Brazilian Cleaning Solutions

     This morning, a family of Brazilians walked into my house. In some ways it was humorous. I saw the decal-ed van pull into our street after missing our driveway The doorbell rang, and I was naively expecting a group of four women to walk into our house, cleaning gloves on and ready to get to work. Instead one-by-one the oldest son, followed by the father, mother, daughter and youngest son all marched in prepped with their cleaning equipment ready to scope out the house and being work. It was funny and strange to see a family come into your house, meanwhile you're the only member of your family home and thus required to keep watch all while this new family now cleans up your families mess. It just seemed off.
     My mom loves Groupon and found this cleaning solutions company for a one hour service. On the actual coupon it said "One Four Hour Cleaning Service," so when she said "one hour" I assumed there would be four people instead of one - seemed logical in my head.    
     When they walked in, I asked if it would be easier to come in through the garage, to which I was met with either blank stares, no look whatsoever, or the oldest son replying "Uh..." Due to the language barrier there really wasn't going to be any communicating with this group. Honestly, I was a little concerned with something being broken or stolen. And not because they weren't white - but because they weren't my family. I was the outsider in my own home!
     I felt worlds away from where they were. Here was this family cleaning up my family's mess, while the rest of my family members are going on with their lives, leaving these menial tasks to individuals who would be willing to perform them. How privileged can I be?
     Today I'm getting over a little sickness and so I had to go get rid of some phlegm in the kitchen trashcan when I realized the mother staring at our pantry. She was on the floor, bucket of cleaning supplies next to her, seated with her legs tucked under hear leaning to the side just staring. I at first wondered "What could be so fascinating about our pantry or the pictures and letters and fortune-cookie fortunes that could only mean anything to our family?"
     There was one picture though on that pantry that was higher than the others at which her gaze seemed to rest. It was of Pope Francis.

Immediately I felt connected to her. Connected to all of this family. They were my family. I realize this sounds strange and sappy, but a calm fell over me. We may never be able to verbally communicate, however this one figure, and the greater faith for which he stands, connected her (and in essence her family) and I in that moment. Pretty powerful if you ask me.
     As they left, I offered a "Thank you" and "Have a great day!" No response, just smiles as they left. Who knows where they're going now or what they're doing. But in that moment, we were connected. We were. We are the same.