Communion

I have had some really rough and some really life-giving moments these last few weeks. I am finding it harder and harder to share fully on this blog since often the experiences I am encountering here feel so different from my life back home. In spite of that, a few families in particular here have made me feel entirely welcomed, loved, and comfortable–such a blessing for me.

Every day at my worksite, Refuerzo, I have moments of total chaos where I think to myself that I simply can´t do this and feel way over my head, and I have moments where I feel that I am exactly where I am meant to be.  This strange paradox has defined my time there thus far. These kids come from lives so vastly different from my own, and often all I want to do is reach out to them and connect with them on some level; however, it is this same divide that often prevents me from doing just that. 

One of my favorite parts of the day is walking home from Refuerzo.  Along the way is a wonderful woman who owns a little tienda. She always greets me with an excited ¨Davidcito¨and makes my frustrations and problems seem ephemeral.  This last week in particular I have grown really close with her family.  I decided to accompany her as she did her daily food run to stock up her store before opening. We left at 3:30 in the morning, something she does every day, and went to this huge market to get everything she needed. I stayed with her a few hours sweeping the sidewalk near her store, organizing the food to make it look the most presentable, and talking with her about what gives her life.  She has to be one of the more giving people I have met in my life.  Later that day, she brought out a broom and shovel so that we could clean up the trash down the road on her street. She brought some bags, and we shoveled trash thrown about the street into bags, neatly tied them up, and placed them neatly on the corner. With a smile, she says ¨now isn´t that better¨(translated, obviously). I also spent a morning learning to cook Caldo de Bola with her, a great soup with verdes as dumplings stuffed with meet and peppers and onions and peanut butter and such.  Her family doesn´t have a table or chairs. We simply sat on a carpet placed over the dirt floor in a circle on the ground, sharing stories, laughing, and joining together in this moment of communion. While flipping through Thomas Merton´s Book of Hours, I ran across this line that echoed in my mind at this moment: with true communication, what is important is not communication, but communion.  Even when Spanish fails me or I have low energy and can´t seem to translate what is being said, just being there, a participant in this moment, accompanying the people who now call me family. 

But I digress. Further along my walk home from Refuerzo, within site of my house, lives a family with two young girls-aged 2 and 8.  Without knowing it, I often find myself whistling as I walk home. The girls have picked up on this, and without fail will run out of their cane house excitedly jumping up and down and shouting my name. Their love for someone they barely know is boundless, life-giving, and constant. These small glimpses into the Kingdom make everything worth it. I am where I am meant to be.