store behind the counter. Last week though something on the bottom shelf caught my eye. It was the flicker of candles. Never had I seen that before. I looked closer. There to my horror and heartbreak they were honoring the angel of death.

Could someone please tell me why I’m brokenhearted...but I don't weep? Why don’t I weep like a William Burns - a mentor to Hudson Taylor? “When Burns was seventeen his mother was separated from him while shopping in Glasgow. After retracing her steps she discovered him in an alley with tears streaming down his face. She could see he was suffering great agony and said, "Willie my boy, what ails you? Are you ill?" With broken cries he replied, "Oh, mother, mother - the thud of these Christless feet on the way to hell breaks my heart." Lord to be brokenhearted...and to weep.