He struggles up a handmade ladder carrying a five gallon bucket of cement on his shoulder. Two stories into the air he climbs and then deposits it on top of the platform they’ve knocked together. It seems as if they will surely connect with the power line at the back of this platform, but somehow the man in the rear avoids it. Perhaps it’s just my perspective and he’s not really that close.
Like ants in a line they carry up one bucket after another of cement. They wear a towel to protect their neck from the hot sun, but I’m more worried one will get off balance and break his neck as he steps wrong on that shakey scaffolding they’ve constructed.
As I negotiate Spanish past tense they keep going and soon I’ve moved on to Father Abraham and children’s church but they are still at it. Mix the cement with stones and water, load it into the bucket, hoist it up on a shoulder and carry it two stories up. Lord you are giving me a new appreciation for these people and this place you have called us to. Make me as diligent with the simple tools you provide to do the work before me.