Crying over rice

In the fall trip to Ensanada, Mexico with my church, our group spent the better part of a Saturday traveling around the more slum-like part of the area, with a van full of enough food supplies to feed eight families.  Usually, on our trips we go to the nearby church, who tell us which homes to give the food to. This time, however, we prayed for God to lead us to the right houses. And i am so happy we did. The last house that caught our eye was a simple square cement structure. Standing on the other side of the fence was an adorable older woman. Using our less than favorable Spanish skills, we asked the woman if she had any food, to which she shook her head and whispered "No, no."We then began unloading the last of our food from the back of the van and handing it to her and what we assumed was either her daughter or granddaughter. The food included a large sack of rice, two bags of dry beans, a tub of hot sauce, tomatoes, vegetable oil, etc. As we were towards the end of the stash, the woman began crying soft, sweet tears of joy. I do admit that at times i may have been tempted to cry as a beautiful bowl of guacamole is set in front of me, but i can honestly say that i have never cried over rice and beans. Heart in my stomach, i leaned over the fence and gave the woman a hug. When we embraced, she gripped me tight and cried fairly hard into my shoulder. I never have been so emotionally attached to rice in my entire life, and most likely never will be.