A Different Kind of Art

Looking back on our recent trip to Mexico, let me share with you a most extraordinary thing that happened. I have to begin by rewinding to a previous Mazatlan visit five years earlier...


2010...it's a warm evening on the Plaza Machado; we are enjoying dinner and margaritas, music, lights, and warmth. It's not unusual to have vendors weave their way through the tables of diners selling their wares of jewelry, crafts, even food. It is, however, very unusual for them to have a toddler bundled to their bosom and a young daughter tagging along, selling hair bows and bracelets in the dark. 

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Something about it just broke my heart as we asked their names and engaged them in conversation (and bought a bunch of stuff.) I never forgot that young mother, Sylvia, and the tender unfairness of life that had her out in the night with her babies. It's not just that I didn't forget her, I felt a precious connection with her that has kept me consistently lifting she and her family in prayer over the years. 

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Fast forward to 2015...again we are enjoying a warm Mazatlan evening on Plaza Machado: the music, the lights, the artisans. I see one heading for our table with a basket of fabric dolls. She greets us and there is something, something about her voice...I ask, como se llama? It's Sylvia! I swoon! She's older and a little more worn from life, as am I. But her voice is the same and, wow, she can speak a LOT more English! We talk. I tell her how much I am remembering her and her babies over the years. She tells me all about them, how big they are, how good they are. She asks where we stay...it's far from the Plaza and her home...a 20 minute bus ride...so she never goes there. I buy stuff. We take pictures. She says maybe she'll come to the beach where we stay tomorrow. Maybe she will.


She does! The next morning I see her walking towards us on the beach, Sylvia AND her 2 youngest sons and her husband! And they are so sweet, so kind. We visit for a long time...the boys cannot speak English so I amuse them by speaking Spanish-ish. Her darling husband, Angel, thought it would be funny to tell me, "Sylvia say she don't remember you." Hahaha! Of course not...I was just one more margarita-influenced tourist on the Plaza that night. But I remembered her and cannot get over how sweet our God is to allow me to see answers to years of prayer. 

And I think, this is art, too...on a God level; stirring time and circumstance with His finger and blessing hearts.