Sometimes the universe places two completely different people in your path to teach you the same lesson.

My first trip to Ecuador was a dream come true. Although I didn’t get to visit all the places I’ve longed to see, it was still a magnificent first excursion, and I know I’ll return. There are A-list spots waiting for me, and there’s a very good chance I’ll get involved with humanitarian work there (another blog to follow).

While I couldn’t cram the whole country into my suitcase, I brought home a few handcrafted souvenirs. But the ones I cherish most are the memories of the people I met—precious gems now tucked safely in the pocket of my heart.

There were many moments worth sharing, but I want to focus on three people: two women from very different walks of life, and one little girl.

Mari & Maribel

I first noticed Mari on a street corner in Cuenca, selling fruit from a small cart. Nearby, curled up quietly against a wall, was her young daughter.

I approached Mari, handed her a few dollars as a gesture of kindness without taking fruit, and asked if I could speak with her daughter. Having spent 18 months with early-elementary kids in South Asia, I was eager to spark a little joy.

Her name was Maribel—8 years old, shy, but not unreachable. A minute or two of silliness was all it took before she started giggling.

I asked Mari about their life. It wasn’t easy, but it was filled with faith and determination. She works hard to keep Maribel in school, to raise her with moral grounding, and to give her every opportunity she can.

As I turned to leave, I gently placed a ten-dollar bill into Maribel’s palm and said:

“Esta es por todo el trabajo que haces para tu mamá, aunque solo sea acompañarla.” (“This is for all the work you do to help your mother, even if it’s just keeping her company.”)

“¡Qué Dios se lo pague, Señor!” she beamed, eyes wide at the unexpected gift. (“May God repay you, sir!”)

I handed her a Mr. Jeff’s Little Show card and asked if I could take her picture. The joy on her face lit up the entire moment.

The next day, I saw them again. They greeted me as if we were old friends. I bought grapes from Mari this time, but the real treasure was simply knowing I had met two beautiful souls.

The Jewel at the Airport

A couple of days later, I arrived early at the airport for my flight back to the U.S. I found a quiet bench facing the tarmac—hidden enough to be peaceful, close enough to people-watch.

Out of nowhere, a tall, elegant young woman sat beside me. Although I never stare at anyone, I couldn’t shake the thought that she looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine.

My hunch was confirmed moments later when someone shyly approached and asked for a selfie with her.

After the person left, curiosity got the better of me.

“Forgive me,” I said, “I’m just a goofy old American guy, but I’m curious now. You’re obviously well-known here… may I ask your name?”

She smiled warmly.

“My name is Eunice. I don’t know if I’m that famous, but… I am Miss Ecuador 2025. I’m on my way to the Miss Universe pageant in Japan.”

My heart crawled up into my throat.

We ended up chatting for a little while—about meaningful things, not superficial stuff.

She was poised, kind, humble, and attentive. People approached one after another, and she treated each of them with grace. Not performative. Not pretentious. Just… genuinely present.

As I stood next to her for a photo, I couldn’t help but think:

Here stands a crown jewel—polished and celebrated.

Two Women, One Thread

As we lined up to board the plane, my thoughts drifted back to Mari with her fruit cart and daughter in tow.

Two women from the same country.

Two worlds apart.

Yet connected by something deeper…

Both had been someone’s baby.

Someone fed them, bathed them, changed their diapers.

Someone watched them wobble, fall, and get back up again.

Someone taught them language and manners.

Someone nurtured their spirit with affection and guidance.

Both are part of the full circle of womanhood—where creativity, strength, resilience, and tenderness coexist.

Elizabeth Blackwell, the first woman to earn a medical degree in the U.S., once said:

“For what is done or learned by one class of women becomes, by virtue of their common womanhood, the property of all women.”

And what of young Maribel?

Could she grow to become a beauty queen one day?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

But she can grow into kindness, courage, dignity, and confidence—jewels more enduring than any crown.

Maybe they’re all jewels in juxtaposition—different in size, shape, and setting, but each priceless in her own right.