Las Mentitas

He stood there, his body supported by crutches and his only leg. His lips were badly blistered from standing in the sun all day waiting for the light to turn red so that he could hop from car to car, peering into the windows to sell his Mentitas.

One day I noticed him standing there and I decided that I would buy me a package of Mentitas. Poor guy.

We weaved through the stopped taxis and buses to where he stood, and his face lit up with eagerness and surprise.

"I want those ones," I announced, pointing to the shiny green package of mints in his hand.

"1 sol," he replied, giving me the Mentitas.

My companion shaded her eyes from the sun with her hand while I fumbled in my shoulder bag. I stomped my foot.

"I can only find a few cents...oh wait, here's a 5-sol coin," I said.

But the man shook his head to indicate that he didn't have change for 5 soles. I realized that he probably hadn't sold much that day, and something within me ached for the man. 5 soles meant five packages of Mentitas and it also meant lunch. How many soles did I spend thoughtlessly in one day?

I made my decision. What a kind girl I was.

Smiling, I handed the man my 5 soles. "For you," I said. "That's okay that you don't have the change. Don't worry."

But my coin dropped to the ground with a clink. It bounced on the asphalt before settling in front of my newly shined shoes. Bewildered, I looked into his face.

He shone with determination and a gleam in his eye.

"No," he said. Then he gestured with his hand toward my missionary nametag. "We are fellow servants of Jesus. Keep it."

His blistered lips stretched to reveal a smile as the sudden deafening noise of carhorns, screeching tires, and old motors drowned out any attempt I made to reply.

The light had turned green.

I walked away that day with Mentitas in my hand, but Christ's love within my heart.