April 26, 2011
I arrived at the Guadalajara International Airport at 5:30 a.m. that morning, having traveled roughly half of the continental U.S. and over half of Mexico's national territory in the span of those wee hours of April 26th and the tearful night back on April 25th with my parents.
Major events like these remain vividly on my mind. I remember a careful re-sketching of every detail, of the feeble and fragile moments I last spent in person with folks I love dearly.... and I sketched, again and again and again, in fear that if I did not I wouldn't see them all again as quickly or that maybe if I sketched enough, it would seem I was with them again. For the first few months in this extraordinary year, I lived longing for what had been taken away, isolated, trying to return (physically) through this "sketching" of the recent past.
The journey began something like this (from an e-mail to a friend, on April 26, 2011):
"Dear C,
I got to Guadalajara safely... unfortunately I have to leave right now but I will be sending a longer e-mail as soon as I can (my brother does have wifi at his/our place) but yes, arrival was a little rough... everything is so different C I don't know... with no sleep from the night flight and our short ride (a lot of it slums) all I could do when I got home was just cry but I am sure it will get better
Peace,
Sofia......."
I try to not be too hard on that Sofia. She was 18, scared to death, and left on her own to an empty apartment in a country that not only did she not know, it was also a country she didn't really want. There was a difference in EXPECTING an experience and then to actually be amidst it. I understood through all of it a bit more of what "desert" meant during those first few months:
A desert in prayer, being taken away from the richness and blessings of a community of faith this young woman had developed and matured amidst, and to find herself separated from any and all of it. And yet without this drastic absence I don't think I would have reached quite as deeply the reassurance and wisdom that at the heart of fear and loneliness and sense of abandonment was God, as He had been always and of course would remain.
A desert in friendship and family, with my brother's heavy work schedule and extended family who, over the last 10 years I was not with them, had grown accustomed to not seeing each other. I felt a DEEP absence from the warmth and presence my parish's families had given me throughout so many years. Wonderful family friends who, like my parents, had left all in Mexico however knowing God's deepest blessing had been in finding THIS family. Even today, a year later, I feel this pain one of the deepest.
A desert in strength. With the previous aspects, for the first few months here I felt an exhaustion I had never experienced before. Anxiety that often lead me to slumber instead of looking into my own distorted reality. I could not find the enthusiasm or energy to smile on present experiences never mind the joyful expectation of the future.For the first four months or so, I often asked God why he had lead me to such horrible state when I had trusted so genuinely on this experience before my departure.
It was certainly a time where I most remembered these lines from Thomas Merton's No Man is an Island
Is there any greater wretchedness than to taste the dregs of our own insufficiency and misery and hopelessness and to know we are certainly worth nothing at all? Yet is blessed to have reduced to these depths if, in them, we can find God. Until we have reached the bottom of the abyss, there is something for us to choose between all and nothing.
It was certainly a blessed message and time in my own journey with God. He took every external consolation; my family, every deeply blessed spiritual friendship, the contact with wonderful lay people and as well as countless religious to know He was enough and to raise up those tearful eyes to cling most strongly to the One who first loved me.
And so now I stand, a year later, hardly believing such fact. Where is this young pilgrim at this moment?
My first answer would be to say "in awe", in most utter and complete awe of God's most generous heart.
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| The view from the top of the copula of a small chapel in the state of Jalisco |
I could have never imagined the blessings that for the last few months have begun to blossom in such abundance and deeply graced manner. I am building friendships rich in virtue and trust where I simply stand in awe at the young men and women who cross my path with such beautiful ideals and goals for themselves. I learn so much from them, and I am certain they draw me more profoundly to prayer and love for the Beloved. Many times their family remind me of the warmth of my own family (and those parish families I deeply miss!) who I haven't seen or touched in over a year- despite knowing I am "a big girl", there is still something magical about a home-cooked meal!
I've also been challenged in maturity SO much and I think that goes naturally with being on my own (granted financially not so much yet). The whole shebang of curious incidents and troubles I've had a sample of, and praise God! It's been a lot of fun, and I have a lot more ownership of what it means (and calls!) to be a young Catholic woman living on her own in the 2nd largest city in Mexico. Questions such as how am I called to serve at this point? How and whom am I called to love at this point? How is God engaging my heart and intellect at this point? These are questions I ask frequently in prayer and through own self-examination. I've certainly gained great consolations in the friendships and ministry ( ah gosh, I think I'll miss my first communion kiddos deeply once mid-June gets here!) God has been so generous to provide (and many blessings that I am only starting its foundations) BUT I try to never forget the desert that to some extent should always be there. The same "desert" that God allowed most radically a year ago into my own life. I also don't forget the persistent hope and desire to return to a city I left a year ago and to re-kindle many friendships there who still continue to be DEEP nourishment despite time and distance. As I mentioned before, my first (and last) answer would be to say "in awe", in most utter and complete awe of God's most generous heart.
I end this little reflection with one of the first e-mails I read after my arrival to Guadalajara, a sweet gesture of love and tenderness from a dear dear friend:
It's my dear sister Sofia!
I don't know if you've arrived or checked your email yet, but I just wanted you to be greeted by an email reminding you of my prayers, love, and support that go with you to Guadalajara. I hope your travels were free of too much trouble. I'll be on the lookout for at least a brief email letting me know you've arrived safely, and we can, of course, talk/write more extensively whenever you get settled in and have more time. I also wanted to share a brief tidbit about my prayer. Everyday during the octave of Easter, we pray the same antiphons before all of the Psalms at morning and evening prayer, and so every day this week we get to repeat the comforting words "Jesus said: do not be afraid." It's simple, but it's a profound truth - one so important that the words "do not be afraid" are repeated for us 366 times in scripture. (So you can think of it as once for every day of the year, and then once more just for good measure.) Have confidence in His assurance to you and His promise to be with you always.... Peace!
Br. J
** The video shows a brief celebration of my 16th birthday with my family- appropriate for this "anniversary" celebration of sorts***
What a marvelous reflection on the movements of grace in your life over the past year, Sofia! My mom also reads your blog (but doesn't have a Blogger account to leave comments). She thoroughly enjoyed this entry as well!
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