Week 7: La comunidad

About a week and a half ago, my mom and I were feeling tired and dejected because "our girls," the group of nurses from Marquette and their fabulous instructor/ our new BFF were returning to the states. Throughout the summer, the parish has been a rotating door of wonderful and interesting people. Mom and I, as well as our friends Katlyn and Brian (the other summer veterans), have often joked about not getting attached to any of the volunteers. Alas, the departure of the second nursing group after an adventuresome month found us blinking back tears and hugging out our goodbyes with promises to reconnect in either Door County or Machu Picchu.

Needless to say we were feeling fairly dejected at Mass that night. Or at least we were until the woman who reads the prayer intentions smiled and waved to us (a friend from our trip to Ecuador). And until our friend Marcos and his mother came by our pew to give us hugs (a friend we made at church). And until we saw Julia, Patsy, Karen, Francisco and Julianna walk in (some of our favorite teachers from Madre del Buen Consejo/ fellow Ecuador travel companions) with their fearless leader Fanny (a former parish social worker-turned- principal). Until the Padre Nuestro and Sign of Peace when our friend and Mass server Renzo flashed us the deuce, and until a little girl named Jocelyn in whose classroom we had previously taught English ran over to envelop us. And until after Mass when we awkwardly and Americanly waved our "thumbs-up" to our favorite musician Johnny, and until we quite literally ran into Heriberto, whose family we have grown to love after being introduced by an Oklahoma missionary.

It was with a jolt then that I realized we weren't alone. By the grace and hospitality of the Peruvian people, we had become a small part of this community. And then I started to cry again because that is apparently what I do now (that and write in incomplete sentences).

I have never wanted so badly to belong to someone or something as I have to "these people," this community that has so lovingly and unquestioningly embraced us. This community that dedicates their lives in service and celebration of one another's humanity. This community for whom I have the most profound affection and admiration, and this community about whom I still lay awake at night considering how to best hug all at once.

As we approach the end of our time in Piura, I have found myself repeating a line from Tennyson's "Ulysses": I am a part of all I have met.

I am part of all I have met, all I have seen, all I have smelled, all I have tasted, all I have hugged, all I have cried with, all I have danced with, all I have I have sat in awe with as we watched confetti cannons and fireworks shoot across with sky. I am part of all I have broken bread with, all I have walked with, all I have prayed with, all I have sang with- from church hymns to retro 80s, and all I have served and sweat with. I am part of all I have slept in a pile of dirt with while awaiting the arrival of Papa Francisco and all of those with whom I've stayed up playing cards. I am part of all I have loved, all I have fought, all I have felt suffer and despair and all those with and for whom I have hoped.

But perhaps, most importantly, they are a part of me and WE are part of a beautiful community.

Kathleen

Deep gladness

I am currently sitting in the room that overlooks the parish lobby, drinking coffee, listening to the music of the Mass below and letting the not altogether unpleasant bitterness of the incense waft pass me. As such, now seems as good a time as any to share the simple pleasures I have come to appreciate about life here at the parish.

About three weeks ago, Mom and I (and two of our favorite staff members) were driving home from one of the most remote villages and I found myself smiling like a goon. This felt somewhat counterintuitive in so much as we had just finished several harrowing and truly heartbreaking home visits. By all intents and purposes, it should have been another day that I broke down and questioned the humanity of our choices, actions and circumstances. Instead, I felt my cheeks stretch and a familiar wrinkle around my eyes deepen, and it occurred to me that I was really and truly happy. Not happy because of the makeshift homes I had just seen. Not happy that a mother is sharing a plywood room with dirt floors and a single bed with her four children. Not happy to see or smell pungent trash littered roads. Not even happy that we were able to deliver food to people who depend on it for their lifeline (because really, should anyone really have to depend on the generosity or whims of others enjoy one of the most fundamental human rights?). But happy to be in this moment, with this community, in this place.

One of my favorite reflections comes from Frederick Buechner (Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC): "The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet."

As a sit here this Sunday morning and consider all the gifts that have been bestowed upon me these past weeks, I think the greatest must be the recognition, realization and fulfillment of deep gladness that comes from living well and living intentionally.

For the last six weeks, I have been sleeping 7-8 hours a night, drinking 10 glasses of water a day, eating fresh and non-processed foods, attending daily Mass, reading, meeting new and interesting people, forcing my brain into overdrive to accurately interpret Spanish and working hard physically and mentally to do the tasks that have been charged to me. (I have also been brushing my teeth 3-4 times a day, though this is largely due to the amount dust that creeps into my mouth from riding in a truck bed for hours at a time. Still, I can't help but think my dentist would be proud).

I feel for the first time in a long time that I am truly living well. And not just because of the aforementioned physical aspects of life here in Piura, but because the work we are doing makes me feel fulfilled. Like I am finally in the right place at the right time doing the right thing. And for me, this is deep gladness.

I feel more like myself riding in the back of a pick-up truck, sharing a concrete bunk bed with my Mom, delivering food and bicycles, meeting people and staying up late playing Bananagrams than I have in a very long time. This is both empowering and challenging because I can't stay here forever. And I don't know that I should, even if I could. I think the challenge for me now (and for both of us really), will be finding away to rediscover that "deep gladness" when we get home.

Until then, I will continue to enjoy the simple pleasures of watching the sunrise, lying Vitruvian Man style on roof at night and loving the staff and people we encounter on a daily basis. 

Kathleen

The Gift of Transportation!

This week, although short because of our trip to Machu Picchu and because it is nearing the end of our stay, has brought about a few new work experiences. On Thursday morning, Kathleen worked as a nurse with the medical/surgical group from Oklahoma. They come down every summer and perform hernia surgeries from early Monday morning through Friday noon. She went on home visits to check on patients. They are sent home within hours after their surgery with only ibuprofen for discomfort. I went out to the villages to deliver, of all things, purses! We finished early and came back to the parish and helped assemble bikes. As most of you know, I am not engineerically inclined, but with the help of a good partner, we were able to put together a few of the single speed bikes. The bikes come with a pump, tools and a bell. While doing this, my excitement grew as I heard how they were delivered.

Most of you have either seen or heard of the Oprah show where she yelled to her audience "You get a car! You get a car! You get a car!" Well, today I felt just like Oprah! We got to be part of a team who gave the gift of transportation. We loaded 5 bikes into the back of the truck and rode to a far out village where everyone must walk miles to work or school. There are no moto-taxis, taxis or buses in these villages. We would stop as we came upon a man walking and give him a bike. They were thrilled! Can you imagine having your commute time cut so significantly?! We take so much for granted...electricity, running water, a means of transportation, telephones, wood floors, etc. This parish does so much good to help improve the lives of the people and I am so happy to have been a part of it. (Women do not drive cars, not do they ride bicycles.)

Today was also a little different because the large 52 member medical group and a family of 7 left the parish. Usually, large new groups arrive on Saturday, but today we just welcomed a deacon and his lovely wife from Oklahoma. We worked this morning at the girls home helping them with their cleaning. (I did dishes in cold water for 2 hours.) We joined the family group in taking out many of the parish employees for lunch at Chilis and then went on our bike deliveries before mass at 7:00. After dinner, we played Bananagrams with the only two new people to come today and our dear friends, Katylnn and Brian. It will be a very quiet week after the 74 people who were here this past week.
Tomorrow's plans include a trip to the beach!

Mancora, Pope Francis, Machu Picchu

The best thing about traveling with Kathleen is that she is always enthusiastic and excited about everything around her. The hardest thing about traveling with Kathleen is that she is always enthusiastic and excited about everything around her. From a weekend beach excursion in Mancora, to seeing Pope Francis in Ecuador to visiting Machu Picchu, I have experienced so much more than I ever anticipated! Kathleen takes after her father...she never wants to pass up an opportunity to explore or embrace the world around her. This time, she took me along for the ride and I have loved every minute of it (except, perhaps, when I thought I was going to die of heatstroke in Ecuador).

So, to recap the unexpected treats of our time here...
One Saturday/Sunday early in our stay here, Kathleen and I took a bus (van) to the oceanside resort town of Mancora with two cousins, Katlyn and Emily. The church here made all of the arrangements for us on the condition we pay in soles. We think they got us really good rates partly because of who they are and partly because it is winter here and who wants to go to the beach when it is only 85 degrees? They also kept tabs on us the whole two days, even knowing when we would arrive home and picked us up at the bus without our notifying them. They have a huge support system here and watch their 'missionarias' very closely. It was a beautiful resort and beach and a nice pick-me-up after saying good by to the first group of Marquette nurses. It seems as though we are always saying good by to new found friends.

The next adventure was to see Papa Francisco in Ecuador, a mere $40.00, 35 hour trip away. If I had known then what I know now, I probably still would have gone, but I sure questioned myself that Monday! We left at 6:00 PM Sunday from the parish on a chartered bus with mostly parish members and teachers from the parish school. We are pretty sure the principal of the school, a social worker from the parish and another parish employee were put in charge of watching over us. They never let us out of their sight. To clarify, there were 5 of us, not just Kate and me. We arrived at 3:15 AM at the bus station and 5:00 at our place in the dirt at the sight of the mass. It was dark and hot already and we still had 14 hours before we boarded the bus home. There were times I wondered if I would survive the sun and heat, but we all did with absolutely no sunburn, heatstroke, illness, etc. It was a papal miracle which I will believe forever. That being said, it was exhilarating seeing Pope Francis. He was hailed like the hero he is in South America. We left at 7:00 Monday night and arrived back at the parish at 5:00 with new friends and lifelong memories.

Our final excursion was to Machu Picchu. I had no intention of going to see this new wonder of the modern world. My plan was to work during my time here and head home. Kathleen really wanted to see it and at the time I expected this to be my only trip here, so I agreed to go with her. (Now I expect to come back so there was really no urgent need to go this time, but...) She made all of the arrangements (she missed her calling, she should have been an event planner) from the flight, hotel, train, bus, tickets to the site, etc. The church here printed everything for us and we were on our way. We left early Monday morning, arrived in Cusco by 1:30 and met our high altitude breathing difficulty as we walked off the plane. We rested for 2 hours and then walked to and around the square before having dinner. We enjoyed a visit late Monday evening with 2 Marquette nurses after their day on Machu Picchu. Everything was perfect on Tuesday except I had difficulty understanding our Peruvian born, English speaking tour guide. Kathleen asked clarifying questions which helped me tremendously. We arrived back at our hotel in Cusco about 9:30 that night. We shopped Wednedsay morning and left for Piura in the afternoon. A whirlwind trip to an absolutely amazing place!

So, thanks to Kathleen, I have seen and experienced far more than I ever expected to when we left home! I wonder what other adventure she has planned...

Week 6: Adventure is out there!

Piura--> Lima --> Cusco
Tomorrow: Machu Picchu!

Pope Francis & Bill Murray

"I try to be available for life to happen to me." - Bill Murray (the short version of how we ended up on an overnight bus to Ecuador)

A little over a week and a half ago, Mom and I learned that the parish at which we are staying, Santisimo Sacramento, had chartered a bus to send people to Guayaquil, Ecuador to see Pope Francis. For the low price of $40, we joined our new friends Katlyn and Brian and approximately one million South American faithful in celebrating Mass at Parque Samanes!

We left Piura on Sunday evening at 6 PM with a handful of our favorite parish social workers and teachers, made it through Immigration by midnight (swiftly eliminating my visa issue), endured a truly tragic Jennifer Love Hewitt Lifetime Original movie (dubbed over on Spanish) and pulled into Guyaquil at the crack of 3 AM--- where the bus proceeded to leave us: pillows, blankets, backpacks of food and all! (We had thought we were taking the same bus home and could leave our personal belongings aboard. No matter, my iPad and paperback have now been blessed the Pope).

A short cab ride and a 2 mile Pope Francis paraphernalia infused walk later, we claimed a patch of

dirt to call our own and proceeded to throw down our blankets and pillows and nest (who are the stupid Americans now?). Music and programming began by 6 AM, but it was ultimately the unbearable heat that awoke us permanently. At 8:30. AM. Because "Ecuador" translates to "equator" and also "the hottest piece of land you will ever discover until high noon, when it gets even hotter."

I could wax poetic about the heat (like how I drank 10 water bottles and never had to go to the bathroom, or how at one point I was inhaling into a wet cloth and kept telling myself all I had to do was breathe and keep sitting, or how a firetruck drenched us all during the second reading but my clothes were dry 20 minutes later, etc.), but that would direct the narrative away from what was truly important: celebrating Mass with the first South American Pope in the history of the Catholic Church IN South America!

Pope Francis might have rock star status in other places of the world, but here he is truly a son of the people. From "Yo ❤️ Papa"

Pope Francis

shirts, to cartoon depictions of his face printed on baseball caps to posters of his views on the treatment of the world's poor, to the jumbotrons that captured his every move following his landing in Guayaquil, Pope Francis is a figure of unparalleled significance and affection. Children and adults alike rushed to the fences as he passed, hoisting crucifixes, rosaries, water (and backpacks full of books and snacks) to be blessed. People sang wholeheartedly and without reserve. When prompted by His Holiness, the crowd roared "Mary es Madre! Mary es Madre!" with regards to his homily. You could almost feel the Gospel stirring within the people gathered (in addition to the humidity).

Following Mass, we walked for what felt like a marathon in search of a cab, but were bolstered by the enthusiasm and air or contentedness of the throngs of people around us. By 7 PM we were on our way out of the city and by 5 AM arrived back at "home" safe and sound.

We will forever be grateful for this opportunity and for the people with whom we were able to share it, especially Pope Francis :)

     Kathleen

Week 5

Good Morning!
Seems a good time to blog as we do not have internet to distract us. Internet and water seem to work on their own will. But who am I to complain because we do, most of the time, have both. We also have a dry comfortable bed to sleep in, electricity, friends around to converse with and three meals a day. We are living a very gracious life compared to the villages around us.

Thinking of the villages around us, I cannot help but compare the two villages I experienced these past few months. In March, Ken and I and the girls went to The Villages in Florida. They are beautiful with well manicured lawns, spacious rooms decorated with style and are full of life and activity. Their polar opposite counter parts are on the outskirts of Puira. They are dark, on dusty dirt roads, adjacent to their neighbor, are poorer than you can imagine and have no activities for the children. Doesn't seem fair.

The first few weeks I was here, I often asked myself what was I thinking that I could be gone for 6 weeks living among such poverty and heartache. I also thought "What is God thinking?" (I still haven't figured that one out.) After time, I settled in and am now comfortable and actually thinking about coming again. We have continually met people/groups who come year after year. Most have adopted families through the Family to Family program and have established close relationships with them. They support them through the food donation, but also provide for many of their other needs. Some even have had children named after them. I believe I will come back some day...maybe after Ken retires.

Also, to be honest, I was quite disenchanted with the daily 7:00 mass. Since I know so little spanish, I got very little out of it. However, Padre does an excellent job of slipping in and out of spanish/english during his homily. You have to be listening carefully to realize he has switched languages. But now, I enjoy the masses. I love the music (often with guitars, keyboard and drums) and the feeling of camaraderie among the 'missionarias' as we are called. It is a great time for me to reflect on what I have seen/done during the day and come to terms that life is not fair. Some days that is easier than other days.

This morning, Kathleen and I are touring a larger hospital than the one near us. I am hoping it is better equipped, more sanitary and has a larger staff than the one we have seen. This afternoon, we are delivering food which has come to be our 'go to' job. As difficult as it was the first day we did it, I have come to understand how much it means to the families.

We are saying good by to our favorite group of people today... the Marquette Nurses. They have embraced us as part of their group (it is hard to be here as a twosome) and we have come to love every one of them. They are the sweetest, hardest working, kindest group of college students I have ever met. They made us feel part of a whole (due in part to Kathleen's affiliation and affection for Marquette).
Vaya con dios.

For now,
Cathy (and Kathleen)

Mass of Healing

The first Wednesday of every month, Santisimo Sacramento celebrates una Misa de Curacion- a Mass of Healing. People travel for hours to pray with the parish. They come from Lima, they come from Ecuador, they come by foot, mototaxi and carpool from the neighboring villages. This is all a preamble to the fact that the church is standing room only: the aisles are body-to-body, the entranceways overflow and the musicians share chairs.

  

The obvious question you might have right about now is WHY? Which is quite honestly something I was struggling to remember earlier this evening. As I dutifully made my way to Mass early tonight to secure seating, I was feeling tired, hot and irritated by the expectation that the "missionaries" bestow special blessings upon the parishioners following the Gospel. Not that I'm not eternally grateful for this opportunity. Not that I don't know that it is a privilege to be a part of this community in any capacity. Not that I don't spend every night before bed contemplating if there's a way to wrap the entire staff of this parish in my arms and give them a hug.

   

My irritation lied in the persistent discomfort that the red carpet is rolled out for us as volunteers. We sit in a specific section of church. We (sometimes) wear matching t-shirts. We use physical and symbolic barriers to further distinguish ourselves from "these people." We are hailed as and present ourselves as The Great White Hope and tonight I felt like a ticking time bomb of pent up emotion and frustration.

   

But then the music started. And 1,000 people started singing. And clapping. And dancing in the overcrowded aisles. By the time Padre called forth the nurses and missionaries to assist with the "laying on of hands," I was only minorly annoyed. The lights were dimmed, the atmosphere had mellowed and I, if not happily then at least resignedly, made my way to the foot of the altar to commence the blessing. Once I got past my irritation that nearly 30 missionaries got up to start the blessings (Who am I to bless someone? Who are YOU to bless someone? I was asked to do this and am participating despite my better judgment, etc.), something truly unexpected happened. Parishoners started gesturing to me to pray over them. To pray with them.

   

After placing one hand on a woman's shoulder, the other on her head, and reciting the Hail Mary and Memorare, I said a prayer for everything this woman's life is and everything it will never be. I said a prayer for her children, her children's children and one in thanksgiving for her faith and for her strength. I prayed that God would provide her with health and in the absence of perfect health, grace. And then I started to cry. I started to cry for everything I have ever wanted to say or do for a patient. I cried for everything I will never be able to say or do for a patient. I cried about the unfairness and injustices of the world and my limitations to make them anything less than what they are.  I cried because I cannot heal her, I cannot cure her, I cannot make her feel better about whatever is ailing her tonight. I can't even give her a guarantee that she will always have a roof over her head, running water or food for her table. 

   

But I can pray with her. I can share her hope that God not only witnesses her triumphs and shortcomings but shares in her joys and despairs. I can be with her in this one moment and see in her everything MY life is and everything it will never be. I can pray for all those like her, all those like me, and all those like us—anyone who has ever supplicated themselves in the hopes that they can be healed.

   

And then this emotional catharsis repeated itself a dozen more times. (It is important to note that I am not a pretty crier. I can't pull off the single tear running artfully down my cheek kind of cry. By the time I returned to my seat, I was the "did the girl behind me just snort/ sob into her shirt" kind of crier).

   

Because with each encounter, I felt my own brokenness turn into something more vulnerable, something more hopeful. The ailing bits of my soul that have hardened as a result of prejudice and fear (of bedbugs, fleas, lice, HIV, violence, dementia, age, sameness, differentness) were given a new chance at life. I came to Piura a broken person just as much in need of healing as anyone else and feel from the bottom of my heart that this community is slowly --sometimes tediously and painfully--putting me back together.

 
I will never be able to adequately articulate the profound and concurrent sorrow, gratitude and awe I have for the people of this parish, but I will forever hold them in my heart with the hopes that in bearing witness to one another's brokenness, we can be made whole.

Kate

(Ps. Sorry for the double post. We have been without internet for awhile).

Week 4

Life at Santisimo Sacramento has settled into a routine for us. By now, I think we have experienced how poor the Peruvians in this area live. I thought food delivery had shown us the poorest of the poor, but that was followed by clothing delivery and then kitchen supplies. To deliver household supplies, picture this...We are crowded into the back of an old pickup truck with 5 huge rubbermaid type storage bins filled over capacity with used household goods. As we ride through the village, the driver taps his horn. The villagers come out and reach for whatever we give them...a handful of silverware, a kettle, some dishes, glasses, utensils, etc. In some cases, we even had to throw items as we were pulling away. Can you imagine running to catch an empty ice cream bucket? No one gets too much and no one is allowed to reach into or look into the bed of the truck to see what they would like. As the bins are emptied, they, too, are given away. They are all very appreciative because they have nothing.

As for the routine, we eat breakfast at 8. We gather at 9 in the large entrance for a circular prayer and then set off for our various activities. We have tried a large variety of service sights and found all of them to be enlightening. We have purchased, delivered and helped to prepare food for the girls' home. We have sorted, bagged and delivered food in the Family to Family program. We built a room onto a home, delivered furniture, and toured homes that are poorer than you can imagine. We return for lunch and siesta at 1 and go on another service activity at 3. The afternoon is a little shorter as we are back by 6 in time to shower, Facetime my dad and go to mass at 7.00. Dinner is at 8 and by 8:30 we are finished for the day. Sometimes there is a fiesta at night or mass at a far out chapel with a campfire after. Usually we are content to Facetime Ken and turn in by 10:00.

Yesterday, though was a little different. Eight of us were paired up and given 300 soles each (@$100.) to spend on a particular family in the Family to Family. We were brought to a kitchen supply store and had lots of fun buying a kitchen rack, pots and pans, dishes, cups, a tea kettle, tupperware type containers, pitchers,and utensils. All of this new! then we got to deliver it to the designated homes. this was so much nicer than handing out or throwing things off the back of a truck

The Family to Family program is set up to assist families in need. Each family is paired with an American family who sends $25.00 a month for basic food supplies. Many families send more money for other needs...bedding, mattresses, kitchen supplies, clothing, etc. Each time anything is delivered, the items as staged with a "Thank You, 'Smith' Family" sign and the family stands around the items while a picture is taken. 100% of the money sent goes to the family and this is their way of making connections between the families.

Water and internet seem to be the biggest challenges for us at the parish. But, compared to life around us, we are living exceptionally well. We have a safe, comfortable room with electricity and most often water:), three prepared meals a day and a washer to wash our clothes. All luxuries we take for granted at home. We have met some very kind and interesting people and it is hard to say good by at the end of their time here.

Hope you all have a great 4th of July!
Cathy (and Kathleen)