A Kind Man

Two weeks ago, we visited a family in San Miguel. Like many people in the country, they lived in poverty. They were in need of food so Jen bought them enough to get by for now. Jen had a special connection with the family. While she was in San Miguel, months ago, shrieks drew her to their house. The mother had recently birthed a child and that child now lay lifeless. God has a way of connecting hearts among tragedy. Jen has visited and helped this family since the horrific day that they became acquainted.
During our visit, we learned the father Don Francisco was trying to acquire enough material to build a better house. Their current house was a mud brick hut with two rooms. In one room, they had a double size mattress to sleep the family of five. Across the dirt floor and through the door way, is another room used as a makeshift kitchen. As we sat there with the family enjoying the company, I noticed something peculiar.
Don Francisco was a kind man. It was very seldom that I saw a Honduran man treat his wife and family with such tenderness. His wife was partially deaf, and had some difficulty speaking. He seemed to cater to her every need and understand her with ease. He also spent the majority of his paycheck on juice for us in a display of radical hospitality. So when the opportunity arose to assist Don Francisco in building his new home, the answer was without hesitation.
A week later we returned with the six brothers to begin a house. Mark Connell also came to help with another Honduran named David. Manpower was not a shortage and we were ready to work. The land needed leveled because he wanted to build an upper room and the terrain accommodated his wish. But much leveling was still required. So we began to even out the dirt and chip away and the rocky soil. It was enjoyable to watch the brother put forth such unselfish effort to help another. I was sure those little boys would quit after an hour or so, but the proved me wrong. There was no give in their desire to work. Now of course, there was some play involved and they may have been sidetracked at times, but they were more help than I ever would have imagined.
Johnny, the oldest boy who had always lived with the mom, surprised me most. He was a hard nosed kid who had never received much compassion. Johnny had so much fight in him, and desire for accomplishment. I tried hard through broken Spanish to compliment him, for I feared he had never received such encouragement. It must have worked because a smile would break through his determined scowl every time I told him how strong I thought he was.
It was a long day of work and moving dirt, but none worked harder than Don Francisco himself. I appreciated that greatly. He could have sat back and watched us build for him, but his kind heart would not let him do that. Even his wife had been hauling buckets of dirt. We had to make her stop once and a while and take a break.
By the end of the day, I didn’t look like we accomplished too much. But, our bodies felt like we did. Don Francisco was so appreciative of what little we did. And he had a foundation ready to build a new home. I was touched by such warmth from a man in a culture that encourages firm, tough men. I pray that more help will come his way on his new house and that God will continue to live throughout Don Francisco.