Considering the Boon

It is hard to believe that a mere 2 weeks ago, I arrived back in Wpg., the Mexico trip over. It has been pretty intense to change gears so quickly, and immerse myself back into work and home, with all its demands and concerns, such as Paul's illness. I began to put Mexico reflections (ala Watershed style) on the back burner, wanting to wait until Spring Break, but the women's group were Guides for my return home when they suggested I make time before then. I realized I had been skimming the surface and perhaps avoiding looking at the deeper meanings of the trip. In a way, I think it was partly motivated by fear that "there won't be a boon" for me, which is crazy thinking (that would go against the whole kether of the trip!). So this entry will be an attempt to enter into deeper reflections. This week a line from T.S. Eliot came to mind from Journey of the Magi - "What did we come all this way to see?" This is my question.

As I left Wpg., I had my journal in hand and was doing quite a bit of writing, in the hotel in TO and on the plane to Mexico, and even on the first evening in Mexico City. 

My journal entries after that were basically point form, sketching what we literally did that day, not really reflections. I was immersed into another rhythm out there, which included tons of teaching from Marcos and Erik. Even bus rides were lesson time, with one of them on the microphone, teaching us about various things. I learned about the history of Mexico (both ancient and modern, Lorna that line is for you :-). I learned about the Spanish invasion in the 1800's and the takeover of Christianity as the main religion. I learned about the Perepucha people, a tribe that still survives today in the region where the monarchs overwinter. They were a tribe who did not surrender to the Aztecs many years ago. I learned some astronomy. I also learned more about the monarch butterfly. I saw the art of Diego Rivera, the church of Guadlumpe, and the Pyramid to the Sun. I learned more names of Aztec and Mayan gods than I could remember. There were also some good conversations on the bus and along our hikes. I got to know some of the 30 people in a more in depth way. And among all the lessons, I really enjoyed taking pictures of our school mascot and relating to the students in my blog.

This is just a very brief sketch, and much of it I'm sure will not survive in the long term memory department. It was all very fascinating, and at times I couldn't absorb much more. Retiring to my hotel room each night, I would read the quotes from the Watershed ladies, read a bit of Burroughs and pray for everyone and especially for Paul as I learned about his ills. In the back of my mind, I kept wondering about how this world intersected with Watershed.

I would say I certainly saw God's hand in the bounty of teachings. Erik and Marcos' love of learning was infectious, as was their care for us their students. There were many other ways I saw God teaching me, and maybe this is the starting point to considering the boon of the journey.

The first monarch colony we visited held two key teachings, or perhaps they're called ways I witnessed God. The first was when I wondered if I would have a "big" experience here, and I distinctly heard, "It's not about me." I didn't hear that in a yelling voice from God :-) but in a voice of wonder as I witnessed the first clusters of butterflies. I realized I didn't even have to be there. This was a miracle in nature that was much bigger. Like my own fragile journey on the wind of community's prayers and God's sustenance, these butterflies had survived so much on the journey and amid climate change, and were graceful proof of a miracle. This image struck me and will stay with me forever, that God works a huge miracle despite all our bumblings and fragility.

The other witness was the woman who was carried up on a stretcher to see the monarchs. Her journey up the mountain was also fragile, literally, and the fact that she would allow herself to enjoy the miracle showed the greater story at work in her life beyond her illness. She was a witness to me. As I was there for about an hour and a half, I felt like the forest was a church. Oddly, on the way down from the mountain, I got off the path and got lost for a half hour, but I never felt worried, certain that I'd find my way back.

The next 2 days were the ones I related last Sunday with Burroughs' theme of lament vs. murmuring. I woke up with a headache and while I enjoyed the trip to the second monarch colony, I felt a bit disconnected from myself and what I saw. I realized I was kind of cranky. I knew that it wasn't a "vacation" and that discomfort is part of our vocation, and prayed along these lines, but I couldn't seem to shake the sense of anger. It came to a head when Dawn broke her arm and I saw my selfishness when I gave up my jacket for her head, but did so reluctantly. I realized that day that I had basically failed to truly trust God in any circumstance, and I confessed it with chagrin. 

The next morning (Wednesday), I was led to a place of deeper prayer and asked for the grace to trust no matter what was happening. I didn't want to have another day like the previous one of basically betraying Christ. This second day still began with a headache, but I definitely sensed God's forgiveness and grace shine through despite this. I was very struck this day by the visit to the school. I was quite nervous and didn't really want to venture into this unknown, but our hosts were so gracious and generous. The children related to us with shy smiles and the openness that kids are so good at, and the meal and obvious kindness the adults gave us put all my nervousness aside. It was a festival.

I found I was all teared up at the farewell speeches, and I wasn't the only one. My "Gracias" to the "chicas es la cuisena" (ladies in the kitchen) were heartfelt. In a way, it helps not to be able to communicate with your language (being a non-Spanish speaker), because you stay with what is more essential, smiles from the heart for one. It was a day touched with something miraculous. Erik, our MTN teacher, quoted a poem in his speech from an ancient Aztec philosopher emperor which seemed to capture a "Yes" prayer:

"Is it true? We are here for only a little while?

Let us at least leave behind flowers.

Let us at least leave behind songs."

Translated into Watershed language, I would say the prayer became, "God, I desire that my life will leave behind flowers of faith not the weeds of unfaith, and the songs of trust in You and not the discord of my doubt. Like the miraculous migration of the monarchs, let your miracles be the strongest voice I pay heed to. My flesh is so weak and untrustable, but your Spirit is trustable." These kind people had definitely been a witness to this prayer for me.

Maybe this will be all for my musings for now. As I was writing them out, I had the thought, well if this is the boon, it seems quite generous already.