As I sit at the front desk this morning, my surroundings take me back to Cuernavaca.

There are some very nice Hispanic gentlemen who are here painting, re-carpeting, and re-constructing in the offices that reside in the hallway next to my work space, trying to help the staff get ready for the too-quickly approaching fall semester.

We've said our "Hi"'s and "How are you?"'s, but now my mind is running rapidly...wondering about their individual and possibly collective stories... Have you always lived in the US? Are you here on a work visa? Are you with/without "papers?" Are you with/without your families?...

Hearing the life stories of people we met with and learned from in Mexico was incredible, fascinating, exciting, and heartbreaking--many times, all in one sitting. We might recognize similar emotions from the telling of our own stories or listening to the stories of others; therefore, we know that Mexican people are people, too. The only difference in the stories that I listened to them share and the stories I've heard in my circle of friends over the years is that more devastation, poverty, and hopelessness were incredibly evident.

Mexican people are people, too. It may sound like a rather childish, perhaps even a Dr. Seuss-ish thing to say, but I'm of the opinion that it's not too far of a stretch to say that we, as Americans, don't always really and truly believe that statement: Mexican people are people, too. 

We see "difference" in skin color. We see "difference" in the ways in which many of them carry themselves--sort of hunched over, avoiding eye contact...and we, as the dominant people of society, get suspicious. We ask the same kinds of questions I mentioned earlier, but we do so in a way that implies we don't think they "belong." They must be up to something. Because, well, they're "different."

I would be lying to you if I said that I do not include myself in the dominant group to whom I am directing this blog post this morning. However, something about me pertaining to this particular topic is not the same as it was prior to going on my cross cultural trip to Cuernavaca, Mexico two weeks ago. 

We got home later on Friday afternoon, and I felt so jumbled. So much had happened over the course of two weeks! My mind and heart were all over the place. I was being forced to think about things I'd never considered before, and I wondered if this trip would somehow make an actual difference in my life and ministry. I'm beginning to think--while the change isn't complete, and I don't know that it will ever be--that change is, in fact, happening within me. Viewing people as people for the first time has the ability to do that to a person. I kind of feel like the Grinch at the end of the cartoon Christmas classic as his heart begins to grow.

Since being back, the stories of the people we met, spent time, and were in community with stir throughout my head continuously. I wonder what they're up to today--what they're making for lunch and how they're continuing to change the world with how they live their lives and share their stories. For barely knowing the speakers, presenters, and families we met with, I often felt a connection to them...like family. They're "different" alright, but in ways that are wrapped in beauty and light and love that are hard to describe unless you've tried to intentionally be present and listen to the stories of Mexico and its people.

If I had to choose a theme that ran through our trip, the history we learned, and the stories we heard, it would most definitely be community. I think we Westerners often think we have a pretty good grasp on community and its importance for our spiritual and social lives together as human beings. After visiting Mexico, I would beg to differ. We know how to talk about community. We're really good at talking. But as far as living it out...true community, that is...we can learn A LOT from the Mexican culture.

Community is everything, and everything is community. The people we met talked endlessly of putting their families first in all things, even when that meant traveling to the US without documentation because it was literally the only option their family had. Families celebrate and mourn and eat and go hungry and go to fiestas and go to funerals....t o g e t h e r. And I've never felt more part of a family that was not my own than with the families we got to meet on the trip. 

One day, our guide took us to some fiestas being hosted by people she knew during a festival in a town called San Pablo. As soon as we walked into each of these homes, we were greeted warmly and given food and drink. We were told to let the hosts know if we needed anything at all and that they were SO glad to have us with them even though they knew little to none about us. Keep in mind there was a pretty significant language barrier. Sure, we faked our way through it. But, I wonder, would we show such hospitality to Mexican strangers who showed up to our parties here in the States?

Jesus teaches us over and over again what real community looks like--full of authentic love, people from all times and places, and sharing food is usually involved. Community...Communion...all are invited to the table. Everyone is given more than they need even when those who supply the food have little. Giving more than you receive. Loving strangers as your own family. Doing what's best for the interconnected relationships of all creatures with God and all creatures with all creatures.

These things are what Mexico, its beautiful people, and its vibrant culture have taught me. These and many others. I just pray for the wisdom and the knowledge to teach others about them, too.