Every week I write a letter telling the news of the ministry in Mexico.  I tell cute anecdotes and send pictures of the kids in action.  I'm a week late.  And this week's letter is so hard to write. The mom of 5 of our children was killed a week ago.  She was riding in the back of a "cattle truck" full of agricultural workers.  The boss was driving and decided to have a few beers on the way home.  When he rolled the truck, it crushed Lupe.  She was 28 years old.

I got out of writing the letter last week because I broke my wrist, but now the time has come.  I don't really want to do this, but many of the people the letter goes to know this family and have watched them grow over the last two years.  They will want to know what has happened. 

Thing is, I have to write it without editorializing.  I can't say what I think about the man who had so little disregard for his laborers.  I can't say how many tears I have cried for these children who are now orphaned.  People will now come out of the woodwork to try to adopt them.  And maybe later on that will be appropriate, but not now.  They have an uncle we need to locate.  Most of all, we don't want to separate or further traumatize five little kids. 

So I'm looking for words to write.  Usually I have so many, but today they are overshadowed by grief.  Although we have talked to the kids by phone, we aren't there to comfort them.  I know that our friends are doing a wonderful job, but after all is said and done, we love them too, and are frustrated by our impotence in this situation.

I'm going to post this picture of them the day they came to live with us.  All she wanted was to earn the money for land of her own so she could bring her children home.  She bought the lot about a month ago.  Nobody ever said life was going to be fair.