The final word is love

I’ve been away from the computer for a while. (Well, I took a break from the blog. I’ve been watching plenty of Netflix.) I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t know what to say. How to say good-bye and hello? How to say thank you? It isn’t possible to encapsulate my last moments in Peru and the first moments back in the United States in a blog post. Words didn’t come to me—for months and months. (Those of you who know me well know how rare this is. I am a woman of many words, scribbling away in some notebook.) All I can think about is Dorothy Day:

But the final word is love.

At times it has been, in the words of Father Zossima, a harsh and dreadful thing, and our very faith in love has been tried through fire.

We cannot love God unless we love each other, and to love we must know each other. We know Him in the breaking of bread, and we know each other in the breaking of bread, and we are not alone anymore. Heaven is a banquet and life is a banquet, too, even with a crust, where there is companionship.

We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community.

It all happened while we sat there talking, and it is still going on.

How do I describe two years living as a Jesuit volunteer in Tacna, Peru? It’s love. I received so much love in those two years. People who were strangers in a foreign land when I arrived became colleagues, students, neighbors, family and friends. They welcomed me into a life of community. I wholeheartedly participated. I let love pour out from all my goodness, imperfections and brokenness. It was messy and awkward. It was beautiful and sacred. I loved. The foreign land became home… so much so that saying goodbye broke me and saddened me all over again.

            JVC is an accompaniment-based volunteer program—not a project-based program. I see JVC as an experience of learning to live. I didn’t come to Peru to accomplish a certain task. I built no houses. I didn’t solve this desert’s water crisis. I showed up to school with all my imperfections and taught my kids. And through conversations at recess, the service trips, student government projects, jokes that I couldn’t understand, volleyball practices and English classes, my students truly became my kids. I didn’t do anything, but I helped my students implement new programs and projects. I didn’t make anything, but I made my kids feel heard. I didn’t fix anything, but I sat with my family and neighbors through injustice. I didn’t build anything, but I’m letting my heart break as I say goodbye to this community and to my home. I lived each day embodying our four values the best I could, and the people here taught me how to live. It really has been a grand adventure.

            It was a grand adventure of increasing attentiveness to God’s presence, and so there was, indeed, peace in every step (although I didn’t always realize it while taking every step.) Sometimes it really was a harsh and dreadful thing—all the love. In the last moments and the first moments there are a lot of tears, especially for me. I can’t help but cry because love is so beautifully terrible. Those tears and those words still come to me in prayer. God, this is a beautifully, terrible love.

And it’s so worth it. To know one another in an authentic way… in the breaking of the bread... is worth all the tearful prayers in the world.

            And it is still going on. Usually this last line fills me with hope. It is still going on! The adventure continues! God is with me, and there is peace. Excellent. However, this also means that the raw uncertainty and disorienting liminality CONTINUE! Upon returning to the United States, I once again left home and became a stranger in a foreign land. I am a stranger who carries fear, insecurity and doubt. Amidst all the hellos, I once again carried a sadness because in order to experience the joyful welcome I had to say goodbye. AGAIN for all my limitations and uncertainties, a community welcomed me and loved me. My family and friends continue to love me and support me each day, with every step. I pray that I, the stranger with all her imperfections, can love back. The dreadful love is still going on. God, fine-tune me with patience. (Song: “Novels of Acquaintance” by Rising Appalachia)

Under all the grieving and griping and doubt and discontent, my prayer can only be

Gratitude.

A mi familia, mis amigos, mis colegas, alumnos, vecinos…. Gracias por dos años de amor y amistad. Gracias por dos años de comunidad. Gracias por TANTA hospitalidad y buena comida. Gracias por acogerme a pesar de mis imperfecciones. Gracias por verme como hermana y hija (y capaz tía o mamá para mis pequeñitos). Gracias por aceptar mis dones y servicio y decir que es bueno… que soy buena. Gracias por tu amor y gracia que esta me basta.

To my family and friends in the United States. Thank you for the giant hug—the welcome back. Thank you for listening and understanding. Thank you for your love and patience. Thank you for your joy and optimism… for your prayers!

Thank you for accompanying me throughout this journey.

Amen.

Blessings keep falling in my lap

Are you ready for your blessings?

Are you ready to go?

Are you ready to say goodbye?

Are you ready to come home?

            Are you ready to say hello?

Are you ready to go back?

Are you ready to go

Are you ready to begin

            A new job

            A new school

            Re-enculturation

            Re-rooting

            Re-newing

Are you ready to change

            To grow

                        To learn and unlearn

Are you ready to sit in the tide pool

            And just be

Are you ready to hold on and let go

Are you ready to go

            And dare to

                        Reach, jump, leap, run

                                    On this moving ground

Are you ready to remove your sandals from your feet

and recognize that even this ground is holy

Can you stand with wonder and awe

and bask in the sacredness

Are you ready for your blessings?

            No matter how many times I say

            I’m not ready to go or to stay

The earth moves and the ground shakes

            And I find myself once again

            a stranger in a foreign land

I ready myself to walk

            Slowly

I long for the days I danced and delighted in the shower of blessings

and marveled at the miracles

            wholly and gratefully

            spilling out love

Slowly I receive those Graces

            I ready myself again for the overflow

I am already so full of sadness

            The love spills out

                        Gratefully and broken

I ready myself to take God’s hand

            And allow Her to lead me

            Through the sacred, unchartered territory

            And to my home with Her

Let the blessings and the miracles come

I am not ready

But I still pray to give myself fully to the adventure

of increasing attentiveness to God’s presence

Amen.

           

Como Miguel Pro tocó mi vida... una reflexión de una voluntaria

Con algunas de mis alumnas de cuarto grado de primaria, día familar 2017

Nuestra misión entre los voluntarios jesuitas es una de servicio y formación. Cuando pienso en mi experiencia de servicio en Miguel Pro, me siento que esta experiencia me formó mucho más que podía dar en dos años. Apliqué para los voluntarios jesuitas porque quería crecer en los cuatro valores: espiritualidad, comunidad, justicia social y la vida sencilla. Estos valores son muy queridos para mi. Me siento que son parte de mi personalidad y mi espíritu. Así que, quería vivir estos valores intencionalmente por dos años para fortalecerme. Cuando me comunicaron que iba servir en Tacna, Perú, me emocionó… aún más cuando me explicaron que mi obra sería Colegio Miguel Pro. Me contaron de la fundación y misión del colegio y Habitat. Del inicio fue obvio que Miguel Pro es una comunidad única: unida en la fe y dedicada de la misión. Vine acá con la expectativa de enseñar inglés y la esperanza de colaborar en una comunidad educativa fuerte. Aprendí que ser voluntaria en Miguel Pro no es solamente ser maestra. Es ser madre. Enseño inglés. También, juego vóley después de las clases. Preparo montones de galletas. Hago trenzas para el grupo de gimnastica rítmica. Ayudo a mis niños con sus tareas. Colaboro con proyectos del colegio. Acompaño mis alumnos—desde los grandes hasta los más pequeños. Abro mi casa para compartir. Abro mi corazón para celebrar los logros y lagrimear las tristezas. Estos fueron los momentos que tocaron mi vida.

Este no es un proyecto ni un trabajo. Verdaderamente es una experiencia... de vivir en familia. Todos nosotros en esta comunidad colaboramos para criar nuestros alumnos, para formar hombres y mujeres para los demás. Así que, no aprendí esto de mis propias esfuerzas. Aprendí de la profesora que me enseño como manejar mi clase. Aprendí de la madre que se preocupa por su hijo. Aprendí de mi alumno que sueña sobre su futuro. Cada persona me formó. Crecí en nuestros valores pero también como una hija, amiga, acompañante… como madre. Entonces, Miguel Pro realmente, concretamente cambió mi vida. Entiendo mejor lo que es participar en una comunidad unida en la fe y dedicada a la misión.  Significa echar una mano, tomar un paso más y mirar siempre más alto…. No para mi pero para mis hermanos y hermanas, hijos de Dios. Ahora, como cada voluntario antes de mi, me toca despedir nuestra familia acá. Y como todos, estoy aprensiva. Es posible que este paso sería lo más difícil. Pero puedo tomarlo porque yo sé que esta familia estará conmigo. Siempre llevaré esta experiencia en mi corazón y en mis acciones, dedicada a la misión de amar y servir. Entonces, sigo con fe y esperanza porque sé que mi camino nunca será el mismo. Será siempre más alto. 

The Dreaded Dis-O

Here is a little about Dis-O and my experience this year

The mission of the Jesuit Volunteer Corps is service and formation. It’s both. As a part of our formation as international Jesuit volunteers, our program coordinators facilitate a reorientation/disorientation retreat for us.  The first year is so cool! You get to reorient to the mission, gear up for another year, and spend time with your fellow volunteers from other communities. However, the second time around they call the retreat disorientation. It marks the beginning of the end. We begin to talk about “next steps” and “saying goodbye.” I was nervous going into the retreat… The beautiful part of this experience is that we enter into life here. But that makes it impossible to say goodbye… How do I say goodbye to a life?

My nerves make me hesitant, resistant, guarded. I resigned to just pray for a miracle because the impossibility of saying goodbye made it too ridiculous to be true. It’s certainly out of my realm, my mere human capabilities, so I’ll toss it to God.

God answers prayers. I warmed up to the space and community on the retreat. By the time we reached the last day and were asked to begin thinking how to share our experience with our stateside communities, I was surprisingly willing to enter into the exercise. First I wanted to pray—for each person who will ask, “How was it?” I hope I can pray for each of you: my family who loves me but can’t wrap their heads around my off-the-wall life decisions sometimes, my friends who want to know everything, and even those college friends and neighbors who have grown out of touch but will undoubtedly ask, “Where were you? What were you doing?”

I’m nervous to share my story… I want to honor this experience and the people here. I don’t know how to communicate two years of life living. I want to share. I’m scared to share. I want to be understood. I egotistically think that no one will understand me sometimes. I’ll be imperfect and inadequate. But I’m praying for each of you, and I hope and trust that’ll fill in the gaps.

Here is a reflection from my disorientation retreat.

It’s a beginning of goodbyes and hellos.

{Full disclosure: This could be viewed as a compilation of all the prayers and saints who accompany me. Almost all is borrowed. I’m not original.}

I’m posed the question: How have you grown and what have you learned in this time as a Jesuit volunteer? It boils down to my mission (and that of St. Terese of Liseaux):  to be love.

The final word is love of course.

But I’ve learned, grown and been formed because I got lost. I find a lot of truth in our JVC slogan, “The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.” That’s how it happened. Baby step by baby step I ventured a little more, gave up a little more, unlearned a little more.
I gave myself to this experience: “full-time, long-term service.” Not shifts at a soup kitchen. Not Saturday mornings. Not a mission trip. I gave up my culture, future plans, expectations, family, friends, my skill set… all I have to this life. I gave to my students and teachers, to my neighborhood and the JVC community, to Tacneños like my host family. And as all those things I gave up slowly melted away or changed or grew into something better… I slowly began to find myself. I became attentive to the little moments of clarity, the presence of God. For brief, divine moments I saw/ understood clearly who and whose I am becoming. A person moved by faith. A daughter. A mother. A teacher. A servant. Giving myself to the adventure of increasing attentiveness to God’s presence, I woke up a little more. I experienced communion—with God and others. We can only know love in community—from our Triune God to our neighbors: sisters and brothers. We must understand more divine connectedness. I think I’m understanding a little more—that the secret is love and that love comes with community. That heaven is a banquet and life is a banquet too. That we know each other in the breaking of the bread—in the sacred ordinariness of living together. When we know that sacredness, the GLORY of the everyday and the call to GLORIFY the Lord by our own light, we can’t help but sing and dance and exclaim shouts of praise.

I prayed to God, and she answered my prayers. She showered me in Graces, the ones I’ve been begging for since the very beginning of my discernment with JVC

Openness     Gratitude      Courage

She held my hand. Ever so gently and slowly She led me into the wilderness. She changed my lot, empowered me to be a bold participant, rather than a saint-in-waiting.

It really has been a bold, wild adventure—falling in love. But for all the greatness, the deepness, the vastness, the courageous foolishness of this love, it really was all very small how it happened. It happened in the walks to school and trips to the market. It happened over lunch and laughing on the living room couch. It happened in a hug and a smile. I fell in love when I was welcomed in as sister, mother, daughter and friend. I fell in song and dance. In laughter, triumph and failure. I fell in love walking through the mountains and playing kickball. I fell when I received notes from students and when they included me in on their jokes. I fell in love looking up at the desert stars and admiring the sunset each day. I fell in love smelling freshly baked bread and eating avocados and mangoes…. Even in doing laundry and cooking dinner!

It was all very small, except for the Graces I received and the joyful peace that I felt. It was so small and simple how it all happened—as we sat there talking. It is not until we step back and take the long view that we realize that it really happened.

We lived into each day with spirituality, community, social justice and simple living. We lost ourselves in the service, in the living of daily life, and we woke up to find ourselves in these values. They are a part of us and us them. It’s a beautifully messy thing of overflow. It’s an unbound love for God and the world that cannot be undone. We are ruined for life.

It all happened while we sat there talking, and it is still going on.

I hope I communicate these values through my being. This beautifully terrible love has no words. I hope others come to know the little way—that they feel the Divine, joyful peace and encounter their own Graces. I hope in the freedom I’ve found.

I trust that this is only the beginning, a step along the way, and opportunity for God’s Grace to enter in and do the rest.

Praise be to God that this is a life-long adventure of increasing attentiveness to Her presence, growing in dependence and failing foolishly, dangerously in love.

                                                                                                          Amen.

because we´re still talking about Katrina

I wrote this reflection awhile back after listening to a podcast about Memorial Baptist Hospital during Hurricane Katrina. It was a strange experience... listening, learning and remembering such a familiar, intimate memory from an outsider, foreigner, non-New Orleanian... hit me with some weird feelings
So I prayed to God for the gift of tears

As we´re remembering once again this time of year, I thought I´d share how I recently remembered this event. It´s honest and unsure and unfinished.
It´s my prayer

And the Tears Don´t Come

I wanted to cry, but I couldn´t cry

I wanted to break down and cry over the trauma and hurt that happened to MY HOME,
and I couldn´t
Because I am/was so far removed. Protected. Bubbled. Lucky. Blessed.
I am priveleged.
So much so that now when I want tearws of solidarity to well up adn overflow to honor the memory of those we´ve lost and partake in the suffering of my people...
The tears don´t come
I´m grasping for a kinship with a people who aren´t my own.
My New Orleans is not their New Orleans.
My Katrina is not their Katrina.

Now that I´m 12 years older
and just a little wiser
I see and hear this traume

in ways I could not understand

when it was actually happening to me

I want to know and love my home.
I want to share in my community
I want to participate in an active history

But the tears don´t come
And I feel like a stranger

Amen.

The Two-Year Thing

There is a unique feature of the international Jesuit volunteer program that grabs your attention—for better and worse. That is we stay here in country for two years. No backsies. It’s a real shock factor when we share about our experience. The general public (in both countries) seems to think that two years is a long time. I once was a part of the general public. Now I’m ruined for life.  

The two-year thing was a major player in my discernment process. The thought of two years away from my friends, family and beloved New Orleans made me pause. Hesitate. However, I also saw the value of a two-year international program. I believed in the process. I trusted and stepped into my vocation of “long term service.” Then when I moved to Tacna the two-year thing didn’t just make me pause. I froze. Doubted. Maddie Keeble’s big move felt so permanent. The thought of building a life amidst so much uncertainty and newness was intimidating. I trusted and stepped into each day. Sometimes faith is about just showing up.

In the first year I couldn’t think beyond my time in Tacna. Everything was about investing into the next year. That in and of itself was so marvelously challenging that anything beyond these two years seemed far into the future. Seriously thinking about the return home seemed ludicrous. However, I could envision myself as the FJV sage returning to the United States to impart my wisdom on the aforementioned general public. I’d probably have a dread lock and some funky pants. Wild flowers would blossom as I walked. I would reek of the Holy Spirit. People would stand in shock not because I’m strange enough to commit two years of my life to voluntary service but because I’m just that cool and sage-like. This vision is clearly not serious thinking or discernment. (Also, I was exaggerating for comedic effect. Just to be clear.) However, the hope that one day I’d come out on the other side of this a better person carried me through some tough times. Cultivating that hope helps me grow in other virtues like faith and charity.

We joke here that as a volunteer you’re either new or you’re leaving. That is true. On a two-year time line every event is your first or your last. In the past year and a half I have experienced my first and last mes de mission, my first and last día familiar and my first and last “first day of school.” That’s not counting the day-to-day events I wish were innumerable, such as market adventures, recesses, community nights and lunches with my host family. I said a lot that my experience abroad in Argentina with the CASA program felt like a microcosm for life. There are many times when I feel that JVC is similar to CASA in that way. These two years are filled with un-learning and learning how to live. The two-year thing doesn’t just help me appreciate the present moment. I savor, relish, and totally delight in every event. That includes the big holidays and birthdays as well as every plate of ceviche, salsa dance and hug from one of my students. I must value every experience here because I will only live it once or twice. I must be present to the person in front of me because I won’t meet her/him again. I no longer have the option to checkout or ignore the moment before me. This opportunity will not present itself at some other time. This moment will not come again.

While you’re a first year it’s tough to see that because you have an entire year more! Also, it’s tough to adjust to this new life. While you’re a second year it’s tough to savor the present moment because you’re already leaving! It’s easy to be a whiny first year or a sappy, dramatic second year. I have been both. But every now and again I have the Grace (help from God) to see the present moment for what it is: sacred. I’m not complaining or nostalgic. I am unfocused on the timeline, and I am simply grateful. I realize that time is such a wonderful gift. You’re not running out. You’re really running in. –Trevor Hall

Lately, I feel like I’m running. My days are stupendously full of life and love that are beautiful and terrible. My heart is warmed and broken. At the end of the day I am left in awe of the work God is doing in and around me. For a long time here my prayer has been “Empower me to be a bold participant, rather than a patient saint in waiting.” A year and a half into the timeline it occurred to me that God answered this prayer. (Yeah, I’m a little slow.) I am no longer painfully, slowly stepping into my time here. I am walking boldly in my school, community and city. That doesn’t mean that I’m perfect or a saint. For every day I come home raving that I have the dream job, there is a day when I feel like I’m failing as a teacher and mentor. Being a bold participant does mean that I am alive and engaged. I am offering everything I have and all that I am. I am receiving all that life has and all that God wants to make of me.

            Being a bold participant is my answer to the dare proposed to me by JVC over a year and half ago. Each cautious step and exciting leap is a dare to change. But it’s more than discerning how to live my vocation as a Jesuit volunteer. This dare is not bound to the two-year timeline. The dare to change is a boundless venture to savor not just these two years but also every moment of my life. That’s a little daunting, but I find consolation there. The delight, wonder, joy, heartache, solidarity, care, generosity, love… has no timeline. For as long as I walk upon this sacred earth I can choose to be a bold participant. I have hit the point of no return. I am ruined for life. Now I trust and step into the present. I let myself be touched by the world around me, and my life is saturated with all that is good and terrible and beautiful and meaningful. That means that my heart will break in six months when I leave Tacna. My heart will continue to break again and again as I allow myself to be deeply moved by the people around me. But that’s what happens when you fall in love and stay in love… it decides everything. No backsies.

Nothing is more practical than finding God,

that is than falling in love in a quite absolute, final way.

What you are in love with,

What seizes your imagination,

Will affect everything.

It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning,

What you do with your evenings,

How you spend your weekends,

What you read, who you know,

what breaks your heart,

and what amazes you with joy and gratitude.

Fall in love, stay in love

And it will decide everything.

-Pedro Arrupe

Vacation time was full and fun! Here are a few moments from the last couple weeks... 

The family visits Peru! Big thanks to yall for coming all the way here to see me-- and for the great trip!

Día Familiar. I got to celebrate our school community by participating in a traditional Peruvian dance with the teachers and cheering on my students in their dance competition. Here the senior class and I are enjoying our last family day. 

Our community recently took a hiking retreat in Peru´s GLORIOUS Colca Canyon.

My mantra for the retreat was ¨Peace is every step.¨ Thanks, Thich Nhat Hanh

The earth tree and the pot vine

I’m looking at two trees. One in a pot and one growing from the earth, The tree growing from the earth is mostly sticks. The earth is hard, packed, dusty. The tree in the pot was placed against the twiggy, earth tree for support. The pot tree is a limp vine with beautiful leaves but cannot stand up on its own. It is not planted in the earth. It’s green and strong, but it can’t grow up like the earth tree, The pot is placed next to the sticky tree so that the vine is supported. The earth tree supports the pot vine. Because it gives to the pot tree, the vine can grow up. One tree makes the other stronger, and they are both more beautiful.