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I was six years old when my family moved from Guatemala to the United States. I loved Guatemala. I had a big family and lots of friends. My Grandmother cuddled me whenever I cried, and my Grandfather taught me that God was always with me. I did not want to leave my country. I never thought I would find another to call home. I remember sitting at the airport as if it was yesterday. I remember the noise of carts, moving luggage and the smell of over cooked coffee. I cried and felt sorry for myself. My Grandmother and Grandfather were not coming. Who is going to spoil me and kiss my tears? Who is going to tell me that all is well because God was with me? I was not even sure if God knew of the United States. Maybe he would loose me. I loved Guatemala. I had everything I needed. Sitting at that airport I thought I would never be happy again. I prayed to God that I would not loose the memory of my home land and the people who cared for me. I kno