Dear Loved Ones,

Today begins my 5th week here at Casa Simon, and though still without a working computer, I wanted to send something of what has happened lately, so again I walk to Soriana to write… and it seems so strange, this going to a store much like Walmart to send something so personal to my dearest family and friends!

I mentioned the road to Emmaus last week, and it was our Gospel reading again last Sunday, this story of Christ´s walking unnoticed with us. This was the third of 4 times I would hear the reading and a homily attached to it, this charismatic healing Mass in Hidalgo. I had heard it the night before at the late Mass Saturday night, again that morning at Casa Simon when Padre Mario came to give Mass, and I would hear it a 4th time that night as I returned to my parish for Mass. But it was this one that seemed to soak in the most deeply, like that oil that penetrates our soul. More »

Dear Loved ones,

Well into my third week here, and what irony… as I think of things not of this world, it is the things of this world that interfere so with my sharing that experience, haha! See, the computer at Casa Simon is broke… but nothing serious. The button we press to start it is already depressed, and pushing it again has no affect. And so I am at one of the biggest commercial establishments I know of within a 5-mile radius, typing this on a rented internet connection. Too funny! More »

Dear Loved ones,

I had worked on getting my departing thoughts down before leaving Seattle for Monterrey Mexico and Casa Simon de Betania, planned to send them upon arriving… but that was not to be. You see, 100km winds in Monterrey left our part of the city, perhaps all of it, without power or running water. It’s just as well though, friends. For how different the world is here, in this place, and how different life is here… fully different… and what I have to share now will be as different as night is from day. In the predawn that first day I had been giving much thought to quaint coincidences, as if they had some special meanings, or were in fact even signs. Curious. Curious how we collect such thoughts, these things that glitter in our lives, and how we hold them up in the dusty light, these sparkling baubles. Curious how these seeming treasures steal our attent ions, delaying us perhaps from taking the next step, or distracting us entirely from moving forward to the place that holds the real treasure, the pure truth.

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Dear Loved ones,

I miss my friends! I want to go back! I know I will, the only question is

how soon. I’m changed, I realize this, and though this is an ending, it is

also a beginning. Life is like that… a journey made of individual steps

and time spent on one path, forks in the road, and choices. Choices.

Choices.

Home now, it’s amazing how fiercely the world tries to rush in. I say that

because I know now is a time for me to reflect and absorb, a time to listen

and discern what comes next, but it also gives me great appreciation for why

we hesitate so much and can be so distracted. I wanted to send one more note

for you, my Angels, to share the several major things God had to show me in

this experience in Mexico the past 3-months… there are four really. He

wanted me to learn something about fear and overcoming it, despite my

failings. He wanted to teach me about love, love for others. He wanted me to

remember who is the Source of Love and to drink from Him daily. And He

wanted to speak about Will… mine and His, but also the free will in all,

the free will to choose.

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Dear Loved ones,

Her eyes and motions bespoke her request… “Will you help me lift him, shower him?” they said. In that instant how differently I felt compared to those times back in October with Francisco, and in so many ways, it was his legacy, the gift he left me with, that was my instant “yes” and my responsiveness. Antonio has his bed in the corner and doesn’t require much of us… he manages to do most things for himself, save filling his water jar, and most my contact with him has been bringing his meals, massaging his legs and feet, and discussing music or reading the Bible to him with Juan’s help. But he’s gone quiet these past weeks, grown weaker with his loss of blood and lack of appetite. This week Hermana Cecy has spent a lot of time talking with him, and her spiritual teachers came yesterday ju st to sing to and bless him. He’s noticeably weaker, thinner and paler, and has intestinal problems, that’s all I really know. Covered with a sheet, you never see what ails him really, but the smell keeps most people at a distance. Now with the sheet pulled back there is a mass of flesh, excrement and blood… a mellon sized growth… infected and intensely painful. Moving him to the seat cost a pint of blood, and he could not sit or put his weight on this lump between his legs. My heart was crying. And I felt his pain, and a compassion that was far greater than me.

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Dear Loved Ones,

I was invited to lunch with Mother Ana, the Sisters and some of the people that work to raise awareness and funds for Casa Simon last Friday. They were celebrating after their meeting with the Mayor where they shared the vision for the future and the land they have to build on. The Mayor had endorsed their plans and this added credibility will help in raising the $1M they need to begin building, a good part of the $3M the whole project might take.

Credibility. Funny thing… I had asked Sister Cecy that morning if anyone was saving the many magazine and newspaper clippings written on the cause here, for I had seen at least 4 reporters come to do stories since I’ve been here, as well as a story on the TV news. I was promised their English material in hopes I can help bring more volunteers and donations from Seattle, and was thinking some clippings would give credibility to that process. And yet, it would be just the next day that God would use me at San Eloy parish to send His Holy Spirit and healing grace to those in need… and I had no such credentials to be there, to participate as I did, to be part of what happened… no papers, no endorsements… just ordinary me, just an ordinary person. There’s a cliche we hear sometimes, “God doesn’t call the qualified, He qualifies the c alled!”

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Dear Loved ones,

I have to write… after a time of coming to realize I am “one” here, in communion with the patients, nuns, volunteers… a time of quietness and solidarity…. things have accelerated here. There is a crescendo of amazement, a culmination, intensification of His work, revelation upon revelation as I near the end of these 3-months. And I must write, share… or I will bust!

This was like the other trips… the notice was short, the “where and what” missing… all I knew was it had something to do with celebrating San Eloy’s feast day (Saint Eligius). We parked in front of the Church but walked next door to a social hall and found seats in the back. Father Gerardo was playing guitar on stage and I recognized the priest with him leading the singing from the night of song and prayer back in October. It became evident to me that the whole community had been invited, that this was an evangelization for others to join this Catholic community, and perhaps that’s why it was not held in the Church, but in this hall… open to all. As Father finished and was leaving, he stopped to say hello to us, hugs for all, and it was very warm and thoughtful. In that exchange a woman asked me in good English, “They want to know if you can help them pray later, can you do that?” “Yes, of course!” I said to her with my “Mary Yes” and she told me they would let me know when to come up, to “help them pray.” I didn’t even think to ask who “they” were or what “help them pray” meant specifically.

Moments later a group came in the doors behind us led by another priest. The Eucharist was presented by Father and put inside the ostensorium (monstrance) and then, as he slowly walked to the makeshift altar on the stage… a long slow walk… he sang, beautiful and solemn. And he went to the stage, onto the altar, and placed it front and center, surrounded by three of the most spectacular, enormous bouquets of Nardos that I will ever see! Our group was asked to move to the front, and soon the Nuns were introduced and went up to the foot of the stage (altar). No one was with me then that spoke English, but Carmen had me waiting, and when Mother Ana gave that silent tiny nod and a look that told me this was the time, come… I went. In my p eripheral vision I saw people in walkers and people helping others to the altar, and it registered in my mind that those coming for prayer were coming for healing, perhaps physical healing, or emotional or spiritual healing. Seeing a man helping them pray, I followed his lead… putting my hands on a person´s back, joining into prayer… “helping them pray.” And it was then that the look and gestures they gave were saying to me, “No, not there, here.” And I stepped from one spot to the next, turning… taking just one step.

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Dear Loved ones,

There are sometimes people in places that are big parts of a time in our life, yet even in that time, we may not remember them when they are not actually present. For 13-years I worked in a building just up the hill from a grocery store where more days than not I would go for a lunchtime salad or cup of soup. There, at the checkstand, was Dennis… every day. Dennis always had a smile and often a joke, certainly a friendly word. He called us by name, and we did the same, preferring his line… the one where the sun always shone. And through all the ups and downs in the building up the hill, through all those 13-years, one constant, perhaps the only one… was Dennis. And I never got a picture of him, rarely if ever think of him, and probably never did during those 13-years except for the few minutes during the work day that I was standi ng in his line or trading hello’s with him.

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Dear friends and loved ones,

Patterns and routines, ways of being and doing, community… they have a way of establishing themselves, in time. I’m realizing that I have them here…

Patterns and routines, ways of being and doing, community… for example, regarding the patients here, I know that Antonio likes his water bottle filled from the white tap that is not so cold as the blue one. I know that Juan likes his food stirred up and that he is a slow eater. I know that Beni is afraid of falling out of the chair when I shower him, and I know that Mario likes to wash himself with what he can reach with his good arm. I know how many bed sores Arturo has and that he likes to be in the sun when I wheel him out to the patio. I know Ruberto has 3 naked ladies tatooed on his back and that he has a mole that I have to shave around on his neck. I know that we don’t know Angel’s real name, age or anything about him, but we love him and care for him even though he can never say thank you. And in the couple months I’ve been he re so far, I’ve changed thousands of diapers, mopped acres of floors, hauled tons food and laundry and boxes and bags up and down countless stairs to rooftops and basements, kitchens and storage. I’ve served thousands of plates to my friends here, spooned hundreds of meals into the mouths of my brothers, poured nearly as many bottles of blended food into tubes leading to stomachs. I’ve gotten up early, stayed up late, woken in the night… to talk, to help, to care. I’ve eaten with, played games with, read to… prayed with, and prayed for… the patients, my friends, my community. I’ve stuck needles into arms for hydration, lifted the fallen back into beds, cleaned trails of blood dripping from open cancers, wrapped dead bodies and put them on stretchers. I know all the things that don’t involve words, and many that do. It feels sometimes that I’ve always been here. One thing that was not obvious to me at first but that has become so… is that for many of these people, their bein g here was decided in one moment in time, one action long ago… and I wonder if everything isn’t like that. I feel that somewhere on the path, I took a step, took a decision, an action… one that decided my need to be here… and that it was taken a long time ago, a great distance back.

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Dear friends,

I haven’t told you about my “roommate,” have I? When I came, they gave me a room alone between the main patient rooms.. the old office… it’s kind of small. About a month back I began sharing this space with Octavio, who is 95-years-old, toothless, bed-bound, nearly deaf, and has alzheimer’s disease along with some interesting habits, including a love for going naked… so he’s always taking off his pants! He spends all his time in bed, but I took him to the patio for meals in his wheelchair until he got pneumonia and the weather got colder. He kept me up the first night, calling for his niece (she visits often now), surely feeling frightened and disoriented, but not much I did comforted him. After that he did better, though the other day he offered to pay Licha, who cleans here, to take him “home.” That night, he kept me up again… I had the radio on and had just found some music in English on a classics station. Remember a song from the late ’60’s cartoon “The Archies,” called “Sugar, Sugar” that goes “Sugar… ah, honey, honey…” ??? Well, that was playing, and it was reminding me of work, because Erika used to greet me in the hall singing that song to me, changing the “honey, honey” to “Davey, Davey” So, here I am awake with 95-year-old Octavio in an old office in Mexico, lying in a hospital bed listening to a 1968 cartoon song thinking of my 13-years at Attachmate, the past, the world… can’t sleep, nearly midnight, and then Octavio starts talking to me in his deep, slurred, toothless voice… in Spanish… asking for, God knows what… for me to take him home? And I recognize a word he uses… “venga.” See, this is how it works for me, the Spanish… I recognize a handful of words if someone talks long enough… that’s what happens in the homily at Mass, or if I listen long enough to somone speaking. And I recognized Octavio´s “venga”… it’s a form of go, as in “vamenos” (let´s go)… he want’s to go? Wait, no… venga means come… come here? Ah, he’s just said another word I know… “cielo”… that means sky, but also heaven. Hold on, I know this… I know what he’s saying! This is something I know… I say it in the Rosary, at Mass… Padre Nuestro… it’s the Our Father! He’s saying the Our Father… at midnight! And sure enough, he follows it with Hail Mary, which I also recognize, and finally his “Amen,” followed almost instantly with snorring… haha! And every 15 or 20 minutes my out-of-his mind roommate would repeat his prayers, reciting them again, his Our Father and Hail Mary, from somewhere deep inside his memory, or outside of it perhaps… and I would notice the songs playing on the radio at the time he did, because the combinations took me to places… from the past, and the present… and to new ideas, realizations. There was Cher´s “Believe,” that uses 2 words we spent weeks on in our Gospel of John home-study ( Life and Love) in a far more limited way when she asks, “Do you believe in life after love?” But I ask myself what I believe now… after 7-weeks here, and coming face-to-face with death four times, seeing and living a different kind of life, and learning how to love in very new, very surprising (to me) ways. And I wonder if towards the end of a lifetime believing what I hope is good and true… will it be such a habit lived, so embedded in my mind and very fiber, that I speak of it in my sleep? Will it still flow forth like a fountain from a mind that seems a desert? And after 15-minutes of that line of thinking, Octavio starts his prayer again, this time to Led Zeplin´s “Stairway to Heaven.” And as the song I’ve heard thousands of times starts, “There’s a lady who’s sure all that glitters is gold, and she’s buying a stairway to heaven” … I think again of the world that flashes glittering gold in our eyes, and all the “heavens” we are offered and enticed to buy stairways to, and how some of those stairways have led my comrads to this place. The song continues, “Yes there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run, there’s still time to change the road you’re on.” And I have to wonder… what is it that brought our paths together, Octavio and I? Nearly 50 years my senior, he was born in another time, lives in another place, and speaks in another tongue, and yet he and I share this spot and this time, and I am thus witness to this occurance, his recitation of prayer, and because of all the things that came before, tiny things… he speaks, and I understand, and we are in communion in this way. And so it went like this for hours… the Holy Spirit inspiring Octavio to pray, and inspiring me to ponder a puzzle piece, then 15-20 minutes later Octavio would pray again as another song was playing, and my thoughts were carried to another piece of the puzzle, and then the next… and this was all a very intellectual process, one very familiar to me in the pa st, but one so alien to my life here.

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