campfire communion

We came in search of heat and sweet treats: roasted marshmallows. I squatted in the dirt beside the small fire. In his wheelchair, a Mickey Mouse blanket warmed Angel’s legs. He watched as the flames transformed the marshmallow into darkened goodness.

I slid the melted glob off the stick and offered it to Angel. I opened my mouth to demonstrate, comer (eat). After some hesitation, he dived in. The sugary sweetness and stickiness delighted his senses. When it was time to clean up, I volunteered to help.

With a wet wipe, I washed Angel. Gently, I took his face in my hands. His eyes revealed his trust. I wiped away the marshmallow remains from his brown skin. I held his small hands in mine and cleaned 10 little fingers inspecting between each one. Beside a small fire on a Mexican mountaintop, a campfire communion.

A sticky marshmallow shared instead of bread. With no water or basin, wet wipes washed little hands and a smiling face. I cleaned and cared for Angel with love. Holy, honoring, and humbling as the flames flickered before us. In this remote place, two worlds, two generations, two languages collided in the sacredness of communion. Serve like Christ, care like Christ, and love like Christ.

Our sponsor day ended. Sorrowful adioses echoed through the pines. I retreated to my bus and Angel to his. We traveled back to our lives, forever changed and forever connected.

When I take the bread and drink the cup, I will recall the precious time spent with Angel. Where roasted marshmallows and wet wipes, when offered in love, represented the heart of Christ. Where I experienced the intimacy of His Great Love, beside a campfire on a Mexican mountaintop.

For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many. Mark 10:45 (NIV)

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