I am grateful for CHRPA. The people I am working with continue to sustain my energy and provide a support system. Furthermore, the people I am working for bring meaning to each day. Their houses are in shambles, their health is poor, and they have been manipulated by the United States governmental and economic system. But many have stories filled with hope and grace.

Like Manuel. Two Mennonite women, Kristie and Margaret, and I built a ramp for Manuel a few weeks ago, on his fortieth birthday. He was recently diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's Disease, a terminal illness that quickly eats your muscles and eventually takes away your ability to speak and swallow. Painfully, the disease also leaves your brain sharp and aware. Manuel has two teenage daughters and a hospitable wife who kept three glasses of ice cold lemonade out for us while we sliced wood and dug holes for posts. While sweat dripped from our brows, Manuel sat outside his front door and watched. He was reading a book, but I could tell he was mostly just observing our process. We found out he had been a carpenter until this past July, and that just months earlier, he'd been able to do exactly what we were now doing for him. Now, his hands were curling inward, and his knees were too wobbly to stand on his own. He could have given us advice or criticized the way I awkwardly utilized the table saw, but instead he watched patiently, and listened. At one point I asked where our 1/4" bit was for our screwdriver and noticed him struggling to get up. He then crawled, on hands and knees, back into his home, and returned, still on the ground, with a 1/4" drill bit. "Here, I've got one," he said quietly. From that point on, if we couldn't find the right size nail or got frustrated with our vices, he'd crawl back into the house and come scooting out the door, appropriate tool in hand. Manuel broke my heart, but he also opened it. He refused to believe what the doctor had told him and was confident he was going to heal. "I know I'm gonna get better. I may not fit into one religion but I gotta lotta faith." I don't seem to fit into one religion, either, but Manuel will remain a symbol of humility, hope, and love in my life.