Un buen dia / A good day

Sunday, March 6, 2011

It is a mystery to me why I have been so fortunate in my life. I have been blessed with so many amazing experiences and relationships with really wonderful and inspirational people. People whose lives have seen so much sorrow and misfortune… and yet, so many of them still find faith and strength to choose joy and peace as their response to what life hands them. I am humbled beyond words by their steadfast example.

I find myself pondering these things because today was one of those magical days for us where everything just felt charmed, and it is such a stark contrast to what I know is happening in our Sister Parish community of Tierra Nueva Dos in Guatemala. Just two weeks ago we were there visiting and since that time, one of our young scholarship students was kidnapped and murdered along with two other young men. His mother and the rest of the family is being extorted, and being unable to pay, are in real danger of being killed. Several of our other Sister Parish members are also in danger, and those of us from St. Joan of Arc are left wondering if our visible relationship with them is a benefit or a problem. The father of the young man who was killed is working in another country, sending money home, so there is a perception by the gang members that the family has a lot of money. We are in the midst of preparing for a delegation from TNII to visit MN in June, and we wonder if we put their lives in danger by singling them out to visit us, or if we endanger them when we come to Guatemala to visit and the gangs see gringos staying in people’s homes. A Sister Parish relationship is not about money and so there are no gifts (lavish or otherwise) being left with families, but the gangs don’t know that. It is a difficult situation and one that tears at our hearts as we grieve with them the loss of such a vibrant young person, and share with them the fear of such uncertainty. This is the price of walking in solidarity with people… we risk our emotions as we share in their joy and their sorrow. I wouldn’t trade it for anything, but it is hard.

Anyway, let me tell you about today. We were up early, probably 6am. That’s easy to do here because the sun is up and the day beckoning. The forecast called for rain, so we decided to pack up our snorkeling gear and head out early for a nearby beach called Turtle Bay. There is a large, grassy area where green turtles come to graze on the sea grass. We headed straight out to that area, moving quickly past a group of snorkelers crowding a lone turtle while some idiot kept free diving down to get pictures of it. The poor thing had nowhere to turn and looked distressed. We got a fair distance away from the group and I spotted what I thought were three turtles. Turns out it was two turtles and a stingray. The ray headed one way (and Jeff followed that), but the turtles just kept grazing so I hung with them. I stopped swimming toward them when I was about 10 feet away, then just let the current carry me over them. The water was just 8 feet deep, so there was a very good view and I could see them tearing at the grass and munching away. One fellow had two sucker fish attached to the bottom of his shell – a mobile car wash. I must have watched those guys for 10 or 15 minutes. Swam away for a while and found a few more turtle and a few more rays, but mostly spent my time watching that first pair. I also saw lots of little silver fish, about 8” long, with sharp, needle-like noses – possibly they were baby gars – and a long, sinister looking barracuda. For once I stayed in the water longer than Jeff – generally I get chilled and have to get out, but today I hung around a long time just letting the current carry me over things. By not moving around a lot, you just become part of the environment, and the animals forget you’re there. The turtles were coming up for air just a few feet from me, and the rays would calmly hang underneath me, feeding on whatever it is they eat and shooting sand out their gills, which are right behind their eyes. Very weird looking.

We spent another hour or so at the beach warming up in the sun and having lunch before heading back to our hotel. The sky had clouded over and there was a light mist in the air, so the timing was perfect for a nap. I guess I was tired because I slept through what I’m told was quite a lashing rainstorm. Didn’t hear a thing!

By evening, the temps had cooled sufficiently that I climbed into my cozy yoga pants and fleece jacket and we went for dinner at the beach. For the third time in four days, I had the shrimp fajitas. Mmmm ummm. I considered eating something else, but really, why? It’ll be tuna hot dish soon enough. We were the only people at the bar/restaurant on the beach and the wind had completely died down, so the only sounds we heard were the waves lapping at the shore. As we stepped back on the beach, we could see that the sky had cleared and the stars were twinkling brightly, so up to the roof we went, with our beach blankets in tow. We had that to ourselves as well, so we stretched ourselves out and watched the stars. That’s when I began to ponder our good fortune and found myself thinking of the many times and different places that we have found ourselves searching the heavens and finding our old friends the Big Dipper and Orion the Archer. We’ve viewed those familiar constellations from upside down and even seen the Southern Cross. I remember being in South Africa seeing a blood red crescent moon lying on its back like a stem-less chalice while our guide interpreted it through the history of Zulu mythology. I can remember so clearly just a year ago sleeping under the stars in the Jordanian desert and marveling at the wonder of it all. I can recall a night many years ago camped on a rocky outcrop in the Boundary Waters watching the stars and being treated to a colorful, pulsing display of the Northern Lights, accompanied by loon song and the crackle of a camp-fire. Such incredible experiences. Sometimes I wish I could capture them and live in them forever, but it is enough to pull them out on occasion and let them drift through my memories. If memories are currency, I am rich beyond measure.