Buena Suerte!

On the second day of my trip to the Gulf Coast, my group did homeless ministry (which sounds weird but I don't know how else to say it). A lot of people are still homeless or pretty close to it because of Katrina. They are cold and hungry so we brought them food and a few pieces of clothing.

My greatest adventure on this day was utilizing my poor Spanish skills. I did alright, I think, but luckily we were able to find a fluent Spanish speaker at a Catholic diocese office that dealt specifically with migrants and immigrants from Spanish-speaking countries. Like this man.

He was from Honduras, had been in the US for six months, and didn't speak any English. His 17-year-old son had been caught on the Texas border trying to cross illegally. He was in prison, so his father was looking for him. Can you imagine your son being in a prison in Texas, but you don't know which one, and you can't speak the language to ask people for help? How frustrating and hopeless a situation!

Well, hopefully he was able to work it out. I think I did as much as I could. His son probably had already been deported. But I can't help but wonder...