They live in the town of Santa Cruz, Costa Rica, in the tourism-laden region of Guanacaste. Sister Berta, along with the other nuns at the Holy Spirit Education Center, is constantly fighting a battle to protect these children and teach them how to protect themselves. The first struggles of these children are immense, but as you will see through the stories of the people in their community and each of their personal struggles, these children's futures promise to be a continuous "lucha."

These people of Santa Cruz embody "La Lucha." Literally translated as "the fight," it is a powerful phrase that encompasses a much greater struggle. It is their daily struggle that is confronted head on and not fled from. La Lucha is facing a force greater than yourself and persevering in the face of adversity.

The people you are about to meet are some of the role models these children look up to. These people prove they defy the crushing force of the struggles they have come across in their life journeys.

La Lucha: Loneliness

The woman leans over to me and in a hushed voice says, "He is Nicaraguan, you know," as if she feels it her obligation to tell me so that I do not form the wrong opinion of the barber I came to visit. "That one there," she says pointing to a man facing her. "He is Tico." The man smiles with pride at being acknowledged as culturally superior to the barber that he is waiting to see.

A few days earlier, photographer Matt May and I walked down the streets of Santa Cruz, and the image of an elderly barber cutting a silver haired man between two large mirrors caught our eyes. I ask the barber if he minded if Matt photographed him.

His movements paused and he stared at me as if searching for an ulterior motive. He was hesitant to agree, but finally consented after a few coaxing words in Spanish. He was visibly nervous, and as I stood outside the small shop looking through a large open window, I saw his hands shaking. I talked to him and assured him that we appreciated his help in our project as Matt continued to document the moment.

Matt pulled out his reporter's pad and had me ask the barber his name. The barber stared at me and shook his head. He looked at me nervously then looked away. I thought that maybe he did not understand me so I continued to ask for his name. Then he started pacing a bit and finally exclaimed that he has his papers and will show them to us to prove it.

I told him he does not need to prove anything to us; we just needed to be able to identify him in a picture. But he ignores me and shuffled to the back wall to a black and gold shelf unit. He pulled out a small maroon book and handed it to me. I look down and notice that it is a Nicaraguan passport. He flips it open to the page where a smudged ink stamp allows him to legally reside in Costa Rica.

We realized that he is so used to being persecuted as an immigrant that he thought we were out to get him. We assured him that we mean him no harm, and we copied his name from the front page of his passport: Francisco de Paula Ortiz.

Francisco immigrated from Nicaragua, fleeing a worsening economy and a war that claimed his parents.

Francisco lives alone in the room where Matt and I first met him. After barbershop hours, Francisco moves his barber's chair from the center of the small room and a plastic-covered mattress is laid down in its place. Sheets come out from under a tile counter and the two bare bulb lights are turned off as Francisco lays alone.

"Sometimes I have the urge to cry, because I could die there and no one would notice," Francisco says one day as we sit under the almond tree in front of his home and barbershop.

Every evening he closes his door and window, shutting himself away from the world. He lives alone. He has never married, although he has 3 children who also live in Santa Cruz. He has little contact with them.

"I sleep alone," Francisco says to me one night as we sit in the rocking chairs beneath the almond tree. On this night, as on many others, Francisco insisted I stay a bit longer so he could think of more to share. "We will be here talking, then you go and I will lay here alone."

We discuss the devaluation of the colon and the scarce job market in the region. "Frankly, I am poor but I am proud.

"Do you think that with 2,000 colones one can eat, no, but even to earn 2,000 colones takes so much," he says. "At least, thanks to God, I am able to earn enough to eat. The poor man eats rice and beans. He can't eat meat because he just doesn't have it."

His room's turquoise walls have few decorations. On one of his two mirrors there is a small round sticker in the upper right hand corner that reads "Christ has set me free" with a cross between two broken chains.

Yet, Francisco maintains his faith and spirit. One of his two facing wall mirrors has a crack straight down the middle, and in the upper right corner there is a sticker. It says, "Cristo me hizo libre," Christ has made me free, with a cross between two broken chains.

"I am not alone because I ask God to accompany me," he says.

La Lucha: Corruption

"We work with the children to respect their peers, respect adults and respect their neighbors. All that, you have to instill in the child, but unfortunately adults have a different mentality," says Sister Floreny. "Values deteriorate, and therein lies our 'lucha'- to rescue the values. It is a hard struggle, but one that is won little by little," she says.

Sister Floreny founded the Holy Spirit Education Center 12 years ago because she saw a need for a Catholic school in an area whose growing tourism industry contributes to the decline of values. She hopes reaching the children at a young age will help protect them from dangers of drug addiction, prostitution, alcoholism, child labor and sexual abuse, all of which have become increasingly common.

Matt and I were able to accompany the children to Santa Cruz' nursing home and watch the children celebrate "Cultural Week of the Elderly." The children brought food and performed traditional and modern dances as well as poems and songs.

"Their work with the elderly is also part of their molding. The elderly live in solitude, and we go and take them food and spend time with them," says Sister Floreny. "It is a challenge to mold a youth to be caring and loving toward their neighbor."

La Lucha: Illness

"I am thankful to God for all the great things He has done for me," Luz says as she walks Matt and me to the suspension bridge that takes us from her secluded neighborhood. "If my daughter is meant to be healed, she will be. If she is meant to be taken from me, she will be. That is in His hands."

The image returns to me of Patricia, Luz' mentally disabled daughter, watching us out of the corner of her window on our first visit. I remember her vacant eyes and gaunt face. Patricia's clothes hung loosely, and her hair was never brushed back. She passed most days curled up on her twin bed under the only window in the two-room wood home.

Before we left on our last visit, Luz asked if Matt would mind photographing Patricia. When he agreed, Luz entered her home and, beaming pride, she helped her daughter to her feet. She propped up Patricia next to her. Then Luz smiled for the both of them.

As we walked away, I peeked into Patricia's window. She was lying across the bed with her legs bent at the knees.

"Adios, Patricia," I said. She slowly turned her head toward me and in a hoarse whisper I heard for the first time, "Adios."

La Lucha: Family

Cookstove smoke seeps through the cracks between the haphazardly placed wood and sheet metal hunks forming the walls of the first house we see when walking up to the squatter's community known as el Precario. A sign hangs in front of the home with hand lettering reading "Aqui se venden tortillas," tortillas sold here.

The smoke comes from a closet-size kitchen. Two heavy flat pans sizzle over wood fires as a mother and daughter knead dough into the tortillas that support the family.

Maria de Socorro Garcia Castillo began making tortillas to support her family after being bedridden for two years when she lived in Nicaragua. She brought her skill with her to Costa Rica when she immigrated seven years ago.

Maria received legal status to live in Costa Rica one year ago. It was then that she brought her six children to be with her. The money she earns selling tortillas pays for educating her children and making payments on a 13-inch TV she bought for "her children's happiness."

"I am very poor," says Maria. "I work what I can, and I make sacrifices in order to keep my children."

La Lucha: Tradition

"It is not the best business," says Miguel Valverde Carranza. "Nonetheless, you are born on the land, and that is what you are shown and you continue with the tradition."

Miguel cares for his family's farm 40 kilometers outside of Santa Cruz. He is the only one of his siblings to stay on the farm.

But, as the Costa Rican economy changes and moves from agriculture to tourism, traditional ideas are being challenged and changed.

Miguel is part of a project that helps farmers adapt to the evolving industry. He is on the board of directors that manages the $10.7 million that is available to them.

The project allows for farmers' associations and groups to receive help in the form of administrative training, selling domestically, providing models of success and farmer exchanges that involve less successful farmers being matched up with more successful farmers. A main objective is to teach farmers the importance of diversification.

"First we must learn to crawl and afterwards we run," says Miguel.