Blessed Be Your Name

by Emma Buckhout, IWM serving in Santa Fe, Mexico City, Mexico

What a glorious day. I had a great day at the guardería, meaning it was calm, there were very few tears, and one of my hardest students worked really well- apparently counting backwards from 30 is his niche. I stopped by my new favorite fruit tienda that sells fresh-squeezed orange juice for six pesos, about fifty cents USD. Then I went home and did yoga and some prayer time in the beautiful sunshine on our roof in shorts and a Syracuse t-shirt, while trying to remind myself how my parents are currently suffering a Syracuse winter. During my prayer time I realized part of the reason I was so happy today was because I felt so good. I thought back to the words of one of my favorite worship songs that came to me during a similar prayer time last week:  “Blessed be Your name/ When the sun’s shining down on me/ When the world’s ‘all as it should be’/ Blessed be Your name.” However, when I sang this song last week, I felt drastically different.

 If I had to sum up my last two weeks in Mexico in a word, it would be “sick.” I couldn´t tell you the last time I spent that much time just sleeping in bed or drank that much Gatorade/Powerade as my main diet. Everyone expects you to have horrible stomach problems when you go to Mexico, but for almost six months, I really hadn’t had many problems. Two partial weeks in bed and two rounds of antibiotics suggest that I broke my immune system´s good record. Alas, after a delicious quiche feast and fellowship at Jessica’s apartment last night, my first real meal in a week, I am convinced that my recovery is well underway. I can probably drop the melodrama and spare you more details. However, as I was getting thoroughly sick of being sick last week, I figured I should try to extract what lessons God might be trying to get through to me. Tara and I recently entered into groups to go through the Ignatian Spiritual Exercises, and I decided to take this inquiry into this prayer process with me.

God has given me the first lesson in the past in many concrete ways, but apparently, it was time for a reminder. In sum: I am a limited human being and God is limitless. Easy to say, hard to live. I am confident that while I may have had some sort of infection, I probably brought on most of my immune system collapse with my overwrought psyche. The week before I got sick I was simply stressed. I constantly felt that I am not doing enough in my daily missionary schedule here. I don’t keep anywhere near the sort of high-speed schedule I did while working or studying in the United States. So even though I had filled the week with extra community events, planning and giving an English class, planning for Saturday’s youth group outing, and taking time for my Spiritual Exercises, on top of my normal schedule at the guardería and trying to be supportive for Tara who was already sick, I refused to think that I needed to cut back rather than add activities. After all, I was not as busy as I have been in the past.  Yet, in a classic example of the “overwork and then crash” cycle, I got sick when the weekend came. Even if it did not fit my usual model of overwork, I was busier than usual, and in short, living the majority of my life in another language and culture, even after six months, requires extra energy. I have limits and apparently I had hit them.

Though recognizing the proximity of these limits is always a humbling blow, the upswing is being forced to see and accept God’s provision. I cannot actually do anything of my own strength or efforts to fill my day with activities; God is doing it all. I just refuse to realize that until I crash. I hope that this sickness at my six month mark in Mexico will be a turning point of renewal. I have resolved to better listen to the practical needs of this body that God has given me as a temple and means of incarnating Him. My mission is to be present here, not to do and stress to the point of only being present to my bed and my own complaints.

The second main lesson is more communally based. The following verse of “Blessed Be Your Name” reads “Blessed be Your name/ On the road marked with suffering/ Though there’s pain in the offering/ Blessed be Your name.” Part of our mission statement includes to “walk in solidarity with the economically poor and marginalized.” There is an element of solidarity in suffering. We talk about Jesus’ suffering, and seeing Him in the sick and suffering of the Earth. There is also an unavoidable socio-economic element to suffering, which is interesting to observe in Santa Fe. There is a significant population of elderly sick people here who cannot leave their houses. One of the ministry teams at the parish devotes time to taking as many such people Eucharist in their houses and sharing some time in prayer. However, the needs are overwhelming.

For example, Tara made contact with an elderly housebound couple. The wife, Gabriela, is blind and the husband, Alfonso, is partially blind, paralyzed, and bed-ridden. They live about halfway down the enormous hill that comprises much of the landscape of Santa Fe, which is not as inconvenient as living at the bottom, but still difficult to access. Luckily, their grandson spends a good amount of time in the house and they have made contacts with people like Tara who help to bring food. Yet, especially for Gabriela, who is quite mobile and lucid, existence in a sparse two-room house is dismal and lonely. It was beautiful to see her face of excitement one day when she heard Tara arrive and could pet Tara’s excited puppy. The few times that I have been there, I have been amazed by the grace of Gabriela’s greeting.

Reflecting on Gabriela, I felt ashamed for how upset I was at the failings of my own body, which is young, strong, and despite my worst fears, will heal. Regardless of my eventual frustration with the lack of an English-speaking doctor, access to my mom, or a TV for entertainment, my short-term bed rest in our house was hardly a glimpse into the suffering of many like Gabriela in Santa Fe. I could still leave my house briefly after a good nap, I got myself to the doctor, and I had Tara checking on my constantly. So as far as my communal lesson on solidarity goes, I have a lot yet to observe, learn, and work to change; because the follow-up to living in solidarity with the economically poor and marginalized that are suffering is to “work to change those structures that keep them economically poor and marginalized” and suffering. Luckily, we are working through God in this process, not through ourselves, and “Blessed” is His Name.

Channeling our inner child...

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

A few weeks ago one of the children caught the flu. Since her mom has a full time job, I stepped in to care for her.

Glenda is a very spirited 7-year-old. She has already established quite the reputation around the Visitation House for refusing to take any medicine, but I did not let this discourage me. I tried to think of this as an opportunity to help her understand the all important lesson that sometimes we have to do things that are not pleasant. I had an entire day and plenty of ideas to accomplish my task.

After the first hour I had exhausted most of my resources, and clearly Glenda had the advantage. To her defense, the “banana-flavored” liquid medicine was quite awful and left a pungent metal aftertaste. I truly believe that Barbie herself could not sweet-talk Glenda into swallowing her medicine! There was only one option left: the dreaded “time out.” I had never used this discipline method before, but I felt as though it was the only way to get through to her.

Never underestimate a child’s will power. Glenda spent most of that day in time out. Every hour I asked her if she was ready to take her medicine and watch the Cheetah Girls movie with me, but she would just shake her head no. At the end of the day I had made little headway. I had mixed a half dose of medicine in a cup of Jell-O, which she reluctantly nibbled on for 90 minutes. The second day was worse. She refused to even discuss the possibility of taking the medicine. Feeling completely exhausted and defeated I gave up, and let her sleep the rest of the day. The following morning Glenda’s flu had reduced to a mild cough, which made her healthy enough to return to school.  On Friday Glenda came home with a hefty amount of make-up work to finish by Monday. I dreaded tutoring her over the weekend, mostly because I anticipated that she would be cranky from the previous week.

However, she was not the least bit angry. While she was still a little sick and drowsy, Glenda willingly completed all of her assignments on time. And when we finished her last worksheet she looked up at me and said, “My mom made cookies.” I replied, “That’s great Glenda! I bet they’re delicious.” 

Then she paused for a moment and tenderly asked, “Elle, can I go home and ask her if I can give you one?”

 “Of course you can, I would love it,” I said.

After Glenda came back and handed me the cookie, she gave me a big hug and skipped back home. I was completely shocked that she could still like me after sending her to time-out for an entire day and then making her do homework over the weekend.

I cannot stop thinking about that experience, and I find myself acting much more compassionate and affectionate toward the children because of it. In a way Glenda is a very wise little girl - she taught me about the infectiousness of simple acts of kindness and the advantages of practicing forgiveness.

So in the spirit of Valentine’s Day, I am working on channeling my inner child to bring about that same gentleness and unconditional love that Glenda showed me.

La presencia de Jesús...

por Nicole Tardio, Misionera del Verbo Encarnado sirviendo en Mongu, Zambia

La semana pasada un tema me vino a la cabeza constantemente. A través de la gente con quien me encuentro y siguiendo el llamado a ser como Jesús para los demás, una y otra vez sentí la necesidad de poner atención a la presencia de Jesús en mi vida.

Durante la celebración de la misa, la noche del miércoles, celebramos la Presentación del Niño Jesús en el templo. Aquí en Mongu, la gente celebra todos sus Religiosos Consagrados. Esta es una misa en la que todos llegan para rezar y celebrar juntos el llamado/la vocación a la vida religiosa. Fue una celebración lindísima donde la gente canta y baila, y con la participación de las Hermanas, Hermanos, y Sacerdotes de la arquidiócesis.  Durante la misa, una de las Hermanas Misioneras Comboni fue invitada a dar la homilía. Ella nos habló de una manera muy hermosa sobre como nosotros podemos ser como Jesús para los demás simplemente siendo como somos. Me gustaría compartir con ustedes esta reflexión…

Ella nos contó la historia de un sacerdote mayor que fue a vivir como misionero a un pueblito en Africa. Por su edad, a él le costó mucho trabajo aprender el lenguaje, pero a pesar de ello, él visitaba los enfermos y los que vivían en soledad; los acompañaba en su dolor y sufrimiento, y los tomaba de la mano para hacerlos sentir mejor. El también compartía el tiempo jugando con los niños – aprendía sus juegos y pasaba horas riéndose con ellos y aprendiendo de ellos. Después de mucho tiempo viviendo allí, se enfermó y murió; ahí mismo en el pueblito. La gente celebró su vida y lo enterraron allí mismo, junto a todas sus familias y seres queridos.

Al poco tiempo después de la muerte del sacerdote, llego un misionero joven al pueblo. Aprendió el lenguaje rápidamente y empezó a enseñar a la gente sobre Jesús. Se reunió con los niños y les conto la vida de Jesús: que vivió en la tierra tiempo atrás, que fue cariñoso y compasivo, que curo a los enfermos y acompañaba a la gente que sufría. El misionero enfatizó el amor de Jesús por los niños y el gran cariño que tiene a cada uno de ellos. Inmediatamente, los niños le dijeron al misionero que sabían exactamente quien era Jesús – y que Él no había muerto hace mucho tiempo, sino que había muerto hacía muy poco y ahí mismo en su PROPIO pueblo!!!

Este cuento es muy sencillo y muy bonito. Me hace reflexionar en que lo que puedo hacer no es necesariamente lo más importante. Lo más importante es mi forma de ser y la manera como vivo. Me ayuda a tener presente que debo ser como soy y tratar a cada persona con amor.

El pasado fin de semana, el sábado en la mañana, mientras iba camino a mi casa después de salir de la misa, decidí comprar algo dulce para desayunar. Buscaba a alguien vendiendo “fritas” (es como una bola de mazapán dulce del tamaño de un puño que se fríe – la primera vez que lo probé supe que había encontrado como remplazar las donas… delicioso! J).

Cerca de casa vi que había un niño agachado al lado de su canasta de “fritas”. No me miro cuando me acerque, así que me agache frente a el y le pedí si podía comprarle dos “fritas”.  Lentamente él alzó la cabeza, y cuando lo mire en los ojos, vi que tenía la sonrisa más bella que jamás había visto. Ahí mismo, en este momento, sentí que estaba mirando directamente a los ojos de Jesús. Mientras seguía en camino a la casa, disfrutando mis “fritas”, no pude hacer nada mas que sonreír. Este pequeño niño me había tocado al corazón y su sonrisa era contagiosa. 

Jesus' presence...

by Nicole Tardio, IWM serving in Mongu, Zambia

This past week had a very "in my face" recurring theme about it. I was hit constantly with the demand to pay attention to Jesus’ presence in my life through the people around me and my call to be like Jesus for others.

On Wednesday we celebrated the Presentation of Jesus at the temple in an evening mass. Here in Mongu they also honor all the consecrated Religious. It is a mass where they all come together to pray and celebrate their call/vocation to Religious Life. It was a beautiful celebration, filled with singing and dancing, with the participation of the Sisters, Brothers, and Priests from the diocese. During mass one of the Comboni Missionary Sisters was invited to give the homily. She gave a beautiful account of how we can be Jesus for others by simply being. I would like to share it with you...

She told a story of an older priest who went to a village in Africa as a missionary. He found it hard to learn the language because of his age, but that did not stop him from visiting the sick and the lonely. He would go to be with them amidst their pain and suffering, just to hold their hands and comfort them. He also found time to play with the children - he learned their games and would spend hours laughing with them and learning from them. After much time, he himself grew sick and died their in the village. The people celebrated his life and buried him among their family members who had passed on.

Not long after, a young missionary was sent to that village. He was quick to learn the language and he was eager to teach the people about Jesus. He sat the children down and told them about Jesus: how he lived long ago, that He was very kind and loving, that He cured the sick and comforted the people who were in pain. He stressed how much Jesus loved children and how he loves each one of them. The children were quick to tell the young man that they knew exactly who Jesus was - and that he hadn’t died long ago, but just recently and right in THEIR village!!!

This story is very simple and beautiful. It is a reminder to me that it is not necessarily what I can do is what matters. What is most important is how I go about living. I think it is a beautiful reminder to be loving and present to everyone I meet.

This past weekend I was walking home from Saturday morning mass and I decided to buy a treat for myself for breakfast. I had my eye open for anyone selling fritas (basically it is a ball of dense bread the size of your fist deep fried and very yummy; when I first tasted one I knew I had found my replacement here for doughnuts! J ). 

I was nearing home when I spotted a little boy squatted down next to his small bucket of fritas. He didn’t look up when I walked over to him, so I squatted down right in front of him and asked if I could buy two fritas. He slowly looked up and when our eyes met, he had the most beautiful smile on his face. Right there, in that moment, I felt like I was looking into the eyes of Jesus. As I finished the walk home, enjoying my frita treat, I could not help but smile. I had been touched by the little boy and his smile was contagious.

Summer in the Southern Hemisphere

from our Missionaries serving in Chimbote, Peru

by: Marcelle Keating

Summer has returned for me like an old friend.  Vamos a la playa!  We may be in a dessert but we are also within 30 minute drive of three beautiful beaches.  Public transportation easily gets you there and back for around 10 sols.   I have to admit there is a certain satisfaction to be enjoying the fruits of summer once again in Peru while everyone else is complaining about the cold weather back home.

 There are so many things to take in here.  The sun is intense but there is always an ocean breeze so the heat index is not that high.   Sunscreen and hats are a must.   Anyone can sell anything here without a permit so there are many vendors for cool treats in every neighborhood.  For 50 centimos,  you can pick from a variety  of treats made of ice &  real fruit to cool down.

Neighborhoods come alive after night fall.  The volleyball nets come out and the people sit outside their  house to stay cool, play music and watch the games.   There usually is a sol at stake for those playing.  Double or nothing.  After 7 pm, you can hardly walk our dirt roads without passing a volleyball net or a soccer game.

 

School is out so there are lots of children playing in the street.   Spindle tops, though ancient, are still in play here with the youth.  The public swimming pool is open for those who can or want to learn to swim.   The shallow end of the pool is packed with those who want to splash.  Unfortunately,  for the most part,  the swim lanes in the middle go unoccupied.   Not too many know how.  Classes are available for the brave.

In February, children have the added delight of Carnivales.   At any given time, young or old, working or not, male or female, regardless of your age, you could become the innocent target of a random water balloon or water gun.  Just laugh it off, you will be dry soon enough.   It helps beat the heat.   Peru knows how to enjoy the summer.  

by: Emily Ruskamp

“Raspadilla?,” I asked. 

“You haven’t tried one yet?,” Lucho responded.  “They are a real Peruvian snack, eaten only in the summer.  You won’t find them anywhere else in Latin America.” 

Colver spotted a stand a couple blocks away and invited us to get one.  We arrived to find that the woman running it had left it in the hands of her 10-year-old daughter, who skillfully opened a box of shaved ice, filled a small plastic cup with it, packed it, and flipped it over into a second cup.  She then drizzled four fresh-fruit syrups on top, stuck in a small plastic spoon, handed me one, and repeated the process for the other two.  Raspadillas in hand, we strolled back toward the church, enjoying our frozen snacks and commenting on the quality of fruit syrup, definitely not found on any snow cone in the U.S.  By that time it was coming on noon, so we tossed around the idea of grabbing a pre-lunch ceviche, but as I had to cook lunch that day for my community, we decided to save it for another day.  Lucho, a budding Peruvian chef himself, walked with me to my house as we discussed the merits of various dishes from around the world.  We chatted for a few minutes in front of my door before saying goodbye until later that night when we’d be at the parish for game night in the youth center.

One of the most beautiful parts of my service as a missionary is, essentially, “wasting time.”  The morning I tried raspadillas began with a two-minute meeting with Colver at the parish to inform our pastor about the youth retreat this weekend.  I’m a little worried about the consequences upon my return to the U.S., but I’m beginning to really avoid making concrete plans in favor of diving more fully into the possibilities of the present.  Though frustrating at times, I think oftentimes more progress is made with a half-hour conversation about nothing much than in five minutes of hard planning.  At least that’s what I like it think, because in Peru the latter cannot be done without the former.  It works out, though, because nothing beats the summer sun like ice-cold raspadillas!

by: Kelli Nelson

A couple of weeks ago I started reading The Gift, a collection of poetry by the Sufi master, Hafiz.  His writing, to me, speaks much of the power of the sun to re-energize, nurture, and awaken, to dance in the song of the sun, which is at its strongest this summer season.  I’ve allowed one of his works to linger as my summer prayer.  It reads: “Write a thousand luminous secrets upon the wall of existence so that even a blind man might know where we are and join in this love.”  Now, my dream is to live the work of this pen that creates such beauty and both slowly and at times unexpectedly my companions in Chimbote are teaching me how to awaken within that dream and make it so.

This summer, with Centro Amar (a support for women in prostitution and their families) I’ve started making regular visits to a family in a neighborhood on the edge of Chimbote where houses of weaved esterra are the majority, camp-fires cook rice, and piled-up furniture serves as a lock for the front door.  A professor and I spend afternoons with the three children and a few of their friends doing academic reinforcement, a part of our Centro Amar’s prevention program, and on the occasion I get to visit with their mother, whose incredible story of survival is one of choosing (despite financial difficulties, and no steady income) to fight a life of prostitution and drug abuse.

The other day when I went to visit, the children were laughing and playing Carnival (a February tradition of water fights) in the summer sun while mom sat at the table, head in hand, eyes red and glossy.  It was noon and I had woken her up.   A headache, she told me, and the kids would be staying with her mother.  Our visit was short that day, as she didn’t really want to talk and had a hard time getting around. I left feeling like something was off, she wasn’t her usual self by any means, and I really didn’t know what to do.

Later, upon debriefing the visit with my supervisor who makes periodic visits, we sat with the idea that it may have been a drug relapse as her symptoms were similar to those she had experienced in previous encounters.  This mom and her children have been on my mind ever since, trusting that my presence in our last visit was meaningful.

Her bravery and willingness to continue trying to overcome addiction is a luminous secret that I want to share.  And, I know that if I allow it, God can be a working luminous secret within me for them like the summer sun is for all of us. 

This is my prayer for Summer in the Southern Hemisphere.