Ask About Mendoza

But then it occurred to him that he wasn’t being a gracious host. He’d only been talking about himself.

“How about you, Gabriel? Tell me about what has been going on with you.”

A dark cloud passed across Mendoza’s features. He turned sad, weary eyes towards Ranell and said simply, “You know, these are hard times.”

I’ve never seen eyes look so forlorn. Ranell leaned forward, eyes filled with concern. “What's the matter?”

Mendoza sighed. “People are starving.”

Ranell had seen the news reports. “Is there something I can do to help?”

Mendoza glanced sideways at Ranell and brushed his question away with a gentle wave. "Thank you but trust me, this is a problem too big to fix with a donation.”

“What do you mean?”

Mendoza pulled thoughtfully on the end of his long beard. “I was in Venezuela when the bishops led the charge for Maduro’s removal.” He paused to take a long drink of cool water, then continued, "That was long ago, but I remember it well. I remember how it felt to see people starving to death in the streets.”

The contrast between Ranell’s well-being and the dire situation Mendoza described couldn't have been more stark. Americans can't possibly have it as bad as the Venezuelans did.