Can you imagine?

This has nothing to do with our travels but everything to do with someone else's. That someone else is a young man we met this afternoon.

We were at a storage yard here in Green Valley, Arizona where we're keeping the trailer until we take off. I was puttering around inside when I heard Daisy barking. Paul called me outside and there I spotted him against the chain link fence. A man with all the telltale signs of the border crosser: tattered clothes, hands bloodied from scraping against cactus, tired, hungry and thin. He spoke not a word of English but I was able to speak with him in Spanish.

Turns out he crossed over illegally from Mexico a few days ago. But this man isn't from Mexico. He came all the way from Honduras. Can you imagine? All the way from frickin' Honduras, and most of the way on foot. And we think the U.S. has it bad. It can't compare to the desperation in Mexico (forty miles south of here) and central America.

This man had nothing but the torn clothes on his back and four oranges in a plastic sack. Nothing. We gave him what we had: a baggie with a handful of nuts, a bottle of water and a few dollars for food. You'd think we'd have food in the trailer but we don't since we haven't stocked it yet.

All this man needed was a job. He asked me several times for work and said we didn't even have to pay him. Can you imagine? All he wanted was a place to rest and a meal or two.

We figured the best thing to do to stay on this side of the law was to point the man in the direction of the Catholic church down the street. The chances are good that he'll find a meal and a kind word. The parish priest speaks Spanish. At least I believe he does. I hope he does.