Simple Joy

Since Autlan, I've wanted to write about my experience at an Indian camp we went to. I finally got the chance to do this when we were required to write a college admissions essay in AP English. So...here it is:

I searched my surroundings and felt a deep sense of sympathy as our team filtered into the poverty-stricken Indian camp. I knew that by coming to Mexico, my eyes would be opened to a very different culture, but I didn’t realize then how much it would affect my life. I first noticed the homes in which the migrant workers resided, remembering what the leader of our group told us: the buildings were owned not by the residents, but by their employers. They worked day by day to earn just enough to provide for their families; from paycheck to paycheck they struggled to make it through each day. Their houses reminded many of us of prisons rather than homes. I then noticed the residents’ tattered and dirty clothes as they stood watching us with dirt-caked faces. I observed their faces, their eyes. In the adults’ eyes I saw uncertainty; the mothers were willing, yet slightly hesitant to allow their children to follow us and hear the story we had prepared for them. In the children’s eyes I witnessed a sense of confusion; they could not understand why we gringos would leave our home to simply tell them a story and play with them. But most of all, I noticed fear in everyone’s eyes. A fear that we, like the majority of Mexican citizens, would also discriminate against and persecute them simply for their different ethnicity.
However, instead of giving into their fear, they decided to trust our word and follow us to the community basketball court where we had set up a puppet show for the children. We soon experienced their lack of good behavior; two boys started a fight in the middle of the story while many other children threw rocks at a local pastor who shared a story with them. Our team members struggled to control the wild kids but only partially stopped them with a promise of dulces, or candy, for the ones who obeyed. Once the story was over and we brought out the chocolate, the children mobbed around the candy-bearer, hands and arms desperately reaching toward the prize. As best as we could, our team ventured to distribute a piece of candy to each child. In a whirlwind of energy, the children demanded that we spin them around in circles, take pictures of them with our “fancy” cameras, and participate in hand-clapping games. One older woman tried to earn a few extra pesos by selling handmade tortilla warmers to the females in our group. All too soon, it was time for us to leave. We quickly hugged our new friends goodbye and piled into our suburban. But, as we attempted to drive away, the kids jumped onto our vehicles, demanding more candy. One of our team members passed bags of rice through the open windows, hoping they would fall into the hands of girls who would bring the food back to their mothers. Finally, as we waved adios to the adults and children of the Indian camp, we drove away, contemplating our recent experience.
The memories I have of that evening are as fresh in my mind today as they were then. I can still see the faces of the children. I can see their hesitance, their confusion, their fear. But the most vivid picture I have in my mind is not of their despair, but their joy. The joy that comes from simple things in life: a piece of candy, a friend to play with, a smile, a hug. I remember their smiling faces as they heard of the love greater than any other. When I am tempted to complain about some insignificant thing in my life, I think of the impoverished lives of those children and remember their simple joy in the midst of their hardships.

Living by the simple joy we have in HIM alone,
Hans