Jennifer and Alex Cabezon

We are in the middle of a sudden rainstorm that came out of nowhere on a sunny morning.   I was just peeling my mid morning mango when it started. The large, green mangos from our neighbors tree are now ripe, and a few days ago our neighbor's son picked us a laundry basket full of them.   So I have at least two or three a day.   I figure they must be pretty good for us, though I am not sure what they contain other than vitamin C.   Either way, we have been enjoying them. It's been a quiet day at home for the girls and I.   Abigail is building a tower out of Mega Blocks with our neighbor's daughter, Sarai.   I just noticed that Carolyn has gone into the bathroom and is "washing" some of her toys in the bathroom sink.   That girl just loves water.   Our washing machine is not totally hooked up, so when we run it, we drain the water into a bucket and her favorite thing is to get into the bucket of sudsy water and play. Alex i...

The large kitchen of our host's house was full to overflowing .   Children ran back and forth across the rough wood floor.   Women sat near sleeping babies, fanning the constantly with a shirt or piece of material.   Others used these to fan themselves, cooling the steady evening and chasing away the swarms of gnats threatening to drive one crazy.   Most of those around   me were dressed in long pants and shirts, despite the trickles of sweat running down each neck. I was in the community of Platanares, a Wounaan village along the Pacific coast.   Next to me sat Steve Ganz.   He was halfway through telling the story of Job, and my voice felt woefully inadequate to reach   over the squabbling children, barking of dogs, and the flapping of shirts against the legs. As I struggled to translate his message faithfully, I was struck in a new way by his story.   While all of Job's friends tried to explain why tragedy has fallen on him, ...