Mission: mom in Mexico

It is 6:30 a.m. on a Wednesday morning and though I anticipated chaos so far the morning has gone very well. I am getting ready to go on my first mission trip to Mexico to build a house, and I am leaving behind my one-year-old son Zach, my five-year-old son Alex and my workaholic husband Mike alone for five days.

I have felt unease about going on this trip for weeks. Leaving my family to fend for themselves is entirely possible; I just never imagined myself doing it.

I wanted to be ‘the good mother.’ My vision of motherhood was one who stayed home and took care of everyone’s needs. I wanted to be the cornerstone of the family, a position I quickly learned to resent. After my brother Kyle was born, my mom stayed home for a couple of years. When I got home from school she was there, sometimes with milk and cookies, sometimes not. She did home daycare like myself so I always had someone to play with. They were good times. Later, when my parents divorced, my mother went back to work; the good times ended, and I became a latchkey kid.

When I became a mother, I wanted my sons to have what I missed so dearly after my parents’ divorce. So I set out to be that 1950’s iconic mother. Dinner was on the table by 5 p.m. The house was clean (within home daycare reason) and kids happy. I wanted a smooth, well-run home for my family. My day was planned around their needs. It was go, go, go and “me time” was unheard of. Days would go by, and the only adults I saw were the parents dropping off and picking up kids. My husband’s job allowed him to have business dinners or he would hang out with friends after work. I sat at home in what felt like a useless existence. I resented having kids and getting married (even though I still loved them). Exciting things were happening, and I was at home just watching real life go by.

So, on a whim and not really being sure if I would truly leave, I made the decision to go to Mexico. In the first meeting I was asked to lead the “wrap” portion of the house. Wrap is putting bailing wire and felt paper around the house to give it structure. I could barely build my own tent I thought.

The group leader’s wife, Christine, came up to me after the meeting. “Erin,” she said, “I think you’re brave; you are going to Mexico alone, and you are leading a group. I think you’re brave” I smiled but couldn’t help but think brave are the people that are going to live in the house after I build it. I’m going back to my well-built tract home.

Day 1: assess
I’ve kissed and hugged the family good bye and loaded myself into the Church of Celebration (COC) van with three women, five teens and 19 men for a three-hour drive to the Puerta Penasco, Mexico. Upon arrival my first duty was to find anybody to help me put up my tent. I would have done it myself, but it seemed easier to sleep in the box it came in than for me to try and figure out the right pole to go into the correct tent sleeve.

Later that day we checked out the job site. I was awestruck at the houses put together with particle board and dirt floors. I had seen people live like this on TV, but I’d never seen the situation firsthand. My church would be helping a lady named Maria and her grandson. Her husband was away working on a pig farm. They were fortunate enough to have a small camper with one bed, and their restroom was outside surrounded by towels. I had never stopped to wonder what it is like to live without electricity or running water, or to dig a hole in the ground or use a bucket as a restroom.

Day 2: foundation
Our supplies had already been dropped off at the work site, so we dug right in. My job on day one was getting buckets of water to mix the concrete. We did everything by hand. No power tools allowed. After about two hours I could barley lift the five-gallon buckets. Water was sloshing everywhere. If the church had a wet t-shirt contest, I would have won.

My arm was sore and my back hurt, but I didn’t care. I was having a good time. As we were working along, a young boy no older that four came running over as many of the kids did to watch the build. He had the biggest smile on his face. In Spanish he said, “When are you coming to build my house?” My heart sank. He ran over to sit on some bags of unopened concrete. The look of anticipation in his eyes as he just knew we were coming to his house next. But we were not.

Day 3: framing and wrap
My day had arrived. I wanted to puke. The guys had made the framing the prior day, so, as soon as it was up, I was on. I had read the directions, but I assume most people in this world couldn’t just read the “How to build a House for Dummies” manual and then just construct one. First up was putting in nails for the bailing wire. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve swung a hammer. An unaware man by the name of Michael stepped in to help me. He was to lift the bailing wire while I hammered in a nail just below his fingers. I found this concerning, especially because Michael’s son Caleb is a friend of my son Alex, and I would have been upset if he had to go home and explain that Alex’s mom had broken his hand.

My biggest challenge on this day would be myself. I was supposed to be in charge of wrap and not doing it. I am used to meeting needs and taking orders throughout my day. “I need a bottle. What’s for lunch? Can you call the landscaper?” Telling others what to do has never come naturally to me, and it showed. As one man put it “Erin is slowing the boat.” Then after instructing one of the youths to hammer some nails into the freshly setting concrete, the guys in the group pretty much came together and finished up the rest of the wrap portion. I was extremely thankful.

Day 4: stucco
Well, I was back to mixing. This time stucco, and I think I may have found my calling. To mix stucco was very similar to making concrete, just smoother. We used a wheel barrow and hoe to mix the batches, and it was labor intensive, but we got it done.

Day 5: new keys
There was a period in my life when my parents couldn’t take care of me. I was not a wild child. My parents just had their own issues and could not parent successfully at that time. I felt abandoned. I asked God why he would allow two people that could not get it together to be parents. It was unfair for me to be in this situation. I did not ask to be born. At the same time a family took me in. They didn’t know me; they didn’t have to spend their money to feed me, and they didn’t have to give me a house to live in. But they did.

I thought about that as Joseph (our group leader) handed Maria the keys to her new home. It was not a mansion by any means. It looked more like a shed. But she looked thrilled to have it. And we were thrilled to give it to her. There are a number of unresolved feelings about Mexico and protecting our borders right now, and I fully agree that when someone comes into your home they should obey your rules. That doesn’t mean I can’t have compassion enough to say “Hey, neighbor, what do you need?”

This whole experience was unforgettable. I can’t describe how good it feels to be a part of watching a building go up from nothing and to know you had a hand in it. Sure, if I wasn’t there, the house would have still been built. But I was there, and I helped the house get built. Looking back on it now I would not describe my new-fangled wrap experience as “enjoyable,” but that’s OK. I still plan to go back. It is good for both me and my family for me to get experiences outside of the home. That perfect ‘Suzie Homemaker’ doesn’t exist in the Wheeler household, and my family still loves me.

Sure, from time to time I may start to complain about the kids being too loud or my husband’s business trip to China and just taking my blessed life for granted. Then I remember the cute little boy sitting on bags of cement smiling and just waiting for somebody to come and build him a house.

Maybe it could be you.

Erin Wheeler is a mother and former preschool teacher.

Submitted photo

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