An essay written a year ago for college entrance

The air felt brisk on her partially exposed legs as she skirted a mud puddle. She smiled and returned a wave to the men working on the construction of a wall. She rounded the finished part of the wall, and the view of ASLESI greeted her. It seemed to amaze her every time. Clay-red dirt meeting the sandal clad feet of natives, babies strapped on mamá’s backs for the trip that was anywhere from 3-20 miles. The pungent odor of humanity dampened her initial smile at those there to receive love and treatment. Ellen handed her a spray bottle and a well-used rag. A stack of chairs to disinfect awaited.
She stood back and surveyed the work, satisfied with the cleanliness of the waiting room chairs. She then moved into the next room. Physical therapy mats and children’s toys greeted her, along with balloons and streamers hanging down from the ceiling. She said in a whisper to herself, in English, “The program seems so amazing, I can’t wait to see it in action.” Emanuel’s goofy grin was enough to pull her out of her reverie and call her to action. She congratulated him on the first-year anniversary of the program and asked him what there was for her to do, this time speaking Spanish. He told her in halting English that she could go into one of the treatment rooms and translate for the parents what was going on between the American doctors as they discussed treatment for the disabled children. Smiling, she reminded him of her limited Spanish vocabulary, then headed to the room to help where she could.
A senior translator was in the room when she arrived. Happy to be off the hook, she sat down to watch the action. Hard-to-diagnose patients were brought in for the experts from the States to observe and offer treatment suggestions. She practiced translating to herself, then listened to the senior translator to see if she was anywhere close, grinning when she wasn’t.
The señora who had started the ministry of ASELSI walked into the room. She prepared the doctors for the next patient by explaining, “We just don’t know what to do with this little guy, he seems to be very sensitive to light, and any time he’s out of his house, all he does is cry until he falls asleep from exhaustion. He won’t respond to any toys at all, and the only time he can be consoled is when he’s in his daddy’s arms.”
I sat in the chairs I had cleaned earlier, waiting to see this family who cared enough about their son to risk embarrassment to come and seek help from virtual strangers. The mother came in first. She was dressed typically for the area, with shoes that hardly fit and a skirt that showed what province she was from. Her older son came with her, his behavior was typical. Her husband came next. You could see the pain in his eyes as he took his youngest hijo – son – off of his back and set him gently down on the mat for the gringos to observe. Immediately, a wailing that tore my heart into thousands of pieces filled the room. The doctors gently tried to console him with plastic toys that added obnoxious noise to the inconsolable howling coming from this child who obviously wasn’t anything like his older brother, who was playing calmly with a balloon in his mother’s lap. I began to gently translate for the mother what the doctors were discussing about her child, which she obviously had a great love for. I asked her if I could pray for her and her family, and as she bowed her head, an indescribable peace covered me, calling me, and drawing my heart forever to that place nestled deep in the mountains of Guatemala.