"Yen, let me tell you something."

Pastor Ramon put his arm around my shoulders as we walked out of the supermercado.

We had just completed a task of buying as many items as we could for only $5. Our guide was a short grocery list with everything written in Spanish.

"Que paso, Ramon?" I asked.

"You, you have blessed me and my family. You are my favorite, you know that?" he told me.

I was flattered.

I hadn't really done much other than love his children and talk with his wife, Delfina.

"Gracias, Ramon."

He continued.

"You are here," he touched his chest. "In my heart always, you remember. You are my daughter."

I nearly cried, I was so touched.

To be adopted by a family you hardly know is something amazing, especially when you're just loving without expectations.

I had felt insecure about my Spanish abilities around most people there, but especially Ramon and his family. I was trying my best, but as a person whose job is to communicate a message to others, not being able to communicate as effectively or as eloquently as I wanted was extremely frustrating and difficult.

We walked out of the grocery store and laid all of the items on the concrete sidewalk near the entrance.

Soap. Toothpaste. Cooking oil. Vegetables. Rice. Beans....

Most of us were able to buy more than 8 food staples using only 5 American dollars.

It made me look at my Starbucks Frappaccino back home a lot differently, that's for sure.

After the items were divvied up, our small groups grabbed two grocery bags and loaded back onto the bus.

We sat on the bus for 30 or so minutes as we traveled to a poor Colonial across town.

When we arrived, they told us to stay with our groups and wander the sand-covered streets until we felt led to give one of our bags to a family.

The homes were broken in many cases. Floors were dirt and fortunate homeowners had block walls. Others used whatever materials they could scrounge up to create their homes.

It took us a while to find a family that was home or willing to accept our groceries. I was frustrated by the end of the exercise, wondering if people were just used to groups traveling here and giving out bags such as these.

I was nearly sent over the top when we were asked to pose for a picture near the bus, while homeowners from the community rifled through a box of clothing and shoes nearby.

Taking a picture near such poverty felt as if we were exploiting the situation and saying "look where we are and look what we did."

It wasn't until our trip leader asked us to be quiet and look around that reality and my focus shifted.

A boy, about 6 years old, shifted clothes in one box from one side to the other. Finally, he pulled out one bright green flip flop.

He held it up, and then smacked it against the palm of his other hand. He looked at it for a minute, then shoved it in a box at his feet.

He didn't even have the mate for it.

I don't know why he decided to keep the bright green flip flop, but it certainly hit me hard. If I had found one bright green flip flop at home, I would've thrown it away. What would I do with one bright green flip flop?

The barefoot boy then turned away from where we were and walked back down the road where power line wires laid exposed on the ground.