I’ll never forget the Tuesday morning I met Maria. Yes, most
Tuesdays and Fridays have at least one “Maria” on my schedule, but this Maria
grabbed my heart, mind and soul. She was a petite, golden brown-eyed Latina, dressed
modestly and intently interested in things we discussed during her visit. One
month shy of her sixteenth birthday, already the mother of a toddler, she asked
if I had time to listen to something she needed to talk about. I knew the women waiting to see me already filled
the dust-covered plastic chairs and overflowed into the waiting room, but there
was an urgency in her question. “Sure,
what is it?” I asked in Spanish, knowing that this definite connection had been
forged by God for some reason. “I want
to finish high school and work in a clinic like this someday—is that too much
to imagine, only a dream?” Having spent over
three years in the environment this Maria lives in, I knew that many would think that
was an unattainable, ridiculous dream. Tears spilled out of her eyes, and mine
misted over. This girl was determined and wanted reassurance. “No, I don’t think
that is too big of a dream, and I believe you can do it.” A big smile lit her
face and she hugged me. And then I smiled and asked to share my dream with her. Another dream that some might think as ridiculous. A dream I have of
not being the one providing care to indigent women, but working myself out of
job because someone from an impoverished barrio rose above the poverty and violence, imagined
more, and became a provider who remained in the community instilling hope for other Marias, in barrios here in San Jose, and throughout Latin America.
.
I’ll never forget the Tuesday morning I met Maria. Yes, most
Tuesdays and Fridays have at least one “Maria” on my schedule, but this Maria
grabbed my heart, mind and soul. She was a petite, golden brown-eyed Latina, dressed
modestly and intently interested in things we discussed during her visit. One
month shy of her sixteenth birthday, already the mother of a toddler, she asked
if I had time to listen to something she needed to talk about. I knew the women waiting to see me already filled
the dust-covered plastic chairs and overflowed into the waiting room, but there
was an urgency in her question. “Sure,
what is it?” I asked in Spanish, knowing that this definite connection had been
forged by God for some reason. “I want
to finish high school and work in a clinic like this someday—is that too much
to imagine, only a dream?” Having spent over
three years in the environment this Maria lives in, I knew that many would think that
was an unattainable, ridiculous dream. Tears spilled out of her eyes, and mine
misted over. This girl was determined and wanted reassurance. “No, I don’t think
that is too big of a dream, and I believe you can do it.” A big smile lit her
face and she hugged me. And then I smiled and asked to share my dream with her. Another dream that some might think as ridiculous. A dream I have of
not being the one providing care to indigent women, but working myself out of
job because someone from an impoverished barrio rose above the poverty and violence, imagined
more, and became a provider who remained in the community instilling hope for other Marias, in barrios here in San Jose, and throughout Latin America. 