I meet Guatemalan immigrants all the time here in Georgia. No matter your POV, it’s often a tough life stateside and it almost certainly was prior. Met a young man in the gas station yesterday. What’s usually a short hello in Spanish from me and where are you from in Guatemala, that’s usually the extent. I knew this guy’s village so he continued talking. He works in roofing here, sending money back to his young family. He went on further though. His 2 year old son died, 3 days ago back in Guate. “What?!”, I said. His son wasn’t sick. No symptoms. Just died in his grandmother’s care at night and never woke up. No health care nearby. Guy started tearing up. This has been his first day back to work from grieving. A divine appointment. He had no one here to console him. No one to remind him of how God our father knows his pain and emptiness - 1500 miles away from his dead son he will never see on this side. I told them about the Hope God offers us all. Death isn’t final. We spoke of faith and seeing his son again on the other side and obedience to God in this life. We both were left filled and new friends.