Nuevas Cosas

“They go out, they go out, carrying seed for the sowing: they come back, they come back, full of song, carrying their sheaves” (Psalm 126:6, Grail). 

These words of the Psalms, and the following verses from Isaiah, give me comfort and consolation:

“Do not dwell on the past, or remember the things of old. Look, I am doing a new thing: now it springs forth. Do you not see?” (Isaiah 43:18-19). 

My faith in God is faith in the future, that is, God’s present becoming our present. My hope in what God has in store for us can be summarized colloquially: you ain’t seen nothing yet. My love for God and for neighbor is possible for as long as I long for love to come to me in full from the God who is love and has always loved me first and best and has yet to show me just how much love God has for me, or how much power I have received to love others. Faith, hope, and love are always news, always coming. 

I trust that I will be filled. I trust that I will be made new, continually made new. And I trust that someday is becoming today more and more frequently. God gives me the blessing of tears more frequently, and I rise into song after sowing in tears. And despite my temptation to timesickness, I remain fixed on what is to come. I believe in the crucifixion only because of the resurrection. We must overcome the crucifixion so that we can be overcome by the resurrection. The sacrifices we make during Lent are rituals intended to make of us a real sacrifice of ourselves to God and to one another. But it is a sacrifice not unto annihilation, but a sacrifice to generate life and to welcome the new creation. It is a sacrifice whose aim is to reduce suffering—the suffering of the poor, the suffering of the earth. It is an emptying so that all may be filled with eternal life. Jesus, the ultimate self-sacrificer, is the first to be filled absolutely with the life of the new creation. Not that he sacrificed himself to receive the first fruits; he really did sacrifice himself selflessly. So let us also trust that we will be filled when we give ourselves away. But let us have the mind of Jesus and know and intend, truly, to cast everything away, including ourselves, into the bright abyss of God. 

I can venture forth to do this only if I trust what God says and does through the prophets, saints, and Jesus. Only if I trust in the new thing being done, leaving the past, and hoping that when I go out with seeds and tears, I will come back, when the harvest is full. 

Here are a few more words in the New Testament that brings me a firm but costly hope: 

“Do not throw away your confidence, which has a great reward. For you have need of endurance, so that when you have done the will of God you may receive what is promised” (Hebrews 10:35-36, English Standard Version). 

It is hard doing a new thing on a new day. It is hard to stay focused on God’s present moment when it seems like everyone is running the other way, back into the past, or into their own idea of the present, which is only a another expression of the past. I wrote a poem years ago with these lines: “Everybody's drifting, goin’ back to what they did/They got a glimpse of glory, then they ran and hid.” How do you hold on to your confidence when it not only seems but it is actually happening that the human race is regressing, or worse, moving willfully into night forever? Yes, this calls for perseverance; this calls for persistence. It calls for a particular type of remembering, too. It is not the remembering that pines for old things. It is a remembering that recalls the new things that have broken into the old time. It is not nostalgia. It is not timesickness. It is the flashing forward that recreates the new today in God’s present moment. The exodus never gets old. Miracles of compassion and justice never get old. The resurrection never gets old. The victories of God never get old. To these we cling, to these we look forward in anticipation of the ultimate fulfillment of hope as a people who move from darkness and shadow of death into perpetual light and brilliant, undying life. In this movement we live and have our being. In this movement, giving all that we have got, we do not imitate the old, but we imitate the new and never-before-seen, and we participate with the ever-young Creator in the beauty of redemption. 

These thoughts appear to be detached from mundane realities, I know, but I pray they are not. Being here in Bolivia is bringing out of me a desire to continue striving past the limits of old and unhelpful ways of being, perceiving, and doing. It is not easy. My temptation, to do over the past, to recover lost time, is part of what keeps me from receiving God’s present moment and throwing all that I have into it. Is this a source of my sleeplessness—not only trying to live fully in two spatial world, Bolivia and my beloved communities in the United States, but also trying to live in two temporal realities, my past-present and God’s present? I am too limited to straddle these worlds and realities. God is unlimited, but God would have me remain in the one world and one reality that matters, where I can behold the grace and truth and beauty and love that I crave with all my soul.

Álbum de Fotos

Okay, I am giving this a try. I have created a Google Photos album for the Tunari Peak expedition.

I think that the way this works, I have to share the album with each of you individually if you want to view the album. If you want to see the photos, send me an e-mail, and I will grant access to you.

Or maybe all you have to do is click on this link. Try it!

Many thanks to Joshua for sharing all his photos with me. There are a lot of them! They should be arranged in chronological order, so if you want to know what is going on, refer to my March 31 post for the whole story.

Mejor

A thank-you to everyone who has been asking about and praying for my rest. This morning I feel awake and refreshed. I think I slept a solid seven hours last night. I forced myself to bed at 9:50 p.m.; I fell asleep slowly. I woke at 2:30 a.m. and 4:45 a.m, but this time the undertow of sleep drew me back under more strongly. Is it the effect of the new medication? Is it eating dinner a couple of hours earlier? Was it walking the treadmill for an hour? All three? Plus everyone’s prayers? 

Thank you for keeping in touch with me through conversation and prayer. This was a more challenging week than I thought, but still much lighter than the days I lived in Ocotepeque, Honduras, in June and July 2014. So I am thankful for the grace of time to grow and mature. I am thankful for the fine tuning of my physical and spiritual conditioning this week. Maybe things are much better than I realize! God is always good. 

No weekend homework assignments from my profesores. No extraordinary adventures, either; thus, a light weekend. Today, attempting laundry; for some reason the spin cycle of the washing machine failed to wring out my clothes, so I am trying again, with Padre Juan Carlos’ help. Also uploading a couple hundred photos of the Tunari Peak expedition to a Google Photos album. More on this in the following post. Perhaps a quick trip to the nearest pharmacy for some personal items. A video call this afternoon, to be followed probably by more exercise. Always Eucharist in the evening. I like to read the Scripture texts in Spanish ahead of time if I can. While my lectio divina continues to be in English, studying the Spanish translation of the words and phrases on which I meditate changes the way I hear and understand the English. 

Tomorrow: returning to Nuestra Casa in the morning, this time to visit all the girls, who will be at home together. I will not be leading any activities, but I will be there during their theater workshop, led by an outside group of performers. In May I hope to offer the girls who want it some spiritual sharing of prayers and songs or some cultural sharing of poems and stories appropriate for their age and interests. Later in the afternoon, perhaps a walk through one of the parks, perchance to sit and begin writing another poem. Or a trip to one of the museums or historic sites. There are opportunities everywhere for language and cultural learning. Just sitting in the clinic yesterday with Kitty Schmidt, the language program coordinator, school was still in session. We had real-life conversations, tired as I was, and had practical interactions with Doctor Ferrel. Finally, in the evening after Eucharist, a video call with my brother Nicholas. 

I wish everyone a weekend of rest and renewal, and continued blessings to my Christian sisters and brothers who observe the Lenten disciplines of fasting, prayer, and giving. May your fasting go lightly, your prayers be hopeful, and your giving be joyful.

Consejo Médico

I have in front of me twenty tablets of a medication that, in the words of the doctor who examined me today, will help re-educate my body to sleep without interruption through the night and awaken at the appropriate hour. 

This is one of a few remedies to be tried after my consultation today with Dr. Nancy Ferrel at Centro Médico Quirurgico Boliviano Belga, a clinic located in the city center, a short walk from the convent.

Most of what I need to do I already knew, but now it is time to do these things more intentionally. Some of these are already given: avoid caffeine, nicotine, and alcohol, which is no problem for me because I do not drink caffeinated beverages habitually, I don’t drink alcohol at all, and I have never smoked. Geez, think of the sleeping problems I’d have if I did any of these things! 

Other things simply bear constant mindfulness. Maintain a regular sleep schedule: this I have been doing despite my troubles, because I go to bed between 10 and 10:30 p.m. and rise at 5:30 to 5:45 a.m. Don’t eat or drink too much near the hour you go to bed: this has been a problem because the friars here eat the evening meal at 8 p.m., immediately after Mass. Well, I can’t do this anymore. I spoke to the brothers who lead the household, and I spoke to Diana the cook, and we have made accommodations. From now on I will eat at 5:30 p.m. and finish by 6 p.m., as I would do normally at Good Shepherd Friary. (I’ll still sit with the brothers during their evening meal, probably with a cup of chamomile mate in my hands.) I ate at 5:30 last evening, and with the other adjustment of going to bed by 9:30 last night, I gained two hours of sleep over the previous three nights—six, instead of four. Still I woke up during the night, at about 3:30 a.m., and I didn’t rest much more after that. Maintain an environment conducive to rest: I am fortunate to have an environment ideal for sleeping, because the convent is quiet at night, removed from the sounds of the city, though I wear earplugs as a precaution; it is dark and the temperature is right; and the bed is comfortable. 

Even though my sleep is wrong, so many conditions are right! Now I just need to do a little more of the right things. For instance, I must discipline myself not to use my laptop up until the moment I go to sleep. I have underestimated the effect of exposure to the bright lights of electronics on my fidgety neurons! My apologies, dear readers, if this causes delays in responding to your e-mails. Also, Dr. Ferrel recommends more exercise to improve my ability to stay asleep and have dreams that restore the body. Last night I learned from Brother Leo that there is an exercise room one floor above the laundry room. There is a stationary bicycle and a treadmill. I wish knew that a month ago when my insomnia began to worsen! Well, it’s never too late to get cycling and jogging again. I used to do these things more frequently during my first two years of formation as a Capuchin friar. Finally, Dr. Ferrel says I have low blood pressure and should drink more fluids so I have more energy in the daytime. 

Simple remedies, all of them. Time to put them into practice. Thank you, doctor, and thank you, Kitty Schmidt and Myrna Arébalo, for the help you bring me to give me rest and renewal of the body.

Insomnio

I stopped sleeping at quarter to three. I was awake at 3. I was wide awake at 3:15. I couldn’t do anything about it. I turned on the lights, turned on the computer, looked for e-mail, researched insomnia, and turned everything off again. I was lying awake in the dark at 4. Eventually, I drifted away after 4:30, only to be roused at 5:30 by my alarm. I was tired. I went back to sleep for almost another hour. I woke near 6:30, very tired and with a headache. 

Enough of this. I have got to figure out what to do. Something has got to change. In the meantime, I am skipping classes today.

Duro

A hard day today. Another half-sleepless night. After three very good nights of sleep, I slept far too little for the second straight night. During class I hit the wall with Spanish conversation: only a few ideas I could express. Every correction in speech the teachers made was getting me angry and less willing to talk. Little progress today, little sense of freedom. How hard the day, any day, is without rest. Dear God, please help me out here. I don’t want to miss these moments in Bolivia. Help me meet them with everything I’ve got. You know I’ve got a lot of passion for this experience. Don’t let my love slumber for lack of strength. 

On this day, the fiftieth day of my Bolivian journey, I had my first day at Nuestra Casa, the shelter for girl survivors of sexual abuse. I arrived a little before 2 o’clock in the afternoon and stayed until a little after 5 p.m. It was a slow and sad afternoon: no sun, only clouds, only rain until the very end of the afternoon. 

Fourteen girls live here. Ten of them are capable enough of attending school, which they do in the afternoon. So on Wednesdays like today I will meet the other four, who keep busy with arts and crafts and chores like laundry or homeschool assignments in arithmetic, reading, and so on. 

My intention today was to introduce an art project of my own. Well, not my own: the credit goes to my sister Jen, who is a middle-school art teacher. The exercise: turn music into colors and shapes. The goal: hear the music and translate the sounds into shapes and colors that reflect that sound. The girls would listen to different styles of music, including their favorite kinds, and learn to match the sounds with appropriate shapes and colors. The idea was to introduce an easy, fun project to express emotions and enjoy music. My sister is inspired by the Russian abstract painter (and pianist) Wasily Kandinsky, who said, “Color is the keyboard, the eyes are the harmonies, and the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is the hand that plays, touching one key or another, to cause vibrations in the soul.” 

The only problem was there was no electricity at the shelter this afternoon, because of utilities work on the block. Without a radio or CD player we could use, Janet, the director, and I agreed to postpone my art activity until next Wednesday, and we did other crafty things the girls have been doing lately. Namely, they create blank greeting cards that they sell on the sidewalk. Nieves, one of the afternoon supervisors, showed me how to weave patterns with needle and thread into cutout shapes like hearts and ovals to decorate the cards. I felt clumsy and awkward, but I figured out how to do it. And now and then I talked to the four girls who were also making cutouts. 

As I say, it was a slow and sad afternoon for me. Hard to be there and be so self-conscious, unable to speak freely, finding it awkward to relate. In the third hour, the girls had a break for tea, coffee, and bread. I wasn’t hungry, so I declined. Nieves told me the girls eat five times a day. I said that in the United States we eat three times a day, and usually I have two meals only. One of the girls asked me why. I said because I am not hungry often. Of course that doesn’t answer the question for a teenager, so she asked again why. I said again, because I am not hungry. Then she asked why two meals. I said sometimes it is only one meal a day. Why? I digged deeper and said it’s because I fast for God, I fast for others, I fast against injustice … and I fast for her. And because I was about to cry, I went to the bathroom. I was brought to tears from deep feelings of empathy for the girls and pity for myself for feeling my efforts were feeble and futile. 

It was hard to keep composure after that. There is a dog named Jaqui at the shelter. Of course she barked a lot when I arrived. After I returned to the crafts table from the bathroom, Jaqui sat down at my legs. I started to pet her. She relaxed some more. Then after a few minutes she did something I did not expect. She got up on her hind legs and with her forelegs hugged my right leg. I don’t mean that she pawed my leg; I mean that she somehow was giving me a hug, an embrace. Well, I just about lost it right there. It was such an affectionate gesture. Janet and Nieves, aware that dogs make me nervous, commanded Jaqui to get down. But I said, almost overcome, está bien, está bien. 

Today I felt like I couldn’t go on, but I’ll go on. Why? One more thing to note in passing. I didn’t catch this two weeks ago when I made my exploratory visit to Nuestra Casa. Across the street, maybe one or two doors down from the shelter, there is a ballet studio and theater. Its name is Libellule Ballet y Arte. Libellule is not Spanish; it’s French. The Spanish equivalent is libélula. Libellule and libélula mean dragonfly. For those who have been following my story, for those who believe in synchronicity, make of the coincidence what you will.

Peluquería

A little bit of triviality for today. But no less an adventure for being trivial. I told this story to Joshua and Profesora Viviana for my 10-minute presentation today. I told it to them in Spanish, but I’ll spare you and tell it to you in English!

I put my language skills to a real-life test yesterday afternoon when I visited the hairdresser, or peluquería, nearest to Convento San Francisco. I had asked Fray Rodrigo about two weeks ago where I could find a good haircutter nearby. He told me about a place on Calle Bolívar in the middle of the block between Calle San Martín and Calle 25 de Mayo. But he cautioned me that it was an expensive haircut—30 bolivianos. Thirty bolivianos? That’s little more than four dollars. Where I come from, that’s an unheard-of bargain. Even the haircuts at beautician schools cost at least five dollars. The only way to get a cheaper cut is to do it yourself. I was sold.

And yesterday I finally made time to go. It was about time, too. My hair does not grow long quickly, but it gets really thick, hard to run a comb through. It adds extra time in the morning to wash all that hair and dry it well, the longer and thicker it gets. So, though I prefer having heavy, wavy hair that gets tousled in the breeze, I opted for practicality—I need to shave off minutes as I freshen in the morning. 

Nervously, I stepped into the doorway of the salon. Four women were at work; one was dressing a woman’s hair, and the other three were kneeling before the feet of three woman clients. I wasn’t sure if this was a unisex salon, so I asked if they serve men, too. Yes, of course, one replied. And I looked at the name of the salon: D’El y Ella (Of Him and Her). Duh. So, okay, I entered. And, wondering if this was the very same place of the 30-boliviano cut, I asked how much for a cut. Sure enough, it was 30 bolivianos—40 bolivianos if you also wanted a wash with the cut. No, thank you, just the cut. So far, so good. I sat down and waited 10 to 12 minutes until the woman getter her hair dressed was done. 

Now came the test. Could I explain what I wanted? I had written down some crib notes, offering what I supposed were the correct commands. Just to be sure my language would not foil me, I brought a photo, too, showing exactly how I preferred my hair to look. (See my profile picture to the right.) Do it like this. Don’t touch my beard! Shorter, please. Keep the ears covered on top. Please thin the hair. Things like that. I can’t take it for granted, as in English, that the things I say are the things that the other person receives. And really you can’t take it for granted even in your maternal tongue. In communication, in the signal-to-noise ratio, there is always more noise than we realize. So it was an act of faith to give these commands and hope that I would receive back what I said. 

Well, when all was said and done, I got the cut in the style I wanted. It was short enough, but not so short as to make my head feel bare and cold. It was thin, but not too thin to embarrass me. I will return to D’El y Ella sometime in June for another weeding of the thicket that is my hair! Gracias por el buen consejo; thanks for the good advice, Fray Rodrigo. 

Why do I share this triviality? This short story goes a long way to demonstrate, first of all to myself, then to others, that I can function in Spanish in everyday life. I think I am at the point and almost past the point where I can travel extensively in Spanish-speaking places and handle the ordinary situations a tourist or visitor has to negotiate. In other words, I have reached one plateau of this never-ending mountain. But this is not enough for me. I want, and I need, to speak well enough, and be literate enough among Spanish speakers, to minister with them. So there are greater heights to scale. Yesterday, I visited a place where, figuratively and literally, they anoint your head and wash your feet. Tomorrow, I want to create a place where, figuratively and literally, I anoint the heads of others and wash their feet. Today, I am in between those places.