Barefoot

When I was sixteen years old I was given the opportunity to visit my mom’s home country, El Salvador. I remember the view from the plane as I looked out the window at the country below. The landscape was absolutely brilliant with a vibrant green that I had never before witnessed. Visiting this beautiful land was the chance of a lifetime. I would finally get to see the country of my ancestors and in so doing understand the life my mother lived that much more.

Our party included my uncle, aunt and three cousins as well as my grandmother and my elder brother. The first place we stayed was a lovely beach house. It was right on the water and had a pool, outside lounge area, and hammocks. What it didn’t have was doors (so we were thoroughly bitten my mosquitoes). It was warm every day and we had thunderstorms that lit up the sky, and the ocean, every night. It was truly one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.

Something else I noticed while in this gorgeous place was the children. There were so many times when I looked around and I saw children playing in the streams. Most of them were filthy. We often had children approaching us selling necklaces and bracelets. I couldn’t help but notice how these children were not in school and seemed so determined to sell the jewelry they carried from tourist to tourist. Every once in a while we’d see some children finely dressed in pristine uniforms heading home for the day from school.

One particular boy was always around the second hotel we were staying at. When he wasn’t trying to sell anything he could get a hold of, like shells and pretty rocks, he was wandering through the street or splashing in the ocean. The hotel staff informed us that they had no idea who the boy’s parents were and that the boy had mental disabilities so if he was bothering us to let them know. My heart hurt for him. Where were his parents? Why was this little boy, who couldn’t have been older than ten, wandering around begging for any money or scrap of food he could get? Why did he seem so alone in the world? And where were his shoes?

Visiting El Salvador was a life changing moment for me. I remember coming back home to my small room that I shared with my sister. It suddenly felt so much larger. I looked at my closet full of clothes. I suddenly was aware of the electricity we had running through our whole house and my parents who would always make sure I had what I needed. And I counted my shoes. I didn’t understand why I had so much when others, specifically those younger and more fragile and vulnerable than I was, had so little.

I am ever so grateful for a life with so much abundance. I don’t just have my survival needs met every single day, but I also have more than I need. So… this lovely November day I am grateful for shoes.