I wake in the morning, early, but not early enough. Saying goodbyes to the family that so warmly welcomed me in, I just miss the 5:45 AM bus to Tegucigalpa where I plan to wait for the news of my passport and the return to Nacaome, where I last walked.

The air is still cool, crisp, slightly damp, quiet, almost desolate. As I walk to the corner to wait for the bus, I see Ronaldo, the man who tried to rob me 2 nights before approaching, barefoot, legs splattered with dry mud, and a bucket on his shoulder.  He walks by, telling me he has my passport and that he will be back in a moment after filling his bucket with water from the river and bringing it to his house.

Slightly awkward in the exchange, I look back at the family still there waving goodbye, now jaws dropped that our paths crossed once again. I no longer feel any anger towards him, but see his condition. I realize my error and who I had been that created the situation: my angry words, cursing a the family for not letting me stay, my unwillingness to part with my possessions, cheap as they may have been. I feel a deep sense of closure with the situation, forgiveness from the family and for the thief.

He returns with the passport, and with no questions asked, no comments made, I give him the money that I have: a few bills, some small change, give him a pat on the back, thanking God for a good lesson.

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