Yearly Retreat

Once a year the Missionaries of the Incarnate Word gather for a retreat and for those of us in Mexico, this year`s was held in Cuernavaca, a vacation spot outside of Mexico City nicknamed ``The Land of Eternal Spring`` due to its consistently warm weather.

On retreat last year, it was nice to catch up with the women who I had met during orientation. This year would be different as these women had either finished the program or were unable to attend and thus our house would participate with a community who began serving in Monterrey in August. This community comes to Santa Fe and spends the day in our house and parish and from there we leave for Cuenavaca.

Our retreat house in Cuernavaca is a sunny spot run by Sisters of the Incarnate Word on ground that contains fruit trees and a swimming pool. It is a tranquil spot from which to reflect. During one of our first talks, we are invited to think back as to why we originally joined the program, which is of special significance to me as my two-year term of service is coming to an end in five months.

I entered the program at a time when I was fed up with employment struggles and I realized that the jobs had been seeking really were`t that important and I had the desire to grow as a person. As a missionary, the importance of being rather than doing is constantly stressed.

Through my work with the terminally ill, there are a lot of chances to just be as I mostly just offer my presence. This has been valuable for me as I have realized that though I may not have traits to make me succeed in the corporate world, I am able to be present to the needy because because I have the patience and stamina to just sit and off fer myself to them.

However, just being has brought a lot of sadness and loneliness that I hadn`t anticipated before coming. Despite finding myself in in very different and some to,es uncomfortable situations over the last few weeks, my mood has been better. This makes me realize that being around suffering has an affect on my personality as I dwell on the pain of the desolate.

One quote that sticks with me during the retreat is that we we are called to suffer with others but not be sad. This seems contradictory, because how can you wall in the misery of others and still come out a pleasant person? Still, this is ultimately what I want, to be a compassionate person who can face the darker realities of life while still appreciating the beauty of the world

The theme of the retreat is Lent, and important part of this is forgiveness as Jesus came into the world to forgive us and ultimately forgave us for having crucified him. There are people both here and home that I have been harboring grudged against and I want to let them go. And, if Jesus can forgive the world and I can forgive others, I must also forgive myself for times when I have mistreated people or not done enough to ease their pains.

One powerful part of the retreat a reflection on the stains of the cross, when the group shares ways that they have seen Jesus`s final steps lived out in the mission . I think of the times when I have have entered the homes of friends and realized that they are much worse off financially than I thought and realized they are carrying heavy crosses silently. Other missionaries share then pain of women who have lost children or persons ``crucified``as they have terminal diseases.

Additionally, we work on ways to grow and help each other as a community. Though I came into this program knowing that I would live in a community, I saw it has living with roommates. However, I am realizing the importance of sharing experience and offering support to those I live with. Though this program is about loving others, it is easy to to take for granted those who are physically closest to us. To counter this, we learn communication techniques and decide to start sharing a weekly community night during which we will eat together and share a spiritual activity.

Overall, the retreat serves as reminder to let go, to keep loving, and to move forward.

Going Indigenous

While living in the world`s second largest city may sound exciting, lately I have felt a desire for change. Though everyday life in the community of Sante Fe brings about challenges or interesting encounters, it is still pueblo (small town) life and it seems like I take the same route and encounter the same people every day. While I am enjoying this type of life, I was was accustomed to traveling a lot and switching my living situation every year in the United States.

An opportunity for something different comes at 10:00 p.m. on Sunday night. Padre Salvador invites me to an indigenous conference to take place in the state of Guerrero the following day. As I am booked to leave on vacation for San Francisco on Friday (the anticipated return day to Santa Fe,) I take being able to change my departure date to Saturday as a sign that should go.

At 7:00 the next morning, Padre, Jessi and I leave in order to meet up with the bus heading to Chilapa. The bus is scheduled to leave at 8:30, but due to late arrivals, tamale buying and sorting out money to give to the driver, we do not take off until around 10:00. During the down time, Father uses one of his Virgin of the Mary holy cards to pick the lock of a nearby church`s bathroom so that we can use the facilities.

The bus is made up of residents of a Mexico City group who consider themselves indigenous and fight for rights and to preserve their culture. If there was a photo of participants labeled ¨What´s wrong with this picture?´´, Jessica and I would have arrows pointed over are heads. Still, Padre invited us along due to extra spots on the bus and his desire to expose us to new situations.

We take a picturesque journey to the town of Chilapa which is dusty spot located in the the state of Guerroro. After arriving in the seminary hosting the conference and watching an opening ceremony involving sword fights and Mass, Padre suggests that we all go out for tacos. Half of our group goes with him and we wander around looking for a place to eat. Most of the women of the group stay in spot serving chalupas ( a thick tortilla concoction ) while Padre, his priest friends, a secretary and I seek and find a tacqueria that serves cerveza. We drink beers and are given pumpkin seeds in the way that an American bar my offer peanuts.

During these types of conferences, townspeople serve as host families and open up their homes. However, as our half of the group was off eating while lodgings were procured, we are left homeless. A woman coming home from a party notices our plight and offers to let the eighteen of us stay in her mother`s house. Padre stays behind as he is to stay the seminary and the rest of us ride off.

A half an hour late our busload arrive in front of an impassable road (due to construction) leading to the woman`s home. A few group members wander of to assess the situation and forty minutes later come back to say that the mother was not prepared for or wanting over a dozen strangers staying in her house.

In a Sound of the Music moment , we are offered refuge in a convent. A nun in our group says that we can stay in her Sisters` nearby home. As this convent offers overnight schooling, thirteen women sleep in a bunk-bed filled room. . Throughout our nights there, lights go on at random times and we awake to various indigenous languages being spoken.

The theme of conference is that water, and the gist is that water is precious and the we should do our best to conserve it. I agree with this but find much of the conference is hard to understand, though it does force me think about how much water is used excessively. Generally people bath more more than needed and factories pollute water in order to produce bottled water and sodas.

Though the conference is a reminder to consider my use of scarce resource, what I enjoy most out of it is being able to encounter new people. One day, we go to a rural community and hike through the fields, up a mountain, and enter a cave where some of the first prehispanic indigenous drawings were discovered. One of the priests makes his musicsas (instrument players) play songs while we pray. Throughout the conference, different groups perform prayers that a a mix of indigenous prehispanic rituals alongside Catholicism.

Although food is served by the priests and students of the seminary, I often go back to the kitchen in order to request vegetarian food or get water (which is smoke-flavored and stored in from trashcans.) In thus back area, the kitchen staff hand rolls tortillas and cooks food over open fires. One priest encourages his students to practice their English with me and thus simple tasks like requesting napkins take about twenty minutes as their English is worse than my Spanish.

As I don`t eat meat or dairy, I often worry about the food in these situations, but the seminary gives me hearty portions of beans and corn-based products. Still, things just seem a little off. During the nights, we are served coffee and one morning a priest offers us several shots of his mescal ( a tequila-like liquor) for us to sample.

The last night is a fiesta and at first religious tunes our played but soon comes salsa music. On my dance card is a 22-year old who lived in the U.S.A. for several years and asks me ``hey girl, do you want to dance?``

A guy my own age issues an invitation, but during small talk I learn that he lives in the seminary as a student. (However, as I am staying in a convent this could make a great how we met story.) My worst dancing experience is with a 15 year-old uniform-clad student who I have to push away from me the whole time. He speaks English as he spent time living in the United States. It seems that his family shipped him off to seminary school in order to undo the damage.

On our bus ride home, we take a side trip to to a beach near Acapulco. For some members of our group it is their first time at the seashore. Before disembarking, Father announces to the bus ``Remember that Mother Nature brought you into the world without clothes. If you don`t have a bathing suit, she`ll accept you as such.`

I run along the beach, swim in a lagoon and join the group in eating seafood and drinking beer. When I sit down on bench, it begins to sway, but Padre tells me to relax because that that is how it is designed to function.

During lunch, Padre remarks that he is drinking a type of beer that he does not like because it is the only one that is available and that he also feels guilty feel eating and drinking heartily during lent. I am proud of myself for being able to make a joke in Spanish. ``But you`re drinking beer that you don`t like, thus you`re sacrificing for Lent,``` I say.

Padre and everybody laugh, and we are in good spirits as we feeding the beach dogs fishbones. The next thing l know, the people next to me are on the ground and then I am as well. The bench has broken and only Padre is left upright as his part of the bench was supported by a pole. This speaks to Padre`s faith as he is confident that things will be okay, and with him it turns out to be so.

Despite glitches, I enjoy the trip. We arrive in Santa Fe at 11 in the night and I pack at three in the morning in order to catch the plane to visit my sister and family in San Francisco.

The best part my trip the United States is seeing my family is seeing my family but there are are other comforts as well--jogging along tree-lined streets, understanding the language and not being referred to as ``white girl.`` While I appreciate life there, I also miss my every day run-ins with parish members, students and co-workers in Santa Fe. Every place has it delights as I will be returning to the United Sates at the end of the summer, I`ll be able to count on more change soon enough.