in bolivia i lived with a girl named mary. she was 30 years old but she was extremely young at heart and if you asked people to guess her age they would say 18 or 19. she was a housekeeper for the family i lived with, and so she washed and ironed my clothes as well. and she was an amazing person.

frenchy calls mary my "maid" and i cringe every time i hear the word. i realize there is not much difference between a maid and a housekeeper, but the word maid implies such a disgusting superiority (of the person being served, that is), and by disgusting i mean literally repulsive.

i don't want to live my life feeling better than everyone/anyone/someone else. Mary was not my maid for seven weeks, she was my friend, an only friend, a best friend for seven weeks. i hate the word maid because that's what the family she lived with and worked for treated her as. a sense of pride comes with giving charity, a very dangerous sense of pride, superiority, and self-righteousness.

to whom much is given, much is required. sure, her service is what she was getting a home and an income for. but why not welcome a bolivian into your home simply to love them in a tangible way, simply because you've experienced blessings from god and have the ability to share these blessings with others? (but why do i think a life of materialism and financial wellness and worldly possessions is more blessed? i have a feeling the lives of these desperate bolivians who had nothing were much more rich and full of blessing, and they have many more blessings of a different kind to share with us, blessings of a rich life without wealth, if only we'd take the time to realize that, if only we'd take the time to realize americans can actually learn something from people of less privileged countries.) i dont mean they shouldn't have made mary do any work around the house, i just mean, at the very least, they shouldn't have treated her as a maid.

mary may have been thought of as a daughter by her host family, but that pseudo-adoption was definitely one-sided and i think it only stemmed from the pride they had as a result of giving charity. daughters don't have the fear i witnessed. daughters aren't afraid to approach their parents, forcing themselves to remain in their basement living quarters. perfect love drives out fear...i realize this is out of context but i think it holds true in human relationships as well. at least, i think it can hold true. daughters aren't treated like maids.

and i dont want any of this to be slander or malicious talk about the family i lived with, because they were hospitable and gracious and beautiful and i enjoyed them very much. but it's a tricky situation and you can easily fall into some less than desirable mindsets.

oh my god help me! i dont want to live my life thinking i'm better than anyone else! i don't want to have a maid! (or if i have a maid, i dont want to treat her as one!)

jesus sought me when a stranger wandering from the fold of god oh to grace how great a debtor daily im constrained to be here's my heart take and seal it for thy courts above!

see "spanglish" for further commentary.