Tuesday, June 14, 2016


There is no relief from this heat. It wrangles down on my shoulders like a piggy-back toddler with a sweaty bottom. Even in the shade it presses down with a hidden sweaty hand. The darkness only brings thick, syrupy air that floats the fangs of mosquitos. There is no relief.

Life without walls reminds me that my biology is raw. My heart beats and my pores sweat while rodents scamper in the residual light from electronic devices. Their clawed feet are better accustomed than my own in this place. 

The wind teases with a small breeze that reminded me of a cool day, only to disappear and again I am stifled under the humid press. Dinner was lukewarm beans in a thin black broth with scrambled eggs swelling on the side and bits of hotdog floating on the surface.

I observe my heat-induced responses with an eerie third person perspective as I gain awareness of an old man with a crotchety response, only to realize that he is me. 

A single rain-drop slaps on the aluminum sheeting above my head and shatters the desert.

It’s falling now, the solitary announcement yielded to a soft song and now a riotous roar. Winds are now in full pursuit as they carry a longed for restoration. I regain perspective and turn a thankful heart heavenward. 

The lights are out and the sounds of the night are more vivid than my memory of the light as my cot rests on the edge of the concrete. Nine students sleep on the slab behind me, a community of cots and hammocks. This is night one on the road for Emmaus 2016. 

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