Reflections

I was moved by the ability of this community to welcome us in, and share their struggle so candidly.

I was moved by their generosity in-spite of their poverty. They bought fish to share especially for this occasion. Normally, they are only are able to gnaw on bits of maiz and beans.

I was moved by the strength of the women, and the incredible bravery of the entire community.

I was moved by the ability of the children to play and laugh, in-spite of everything.

I was moved by the difficulty of their situation. A struggle against impossible odds for the most basic of needs...a place to live and an iota of security.

Grahame Russell reminds us of a quote: "When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why are they poor, they call me a Communist." (Helder Camara, brazilian priest)

I remember the residential schools and the indigenous peoples in my own country. I feel shame for being Canadian and I feel guilt for my unearned privilege.

What must it be like to survive on a form of 'hope' that consists of little more than perilous struggle? The answer I can only ever imagine from a distance because...

I can always go home.