Bono recently wrote this article which ran in the Boston Globe. Read it here

Bernardo has a single rule living with us.  All we have asked is that he call us and let us know if he is not going to come home.  He is usually very good about this.  When we hadn't seen him or heard from him in two days we began to worry.  So, Sunday night, I had the pleasure of calling around to the LAPD, the jails, and the hospitals in an attempt to find him.  There is an odd mix of feelings while making those calls--I'm glad he's not in any of those places, but if he's not there, where the heck is he.  He ended coming home a little after midnight on Sunday.  David told him to go to bed and that we'd talk the next day.  That never happened as we were met with another momentary crisis upon getting home at 9pm last night.   Mario, another 17 year old who I have guardianship of, was hit by a car while riding his bike and was in the hospital.  I'd already made two separate trips into L.A. that day so what was another.  Driving into the city I had a mix of emotions full of worry about Mario, ticked-offness at Bernardo, and a certain rising level of stress. 

Mario turned out to be okay.  Pretty badly banged up but nothing is broken.  David and I took him home last night gave him a bell and told Bernardo to wait on him hand and foot.   I was half serious, half joking.

We still haven't had the chance to sit down with Bernardo and discuss what happened or why he didn't call us.  Part of me thinks--good, he's finally regressing to being an irresponsible teenager, I'm glad he has that freedom, the other part of me thinks--you punk, do you realize what you put me through Sunday night as I had visions of you dead on some obscure street in Los Angeles.

Its funny to step back and view my life as an anonymous onlooker.  23 year old woman, married, with a house full of young Latino men. 

Life takes you down interesting paths.  This is never something I would have ever envisioned happening yet it has.  It is full of joy and difficulty but it is always very, very interesting.

John Stott on Jesus:
I could never myself believe in a God, if it were not for the cross.  The only God I believe in is the One Nietzsche ridiculed as "God on the cross."  In a real world of pain, how could one worship a God who was immune to it?  I have entered many Buddhist temples in different Asian countries and stood respectfully before the statue of Buddha, his legs crossed, arms folded, eyes closed, the ghost of a smile playing round his mouth, a remote look on his face, detached from the agonies of the world.  But each time after a while I have had to turn away.  And in imagination I have turned instead to that lonely, twisted tortured figure on the cross, nails through hands and feet, back lacerated, limbs wrenched, brow bleeding from the thorn pricks, mouth dry and intolerable thirsty, plunged in God-forsaken darkenss.  That is the God for me!  He laid asside his immunity to pain.  He entered into our world of flesh and blood, tears and death.  He suffered for us.  Our suffering became more manageable in light of his.  There is still a question mark against human suffering, but over it we boldly stamp another mark, the cross which symbolizes divine suffering.  "The cross of Christ...is God's only self-justification in a world such as ours."

One month later.............laziness has found me this month.  Summer is upon us in full force in L.A. and my second story airconditionless apartment is proof.  From my office I can see the smoky haze in the distance where fires are burning in the Riverside area.

The month has been full.  The whole family took off to Maine for a few days to visit my parents.  Even Bernardo was able to join us.  I have one photograph of him, which if I had the patience or technological know-how, I would upload it.  It's a shot of him standing with a fishing pole having just caught an eel, wearing a dopey fisherman's hat.  One of Maine's many picturesque rivers is in the backgrounds.  Any person who would just look at the picture wouldn't think anything out of the ordinary, but myself, knowing this kid, where's he's come from, to the moment of the photo was a stark contrast.  Transplanted, transformed...from hopeless to hopeful.  He found complete love and acceptance in my parents--it shocked him according to David.  Bernardo is an extremely shy guy, but after a day he was seeking out my parents, talking with them, hanging with them alone.  My mom and dad have a true gift of hospitality and it was only accentuated this time as it transcended culture and language. 

A person made a comment to David not so long ago when they found out we had Bernardo living with us.  They said something to the effect of--you're always taking care of other people--you should only look out for yourself in life etc... etc... etc....

What kind of life would that be?  I realize that for the most part we live in a culture that teaches severe individualism, but when it comes down to the most fragile of life....what to you do then?