The power of community... not an ordinary mitzvah.

-by Elle Vatterott, IWM serving in San Antonio, Texas

It is amazing how much is accomplished in one school year.   A school year has the power to impact an individual's, as well as a community's, life. Now that less than a week remains until the start of summer vacation, I feel called to reflect on the importance of my faith life, my individual part in creating a nurturing community and the compassion and service I offer to others.

Community played a much greater role in fostering both my personal and spiritual growth than I would have initially imagined.  Through community prayer I found the value of daily reflection in bringing myself into a more unified consciousness. I feel blessed to have such intelligent women as community members, in that they have provided the most exceptional wealth of knowledge and guidance since day one. All of these wonderful things that I experience from community have very organically trickled into the children’s lives as well.

Children need a nest of caring to shelter from the outside. Within their Visitation House community, these children learn values by living them. The infusion of stability, healthy choices and positive energy creates an ideal environment to nurture the intuition and creativity of each child. More directly, I witnessed the impact of the congregational community on the children when Sister Kathleen took on the challenging task of teaching one of the boys here, PJ, who has dyslexia, learn to read. I feel that I have mentioned this particular child in nearly all of my blogs, so one more time won’t hurt!

Just a brief recap: PJ is a third grader who, as a result of his school’s insufficient funding for LD programs, read at a Kindergarten level. At the end of the third grade school year students begin taking The Texas Education Agency Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills Test (TAKS). Four of the five sections of the test were read aloud to him, the exception being the reading portion, which happens to be the only test that third grade students must pass to be promoted to fourth grade. The odds of passing the TAKS were indisputably against him. Nevertheless, everyone pulled together to prepare him for the test.

April 25^th came sooner than I would have liked. I tried my hardest to appear calm for the children, but for those following three days I was an emotional wreck.  Everyday thereafter, before I picked up PJ from daycare, I had to mentally prepare myself to receive the results. I wanted him to pass more than anything, so he could concretely see his reading progress and better realize his potential.

After a month had passed since he took the TAKS exam with no news of results, I broke down and emailed his teacher. She replied later that day, just as I was walking PJ into the house for his reading session with Sister Kathleen. While he went to the bathroom I opened the email (these are the moments when I love my Blackberry!).  As I scrolled down to read that he had passed the entire test, I thought I was going to pass out myself.

When he returned to the reading room and sat down, I asked him if he was keeping anything from Sister Kathleen or me. I should have phrased it differently, because I could tell he thought he was in trouble when the pitch of his voice went up a few octaves. He is a pretty sensitive little boy and tends to get extremely upset in the time it takes to blink your eyes, so I immediately broke the news to him.

He was so overcome with joy and so proud of himself that he has not stopped smiling since that day! I managed to hold it together in front of PJ but tears of gratitude and bliss were flowing down my face on the car ride to pick up the other children. At that moment I believe I experienced something similar to what my Jewish friends love to frequently refer to as a mitzvah.

The way to God is a way of God, and the mitzvah is a way of God - a way where the self-evidence of the Holy is disclosed. We have words to express feelings, but we know how to live in deeds that express God. A mitzvah is where God and man meet, in which we come to an inner certainty of his realness, upon an awareness of his will. Such meeting, such presence, we experience in deeds.

I like to think that this was not an ordinary mitzvah.  What I experienced was more of a mitzvah with a twist… a “twitzvah” so to speak.   There is no doubt that at that moment I had met God and felt his presence.  However my “twitzvah” differs to the fact that it happened not from one man’s deeds alone, but from a compilation of an entire community of women’s good deeds.  

So for now, I am focusing on keeping this positive energy flowing in the Visitation House community... I have a feeling that this is going to be very “twitzvahtic” summer.

Surrounded by Wally-mart

by Tara Hurford, IWM serving in Santa Fe, Mexico City, Mexico.

When I arrived to Santa Fe, I was shocked to find out that as far as grocery stores in the area, they are all owned by Walmart.  I have boycotted Walmart ever since I wrote the ¨Sweatshop Fashion Show¨ script for our grade 12 Global History course  -- well, boycotted it until I came to live in Mexico, that is.  After I was done digging up dirt on the multi-billion dollar mammoth, our teacher informed us that she never even sets foot in a Walmart parking lot, because it is, in her words, ¨the Devil´s store.¨  The truth is, from the research I´ve done and things I´ve heard, I´ve come to realize we´re not the ones paying for the products  at Walmart – other people are.  For example:

In 2004, workers making products for Wal-Mart stores in China and Bangladesh were being paid as little as $.17/hour!  Wal-Mart is also notorious for denying its workers the right to organize -- not only in their factories overseas, but also in their stores across North America. In April 2005, Wal-Mart a store in Jonquiere, Quebec closed after workers successfully unionized.[i]

But it doesn´t end with this.  Walmart will potentially face a lawsuit in the United States.  In March, six women came forward wanting to sue Walmart on behalf of over one million women who work in the US for gender discrimination.  If it goes through, it would be the largest sexism lawsuit in American history.  But . . . Walmart is also a vampire company, meaning that they move into a town and lower their prices so much that no local businesses can compete with them.  Since Walmart is so big they can survive, but the local businesses often end up having to close.

Since being here, I have also learned how the Walmart owned stores have also negatively impacted the local economy here in Santa Fe, Mexico.  Miriam, the long term missionary who is here for three years just finished a ¨Needs Survey¨ with over 100 people from the community.  Included in this interviewing process, she surveyed people who own puestos (stands) at the local market about two blocks up the avenue from us. One woman said that because Walmart can order in such large quantities and they (small puesto owners) cannot, it’s impossible to compete price-wise, especially in a community that is already economically depressed.   To add salt to the wound, one of the ladies that volunteers and spends a lot of time at the parish bags groceries at the Walmart owned Aurerra  bodega when she has to. . . except, that she doesn´t get paid an actual wage – only what people tip her.

I would really like to say that I have been able to keep up my boycott of Walmart since being here, but the truth is that I have been forced to eat a big piece of humble pie.  We are literally surrounded by the store.  In five minutes I can walk to a mini-Aurerra and in twenty I can walk to the more full-service store – both owned by Walmart.  In the other direction, I can take a fifteen minute bus ride to Sam´s  or Superama  – a little more upper class grocery store – but also owned by Walmart.   Or, I can take about a thirty minute bus ride to Soriana – from what I can tell, the only Mexican owned grocery store – THANKS NAFTA!!! 

And I do go to Soriana when I can.  We also shop more locally when we can, but there are just some products that you cannot buy, even in the other American owned stores that are close by.  The other issue is that – well hey – everything is cheaper there and the truth is, we have a limited food allowance each week.  The ´beauty´ of this system is that the poorest members of society, those whom mammoth corporations hurt the most, are the ones that don´t have the money to make these kind of ´conscious consumer´ decisions.  Who can afford Fair Trade? Only the middle and upper classes, really . . .

How is one supposed to begin to live out the Catholic Social Teaching of supporting just economics, local economies and dignity and rights of the workers, when one simply doesn’t have the resources to do so?  This is the first time I have fully been in this situation, without much of a choice.  While I may not fully be able to choose where I shop here, most of the population here in Santa Fe is choice-less and voiceless in other ways.  As I mentioned in an earlier blog, it doesn’t seem that many people have a choice but to earn money through a second hustle – selling things from a card table out their front door, as there are few job opportunities that pay a living wage.  Most people in Santa Fe don’t have a choice but to live on less than about a dollar a day.  Similarly, there is little choice when it comes to education.  Most of the youth grow up going through poor government school systems and there are not enough high schools in the area.  If they score low on the preparatory entrance exam, which is likely, they again are forced into a poor high school, or like many, do not score high enough to even make it into a high school and are forced to continue the cycle of poverty.

So what´s the answer?  What can I do about the comparatively insignificant conscience quandary I am having?  I seriously do not have an answer.  I wish I did.  I want to support local markets, but when you’re ´poor´ that becomes more difficult to do.   I do what I can, and when there is nothing else I can do -- I curse, under my breath, every time I have to go into Aurerra. I have had to learn to become content with finding other ways to live out the Catholic Social Teachings, solidarity with the poor and simplicity in living.  I have also simplified my diet a lot since moving here and only eat meat when it is served to me, replacing it with lentils which I eat at least once a day, if not twice.  And though it is still a struggle for me, I have also tried to cut junk food out of my diet, when it is not a gift.  I also make a conscious effort to treat the many people I come into contact with, with dignity, especially those in positions considered lowly, such as those who move around the dirty streets of Santa Fe picking up garbage or those who bag groceries at the stores, always addressing them with ¨Usted¨ instead of the familiar ¨Tu.¨   Also, we walk our compost over to the parish about twice a week and flush the toilet with shower, hand and face washing water.  And after spending the Lent season without electricity, I decided to not ask to get my room light, which has been out of service for about four months, fixed in order to save some money for the parish and live in solidarity without electricity.   Most of these lessons I plan to take back to Canada with me, so when I have more choice about where I shop, I can also be doing other things too.

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[i] http://en.maquilasolidarity.org/node/654

My African Song

by Nicole Tardio, IWM serving in Mongu, Zambia

This past month I had an amazing opportunity to make retreat with nine other individuals in the capital city of Lusaka. Eight people came from abroad, from various countries, for an immersion experience into the Zambian culture, and then myself and a Zambian Sister who is based in Lusaka were also on the retreat. We were a diverse group, bringing numerous different cultures and experiences to the table. Throughout the week I was blessed with many different points of view, observations, and experiences that I will never forget. We had a nice mixture of immersion experiences into the communities surrounding Lusaka, as well as some good relaxation/reflection time.  Much of the week I spent the mornings in the community with the others, immersed in the reality of the Zambian people as they shared their joys and struggles, triumphs and failures. In the afternoons I took time to reflect on what all this means, and how it plays out in my spirituality and daily life.

Taking into account the time I have spent here already, and looking forward to the time remaining I was able to reflect upon where i have been, where I am, and where I want to be. With that said I am trying to greatly focus on the now, not having any concrete plans for what I think should happen or dwelling on mistakes I have made. Much of the week I focused on being present to the people I was with and the experiences we were having together.

Much of the culture here in Zambia is based on song and dance, so during one of our reflection times we were encouraged to write a song. I would like to share mine with you:

 “My African Song”

I write of a people who live in this land.

A people who have welcomed me with open arms and open hearts.

A people who portray immense strength, courage, and beauty.

They are very much alive with song and tradition and refuse to let their spirit be crushed.

They struggle against violence, poverty, injustice, and oppression.

Yet they sing “our song will not be silenced by the pain.”

They dream of a life simple and free, a life where they can live in peace.

Despite the obstacles they live a life full of dignity and have so much to teach a person like me.

I am so grateful to live among a people who are so brave and refuse to stop dancing.

I am open to receive their gifts they give me each day through their example.

The joy of the Zambian people is contagious, the beauty is overwhelming, and the simplicity is so admirable.

The way they care for one another expecting nothing in return shows the dignity they give to a person.

Through the daily struggles they choose life over death, joy over sadness, justice over injustice, and acceptance over hatred.

So as they sing “our song will not be silenced by the pain” I want to join them, I want to be with them, I want to learn from them, I want to dance their dance, and I want to sing their song.

Blessed.

by our three missionaries currently serving in Chimbote, Peru.

We spent this past week in retreat, and one of the fruits of our reflection was to write beatitudes using our own style.  As suggested by Hermana Katty, who directed our retreat, we decided to share them with you!  We hope that they will shed some light onto the presence of Jesus here in Chimbote.

by Emily Ruskamp

Blessed be the mother who, for love of her family, sells candies in the street all day long, subject to the insults or ignorant dismissal of passersby, and blessed be those who befriend her.

Blessed be the grandfather who can no longer feed or bathe himself, and blessed be the granddaughter who feeds and bathes him.

Blessed be the youth who acknowledges the restlessness he or she feels and seeks a deeper meaning in life, and blessed be those who take time out of their day to listen and humbly share from their own journeys.

Blessed be the child robbed of his or her childhood, and blessed be the adults who give patience, time, and affection in hopes of giving them a better present and a better future.

Blessed be the public official who sincerely works for the common good, and blessed be those who demand it.

Blessed be those who give a simple smile, a minute of conversation, a bite of their ice cream, and blessed be those who receive it.

Blessed be the friend who speaks out when the majority is in the wrong and is silent when it is someone else’s turn to shine.

Blessed be Chimbote.   

by Marcelle Keating

Blessed are those who suffer from an advanced disease, who have no access to pain medicine or doctors.

Blessed are those who share the joy of music that expands the mind and lifts the spirit.

Blessed are generous of spirit who welcome the traveler and share their culture; may they know how beautiful they are.

Blessed are those who make the most of what they have and find solace in the love of God.

by Kelli Nelson

Blessed are they who accept the challenge to live the way of love, for they have encountered the mystery and now know what they must do.

Blessed are they who weave compassion and solidarity, for the tapestry of peace that they create on earth shall lead them to God’s.

Blessed are they who seek you, have lost you, resist you, want you, for when they need it the most your grace will find them and fill them, lead them and send them.

Blessed are they who perhaps suffer the most, whether that be inflicted by self or others, knowingly, unknowingly, for they are in many ways closer to the truth.

Blessed are they who attempt to see your immense beauty in all living things, all creation, for they shall know you profoundly and be moved by your contagious love.

Blessed are they who share joy with others, signs of your love manifested physically, for they shall infect others and come to know communion.

And, Spirit of Love, blessed be La Balanza, for generational poverty will not be the end of a people whose hope and strength lies in you.

Blessed be the pregnant mother who sits outsides her home each day holding her side waiting for the pain to end from the child she does not want, for they are gifts, the mom-someone’s hero, and yet she does not know it.

Blessed be the six children who day after day are locked in their home waiting for someone to return, hands reaching out of the holes in the door, crying, wanting, for they are ours, they are God’s and only seek love, hold them.

Blessed be the fourteen year old sold for sex because that’s what happened to her mother and to her grandmother, for she has a future and is ready to open the windows of her soul to you to end this cycle.

Blessed be all of them…

The man killed by a government, the one who pulled the trigger, the nonviolent peacemakers who prayed for an alternative end, the dad who steals for his family, the boy of four years who sells gum to buy bread, the ill grandparent calling for rest,  the growing missionary and her community…

And the sky, majestic waters, your whisper in the wind, for we will listen and go.

Lent, Easter, and Wheatgrass Juice

by Elle Vatterott, IWM serving in San Antonio, Texas.

For many reasons this Easter Season has been a very special and memorable one for me.  I found inspiration in a very peculiar way this month. It all started a few days ago when I first sat down to prepare this particular blog entry. Just as I began to get comfortable, I felt an overwhelming urge to take a short break from my writing to get a wheatgrass juice shot (a small nutritional supplement of concentrated juice made from shoots of wheat plants). 

Being the relentless worker that I am, I tried suppressing my craving. However after an hour or so I realized that these feelings were not going away (and I didn’t want this distraction to inhibit the quality of my writing), so I gave in.   It had been more than a year since I had my last wheat grass shot, and in my all excitement I had completely forgotten about what was about to happen. 

The second that grass water touched my tongue, Boom!, it hit me and I remembered - first came the gagging, then the wave of nausea, and lastly the goosebumps. I still cannot comprehend how I had ever forgotten that wheatgrass juice is the most fowl tasting substance in existence.

A few hours later I could still taste rusty lawn mower on my lips.  As the day progressed the taste faded a bit, but my energy level did not. Without realizing it, I was sitting up straighter, breathing more deeply, and thinking more clearly. All in all, I felt more confident and thoroughly alive throughout the day.

When I returned to my writing a few days later, my mind immediately returned to the events surrounding the wheatgrass drink (most likely because the taste had not completely diminished!). My body’s intense craving for the juice’s nutrients; the unpleasant period after the first gulp which then initiated one of the most productive days I have had in months.   I was struck by the surprising parallels between that experience of drinking wheatgrass juice and my journey through Lent and into the Easter Season. 

In order to become transformed by the Resurrection, we must first willingly share in Christ’s death. The Lenten Season symbolizes the hardships which we endure now, while the time after Easter represents the everlasting happiness that is to come in our futures. I am coming to understand the importance of inviting Christ to accompany us in our times of trouble if I eventually want to share in his resurrected life. Even though I struggle to see Jesus in my personal darkness as well as in larger world injustices, I pray to always remember that this suffering is not purposeless and that it is not in vain, but behind it is a plan of love. And in the end, God’s love for us always prevails.

Although the unpleasant taste of the wheatgrass juice is an unusual comparison to the crucifixion of Jesus, this experience has nevertheless inspired me to look for all the other things, in this year particularly, that bring me “new life.” For this reason I find Easter to be the most precious liturgical season- because the story of Jesus’ Passion and Resurrection is so easily relatable to the human experience on any level.

This Easter has brought rejuvenation to my mission to actively carry out the call of sharing the Good News of the Risen Jesus for the remainder of my year.