I rub my right hand on the sandpaper surface of the rock, then tap twice on a ledge that protrudes from the center. I turn to James, my guide, “I think we found our altar"...

Down we descend, fifty-pound packs shifting with each step. The canyon landscape is as desolate as it is magnificent: the grey desert escarpment giving way to maroon cliffs carved like red-velvet cake—a welcome serving to my starving soul...

I couldn’t find home. The weeds had grown tall over the old ball fields, the manicured diamonds all but blown away...

I can almost see him as a little boy, clothes stained with dirt and sweat from working in the fields with his dad sewing beans and corn. He drops his bicycle on the cobblestone, then scuffles up the steps to the front door of the church...

An emaciated child from the other side of the world stares through the camera lens, over the ocean, across the desert, and from the cardboard to my soul: half-naked, hand extended, hollowed eyes pleading for charity...