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.