Per the title, two cakes have delivered much joy in the last 24 hours.
1. Last night was our house's 'fun night.' Since the weather was so beautifully springy, we decided to have a good ol' round of kickball in the park. 4 v 4 turned out to be quite different than the 5th grade style of 20 v 20. Then, we had a delicious re-invention of our Easter leftovers. And after dinner, Meg and Rachel bring out a covered cake pan. Underneath was a beautiful, homemade cake with "Felicitades JPII" written on it in chocolate chips - "I meant to say, congratulations Bethany," Rachel told me. "But your name was too long, so I put your school instead." Everyone toasted me, "The only one with a future!" ha ha and we feasted on this work of love in cake and icing.
2. This morning, I accompanied my coworker Paul to deliver a birthday cake. It was from a young woman named Marisol, who had attended Paul's after-school program from kindergarten on. When she was 16, she got pregnant, had her baby, and was sent to Chicago to live with relatives more financially capable of caring for her and the little one. Today is her mom's birthday, and Marisol had asked Paul to give her a cake. It was a gorgeous tres leches cake, topped with coconut, tropical fruit, and pink lacy icing - "Te amo, Mami". When Marisol's mom answered the door, and we explained our mission, she started to cry, I'm sure from the surprise and from missing Marisol. "Entra, entra," she beckoned us, and we chatted for a few minutes, as she wiped away tears. On the way back, Paul told me in an unusually quavering voice, "I can't imagine having one of your children live so far away. And your grandchild."
God incarnate, you show us love through the simplest things. And remind us of the love that lives between us.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Like velcro on asphalt
I would like to take a moment in my day to extol the merits of my faithful bicycle, which as of late I have dubbed 'Limon Alta Milla' which loosely translated means 'Mile-high Lemon', an indication not of its dubious quality, but rather of its light yellow sheen, and of course the locale where I get to ride such a laudable contraption. Benefits abound from bike-riding, including not only exercise and kindness to the environment, but also speed and daring, especially when riding cheek to cheek with Denver traffic. My handy bike basket (thanks Mom!) has saved my back this year, and I've got two cool little blinky lights, front and back, that illuminate my path.
But lately, my favorite aspect of riding Limon Alta Milla has been that for 20 minutes a small segment of my brain takes care of repetitive leg motions and hand clenching, while the rest of me blissfully ponders and prayers, or sings to myself (I ride at such an incredible rate, no one can hear me for the rushing wind!)
Lately, I've been pondering Lent, and as Easter draws near, the sacred mystery which is the Crucifixion and Resurrection. God has taught me much this Lent, through the mainstays of prayer, fasting, and alms-giving. Fasting is the most humbling activity, I think, because I realize that often much of my level-headedness and general cheerful outlook come from being satisfied in my tummy, and when I'm not, fogginess and irritability creep in quicker than I'd like to admit.
I'm excited to celebrate Easter in Denver. Most of my housemates are attending the Easter Vigil together on Saturday, then celebrating with a meal on Sunday.
And today, what was I pondering on my morning ride but HOUSING and why I was pondering it is because in August I will be in a new LOCATION, namely Washington DC, doing nothing other than studying at GRADUATE SCHOOL!!! Hooray hooray, after five months' wait, I received a phone call and letter on the same day letting me know that indeed, I have been accepted into the masters of theological studies program at (take a deep breath) the Pontifical John Paul II Institute on Studies of Marriage and Family at the Catholic University of America!! Whew!!
'Thrilled' is quite too gentle a word to describe my inner state. Perhaps 'ecstatic,' 'euphoric,' 'in shock' - I have been wanting to go to this school since I graduated from college, and the more that time has passed, the more my desire has grown. So perhaps 'grateful' is the best word to describe my sentiment at this moment.
Please pray as I try to decide where I am going to live in DC! Anyone with any leads, send them my way! Here is one option: a lovely 7-bedroom house with a garden and here's another: a Dominican convent Other options include 2 more convents that offer housing to women students, and a house a bit removed from the Institute, offered through their admissions' department.
Please share in my joy, and thank you one and all for your support and encouragement!!
But lately, my favorite aspect of riding Limon Alta Milla has been that for 20 minutes a small segment of my brain takes care of repetitive leg motions and hand clenching, while the rest of me blissfully ponders and prayers, or sings to myself (I ride at such an incredible rate, no one can hear me for the rushing wind!)
Lately, I've been pondering Lent, and as Easter draws near, the sacred mystery which is the Crucifixion and Resurrection. God has taught me much this Lent, through the mainstays of prayer, fasting, and alms-giving. Fasting is the most humbling activity, I think, because I realize that often much of my level-headedness and general cheerful outlook come from being satisfied in my tummy, and when I'm not, fogginess and irritability creep in quicker than I'd like to admit.
I'm excited to celebrate Easter in Denver. Most of my housemates are attending the Easter Vigil together on Saturday, then celebrating with a meal on Sunday.
And today, what was I pondering on my morning ride but HOUSING and why I was pondering it is because in August I will be in a new LOCATION, namely Washington DC, doing nothing other than studying at GRADUATE SCHOOL!!! Hooray hooray, after five months' wait, I received a phone call and letter on the same day letting me know that indeed, I have been accepted into the masters of theological studies program at (take a deep breath) the Pontifical John Paul II Institute on Studies of Marriage and Family at the Catholic University of America!! Whew!!
'Thrilled' is quite too gentle a word to describe my inner state. Perhaps 'ecstatic,' 'euphoric,' 'in shock' - I have been wanting to go to this school since I graduated from college, and the more that time has passed, the more my desire has grown. So perhaps 'grateful' is the best word to describe my sentiment at this moment.
Please pray as I try to decide where I am going to live in DC! Anyone with any leads, send them my way! Here is one option: a lovely 7-bedroom house with a garden and here's another: a Dominican convent Other options include 2 more convents that offer housing to women students, and a house a bit removed from the Institute, offered through their admissions' department.
Please share in my joy, and thank you one and all for your support and encouragement!!
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Three views of the border
A little belated, but here are three 'border snapshots' that we saw on our Immersion Trip. All are before we officially crossed the border into Juarez.
#1: What Border?
From this view, high above the city of El Paso, the U.S. and Mexico flow into each other, the seam denoted only by El Paso's skyscrapers. To the right of this view is Cristo Rey mountain, upon which meet Mexico, Texas, and New Mexico.
#1: What Border?
From this view, high above the city of El Paso, the U.S. and Mexico flow into each other, the seam denoted only by El Paso's skyscrapers. To the right of this view is Cristo Rey mountain, upon which meet Mexico, Texas, and New Mexico.
#2: The not-so-impenetrable Fence
Erin looks into Mexico, possibly wondering about the purpose of a fence that stretches for merely a mile and a quarter and has no barbed wire on tip. Further down the fence, a two-foot-high drainage ditch under the fence practically invited you to scooch on into Mexico (or vice versa) on your belly.
#3: Painted White Rocks
Here, rocks mark the border, along with the first of hundreds of white pillars that stretch throughout the desert between El Paso and the Pacific Ocean. On the left of the rocks is Mexico, where futbolistas play soccer on the weekends, paying little heed to the border when the ball goes international.
Published!
Recently, I had the good fortune to publish a brief letter to the Editor in the National Catholic Register. For those of you who are not subscribers, the letter reads:
"I was encouraged to read in the Feb. 17 issue your article 'Mexican Bishops: NAFTA is Leading to Country's Cultural Death.'
I recently spent a weekend in Juarez, Mexico, experiencing up-close the cultural and economic dynamics of the border region. I was shocked to find that even when both parents and several children work full-time in foreign-owned factories, they still struggle to obtain sufficient food and shelter, let alone education and time for cultural growth.
The factories so blatantly consider their workers as mere extensions of machinery that many force women to take birth control and fire them if they get pregnant.
Overcrowded, violent, immigrant-producing Juarez will continue to worsen if Southern Mexican farmers cannot make a living from their crops, which flounder unprotected against subsidized U.S. agribusiness.
The immigration debate in the United States is incomplete if it ignores the tenuous condition of countless Mexican farmers and workers, conditions often induced by our own trade policies.
I hope that the Mexican bishops find U.S. Catholic legislators willing to put the needs of their Mexican brethren ahead of large corporations' profit when renegotiating trade treaties."
"I was encouraged to read in the Feb. 17 issue your article 'Mexican Bishops: NAFTA is Leading to Country's Cultural Death.'
I recently spent a weekend in Juarez, Mexico, experiencing up-close the cultural and economic dynamics of the border region. I was shocked to find that even when both parents and several children work full-time in foreign-owned factories, they still struggle to obtain sufficient food and shelter, let alone education and time for cultural growth.
The factories so blatantly consider their workers as mere extensions of machinery that many force women to take birth control and fire them if they get pregnant.
Overcrowded, violent, immigrant-producing Juarez will continue to worsen if Southern Mexican farmers cannot make a living from their crops, which flounder unprotected against subsidized U.S. agribusiness.
The immigration debate in the United States is incomplete if it ignores the tenuous condition of countless Mexican farmers and workers, conditions often induced by our own trade policies.
I hope that the Mexican bishops find U.S. Catholic legislators willing to put the needs of their Mexican brethren ahead of large corporations' profit when renegotiating trade treaties."
mid-march reflections
I am currently in the throes of anticipation, waiting for a reply from the graduate school I applied to back in October. They said they would respond in mid-March, and as the calendar days pass, I sense my anticipation turning into impatience and, in the not-so-distant future, panic! I pray that I remain in the first stage, which is a much better reflection, I think, of the fact that my future plans and their timing are safely couched in that ubiquituous term "Providence." And so I wait, and hope.
Tomorrow my housemates and I will travel again to the mountains, this time to St. Benedict's Monastery in Snowmass, Colorado, where we will spend three days joining with the monks in their rythym of prayer, silence, work, and recreation. I'm grateful that we'll spend both the feast of St. Joseph (March 15) and Palm Sunday (March 16) in such a contemplative setting, although all of us regret missing the St. Patrick's festivities that will take place in Denver on Saturday!
I've been spending more time lately in the first grade classroom at Swansea, mainly reading with the children. In addition, Ms. Champi has appointed me 'door control' and so I guard the escape route of several particularly high-strung 6-year-olds. What a task Ms. Champi has: engaging the attention of and nourishing the minds of 30 young children while assuring that no one flees or bites or screeches or floats off into daydream land. Today a group of horse trainers with their horses came to the school to show the kids Clydesdales, Arabians, and others. My favorite was a bloke from Australia who flew the flag proudly and demonstrated his whip skills.
Tonight we're eating at the home of the Sisters of St. Francis in Denver. I have met more religious sisters here than ever before. A few weeks ago, we dined with the Sisters of Charity in their convent on the 11th floor of St. Joseph hospital, complete with a wall of windows that offered a panorama of the cityscape and the mountains.
Thoughts about recent news: The Chaldean Archbishop in Iraq was kidnapped and today was found dead. Pray for all those suffering in Iraq; my heart goes out particularly to the small Christian community (2% of the population) that is targeted and labelled abetters of the US invaders.
Tomorrow my housemates and I will travel again to the mountains, this time to St. Benedict's Monastery in Snowmass, Colorado, where we will spend three days joining with the monks in their rythym of prayer, silence, work, and recreation. I'm grateful that we'll spend both the feast of St. Joseph (March 15) and Palm Sunday (March 16) in such a contemplative setting, although all of us regret missing the St. Patrick's festivities that will take place in Denver on Saturday!
I've been spending more time lately in the first grade classroom at Swansea, mainly reading with the children. In addition, Ms. Champi has appointed me 'door control' and so I guard the escape route of several particularly high-strung 6-year-olds. What a task Ms. Champi has: engaging the attention of and nourishing the minds of 30 young children while assuring that no one flees or bites or screeches or floats off into daydream land. Today a group of horse trainers with their horses came to the school to show the kids Clydesdales, Arabians, and others. My favorite was a bloke from Australia who flew the flag proudly and demonstrated his whip skills.
Tonight we're eating at the home of the Sisters of St. Francis in Denver. I have met more religious sisters here than ever before. A few weeks ago, we dined with the Sisters of Charity in their convent on the 11th floor of St. Joseph hospital, complete with a wall of windows that offered a panorama of the cityscape and the mountains.
Thoughts about recent news: The Chaldean Archbishop in Iraq was kidnapped and today was found dead. Pray for all those suffering in Iraq; my heart goes out particularly to the small Christian community (2% of the population) that is targeted and labelled abetters of the US invaders.
Monday, March 03, 2008
In like a very moody lamb
March has started out predictably fickle. On Saturday, the temperature soared into the '60s, and on Sunday I awoke to slushy snow whipped around by a tempetuous wind. "Such is Denver," the locals tell me. As it is still technically winter, I suppose I'll be grateful for the Saturday respite and try my best to appreciate the beauty of white-blanketed city streets.
Some exciting happenings lately:
On Saturday evening, I went with the Transitions Club to see a performance of 'Fiddler on the Roof' at a Littleton theater. Transitions Club is composed of young adults with developmental disabilities, primarily Down's Syndrome, and is headed by a CVV alumna, Julie. I adore these kids - John, who asked me if I thought Oscar the Grouch and the Grinch would be friends - Michael and Danny, friends since infancy, who work at the same grocery store together - Maura, who speaks in an unintentionally sultry voice - and Meg, whose sequinned top was the envy of all the girls. I am proud to know them all.
The show itself was exceptional; from 'Matchmaker' to 'Anatevka,' my eyes were moist. What a story - of love, devotion, heartache, change, and, of course, tradition. This was my first time seeing 'Fiddler' live. I was most impacted by the last scenes, when a wicked edict is forcing the Jews out of their home, and their village and family are disembarking to different countries. I thought to myself, 'This still happens!' Just this past week, a coworker confided to me that her husband was deported back to Mexico, and she was terrified of being alone with her three young girls and one on the way. I saw her face in Golda's, seeing her family disintegrating, not finding a place on earth where she can live close to her daughters and grand-children.
Also, I went skiing for the second time on Friday, again with the after-school children. We went to Beaver Creek this time, and I found it more suited to children than Vail. The weather was phenomenal, as noted, and the slopes were uncrowded. Two mishaps: one girl fell and bruised her leg, but was so tired and frustrated that she insisted that it was broken, and I got my first up-close encounter with the ski patrol, who gently took her down the hill on a toboggan. Second, a third-grade boy lost his nerve on the ski lift and began screaming. Besides for that, the kids were well-behaved and rosy-cheeked, coping well with the challenges and soreness of navigating down the hill.
Finally, I get to see a long-lost cousin today: Brian Giesbrecht, who lives in far-away Saskatchewan with his wife and new baby boy, has a layover tonight in Denver, and I'm hoping to get dinner with him and catch up. Thank you, God, for family far and near!
Some exciting happenings lately:
On Saturday evening, I went with the Transitions Club to see a performance of 'Fiddler on the Roof' at a Littleton theater. Transitions Club is composed of young adults with developmental disabilities, primarily Down's Syndrome, and is headed by a CVV alumna, Julie. I adore these kids - John, who asked me if I thought Oscar the Grouch and the Grinch would be friends - Michael and Danny, friends since infancy, who work at the same grocery store together - Maura, who speaks in an unintentionally sultry voice - and Meg, whose sequinned top was the envy of all the girls. I am proud to know them all.
The show itself was exceptional; from 'Matchmaker' to 'Anatevka,' my eyes were moist. What a story - of love, devotion, heartache, change, and, of course, tradition. This was my first time seeing 'Fiddler' live. I was most impacted by the last scenes, when a wicked edict is forcing the Jews out of their home, and their village and family are disembarking to different countries. I thought to myself, 'This still happens!' Just this past week, a coworker confided to me that her husband was deported back to Mexico, and she was terrified of being alone with her three young girls and one on the way. I saw her face in Golda's, seeing her family disintegrating, not finding a place on earth where she can live close to her daughters and grand-children.
Also, I went skiing for the second time on Friday, again with the after-school children. We went to Beaver Creek this time, and I found it more suited to children than Vail. The weather was phenomenal, as noted, and the slopes were uncrowded. Two mishaps: one girl fell and bruised her leg, but was so tired and frustrated that she insisted that it was broken, and I got my first up-close encounter with the ski patrol, who gently took her down the hill on a toboggan. Second, a third-grade boy lost his nerve on the ski lift and began screaming. Besides for that, the kids were well-behaved and rosy-cheeked, coping well with the challenges and soreness of navigating down the hill.
Finally, I get to see a long-lost cousin today: Brian Giesbrecht, who lives in far-away Saskatchewan with his wife and new baby boy, has a layover tonight in Denver, and I'm hoping to get dinner with him and catch up. Thank you, God, for family far and near!
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