How does one word mean so much?

Since I've been hanging out in Mexico every week, something I've noticed about the Mexicans that I really love is the way they address each other. Hermano...or Hermana, is a pretty normal way for them to start a sentence. Well, what's that mean? Brother...Sister. I don't have a sister, but I do have brothers. And I kinda love them. A lot. So...for someone to address another person as if they were family, I think that's kind of a big deal. I've heard so many people call somebody hermano, or hermana, since I've been down here, but until recently nobody but my brothers and sister-in-law had ever called me sister. And although I knew the translation of that word, it really means more to me now than it has before.

Last week we stayed at a church in Mexico and went to their Wednesday night service. Afterwards, a man who I had talked with earlier caught my eye and waved at me. I waved back, smiled, and kept walking. Then I heard him call out "seester!" As I was one of twenty Americans among two hundred people, I assumed he was talking to me. I immediately felt like this man was giving me respect I didn't come close to deserving. I still don't even know his name, but I walked back and had a conversation with him. That conversation was all about me. What's my name? Where am I from? How old am I? What do I do? What do I study? I answered all his questions but didn't ask very many of my own. But somehow we still talked for at least ten minutes. About me. The conversation was literally never about anything that didn't pertain to me, except when he told me to feel free to come back and visit them and that their doors would always be open for us (which was still kind of about me). I've come to realize that these people really do care about us and they treat us very much like family. From the love and respect I've seen and felt this summer, I think these are people who genuinely care about me and want me to feel welcomed, and that every time they call me or anybody else hermana or hermano, they mean it.

Yet these are the people who are apparently not worth the risk of coming to Juarez for. Why is it that they give everything they have to cook meals for us, yet so many of us have refused to give them just four days of our lives...four days that would be converted into a solid house to take the place of their cardboard ones?

I'm pretty sure that, in calling us brothers and sisters, they give us a title that we appreciate, but don't deserve.