Last weekend, we went to Mexico with our church to help build a house for a family of five who needed a permanent shelter. The family had purchased the land the home would be built on and we, alongside a local nonprofit, brought the materials and helping hands. It was an incredibly modest house by our standards – more like an exalted shed – with a foundation and electricity, but no plumbing, bathroom, kitchen or other luxuries we would consider essentials. And yet, based on the gratitude of the family, you’d think we were bequeathing them a mansion with a fenced in yard and a pool. Or at least a working toilet.
The trip was such an amazing experience for us. The people we went with, the ones we worked alongside and those we met along the way were all the kind of people that give you hope for this world. The joy of the Mexican kids, though, is what really captured me. They were thrilled with the new set of playmates, kids and grownups alike, who were happy to kick a soccer ball, do some crafts or swing a jump rope. There was so much I wanted to ask them so I could learn about their lives and interests but, alas, my Spanish was sorely lacking and created a divide that frustrated my attempts to connect in a more meaningful way.
I came home with every intention of going back for another build (well, mostly to hang out with the kids), but not without first learning a whole lot more Spanish so I can wholly engage and connect with their hearts. I’ve begun searching out resources and drawing up a mental plan to reach my goal and am also pondering the possibility of volunteering locally with Spanish-speaking kids at some point to test and improve my conversational skills. Learning Spanish has been a goal for quite some time and it hasn’t yet happened, so there are no guarantees, but having a motivation that comes from love rather than simply checking off an accomplishment might provide the necessary fuel that has been missing thus far.
As I was processing all of this, I couldn’t help but think of Jesus who came to this earth to share our language of humanity so he could connect with us. Our poverty did not diminish his view of our worth. It didn’t matter that he had to leave the comforts of heaven to be with us. It was in love that he pursued us and with joy that he encountered us. And yet what he imparted goes so far beyond a physical covering. It is a place of belonging and acceptance. A place of hope and shelter from the darkness of this world. A place filled not with electricity and plumbing, but with the brightness of his life and rivers of water pouring out so freely from his Spirit that our cups and pitchers and buckets can’t contain it. These kids carried this kind of water in a way that made me thirsty for it. I hope that I can go back and ask for a drink from their cups… in their language… and offer them a drink from mine.
On the last day, the climax of the festival, Jesus stood and shouted to the crowds, “Anyone who is thirsty may come to me! Anyone who believes in me may come and drink! For the Scriptures declare, ‘Rivers of living water will flow from his heart.’” John 7:37-38
where waves grow sweet 
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