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terrypurple73These get long, and rambling, and likely incoherent. But they are typed, finally. I got back Sunday night after ten days in El Salvador (through Creighton's theology department and the CCSJ), and I'm working on processing the entire experience one day at a time. I'll put the thoughts behind a cut here. The gist of that the trip is that we spent the first half of our time in a town called Guarjila, staying with families and working with a youth group called the Tamarindos, which was started by John Guiliano, who I've talked about before in here. The second half of the trip we went around other parts of the country- San Salvador, El Mozote, Paisnal, etc. We heard a lot of stories.... I've been summing up the trip by saying that it was beautiful, amazing, and heart-breaking.
Thursday, May 20, 2004
On time as usual, I was supposed to begin journaling for the trip three days ago. Instead, I waited until now, halfway through our second flight. It’s been hard to let the reality of this trip hit me. So much of my mind has bee preoccupied with thoughts of, “I’m done with classes! I’m a college graduate!” So even though I was packed for Salvador four days before I left, and even though I’m been attending the class and doing a chunk of the readings, the reality of leaving the country hasn’t quite hit.
Throughout all the preparation, I keep thinking of my time in Oklahoma City. Every time I continue to process what that trip meant, I realize what a turning point it was in my path, in my discernment. I want my time in Salvador to do similar things, and I expect that it will. I’m a little scared, too, about the discernment ideas I’ll be facing…. In a video earlier this week, we heard the words sung, “I have called you each by name.” How is God calling me by name? I talked in CLC last night about how I feel this amazingly strong calling when I am with Catholic Workers, and also when we were in OKC. When I am presented with these examples of people living out lives of simplicity, solidarity, faith, justice, and love- that’s when I can see myself living out a life like that. The more and more I see people doing these things I feel called to do, the more and more I feel as if it is a possibility (or more) that I can live in a similar way. So how will I be feeling called after a bit of time in El Salvador?
A lot going through my mind, making me write in a way that comes out choppy. I had a good conversation with Kelly about service and justice; the pull toward one often makes them seem a dichotomy.
I reread the first chapter of Himes, and I’m remembering how important that book is- God as love and relationships. Though I still am singing in my head:
Be not afraid
I go before you always
Come, follow me
And I will give you rest
Can God be a guide and a relationship both? And is immersion the melting of service and justice? Is that the draw to me of this trip and this lifestyle?
Friday, May 21, 2004
The easier question of tonight is: How is it barely past 8:30 and I’ve already had the yawns for quite a while? :) I’m ready to crash. Then again, we’ve been up since something like 6:00 this morning. We spent the morning walking around Guarjila. This afternoon, we met with a woman named Tomase, a midwife during the way. And she just told us her story- what she saw and how she got to where she is now. She told us how she was trained- by practicing. And how she was nearly killed, on several occasions, by the military who thought she was a guerilla. She told us about how the military slaughtered town residents- sticks shoved into hanged men, pregnant women shot, children sliced open down their torsos, live women set on fire…. And after all this, she thanks us for visiting and says that she hopes God repays us for our visit to this place. How do you tell her that she is our repayment? She makes this trip worthwhile, makes it what it is. How do I tell her that she is the repayment from God?
Walking back after visiting Tomase, it was easier to notice the beauty of the flowers on our path, on the same ground that has held so much blood. If this town (and this country) truly is Christ, which I believe it is, then it can be tempting to say that it is still in the process of resurrection. How as a people do you resurrect yourselves from this sort of tragedy, this sort of slaughter? I think Guarjila is a magnificent example of resurrection- truly finding itself and pulling together from rubble.
Why do I keep singing in my head? Tonight it is:
We are one body,
One body in Christ
And we do not stand alone....
I wish John was here. It’s so good to see the work that he does here, to know what it is that I support about him, in addition to his general connections and awesomeness. But I wish we had his presence- physically- here to guide our group. There’s something about him that is very healing.
Sunday, May 23, 2004, morning
I don’t even know how to process what has been going on. Kelly just commented that she’s been having a lot of trouble journaling, and I feel the same way. Every time I sit down to process or even think or let what I’m doing hit me- tears start to leak out, and I can’t explain why. I keep saying I’m overwhelmed, and though I don’t feel that way when I’m in the moment, that’s all I seem able to say.
I talked with Jessi for a while last night about our trip yesterday to The Pines. I’m amazed and awed at the values and ideals and work of the Tamarindos. Their discussion on Community rang so true- how we need it to survive. Emily commented that people here need other people, not things- I love it. That’s exactly what I’ve seen. So many less distractions- there aren’t all these things to take away from your relationships. I don’t know. I feel like I’m learning so much, but I still don’t know anything. How is it that I lead a happy life, working hard at what I do and how I live, and so do all these Salvadorans, in such a different lifestyle? How do I have carpet in my bedroom, instead of a cement floor covered in my mud? How do I have a dresser and closet full of clothes, when they have two beds in the bedroom, and that’s all? How do I throw my clothes in the washer and dryer back home, when this morning we did our laundry in the pila- scrubbing it out by hand on the cement slab, feeling bad about how much water I’m using up for one t-shirt?
afternoon
I think the way I’m struggling with my interactions with the Tamarindos is more than just the fact that we can’t speak the same language. It means more than just that we can’t talk. It’s the fact that this part of our trip has relationship forming as one of its key points. It’s a relatively short time to be here, and there’s a lot of time (and what I imply to be expectation) to bond with the group and with individual Tamarindos. The problem comes when Tamarindo after Tamarindo strikes up conversations with me, and all I can say is “no se” or “lo siento.” Over and over again, I try to use a fraction of the vocabulary I know, and it just leaves me frustrated. It’s because I thrive off interactions, off relationships, off getting to know others, and in this setting, I have to play the part of the observer. It’s not a role I’m used to, nor one that I prefer. Like I was telling Jessi, it’s not even a matter of patience on the part of the Tamarindos, because all the time in the world won’t help if it’s just two of us. While I can handle feeling humbled, I don’t like feeling inept. And inept is how I feel when I try to communicate anything deeper than, “I have a sister,” “I am from Minnesota,” “I am tired,” or the days of the week. I hate that I feel very, very competent to speak in another language some of the things I’d like to say, it just happens that the language is German, not Spanish. So I’m left to either feel dependent on another to say a simple sentence, or else zone out, and observe everyone else interacting, which drives me nuts because I want to participate. I feel like a dependent little child that others need to look after That, and I feel as if my mouth has been taped shut- there’s so much going on inside me, so much I am feeling and trying to say, but none of it will come out, and I’m left humming and mumbling, hoping that someone picks up on what I mean.
On the other hand, I’ve been astounded at the way so many of the Tamarindos (and everyone) have been sensitive to my needs, when they haven’t been verbalized. Last night walking home, a girl whose name I don’t know (not unusual, as I know hardly anyone’s name) took my hand as we walked in the dark. She was so, so patient with me; her goal wasn’t to exchange information or have a conversation- she just wanted to talk. We ended up saying the days of the week in our own languages, and then rambling off a few other various vocab words that we know. Such patience and willingness to hold my hand and work at my level.
The problem is that I wish my level was higher….
The other struggle that is bringing up (often micro-level) questions is my body’s rebelling to its environment here. Thursday night it was motion sickness that brought be to tears by the time we got off the bus. Yesterday it was exhaustion on the hike (hopefully more about that later). And today my stomach tied itself topsy-turvy until it decided to release its contents from the entire trip. Swell. Not only do I (obviously) hate feeling so gross (especially from different things in a short amount of time), but I hate what else it means. It means I’m privileged enough to live somewhere where I don’t have to deal with this environment as a way of life. I hate that my body has to rebel in order to function. I can handle mentally the physical challenges we’ve faced- not concerned with germs, don’t need to shower too often, don’t mind dirt and mud, not afraid of heights or rivers/lakes, etc. But my body seems to mind those, and I don’t like it.
I think that this trip is probably making me the most vulnerable I’ve ever felt, in so many aspects. Saturday’s hike was a perfect example. I just couldn’t keep going. Everyone around me saw it, and I couldn’t recognize it. So physically exhausted. I truly understood the meaning of “dripping with sweat.”
I need to go to bed; I’m starting to sound choppy. Buenas noches….
Monday, May 24, 2004
Strike one up for Teresita’s injuries!
Day 1- motion sick from the bus
Day 3- total exhaustion from the hike
Day 4- tummy topsy-turvy at the soccer game
Today- Day 5- Only hours after expressing my dislike of soccer and fear of soccer balls enhanced by a ball to the face during middle school gym class, I received a soccer ball to the fact today during our match with the Tamarindo mujeres. Sweet. Kelly and Jessi fixed me up with a hefty amount of various cleaning products and toilet paper. I’m hanging out in the shop (the taller) while they go get my extra pair of glasses. (Mine got pretty bent, but they’ll survive.) And we took the eyebrow ring out…. It had been puffy for a while (a little swollen since graduation, probably) and that’s right where the ball hit. So no eyebrow ring currently for me. I kept the ring, so maybe I can get it re-do0ne, or maybe the other side…. At least this bodily discomfort isn’t a reaction the Salvador and my environment- that’s a little refreshing. :)
On another plus side, I was able to ask my ‘brother’ to walk me back to the taller, and then tell two other Tamarindos that it only hurt a little, and I was scared, and my glasses were crooked, but I have another pair, and Kelly and Jessi went to get it, and I said all that almost all in Spanish! Hooray!
(I’ve totally been breaking out the German-Spanish; yesterday I said “aber” instead of “pero,” and today I definitely said “ein andere.” Oh well…. :)
Monday, May 24, 2004
I’ll be honest: Slaughter makes me sad. And today was a lot about slaughter. First a priest from the town of Rutillo Grande, then the UCA all afternoon, complete with Dean Brackley, Jon Sobrino, and a tour of artifacts from all the martyrs. All followed by tears in the rose garden with Kelly Simmons. It’s been such a blessing to have her on this trip, and I realized it even more today. She and I share something different about these connections to the SOA. I don’t mean to imply that this isn’t impacting others, because I know that would be the worst lie I could tell on this trip. But Kelly and I share a different connection with each other regarding these issues than either of us share with anyone else in the group. With SOA, combined with our Oklahoma City experiences, it just felt good, however good it can be, to sit and just hold hands with her in the rose garden, sharing tears and frustrations. We talked about hope and hopelessness, about personal connections and dehumanizing others, about amazing theologians, and about how we felt it was insensitive to take pictures there in the rose garden. (Both of us have ended up with experiences at the World Trade Center and at the Oklahoma City memorial, and neither of us is comfortable with photos at either place….)
I wish I could write more tonight, but I’m falling asleep in my actual bed (rather than a cot) at a guesthouse in San Salvador. So I will turn out the lights, and try for more tomorrow….
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
Notes and thoughts from Dean Brackley’s talk at the University of Central America
--the median age in El Salvador is 19
--Solidarity is responding to my neighbor in need, especially outside my own circles
--“You don’t know what to expect when you come down here, but you ask yourself, ‘Why are these people smiling?’”
--[Someone said at one point this week that the military wouldn’t just kill your child, they would strip and mutilate him, and then leave his body on your doorstep.]
--“How many of these people are there? The truth is that they’re the majority of the world.”
--“The idea that I’m meant to give my life in a real serious way- that’s solidarity.”
--“Why do people go to college? It’s the next thing on the middle class agenda, the next step to stay out of poverty.”
--“A lot of Jesuit universities want to be the Jesuit Harvard. I think that’s very dangerous. I think we need to aim higher than Harvard.”
--“A lot of people are bitten by the prestige virus.”
--“Everyone knows how the church feels about the unborn and the dead- but it’s not always clear how it feels about the living.”
--“Discipleship- that’s what love looks like.”
--“Who is poor, why are they poor, and how can we take them down from their crosses?”
--“You can’t understand the reality of this country without understanding who owns the means of production.”
--“CAFTA is not about free markets. It’s about US money to big companies, not to small farms in Guarjila.”
--[Victoria at the Rio Sumpul yesterday said that of course the Salvadorans knew the US’s involvement in the civil war- who else would the bombs and weaponry come from?]
Wednesday, May 26, 2004, morning
I’m sitting in a pew in the church where Oscar Romero was killed. A few tears are dripping down my face as I try to hold back more. And all I can think is Lord make me an instrument of your peace.
A skinny white cat keeps darting around between the pews and the altar, and I wonder, How is a cat free to run where it pleases in a church, but a man considered to be a prophet was killed here?
Tom is kneeling on the altar, right in the place Teca says Romero was standing when he was shot. And the cat leaps onto a chair on the altar.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
evening
We heard an amazing priest speak with us tonight. He’s been in Salvador for decades, and in Morazan (the province/state where El Mozote is) for a large portion of that time. He was, I think, the most powerful of the priests we’ve heard this trip. He has a vision of the big picture, but he brings it into very concrete work with those in his parish and city. He seems to have a sense of how to go about solving problems. He talked about working with those you fundamentally don’t agree with, and how to repair that rift. When Tom asked about value differences between Fr. Rogelio and his work with the guerrillas during the war, Fr. Rogelio explained that as a priest, he was against violence and aggression, but he would stand with his people and their quest for justice. Though he didn’t agree with everything about the FMLN, he would support those he was serving, and he feels they are justified in their cause.
He also told the story of a woman from the town (Perquin) whose parents were celebrating their 40th anniversary, and they wanted to celebrate at the church. This woman’s son had been killed by the guerillas during the war. She came to Fr. Rogelio and said that she wanted to celebrate at the church, but with a different priest; she and her family identified him as siding with the guerillas. He agreed to her request, and now she and her husband rarely miss an event with the church, despite not agreeing with him. He knew that keeping their faith meaningful and connected was more important than taking personally their views toward him.
He said that it’s so much easier to be against everything, but it’s harder to do the day-to-day work of being for something. He says that when people are protesting free trade things, he always makes a point of asking them how their local co-ops are going. A single day event is one thing, but supporting a viable, effective alternative is much more difficult.
We all say in a circle of folding chairs in the basement of this church- a cement floor with cement walls, a few paintings on the walls and a few cabinets. And we sat in this humble place, talking with a priest who has no airs about him, no high esteem to live up to, like Dean Brackley and Jon Sobrino had yesterday. He talked to us and with us, instead of lecturing to us. He had tears in his eyes at the end. And after that, he blessed us all, similar to Fr. Orlando at Paisnal yesterday.
And I’m sitting here now in a hammock in Perquin, feeling more alive than I have for a while on this trip. Even though I loved Guarjila and was happy there in my interactions and my struggles, I think I am feeling more of the hope now that others were talking about at reflection this morning. I wasn’t trying to bring down the mood at reflection, but I hadn’t been able to talk with the group yet about the struggles I was having about the contrast between the beauty and the blood of this land. And I said that resurrection is a lot more gray, a lot more of a process, than I would have envisioned. I felt a lot more of that hopelessness this morning, and its sadness carried itself to Romero’s church afterwards. Senor, hazme instrumento de tu paz.
It was good to hear Allie talk about the issue of inhumanity, of not understanding cruelty, especially since Kelly and I had spent time talking about that. I thought of it again when I was reading more of Doing the Truth in Love. Himes says at one point:
“Do you believe that you are of such extraordinary value that God has chosen to become what you are rather than remain in the form of God? And if you do believe that about your humanity and the humanity of every other human being, then must you not treat every human being, including yourself, as of infinite value? Do you believe that? Do you live that way? Can you live that way? … Think long and hard before answering ‘yes.’”
We’ve been praying through song a lot here, and I love it. Singing has always been one of my favorite forms of prayer. It’s made me think a bit about prayer and what it entails. And I think prayer can get construed sometimes as telling your problems to God, and then hoping that he grants your wish. At CLC recently, Vince told William to pray about a particular decision, and it seemed to me as if William sort of blew off the suggestion. I think that connotation of prayer is what William through Vince was saying. I think God wants us to be where we are most alive. Alive doesn’t necessarily mean happy, but it means inspired. I think this is what Himes means in his discussion of joy. And if that joy is working for our family on a farm, if that is where you feel most alive and inspired, then that is where you should be. But if you feel more alive in a community in Omaha, Nebraska, then by all means, be there. And I think you will feel more alive when you know that you are filling a need, but it’s a matter of identifying those needs, seeing what they are. Right now, I’m not quite clear, even to myself, if I’m talking about Guarjila or about William and his farm in Maribel, Wisconsin.
I’m going to bed now, while I sing to myself Sarah McLaughlin’s
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace....
For its in giving that we receive
It’s in pardoning that we are pardoned
And it’s in dying that we are born to eternal life
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Stood in what is left of a house, a place where women after women after women were raped and killed. Rocks are black on one side from the house being set on fire to make sure nothing remained.
We saw giant holes shot into cement walls from machine guns. What could those do to the human body?
We saw some pictures of the funerals after the first excavation. Skulls and bones from what were guessed to be the same family members were put in coffins together. And as was evidenced earlier at the UCA, seeing two or three photos of dead bodies is about all I can handle of that.
No mas, no more, cry the hills of Salvador
Companeros, companeros, we cry out no mas, no more
All this was with Rufina, the only survivor of the massacre in El Mozote. It was two weeks before I was born that the military came in and slaughtered an entire city, nearly 800 people.
She told us not to feel guilty, that it wasn’t the fault of the US people, but of the US government. She was so glad we were taking her story back with us. I was reading Himes’ thoughts on guilt last night: “The worst possible motive for the Christian life- and for serving others- is guilt. It is one thing to recognize one’s own sinfulness, but it is quite another to regret one’s past.”
Sunday, May 30, 2004
I’m sitting on the plane, watching El Salvador disappear. I’m seeing the homes, the fields, a river- and as the clouds cover it, I realize what I hate about goodbyes- it’s still my choice to leave, ultimately, and that’s always hard. [sidenote: The pilot just came on over the intercom and described “the ladies serving the back” as “some of our fiiiiiinest flight attendants,” all in a very Texas drawl that I hadn’t missed at all being out of the country.]
I keep thinking of our last night in Guarjila, walking back home with Jessi and our family. Our mom for the week, a wonderful woman named Cruz, walked with JP, whose mom came on this trip last year and stayed with my and Jessi’s family. Cruz held Daniel, the little two-year-old, who was up well past his bedtime so that the whole family could attend the ceremony we put together for our hosts. I think it was nearly 9:30 by the time we got home. I walked the whole way with Yancy, my little sister, who’s 7. Jessi and I’d had trouble telling Yancy and Lillian (9) apart the whole time. And since we’d spent most of our time in Guarjila with the Tamarindos, and not much time with out families, we hadn’t gotten to know our little siblings very well. But Yancy had given up huge hugs when she arrived at the shop that night, and as we walked home, she kept her arm around my waist. So with my arm around her shoulder, we walked home together, trying to follow the flashlight Jessi held, and mostly keeping silent. Except that I could hear her sniffling (a girl after my own heart!). At one point, I asked Jessi how to say ‘sad.’ “Un poco triste?” I asked Yancy. And when she nodded, I said, “Yo tambien,” and squeezed her a little tighter, as it hit me how much our time in Guarjila meant. When we stopped at the house where JP was staying so he could get a present from his mom for Cruz, Yancy and I hugged tight. She whispered beautiful things to me, so nice for a seven year old to say to a strange gringo who’s been sleeping at her home. I have no idea what Yancy said to me, but I didn’t have the heart to say that I didn’t understand. Instead, I hugged her tight, said gracias, and swallowed hard to keep some sadness inside. And ever so often on the rest of the walk, she would lean her head over, resting it on my side, just above my hip. And what can you do when a little girl who you barely know seems as if she misses you already, as if she came to love you in the tiny amount of time you spent with her? All I could do was accompany her home and keep the family up later than I’m sure they ever usually are.
We took pictures for a while when we got home, which was fun with Jessi’s digital camera. Merlin, who’s 12, proved to be quite the photographer. And then we all sat around and talked. I brought out pictures of my family and told about everyone. I talked about my sister, and Nilsar was glad to hear about someone her age. And trying to find a Spanish equivalent of ‘Gowan’ turned out to be difficult. And I talked about Amanda, my mejor amiga, and how she speaks Spanish, and they asked why she hadn’t taught me any. :) That launched into me saying that I know German- or in Spanish, aleman. So then Jessi, Nilsar, and I stayed up for a while, speaking English, Spanish, and German! Nilsar was great, really interested in learning. And I loved feeling competent again, as if I was participating and had things to contribute to the interactions. It finally felt like quality time with out family, if only on our last night together.
For the rest of our time in El Salvador, every small village home we would see made me think of my Guarjila family. Every 12-year-old boy running and climbing around was Merlin; every elementary school girl was Yancy or Lillian; every sweet, patient, and creative college woman was Yaleni; and each toddler was Daniel. Though I brushed it off when he said it initially, Dean Brackley’s words are ringing true. I have fallen in love and had my heart broken. Not onto the next step- bring ruined for life.
Our father
Who art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done
On Earth
As in heaven
Please give to us
All that we need
And forgive us
All of our sins
As we forgive those
Who have harmed us
And lead us not
Away from you
For thine is
The kingdom
And the power
And the glory
Amen my lord
Amen my lord
Amen my lord
Amen my lord
Monday, May 31, 2004
Monday night’s ponderings….
--Feelings toward immigrants and language issues- reactions toward this in the US
--How I want to raise my kids- women’s issues from The Pines- the attitudes the Tamarindos have are exactly the kind I want to for my own children
Tuesday, June 1, 2004
We had CLC tonight, the boys and I. Everyone had really good things to say tonight, actually sharing about life decisions without some of the usual crap that gets thrown in. We all took it pretty seriously, I think in part because we knew it was our last one. Meg is already gone, William leaves Thursday, and I leave Saturday. That leaves Vince for the summer to CLC by himself. When it came to me to ‘tell a story’ (I went last tonight), I prefaced my turn by saying that since I was still in the ‘coming back’ mode and mentality, as opposed to the ‘leaving’ mode, I’d be talking about Salvador. And I warned them that I’d probably cry. (I cry probably two out of every three CLCs this semester- definitely at least half.) So I verbally splattered it out for them- stories and thoughts of murder, mutilation, refugee camps, flowers, blood, children, Romero, hospitality, milpe farms, John, family, necessities, the SOA, resurrection, Christ, hopelessness, vision, beauty, trauma. I threw out to the boys the questions and the I-don’t-knows, all tied together by one bawling, snotty mess of a Theresa. The questions are finally hitting me of What do I do now? I’d brushed off that question while we were there. After all, I have a plan. And I still do, I just don’t know how it ties in to what I experienced. Telling Vince and William was really important; it felt productive? effective? necessary? To bare it all, the goodness and the difficulties- the thoughts I had that are more than just my frustrations about language and stomachaches, the thought that I’m really struggling with. Telling them was a good start, one that seemed really vital and helpful to getting my on my way to sharing this. What else can I do and what else is enough? It doesn’t feel enough to hang my clothes on the line in the back instead of putting them in the dryer. More than telling my roommates needs to happen. And closing the SOA isn’t all of it. I just want…. I want it all for the people of Guarjila, all that they need.
For it’s in giving that we receive....
Thursday, June 3, 2004
Thursday morning’s ponderings and notes during class- comments on what people shared and on some of my leftover thoughts that never got written down….
--Allie’s ideas of the human race as evil? “I can’t get over these facts.” “I’m stuck.”
--Feeling like idiots with our rolling suitcases
--Idea of paying more for clothes that are sweat-free- the differences in the US- I might be willing and able to pay more for clothes, but what about my residents at the Salvation Army? They still need clothes to wear. The dangers of classifying all of the US as white middle class is dismissive and ignores the poverty that exists here
--Emily was “quoting the hell out of Himes.”
--After what our country has done to them, they still took us in. Pablo’s description of what the US equivalent would be- the master bedroom, use of the car, coming in as late as they want, not earning their keep
--Humbling- I am not the star
--Friends drinking back here, what that $$ means for the Tamarindos
--I will never, ever stand up for violence- seeing the Museum of the Revolution, the 500 pound bomb, the 22-year-old hole in the ground from something of that size- the hole was at least 10 feet deep and 30 feet in diameter
--Kelly had asked me what I would write on if I were writing a paper for the class. I’d write on vulnerability, how I am not the star….
--Kelly- “At Albertson’s, it’s easier to see a price tag, not people.”
--Working from love, not anger
--JP- “The academic side of this has lost its potency.” “How will I stay faithful?” “Love is equivalent to sacrifice.” “We might be able to fight for justice out entire lives, and never find hope and love.”
--The idea of bringing a tub the size of a recycling bin to college, plus a cot to sleep on and communal dishes- new meaning for us to the idea of simplicity
--Lizzie- “I don’t think God is a father figure staring at us and pointing out what we need to fix.” “I’m getting somewhere, but I have no conclusions.”
--The idea that it is a privilege in many ways to be able to choose your vocation
--There are no refrigerators in Guarjila
--Michael’s comments on ‘more and bigger’ vs. enough
--Such a concrete action- stop giving arms to El Salvador!
--Yaleni’s poem
--Tom’s thoughts about love as a choice, and continuing to let this experience impact us is going to take work, it’s going to be something we choose.
-- Not to dismiss the feelings I’ve had before, but this was an entirely new realization of solidarity. I thought I knew what solidarity was before this trip.
Thursday, May 20, 2004
On time as usual, I was supposed to begin journaling for the trip three days ago. Instead, I waited until now, halfway through our second flight. It’s been hard to let the reality of this trip hit me. So much of my mind has bee preoccupied with thoughts of, “I’m done with classes! I’m a college graduate!” So even though I was packed for Salvador four days before I left, and even though I’m been attending the class and doing a chunk of the readings, the reality of leaving the country hasn’t quite hit.
Throughout all the preparation, I keep thinking of my time in Oklahoma City. Every time I continue to process what that trip meant, I realize what a turning point it was in my path, in my discernment. I want my time in Salvador to do similar things, and I expect that it will. I’m a little scared, too, about the discernment ideas I’ll be facing…. In a video earlier this week, we heard the words sung, “I have called you each by name.” How is God calling me by name? I talked in CLC last night about how I feel this amazingly strong calling when I am with Catholic Workers, and also when we were in OKC. When I am presented with these examples of people living out lives of simplicity, solidarity, faith, justice, and love- that’s when I can see myself living out a life like that. The more and more I see people doing these things I feel called to do, the more and more I feel as if it is a possibility (or more) that I can live in a similar way. So how will I be feeling called after a bit of time in El Salvador?
A lot going through my mind, making me write in a way that comes out choppy. I had a good conversation with Kelly about service and justice; the pull toward one often makes them seem a dichotomy.
I reread the first chapter of Himes, and I’m remembering how important that book is- God as love and relationships. Though I still am singing in my head:
Be not afraid
I go before you always
Come, follow me
And I will give you rest
Can God be a guide and a relationship both? And is immersion the melting of service and justice? Is that the draw to me of this trip and this lifestyle?
Friday, May 21, 2004
The easier question of tonight is: How is it barely past 8:30 and I’ve already had the yawns for quite a while? :) I’m ready to crash. Then again, we’ve been up since something like 6:00 this morning. We spent the morning walking around Guarjila. This afternoon, we met with a woman named Tomase, a midwife during the way. And she just told us her story- what she saw and how she got to where she is now. She told us how she was trained- by practicing. And how she was nearly killed, on several occasions, by the military who thought she was a guerilla. She told us about how the military slaughtered town residents- sticks shoved into hanged men, pregnant women shot, children sliced open down their torsos, live women set on fire…. And after all this, she thanks us for visiting and says that she hopes God repays us for our visit to this place. How do you tell her that she is our repayment? She makes this trip worthwhile, makes it what it is. How do I tell her that she is the repayment from God?
Walking back after visiting Tomase, it was easier to notice the beauty of the flowers on our path, on the same ground that has held so much blood. If this town (and this country) truly is Christ, which I believe it is, then it can be tempting to say that it is still in the process of resurrection. How as a people do you resurrect yourselves from this sort of tragedy, this sort of slaughter? I think Guarjila is a magnificent example of resurrection- truly finding itself and pulling together from rubble.
Why do I keep singing in my head? Tonight it is:
We are one body,
One body in Christ
And we do not stand alone....
I wish John was here. It’s so good to see the work that he does here, to know what it is that I support about him, in addition to his general connections and awesomeness. But I wish we had his presence- physically- here to guide our group. There’s something about him that is very healing.
Sunday, May 23, 2004, morning
I don’t even know how to process what has been going on. Kelly just commented that she’s been having a lot of trouble journaling, and I feel the same way. Every time I sit down to process or even think or let what I’m doing hit me- tears start to leak out, and I can’t explain why. I keep saying I’m overwhelmed, and though I don’t feel that way when I’m in the moment, that’s all I seem able to say.
I talked with Jessi for a while last night about our trip yesterday to The Pines. I’m amazed and awed at the values and ideals and work of the Tamarindos. Their discussion on Community rang so true- how we need it to survive. Emily commented that people here need other people, not things- I love it. That’s exactly what I’ve seen. So many less distractions- there aren’t all these things to take away from your relationships. I don’t know. I feel like I’m learning so much, but I still don’t know anything. How is it that I lead a happy life, working hard at what I do and how I live, and so do all these Salvadorans, in such a different lifestyle? How do I have carpet in my bedroom, instead of a cement floor covered in my mud? How do I have a dresser and closet full of clothes, when they have two beds in the bedroom, and that’s all? How do I throw my clothes in the washer and dryer back home, when this morning we did our laundry in the pila- scrubbing it out by hand on the cement slab, feeling bad about how much water I’m using up for one t-shirt?
afternoon
I think the way I’m struggling with my interactions with the Tamarindos is more than just the fact that we can’t speak the same language. It means more than just that we can’t talk. It’s the fact that this part of our trip has relationship forming as one of its key points. It’s a relatively short time to be here, and there’s a lot of time (and what I imply to be expectation) to bond with the group and with individual Tamarindos. The problem comes when Tamarindo after Tamarindo strikes up conversations with me, and all I can say is “no se” or “lo siento.” Over and over again, I try to use a fraction of the vocabulary I know, and it just leaves me frustrated. It’s because I thrive off interactions, off relationships, off getting to know others, and in this setting, I have to play the part of the observer. It’s not a role I’m used to, nor one that I prefer. Like I was telling Jessi, it’s not even a matter of patience on the part of the Tamarindos, because all the time in the world won’t help if it’s just two of us. While I can handle feeling humbled, I don’t like feeling inept. And inept is how I feel when I try to communicate anything deeper than, “I have a sister,” “I am from Minnesota,” “I am tired,” or the days of the week. I hate that I feel very, very competent to speak in another language some of the things I’d like to say, it just happens that the language is German, not Spanish. So I’m left to either feel dependent on another to say a simple sentence, or else zone out, and observe everyone else interacting, which drives me nuts because I want to participate. I feel like a dependent little child that others need to look after That, and I feel as if my mouth has been taped shut- there’s so much going on inside me, so much I am feeling and trying to say, but none of it will come out, and I’m left humming and mumbling, hoping that someone picks up on what I mean.
On the other hand, I’ve been astounded at the way so many of the Tamarindos (and everyone) have been sensitive to my needs, when they haven’t been verbalized. Last night walking home, a girl whose name I don’t know (not unusual, as I know hardly anyone’s name) took my hand as we walked in the dark. She was so, so patient with me; her goal wasn’t to exchange information or have a conversation- she just wanted to talk. We ended up saying the days of the week in our own languages, and then rambling off a few other various vocab words that we know. Such patience and willingness to hold my hand and work at my level.
The problem is that I wish my level was higher….
The other struggle that is bringing up (often micro-level) questions is my body’s rebelling to its environment here. Thursday night it was motion sickness that brought be to tears by the time we got off the bus. Yesterday it was exhaustion on the hike (hopefully more about that later). And today my stomach tied itself topsy-turvy until it decided to release its contents from the entire trip. Swell. Not only do I (obviously) hate feeling so gross (especially from different things in a short amount of time), but I hate what else it means. It means I’m privileged enough to live somewhere where I don’t have to deal with this environment as a way of life. I hate that my body has to rebel in order to function. I can handle mentally the physical challenges we’ve faced- not concerned with germs, don’t need to shower too often, don’t mind dirt and mud, not afraid of heights or rivers/lakes, etc. But my body seems to mind those, and I don’t like it.
I think that this trip is probably making me the most vulnerable I’ve ever felt, in so many aspects. Saturday’s hike was a perfect example. I just couldn’t keep going. Everyone around me saw it, and I couldn’t recognize it. So physically exhausted. I truly understood the meaning of “dripping with sweat.”
I need to go to bed; I’m starting to sound choppy. Buenas noches….
Monday, May 24, 2004
Strike one up for Teresita’s injuries!
Day 1- motion sick from the bus
Day 3- total exhaustion from the hike
Day 4- tummy topsy-turvy at the soccer game
Today- Day 5- Only hours after expressing my dislike of soccer and fear of soccer balls enhanced by a ball to the face during middle school gym class, I received a soccer ball to the fact today during our match with the Tamarindo mujeres. Sweet. Kelly and Jessi fixed me up with a hefty amount of various cleaning products and toilet paper. I’m hanging out in the shop (the taller) while they go get my extra pair of glasses. (Mine got pretty bent, but they’ll survive.) And we took the eyebrow ring out…. It had been puffy for a while (a little swollen since graduation, probably) and that’s right where the ball hit. So no eyebrow ring currently for me. I kept the ring, so maybe I can get it re-do0ne, or maybe the other side…. At least this bodily discomfort isn’t a reaction the Salvador and my environment- that’s a little refreshing. :)
On another plus side, I was able to ask my ‘brother’ to walk me back to the taller, and then tell two other Tamarindos that it only hurt a little, and I was scared, and my glasses were crooked, but I have another pair, and Kelly and Jessi went to get it, and I said all that almost all in Spanish! Hooray!
(I’ve totally been breaking out the German-Spanish; yesterday I said “aber” instead of “pero,” and today I definitely said “ein andere.” Oh well…. :)
Monday, May 24, 2004
I’ll be honest: Slaughter makes me sad. And today was a lot about slaughter. First a priest from the town of Rutillo Grande, then the UCA all afternoon, complete with Dean Brackley, Jon Sobrino, and a tour of artifacts from all the martyrs. All followed by tears in the rose garden with Kelly Simmons. It’s been such a blessing to have her on this trip, and I realized it even more today. She and I share something different about these connections to the SOA. I don’t mean to imply that this isn’t impacting others, because I know that would be the worst lie I could tell on this trip. But Kelly and I share a different connection with each other regarding these issues than either of us share with anyone else in the group. With SOA, combined with our Oklahoma City experiences, it just felt good, however good it can be, to sit and just hold hands with her in the rose garden, sharing tears and frustrations. We talked about hope and hopelessness, about personal connections and dehumanizing others, about amazing theologians, and about how we felt it was insensitive to take pictures there in the rose garden. (Both of us have ended up with experiences at the World Trade Center and at the Oklahoma City memorial, and neither of us is comfortable with photos at either place….)
I wish I could write more tonight, but I’m falling asleep in my actual bed (rather than a cot) at a guesthouse in San Salvador. So I will turn out the lights, and try for more tomorrow….
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
Notes and thoughts from Dean Brackley’s talk at the University of Central America
--the median age in El Salvador is 19
--Solidarity is responding to my neighbor in need, especially outside my own circles
--“You don’t know what to expect when you come down here, but you ask yourself, ‘Why are these people smiling?’”
--[Someone said at one point this week that the military wouldn’t just kill your child, they would strip and mutilate him, and then leave his body on your doorstep.]
--“How many of these people are there? The truth is that they’re the majority of the world.”
--“The idea that I’m meant to give my life in a real serious way- that’s solidarity.”
--“Why do people go to college? It’s the next thing on the middle class agenda, the next step to stay out of poverty.”
--“A lot of Jesuit universities want to be the Jesuit Harvard. I think that’s very dangerous. I think we need to aim higher than Harvard.”
--“A lot of people are bitten by the prestige virus.”
--“Everyone knows how the church feels about the unborn and the dead- but it’s not always clear how it feels about the living.”
--“Discipleship- that’s what love looks like.”
--“Who is poor, why are they poor, and how can we take them down from their crosses?”
--“You can’t understand the reality of this country without understanding who owns the means of production.”
--“CAFTA is not about free markets. It’s about US money to big companies, not to small farms in Guarjila.”
--[Victoria at the Rio Sumpul yesterday said that of course the Salvadorans knew the US’s involvement in the civil war- who else would the bombs and weaponry come from?]
Wednesday, May 26, 2004, morning
I’m sitting in a pew in the church where Oscar Romero was killed. A few tears are dripping down my face as I try to hold back more. And all I can think is Lord make me an instrument of your peace.
A skinny white cat keeps darting around between the pews and the altar, and I wonder, How is a cat free to run where it pleases in a church, but a man considered to be a prophet was killed here?
Tom is kneeling on the altar, right in the place Teca says Romero was standing when he was shot. And the cat leaps onto a chair on the altar.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
evening
We heard an amazing priest speak with us tonight. He’s been in Salvador for decades, and in Morazan (the province/state where El Mozote is) for a large portion of that time. He was, I think, the most powerful of the priests we’ve heard this trip. He has a vision of the big picture, but he brings it into very concrete work with those in his parish and city. He seems to have a sense of how to go about solving problems. He talked about working with those you fundamentally don’t agree with, and how to repair that rift. When Tom asked about value differences between Fr. Rogelio and his work with the guerrillas during the war, Fr. Rogelio explained that as a priest, he was against violence and aggression, but he would stand with his people and their quest for justice. Though he didn’t agree with everything about the FMLN, he would support those he was serving, and he feels they are justified in their cause.
He also told the story of a woman from the town (Perquin) whose parents were celebrating their 40th anniversary, and they wanted to celebrate at the church. This woman’s son had been killed by the guerillas during the war. She came to Fr. Rogelio and said that she wanted to celebrate at the church, but with a different priest; she and her family identified him as siding with the guerillas. He agreed to her request, and now she and her husband rarely miss an event with the church, despite not agreeing with him. He knew that keeping their faith meaningful and connected was more important than taking personally their views toward him.
He said that it’s so much easier to be against everything, but it’s harder to do the day-to-day work of being for something. He says that when people are protesting free trade things, he always makes a point of asking them how their local co-ops are going. A single day event is one thing, but supporting a viable, effective alternative is much more difficult.
We all say in a circle of folding chairs in the basement of this church- a cement floor with cement walls, a few paintings on the walls and a few cabinets. And we sat in this humble place, talking with a priest who has no airs about him, no high esteem to live up to, like Dean Brackley and Jon Sobrino had yesterday. He talked to us and with us, instead of lecturing to us. He had tears in his eyes at the end. And after that, he blessed us all, similar to Fr. Orlando at Paisnal yesterday.
And I’m sitting here now in a hammock in Perquin, feeling more alive than I have for a while on this trip. Even though I loved Guarjila and was happy there in my interactions and my struggles, I think I am feeling more of the hope now that others were talking about at reflection this morning. I wasn’t trying to bring down the mood at reflection, but I hadn’t been able to talk with the group yet about the struggles I was having about the contrast between the beauty and the blood of this land. And I said that resurrection is a lot more gray, a lot more of a process, than I would have envisioned. I felt a lot more of that hopelessness this morning, and its sadness carried itself to Romero’s church afterwards. Senor, hazme instrumento de tu paz.
It was good to hear Allie talk about the issue of inhumanity, of not understanding cruelty, especially since Kelly and I had spent time talking about that. I thought of it again when I was reading more of Doing the Truth in Love. Himes says at one point:
“Do you believe that you are of such extraordinary value that God has chosen to become what you are rather than remain in the form of God? And if you do believe that about your humanity and the humanity of every other human being, then must you not treat every human being, including yourself, as of infinite value? Do you believe that? Do you live that way? Can you live that way? … Think long and hard before answering ‘yes.’”
We’ve been praying through song a lot here, and I love it. Singing has always been one of my favorite forms of prayer. It’s made me think a bit about prayer and what it entails. And I think prayer can get construed sometimes as telling your problems to God, and then hoping that he grants your wish. At CLC recently, Vince told William to pray about a particular decision, and it seemed to me as if William sort of blew off the suggestion. I think that connotation of prayer is what William through Vince was saying. I think God wants us to be where we are most alive. Alive doesn’t necessarily mean happy, but it means inspired. I think this is what Himes means in his discussion of joy. And if that joy is working for our family on a farm, if that is where you feel most alive and inspired, then that is where you should be. But if you feel more alive in a community in Omaha, Nebraska, then by all means, be there. And I think you will feel more alive when you know that you are filling a need, but it’s a matter of identifying those needs, seeing what they are. Right now, I’m not quite clear, even to myself, if I’m talking about Guarjila or about William and his farm in Maribel, Wisconsin.
I’m going to bed now, while I sing to myself Sarah McLaughlin’s
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace....
For its in giving that we receive
It’s in pardoning that we are pardoned
And it’s in dying that we are born to eternal life
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Stood in what is left of a house, a place where women after women after women were raped and killed. Rocks are black on one side from the house being set on fire to make sure nothing remained.
We saw giant holes shot into cement walls from machine guns. What could those do to the human body?
We saw some pictures of the funerals after the first excavation. Skulls and bones from what were guessed to be the same family members were put in coffins together. And as was evidenced earlier at the UCA, seeing two or three photos of dead bodies is about all I can handle of that.
No mas, no more, cry the hills of Salvador
Companeros, companeros, we cry out no mas, no more
All this was with Rufina, the only survivor of the massacre in El Mozote. It was two weeks before I was born that the military came in and slaughtered an entire city, nearly 800 people.
She told us not to feel guilty, that it wasn’t the fault of the US people, but of the US government. She was so glad we were taking her story back with us. I was reading Himes’ thoughts on guilt last night: “The worst possible motive for the Christian life- and for serving others- is guilt. It is one thing to recognize one’s own sinfulness, but it is quite another to regret one’s past.”
Sunday, May 30, 2004
I’m sitting on the plane, watching El Salvador disappear. I’m seeing the homes, the fields, a river- and as the clouds cover it, I realize what I hate about goodbyes- it’s still my choice to leave, ultimately, and that’s always hard. [sidenote: The pilot just came on over the intercom and described “the ladies serving the back” as “some of our fiiiiiinest flight attendants,” all in a very Texas drawl that I hadn’t missed at all being out of the country.]
I keep thinking of our last night in Guarjila, walking back home with Jessi and our family. Our mom for the week, a wonderful woman named Cruz, walked with JP, whose mom came on this trip last year and stayed with my and Jessi’s family. Cruz held Daniel, the little two-year-old, who was up well past his bedtime so that the whole family could attend the ceremony we put together for our hosts. I think it was nearly 9:30 by the time we got home. I walked the whole way with Yancy, my little sister, who’s 7. Jessi and I’d had trouble telling Yancy and Lillian (9) apart the whole time. And since we’d spent most of our time in Guarjila with the Tamarindos, and not much time with out families, we hadn’t gotten to know our little siblings very well. But Yancy had given up huge hugs when she arrived at the shop that night, and as we walked home, she kept her arm around my waist. So with my arm around her shoulder, we walked home together, trying to follow the flashlight Jessi held, and mostly keeping silent. Except that I could hear her sniffling (a girl after my own heart!). At one point, I asked Jessi how to say ‘sad.’ “Un poco triste?” I asked Yancy. And when she nodded, I said, “Yo tambien,” and squeezed her a little tighter, as it hit me how much our time in Guarjila meant. When we stopped at the house where JP was staying so he could get a present from his mom for Cruz, Yancy and I hugged tight. She whispered beautiful things to me, so nice for a seven year old to say to a strange gringo who’s been sleeping at her home. I have no idea what Yancy said to me, but I didn’t have the heart to say that I didn’t understand. Instead, I hugged her tight, said gracias, and swallowed hard to keep some sadness inside. And ever so often on the rest of the walk, she would lean her head over, resting it on my side, just above my hip. And what can you do when a little girl who you barely know seems as if she misses you already, as if she came to love you in the tiny amount of time you spent with her? All I could do was accompany her home and keep the family up later than I’m sure they ever usually are.
We took pictures for a while when we got home, which was fun with Jessi’s digital camera. Merlin, who’s 12, proved to be quite the photographer. And then we all sat around and talked. I brought out pictures of my family and told about everyone. I talked about my sister, and Nilsar was glad to hear about someone her age. And trying to find a Spanish equivalent of ‘Gowan’ turned out to be difficult. And I talked about Amanda, my mejor amiga, and how she speaks Spanish, and they asked why she hadn’t taught me any. :) That launched into me saying that I know German- or in Spanish, aleman. So then Jessi, Nilsar, and I stayed up for a while, speaking English, Spanish, and German! Nilsar was great, really interested in learning. And I loved feeling competent again, as if I was participating and had things to contribute to the interactions. It finally felt like quality time with out family, if only on our last night together.
For the rest of our time in El Salvador, every small village home we would see made me think of my Guarjila family. Every 12-year-old boy running and climbing around was Merlin; every elementary school girl was Yancy or Lillian; every sweet, patient, and creative college woman was Yaleni; and each toddler was Daniel. Though I brushed it off when he said it initially, Dean Brackley’s words are ringing true. I have fallen in love and had my heart broken. Not onto the next step- bring ruined for life.
Our father
Who art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done
On Earth
As in heaven
Please give to us
All that we need
And forgive us
All of our sins
As we forgive those
Who have harmed us
And lead us not
Away from you
For thine is
The kingdom
And the power
And the glory
Amen my lord
Amen my lord
Amen my lord
Amen my lord
Monday, May 31, 2004
Monday night’s ponderings….
--Feelings toward immigrants and language issues- reactions toward this in the US
--How I want to raise my kids- women’s issues from The Pines- the attitudes the Tamarindos have are exactly the kind I want to for my own children
Tuesday, June 1, 2004
We had CLC tonight, the boys and I. Everyone had really good things to say tonight, actually sharing about life decisions without some of the usual crap that gets thrown in. We all took it pretty seriously, I think in part because we knew it was our last one. Meg is already gone, William leaves Thursday, and I leave Saturday. That leaves Vince for the summer to CLC by himself. When it came to me to ‘tell a story’ (I went last tonight), I prefaced my turn by saying that since I was still in the ‘coming back’ mode and mentality, as opposed to the ‘leaving’ mode, I’d be talking about Salvador. And I warned them that I’d probably cry. (I cry probably two out of every three CLCs this semester- definitely at least half.) So I verbally splattered it out for them- stories and thoughts of murder, mutilation, refugee camps, flowers, blood, children, Romero, hospitality, milpe farms, John, family, necessities, the SOA, resurrection, Christ, hopelessness, vision, beauty, trauma. I threw out to the boys the questions and the I-don’t-knows, all tied together by one bawling, snotty mess of a Theresa. The questions are finally hitting me of What do I do now? I’d brushed off that question while we were there. After all, I have a plan. And I still do, I just don’t know how it ties in to what I experienced. Telling Vince and William was really important; it felt productive? effective? necessary? To bare it all, the goodness and the difficulties- the thoughts I had that are more than just my frustrations about language and stomachaches, the thought that I’m really struggling with. Telling them was a good start, one that seemed really vital and helpful to getting my on my way to sharing this. What else can I do and what else is enough? It doesn’t feel enough to hang my clothes on the line in the back instead of putting them in the dryer. More than telling my roommates needs to happen. And closing the SOA isn’t all of it. I just want…. I want it all for the people of Guarjila, all that they need.
For it’s in giving that we receive....
Thursday, June 3, 2004
Thursday morning’s ponderings and notes during class- comments on what people shared and on some of my leftover thoughts that never got written down….
--Allie’s ideas of the human race as evil? “I can’t get over these facts.” “I’m stuck.”
--Feeling like idiots with our rolling suitcases
--Idea of paying more for clothes that are sweat-free- the differences in the US- I might be willing and able to pay more for clothes, but what about my residents at the Salvation Army? They still need clothes to wear. The dangers of classifying all of the US as white middle class is dismissive and ignores the poverty that exists here
--Emily was “quoting the hell out of Himes.”
--After what our country has done to them, they still took us in. Pablo’s description of what the US equivalent would be- the master bedroom, use of the car, coming in as late as they want, not earning their keep
--Humbling- I am not the star
--Friends drinking back here, what that $$ means for the Tamarindos
--I will never, ever stand up for violence- seeing the Museum of the Revolution, the 500 pound bomb, the 22-year-old hole in the ground from something of that size- the hole was at least 10 feet deep and 30 feet in diameter
--Kelly had asked me what I would write on if I were writing a paper for the class. I’d write on vulnerability, how I am not the star….
--Kelly- “At Albertson’s, it’s easier to see a price tag, not people.”
--Working from love, not anger
--JP- “The academic side of this has lost its potency.” “How will I stay faithful?” “Love is equivalent to sacrifice.” “We might be able to fight for justice out entire lives, and never find hope and love.”
--The idea of bringing a tub the size of a recycling bin to college, plus a cot to sleep on and communal dishes- new meaning for us to the idea of simplicity
--Lizzie- “I don’t think God is a father figure staring at us and pointing out what we need to fix.” “I’m getting somewhere, but I have no conclusions.”
--The idea that it is a privilege in many ways to be able to choose your vocation
--There are no refrigerators in Guarjila
--Michael’s comments on ‘more and bigger’ vs. enough
--Such a concrete action- stop giving arms to El Salvador!
--Yaleni’s poem
--Tom’s thoughts about love as a choice, and continuing to let this experience impact us is going to take work, it’s going to be something we choose.
-- Not to dismiss the feelings I’ve had before, but this was an entirely new realization of solidarity. I thought I knew what solidarity was before this trip.
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Date: 2004-06-04 12:41 pm (UTC)Also, a funny little moment of serendipity (thanks Wally!): Yesterday my mom and I watched an episode of Buffy that was playing the Sarah McLaughlin song you quoted. My mom asked who was singing and I didn't know, but now I do :)
I'm so glad you're coming home tomorrow! If you're not too busy or overwhelmed with things to do, you should come to your ex-husband's graduation party on Sunday. Cathy and your parents are welcome too. There will be pizza and probably some funny baby pictures of Brian.
One way or another, we should get together very soon.
no subject
Date: 2004-06-05 01:22 am (UTC)I'll talk to you soon.
love and peace,
~Dorothy
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Date: 2004-06-04 11:34 pm (UTC)You and that Shannon kid have some fun now! Be good.
no subject
Date: 2004-06-06 10:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-06-18 03:37 pm (UTC)