A story from Bonnie:

Eddee....here's the story I told on the night of our closing with your group. I wish we could be there at your church service. Please give everyone our love...we think of you often. We recently received a beautiful letter from Maria, your homeowner. We'll be translating it and sending it soon.

We built Porfirio's house with a group from Bowdoin College. It was an enchanted week, due to a fantastic group of young men and women, and to the generosity, enthusiasm and gratitude of Porfirio Aguilar and his family. We kept saying over and over that it was a charmed week, and then, on the day we put the roof on, it began to rain...just a drizzle at first, and we kept right on working. After a few minutes, the group let out a corporate gasp. I turned to see what all the fuss was about. Everyone was looking up. I imagined they were looking at the roof, but soon discovered the source of their awe - a double rainbow. We were speechless.

The next day we went to the house to say goodbye and "inaugurate" the new house. Porfirio was there, along with his wife Ana and their children: Porfirio Jr., Ester, Juan Carlos, and Meyling. Porfirio took his place right outside of the front door, and we formed a circle in the front yard, facing him. We said a few words, and then gave the group a chance to say a few things, and then it was Porfirio's turn. Jim and I always say that every Nicaraguan is a poet. Today would be no exception.

Porfirio began, "I always had a dream. When I was a little boy, I lived in a horrible shack of a house, but I dreamed that one day my family would build a decent house, a house that stays dry in the rain, a house that stands up to the wind, a house that won't let in snakes or rats. A house we could bring our friends home to. We never built that house. When I met Ana, I dreamed that when we got married we would live in a decent house...but we didn't. When we had our first child, Ester, I dreamed that once she was born I would be able to provide a decent house for her. But I couldn't. So I dreamed that by the time the next child came, I would be in a position to build a better house...but I wasn't. My dream began to fade. And then with another child, the dream faded even more. And then, finally, Meyling came, and the dream began to die."

And then Porfirio looked at the group standing in his front yard, and he said, "Step back." We were all a little confused, but each of us took one step back.

There was a silence. Porfirio's face was strained.

This time with more force in his shaking voice, he commanded us, "Step back again."

And this time we all looked down at our feet to make sure of our footing as we stepped back once more, but when we looked up again at the front door, Porfirio was gone. He had stepped off to the side. And he then struggled to say, haltingly, with tears streaming down his cheeks, "Now I want you... to take a look...at my dream."

And though most of us couldn't see very well through our own tears, we looked. We looked long and hard at the results of our long, hard work that week...the results of the labor of a group of idealistic college students and poverty-stricken friends and neighbors, the results of Porfirio's dream. And after a minute or so of reverent stillness, Porfirio simply said, "Gracias," and began to embrace each and every Bowdoin student.

Gracias to the group from Bowdoin and the group from Unitarian Universalist West...and to all the groups...and to all those who make the groups possible...to all of you who keep the dreams alive.

Love, Bonnie