The Encounter

The boy with the baggy, patched pants stood close, uncomfortably close; standing just behind my chair and a little to my right. He mumbled something in Spanish and I turned to look at him. His head was bowed slightly and he brought his hand up to his mouth, showing us with gestures that he wanted food.

The three of us (my husband, our seventeen year old daughter, and myself), had just ordered tacos al pastor at our favorite taco place in San Miguel de Allende.  The tacos and salsas are delicious, reasonably priced, and the food is served quickly and efficiently by smiling Mexican ladies in red aprons. Indoor seating is available, but our family prefers sitting outside on the covered patio closer to the street.

It’s not the first time we’ve bought tacos for strangers. We’ve observed that people who stop to ask for food rarely go inside the eating places. They linger on the sidewalk and quietly approach the diners sitting at the tables nearest the street. We’ve learned to be ready to signal our server for tacos-to-go whenever the need arises. 

Yesterday was no exception. How in the world could we refuse to buy tacos for a hungry teenage boy?

The Tacos

My husband asks the boy if he wants to eat tacos. He nods. We place the order and he silently waits by our table, his hands clasped in front of him clutching a small bag. The couple sitting at the table next to ours offers to buy him something to drink. The lady wearing a bright yellow blouse asks him if he wants “agua o refresco?” A bottle of water or a coke?

He politely requests water and thanks them. 

My plate of tacos is set before me on the table, but I honestly couldn’t start eating until his food arrived. While we waited, I asked the boy his name and he volunteered some information about himself. 

When his tacos came, we fully expected him to take the plate of food and walk away, like others that we have bought food for in the past. But this young man surprised us.  He thanked us and asked if he could sit at the bench near our table. 

“Of course”, we said, “Please sit down.”

The Sauce

By this time the three of us were already eating, squeezing lime on our tacos and sampling the sauces. I watched as he ripped open the plastic bag, tearing back the aluminum foil that wrapped the plate. With his fingers he began to pick the toppings off the first taco, lifting small bites to his mouth. He asked us for salsa. His to-go order had a little bag of salsa included, but he asked to try the green guacamole sauce from the cup on our table.  Dribbling a tiny bit of salsa on his taco, he inquired if it was spicy. “Yes”, we said, “it’s a little spicy but it is our favorite.” He lightly dipped a finger in the sauce from his taco, licked his finger to taste it, and exclaimed how good it was. Then picked up the spoon and proceeded to serve more. 

As I sat across from him, slowly eating my tacos, I watched while he quickly devoured two tacos al pastor. Then using his fingers, he picked up every fallen piece of cilantro, onion, meat, and sauce and completely cleaned the square styrofoam plate. I quietly whispered to my husband, “I think he’s still hungry.” Ben fixed him another taco. He thanked us and said this was the first time he had eaten all day. We served him a fourth taco and covertly watched as he savored every single bite. 

During that short encounter we learn his name and a little bit of his story. Wilhem is a 17 year old from Honduras. His mama died and he is trying to get to Houston to be with family. A 24 year old brother and a 32 year old uncle are waiting in Texas for him to join them.  Unfortunately, the coyote smuggler who promised to help get him to Houston, took the family money, and later abandoned him. Now he is in our part of Mexico, heading south, trying to get home. 

The Blessing

My husband cautioned him about some of the dangers he might face if he chose to continue with his plan to cross into the U.S. The way is hard, and full of predators who take advantage of young people. Ben encouraged him to seek God,  find work, and make a life for himself here in Mexico or back home in Honduras. He very politely thanked us again, and with a little nod and a blessing sent our way, he turned and walked away. 

As I watched Wilhem shuffle down the street in his baggy patched jeans, his belly full of tacos, I was sad to see him go. 

Since my brief encounter with Wilhem, each time I bow my head, taking a moment to pray and thank God for my food, I remember Wilhem’s face. I remember the delight he experienced over tacos and green sauce. I remember his polite manners and his humble demeanor. The Holy Spirit prompts me to pray for him on his journey. I pray that God would bless his young life and that he would be obedient to God. And maybe, just maybe, our paths will cross again and we will have the opportunity to share another meal together. 

When you come to visit me in Mexico, I will  most certainly take you to eat tacos at our favorite place.

And you shouldn’t be surprised when the opportunity to share tacos and God’s love unexpectedly falls in your lap.