I found Hortensia in front of the funeral home. She hugged me and said,
"Thank you for coming Pastor von." "Can we go somewhere to talk alone?" I asked. We went into the austere funeral home and sat on a bench in the hallway. She leaned over, grabbed me and started sobbing. Regaining her composure, she told me the whole story. Last night her son was killed; a victim of another senseless and unprovoked murder in her neighborhood. Another kid, too young to die ... dead!
He was simply talking with his friends near a small store in the early evening when a group of young men and teens came down the street firing guns. Everyone scattered. Marico didn't run; he just stood there alone. One of the guys came up to him and shot him three times in his chest at point blank range. As Marico fell, they all ran and scattered. David, his younger brother, ran up to him and placed his jacket over him. He died on the way to the hospital.
Hortensia came as quickly as she could to the hospital but it was too late. The next few hours were a painful blur of police investigations, signing papers, answering questions, making funeral plans. She finally returned to her neighborhood around ten in the evening, exhausted, hurting and ready to be alone.
As she climbed up to the porch of her house, a young lady carrying a little boy came up to her. "Hortensia, I have been waiting for you. I have heard that you help people. Look at my little boy; he can hardly breath!" Hortensia said, "I was so exhausted and I didn't want to hear this, but I looked at the little child, struggling to breathe and was bluish in color. She spoke to the woman.
"I just lost my son, he was killed a few hours ago." The young mother said,
"I'm so sorry" ... then paused and added,
"but here is my little boy dying, and he has a chance to live, won't you help us?" Soon Hortensia was on the way down the hill in a taxi heading back to the hospital again, this time with a desperate mother holding her dying little boy. She saw to it that the child had a doctor and that he was placed in bed with an IV loaded with the proper antibiotics. About one in the morning she asked to be excused. Soon she was home.
It was a difficult sleep, a short sleep.
Later the next morning both mother and child appeared at her door again.
"Hortensia," the young mother said,
"I want to thank you for saving my little boy's life. Look at my son." The antibiotics worked and the little boy was breathing normal and had a good color.
Then the hurt returned; her son, Marico, would never recover.
Our conversation at the funeral parlor took a sudden change back into the reality of the moment, Hortensia apologized as she looked around,
"The funeral will be a little late. My son's body isn't here yet; the police had a hard time finding the bullets. Pastor von, funerals are so expensive" ... she said.
Now I know how the poor feel when their loss comes and they have to go into debt for years just to pay for the funeral."
In Mexico, when a murder or shooting occurs, the police comb the neighborhood and ask all kinds of questions about the people and family involved. The police chief greeted Hortensia and said, "You are a strong woman. Everyone in your neighborhood speaks highly of you and your boys." They say that "you have helped so many people. You are an incredible woman." Hortensia has been one of our staff workers more than twenty years. She adopted little HIV infected Roberto into her home. Like all of our staff, she is paid meager wages. She works for the Lord and the love she has for the poor around her; money is secondary. Indeed she is a rare find.
It seems in the dark areas of God's vineyard some of His workers stand out like brilliant lights. Hortensia is one of that kind of servant. We are privileged to have a person like this as part of our team.
Please pray for Hortensia and her loss. It will be difficult for a while. Do continue to pray for our safety too as we work days and sometimes nights in these same areas where guns and drugs are illegal but available to all.
