Enrique

FFor quite some time, I've been taking photographs of the old and forgotten. Abandoned buildings. Weathered facades. Architecture that no one looks at twice. I do it as a mode of therapy. There's a subtle calmness that settles over me when I'm alone, entirely focused on capturing the best representation of something overlooked and underappreciated.

A recent trip into the heart of South Phoenix was supposed to be another one of those expeditions. Camera. Coffee. Quiet morning. Drive slow, shoot what speaks.

But this particular trip earned a permanent place in my memory. And it had nothing to do with a building.

I got up early that morning. My sole mission was to capture images of structures in the area. Coffee in hand, I drove slowly through the very core of the Valley of the Sun's low-income inner city.

You already know — and so do I — that there are stereotypes attached to economically depressed parts of town. There's a level of caution I exercise whether I'm doing homeless work or just shooting photos in these areas. That's not prejudice. That's awareness. I don't pretend the world is something it isn't.

I was walking the perimeter of a rundown hotel with my camera in hand when I caught something out of the corner of my eye. A young man standing near my truck. Dressed like a gangster. Peering at me — observant, stealthy, sizing me up.

I slowly turned around and walked toward him.

I asked him how he was doing.

Simple question, right?

Not so simple.

He started his response by asking me what I was doing there. Fair enough. I told him how I use photographic prints to help homeless people across the country. That answer disarmed something in him. And what followed was a very long, very honest conversation — the kind you don't plan and can't manufacture.

It's a conversation I've pondered many times since. It left a mark on my soul. One that will be there forever. That morning in South Phoenix completely changed the way I view other people.

What Enrique told me broke my heart.

The details are difficult to describe. And out of respect for Enrique and his story, I believe they should be kept private. But believe me when I tell you — a child should never have to go through what Enrique went through. No child. Not ever.

After we spoke, I asked Enrique if I could share his story. He agreed. He wanted to help others. Even standing in the wreckage of his own life, his instinct was to make sure someone else didn't have to walk the same road. Let that sink in.

We spent about thirty more minutes together. He offered me some jokes and some more life stories. I offered him a listening ear. The photos you see here came from that morning — but the real capture wasn't on the camera.

When we were done, I asked him if he needed anything. Maybe a bite to eat.

"No," he said. Giant smile on his face. "No one has ever been this nice to me. You have made this a good day."

All I did was engage him as a fellow human being.

We are all guilty of stereotyping. Every one of us. We all make assumptions — and some of them are, in fact, valid. I'm not going to pretend otherwise.

But you never know who you're standing across from.

In this case, everything on the surface pointed one direction. The clothes. The dirty shoes. The messy haircut. The posture. The location. All of it suggested a thuggish persona. No question. And if I had listened to the surface, I would have gotten back in my truck, locked the doors, and driven away.

I would have missed Enrique entirely.

There is a tree of truth standing in the forest of subjective perception. There is always more to the story than what you first see. And we cannot afford to lose that. No matter what we witness on the face of a situation, we cannot allow ourselves to miss the humanity in all the Enriques of the world. We cannot allow ourselves to look past the image of HaShem in the faces of our wounded brothers and sisters.

To understand grace — really understand it — you have to sit with the weight of what it cost. The execution stake. The resurrection. When you apply that lens to all humanity, something shifts. You stop seeing categories and start seeing people. Reality, viewed from the perspective of genuine love, is a gift from HaShem that should be held precious and pursued wholeheartedly.

Trust me on this one.

When you learn to see past the surface — when you meet every person with empathy before assumption — this world becomes a different place. And I promise you, the one who will be changed most is you.

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What Enrique told me broke my heart. The details are difficult to describe. Out of respect for Enrique and his story, I believe they should be kept private. But believe me when I tell you that a child should never have to go through what Enrique went through.

After we spoke, I asked Enrique if I could share his story. He agreed. He wanted to help others. 

We spent about thirty more minutes together. He offered me some jokes and some more life stories. I offered him a listening ear. The results of that day's photoshoot are the photos you see here. When we were done, I asked him if he needed anything. Maybe a bite to eat? "No," he said, with a giant smile on his face. "No one has ever been this nice to me. You have made this day a good one."

All I did was engage him as a fellow human being.

We all are guilty of stereotyping. We all make assumptions. Some of which are, indeed, valid.

But, you never know who you're standing across from. In this case, any assumptions made as to why this kid was where he was. Wearing the clothes he had, his dirty shoes and messy haircut, all suggested to a thuggish persona. No question.

Yet, there is a tree of truth standing in the forest of subjective perception. There is always more to the story than what you first see. And we mustn't lose this. No matter what we witness on the face of a situation, we can't allow ourselves to miss the humanity of all the Enriques in the world. We can't allow ourselves to ignore the image of God in the faces of our wounded brothers and sisters.

To genuinely understand grace, we must intimately understand the significance of the Cross and the Resurrection. When you apply the paradigm of grace to all humanity, from an entirely different perspective. You will experience life through the lens of beauty. Reality, viewed from the perspective of true love, is a gift from God that should be held precious and sought after wholeheartedly.  

Trust me on this one. When you can see past the surface and every person with empathy, this world will, in fact, become a better place. And I promise you will be blessed.

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