protect us from all anxiety

Tomorrow it will be two weeks since I've arrived to California, my new home for the next three years. Despite constant affirmations from God that I am exactly where I need to be, and reminders that the Great Companion of Companions is journeying with me, I found myself in moments of anxiety. I lay in my bed a few nights ago allowing insecurities invade my mind, "What am I doing? I belong working with the people directly, not with books again." While in my heart peace assures me that I've listened and followed.

This past week I've allowed illusions to cause anguish within me and today as we prayed our Love's prayer in mass I listened to the familiar words coming out of the priests mouth...

"...grant us peace in our day. In your mercy... protect us from all anxiety."

The prayer carries a wisdom deep within, acknowledging our own vulnerability to anxiety and how much we need Our Comforter to protect us from it and grant us peace. Only in our peace will we be able to fully open and allow ourselves to dance with the Dancer of all dances and delight creating life in that spirit.

May you and I, both, replace our illusions for the peace that we are granted.

With you,
Luisely

 

a hug

I sat conversing with June. An 84 year old Kentuky native, who used to work for the FBI. With Alzeimer's at  her side, she repeats the stories about working during Hoover's presidency, and meeting her husband at a dance that cost a nickel to get into, more than a dozen times with the same enthusiasm.

As I listened to her another resident was brought to the June's usual sitting area in front of the ignored TV. Her feet were bare, like mine, touching the floor from between the pedals of her wheelchair. I looked up to her and smiled, she moaned. I went closer, kneeling at her feet and listened. "Help me," she whispered, "help me." She extended her hand. I got up on my feet and leaned towards her and her seemingly feeble arm wrapped around me with tremendous strength. I leaned closer feeling her cheek rest on mine. My arm caressed her grey, soft hair as I listened to her struggling breath, feeling that her time was near, I felt her hand in my hair mimicking my motions, then finding my clip. I smiled.

A nursing assistant passed by warning me, "She may not let go." I stayed. Another nursing assistant walked by a few minutes later asking me if I wanted her to pry me away from the embrace. I gratefully declined with my eyes. What she didn't know was that I needed the hug as much as she did, she was giving me life and strength while I did the same for her. In the meantime another resident, Lily, soon to become my friend, was wheeled next to us. "Well, isn't that nice. We all need a hug once in a while." I responded, "They're good for our health." "Better than all the pills they give us," she replied. "I believe she knows." Pretty soon a third nurse came and said it was time to take her back to her room. I placed my forehead on hers and looked into her tired eyes. There was the mucus that accumulates in the eyes of those dying. She held on to my head and back. As we parted I kissed her hand and felt her, thanking her for helping me.

A week later Eileen died, she would have been 103 in October. There was wisdom in her dying, a wisdom I hope to learn in my living: to take off uncomfortable shoes, ask for help, and hold on to a hug for as long as needed, intuitively knowing what will bring peace.

With you, and Eileen,
Luisely

peace within

The tires of the car seemed to wake up the road on the silent ride towards the fields. We wrapped belts around our waists with bucket looped in them and walked through the crisp morning air towards the bushes. The branches arched over the groves, weighed down by the weight of the berries. The rays of sunlight bathed us through smeared clouds as, in the distance, a girl sang In the Jungle with all her might. With the passing of an hour our brows were wet with sweat and our trunk full of over 5 gallons of blueberries. Children chased each other blithely through the bushes and laughter traveled through the field. We weighed the berries and left the money in an envelope for the farmers. 


On the ride home we looked at the sky slowly blend with ominous grey clouds as we savored the sweet fruits in our mouths.

O Love my God! When I in awesome wonder

Consider all the works Your hands have made.

I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,

Your power throughout the universe displayed.

Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to You;

How great You are, how great You are!

Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to You:

How great You are, how great You are!

When through the woods and forest glades I wander

And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees;

When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur

And hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze:

Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to You;

How great You are, how great You are!

Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to You:

How great You are, how great You are!

(modified version of How Great Thou Art by Carl Gustav Boberg)

With you,

Luisely

writing

I am being retaught a lesson this summer. The lesson of being.
I am tempted not to write about my simple encounters with God because I will not be informing you of anything new or updating you on the people in Kay Pov or Haiti. I will simply share ordinary beauties of life, beauties that anyone who is alive can sense.
Writing this blog challenges me tremendously, to let go of my ideas of self and simply be with you.

With you,
Luisely

gray clouds

I arrived home on Friday. Since then thunder shakes our walls every afternoon, following the flashes and announcing the rain. The sky, painted of a variety of grays with highlights of blues, houses clouds who collide in the most magnificent and mighty style.

I spoke to Rose today, it's her birthday. The spectacles in the sky have overstayed their welcome in Haiti. Port-au-Prince floods as cases of Cholera rise again from the stagnant water's contamination. The overflow of rain brought with it a few deaths. 

Before the floods though, before the casualties, people danced in praise for the blessing of water from above... how fragile our requests. 

Still with you,

Luisely

in the hands of the other

We woke up a bit after 5 this morning and headed to the Las Vegas Catholic Worker. With 600 hot dogs boiling and buckets of buns to pair with each we sat for morning prayer. The book used was the same one Rose, Nazareth, and I used in Jean Rabel, (People's Companion to the Breviary with Seasonal Supplement ;) one of the ones I plan on using with my children. We loaded the trailer and head to the lot. The sun still laid lazily on the horizon, we set up different lines in the coolness of the morning. The people, mostly men, from all ethnicities and walks of life, stood in line ready to receive their daily bread. In the hands of each, and the eyes of all, we saw him again, Jesus. We heard his words through the mouth of the hungry mother, through the rashes, the infections, and the smiles we smelled him, felt him, ate with him, Jesus.

Following that communion, we cleaned our mess at the house and left to the Courthouse for a Peace Vigil for an hour. People joined as they passed by and honked when they read the signs, "Support Our Troops, End the War," "Hate only begets hate," "Honk for Peace," "I really only love God as much as I love the person I love least. - Dorothy Day." We shared with others and in the stories I heard mine and in their search I found mine.

We crossed the railroad tracks back to the side of Vegas where the forgotten are stragically shoved to on the other side of the highway, with a jail near by and government housing, back to the Worker's neighborhood. We picked up 50 bag lunches to distribute around the neighborhood, at the spots where most homeless try to stay cool and avoid harassment and cops. In the interaction between those who work at the Catholic Worker and those who recieve the meal we witnessed the beauty of real relationship. The day to day catching up, the companionship.

We broke bread together once again and went our seperate ways, the people at the Worker staying to continue the work, and us, back home, both to continue finding Jesus in the hands of the other. 

With you,
Luisely

Great Wonders!

Since last time we spoke, I have seen great wonders! I've baffled and stood speechless at the innumerable beauties of our Creator.

We left Vegas and made our way to Santa Barbara, California. The reception and the genuine sense of welcome we recieved gave our hearts a sense of freedom to retreat. Surrounded by the peace and perfection of nature we used our time there as retreat time, to look within and balance ourselves and recieve Love.

From there we marvelled at the sound of the cracking of oysters in otters mouths and their cuteness as they lay floating on the waves and their little hands agility to toss the empty shells from their bellies in Monterey, CA. The personality of the seals while they flirted with us in the sea and played michieviously with the seagulls seated at sea showed us yet another face of God's humor and creativity. The squirels were ginormous and the scallops exquisite.

We spent four days in Berkeley visiting my future university and the Holy of Holies made it perfectly clear that that is where I am being called in the fall. On Holy Thursday we went to the mass of the washing of the feet in a parish whose parishoners were half Central American and half African American. The gospel choir vibrated in my soul and moved my hips (which doesn't take much) and heart. The bilingual mass and homily (done by two students of my future school) stayed with me for the week to follow. I left the mass feeling blessed for my biculturalism and my faith.

From there I spent a little time in the Catholic Worker in Oakland, where yet again God showed me that where the Spirit guides me I will feel at home.

We spent Holy Saterday in Yosemite National Park, beholding the splendor of God! That night we went to Easter Vigil where I laughed, laughed, and laughed throughout the mass delighting in the obvious presence of New Life, of the risen savior, in the Chicano family seated in the pew in front of me composed of all women of different ages. The excitment I feel during Easter Vigil mass is that of a child's when she's listening to her favorite story and discovers that there is a happy ending. Each time it's as if I didn't know the ending (or better put, the beginning of Jesus' story... of all stories).

Easter Sunday we wandered around the ginormous trees and the majesty of the Great Artist in King's Canyon and Sequoia National Park. My breath was taken from me in soo many accounts. I honestly believe that I found heavenly resplendence there. We drove back to Vegas that night laughing, bealting out songs with the stirring wheel as our microphone, dancing and delighting as children do.

What freedom and peace, knowing that after death comes life! The cycle continues, it never ends in death, it continues.
  
Throughout our whole journey we have been centered in prayer focused on Lent, using books of reflections and meditaions, with one in particular by Richard Rohr. Part of the homily of Thursday's mass spoke about the decision to either continue working on cleaning out our souls after lent or of stuffing all the piles into the closet for postponment. (The homily sounded alot better than my summary.) I've chosen to continue working at the piles I've been sorting out throughout lent and continue throwing out what I need to detach myself from, what I need to embrace, and what needs more attention. So I've dedicated this whole week until next for a deep Spiritual retreat. It's hard work, but I'm grateful for it. It's all part of the baffling wonders of God.

With you,
Luisely

P.S.: Prayers are more than welcome.
P.P.S.: Nazareth and Rose wrote me saying the following:
            "...[we] visited Kay Pov, and it was a changed atmosphere, they were happy, clean clothes, food cooking, Alex brought us around to see the shower... Walter... gave us hugs! Tiffany did not run away, said hello, it was special...the good work continues." Amen! God is Good!