Feet

Today I will start a 75 mile trek through the unforgiving Sonoran desert. I'll cross over the border in Sasabe, Mexico and travel to Tucson, Arizona with a group of people.

I've been in Arizona for a few days now and the reality of what I signed up for is starting to hit me. Walking for six hours a day under the scorching sun. No shower for a week. (I'm sorry in advance for whoever I end up sitting by in the airplane.) Being surrounded by creepy crawly things in the dead of night. I should mention the heat again.

It's hot here.  

Inferno hot. Set a cup of ice out at 8am and it's melted within minutes hot. Feel the sweat slowly creep down your lower back as you're simply standing in the shade hot. 

Oh yeah, it's hot.

But then I remember. Thousands and thousands and thousands of others have made this same walk under the same sun and under worse conditions. Way worse conditions. No food, water, protection.

Oh yeah, and at the end of this journey I get to go home. I get to love on my family. I get to laugh with friends. I get to eat whatever I want.

This seven day walk is to remember and stand in solidarity with those who have crossed the same desert. Many of the feet who have plowed the road before me never made it home. Their feet never reached their friends and family. 

Precious feet of our brothers and sisters, made in the image and glory of God, are gone. Too many have needlessly died crossing this border. There is absolutely no reason anyone should perish for lack of water. Seriously. No reason. 

As I look down on my feet shuffling along in the desert I will intentionally choose to be thankful for feeling the sun burn my skin, my tired muscles ache and my dry throat cry out for rescue. Why? Because when I feel, I know I am alive. 

When you look down at your feet, what will you be thankful for?

Scorpions

I've never been bitten by a scorpion. Or even a bee or a wasp, actually. I'm a pretty lucky gal. 


Neither has my friend Deb, who is joining me on the Migrant Walk in a couple weeks. We'll be walking 75 miles from Sasabe, Mexico to Tucson, Arizona as we remember those who have crossed the desert and suffered or died.


Somehow scorpions (and our fear of them) came up in a conversation last night. Meeting these little buggers in the desert is one experience we hope to avoid.


Last night as I drifted off to sleep what was the one thing on my mind? Scorpions, of course. 

...and I continued to dream about them all. night. long.


But the reality is, they came to me in my dreams. As I slept in a warm bed, far away from the reality of feeling them crawl on me.


And the reality is, there are immigrants sleeping in the desert who will meet scorpions tonight. They cannot take refuge in a home. They will not be protected from the dangerous elements of the desert (scorching heat, wild animals, armed bandits). 


May we remember them in our prayers tonight and let us be spurred to action so people meeting scorpions in the desert will not longer be a reality. 

Jar of Mayo

Some of my most vivid childhood memories swirl around time in the water. Splashing in a pool for hours on end gave way to my nickname, "The Fish." On one particular pool day my mom packed a lunch for our family. We would be hungry after a full day of sun, sunscreen and pool time.  She packed all sorts of picnic foods. Sandwiches, chips, watermelon... and a jar of mayo? I remember seeing the jar and wondering why it was in the ice chest. It seemed so odd. 

My mom had a plan. She knew what she was doing. Time, love and energy went into packing the perfect lunch. Now here sits this jar of mayonnaise, a supposed random item to bring. But to my mom it made perfect sense. She knew someone would want it. She packed it with the hopes of satisfying someone's hunger. It was an intentional act of love. 

Now here I was, almost 20 years later, in the middle of the arid Mexico desert. This trip's focus was exploring the myriad complex sides of the immigration crisis. On a merely human level we can all see that people are dying. Moms, dads, little children, grandmas and grandpas are crossing the desert and wasting away- of thirst, starvation and medical injuries.

There are simple things we can do to prevent these deaths. One of them is providing water. That's what I was doing in the desert, filling large barrels of water for migrants to drink. (I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. Matthew 25:35)

Walking through the desert I came across a worn trail many weary travelers had used to stop, rest and eat. And then I saw it. A half-full jar of mayonnaise. 

Just a jar of mayo, right? But to me it represented a mother's love for those she cared for. I imagined a woman preparing food for the long journey ahead. Tears welled up like little pools in my eyes as I imagined a mother carefully and tenderly packing a lunch in preparation for their trek through the desert- sojourners in a foreign land. 

Someone packed this jar of mayo with the hope of it providing sustenance to those they loved. And now here it was, half-empty and abandoned.

Many half-empty, abandoned dreams are walking in the desert right now. Some are on the verge of death. There are dry, dusty mouths in the desert. Please pray they find water. And remember, humanitarian aid is never a crime.