San Antonio Day 5:
I will post this and one more ‘info’ one and then try to stop.
This, however, continues to return to me.
The word ‘rituals’...not big fancy ceremonies but those little things we all do everyday that soothe us, keep us balanced...sacred little moments.
Roll over in bed after the alarm, brush our teeth, take a shower, have our cuppa’ coffee, work out, read the news, have a bedtime snack, pray...there are a million and one ways that we lean into our day with these little rituals.
When one little ritual gets moved or taken away, we get thrown off a titch...kinda’ get ‘flermookled’!
I told Joe how that kept coming to me when we were interacting with the migrant families; as I have my morning coffee now, knowing how their morning begins, I think of them...so MANY times it comes to me....here are two:
After spending time with my grands and sharing ‘treats’...a typical granny ritual...I remember the abuela who brought her nietos with her and gave them each an apple b4 bedtime. I had to ask her to take the children out of the room where they sat on their cots because no food was allowed in the rooms. They had to stand in the hall. It was for a good reason, to keep mice, ants, critters away and she was MORE than gracious as were the kids but UGH. This little ritual of evening snack time with her grands was not allowed.
All I could say was “Soy abuela. Lo siento.”
Eye contact told me she understood but...
And then we worked the afternoon bringing people over for showers. There were four shower stalls so families went in together to shower (with a 5-7 minute time request). There were MANY families so this took 4 hours...you can imagine the wait...and again many thank you’s!
The VERY FIRST thing I thought about when I arrived home to my bath ‘ritual’ was these folk and, well...
I guess that’s all. Just wanted to get it off my mind and heart and on to this although it will remain within me, AS WELL IT SHOULD.
Maybe you might think about your own rituals and how they soothe you...we ALL have them...and then maybe you could breathe a prayer of gratitude and then maybe you could add a ritual...lifting those whose balance has been completely flipped...just for a sacred moment.
Wednesday, August 28, 2019
Sunday, August 18, 2019
San Antonio Day 2: just a quick reflection...we spent 14 hours with these fine folk (staff, volunteers and documented migrants)...these asylum-seekers have passed thru the border and are awaiting transportation to their final destination...they are primarily families who spend their days at a center and their nights at the church where there are MANY rooms that look like this...no pillow but a cot and blanket...if someone needs to get their bus, they are walked there, no matter the time...Joe and I walked this babe and her very young parents to the station at 5:30 AM ...we both had tears in our eyes as we hugged them goodbye after watching them wade thru the travel info...it will take them 2-3 days with 5 stops to get to their sponsored destination...with. a. toddler.
I believe they will make it because they were intelligent, responsible, hope-full, gentle spirited folk.
I also believe they will ADD to our society.
I feel privileged to have had a moment to walk beside them.
I believe they will make it because they were intelligent, responsible, hope-full, gentle spirited folk.
I also believe they will ADD to our society.
I feel privileged to have had a moment to walk beside them.
Wednesday, August 14, 2019
2019
I wrote this 3 years ago when Shirley started treatment. While she and I were at the lake this weekend for the FIRST TIME since then, the photo of the 2 of us at the lake THEN popped up so I HAD to post it with one I took NOW...in honor of my chugga’ chugga’ sister-in-love and ALL the other ’SISTERS’ who are chugging up THEIR mountains 💪🏽❣️
2016
Tomorrow my sister-in-love, Shirley, begins her treatments for cancer. I hate it.
She would not want me to write a long detailed flowery blog AT ALL so I shall be brief. I write again, though, because my heart nudges me and has for some time. Sitting in church today, I wrote notes for this while NOT listening to the sermon.
So I share from a heart FULL of love, my sister.
Shirley is humble, soft and tender, low-key, steady...even in the face of this...even in her fear.
When the anxiety begins to overwhelm, she quietly says "I can do this."
And then she does it.
EVERY TIME she says it, I think of the “Little Engine Who Could”. Remember the story of the little engine who made it up the mountain while saying, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can."?
It is one of the few books that I kept for all my grand and great-grands because it is a classic and the message is profound. I just read it when I returned home from church with my notes. I wanted to be certain that my memories served me well.
For once, they did.
Not only did that little engine make it with that "I think I can" spirit BUT that little engine was a SHE!
Yep, "SHE tugged and pulled and tugged and pulled" and SHE made it up that mountain.
So, there you go, Sister....my blog in honor of The Little Engine Who Could and The Sister-in-Love Who CAN!
I wrote this 3 years ago when Shirley started treatment. While she and I were at the lake this weekend for the FIRST TIME since then, the photo of the 2 of us at the lake THEN popped up so I HAD to post it with one I took NOW...in honor of my chugga’ chugga’ sister-in-love and ALL the other ’SISTERS’ who are chugging up THEIR mountains 💪🏽❣️
2016
Tomorrow my sister-in-love, Shirley, begins her treatments for cancer. I hate it.
She would not want me to write a long detailed flowery blog AT ALL so I shall be brief. I write again, though, because my heart nudges me and has for some time. Sitting in church today, I wrote notes for this while NOT listening to the sermon.
So I share from a heart FULL of love, my sister.
Shirley is humble, soft and tender, low-key, steady...even in the face of this...even in her fear.
When the anxiety begins to overwhelm, she quietly says "I can do this."
And then she does it.
EVERY TIME she says it, I think of the “Little Engine Who Could”. Remember the story of the little engine who made it up the mountain while saying, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can."?
It is one of the few books that I kept for all my grand and great-grands because it is a classic and the message is profound. I just read it when I returned home from church with my notes. I wanted to be certain that my memories served me well.
For once, they did.
Not only did that little engine make it with that "I think I can" spirit BUT that little engine was a SHE!
Yep, "SHE tugged and pulled and tugged and pulled" and SHE made it up that mountain.
So, there you go, Sister....my blog in honor of The Little Engine Who Could and The Sister-in-Love Who CAN!
Wednesday, August 7, 2019
I could not sleep last night.
The news had a segment on bullet proof backpacks for children. The sales are going up. Good parents protect their children.
With. Bullet. Proof. Backpacks.
I am utterly bereft at that.
In other words, if a child picked up a handful of stones and pelted other children with them, the solution to keep the other children safe would not be to remove the stones or to limit access to them.
The solution would be to give each child a helmet.
Bullet? Proof? Backpacks?
I could not sleep last night.
The news had a segment on bullet proof backpacks for children. The sales are going up. Good parents protect their children.
With. Bullet. Proof. Backpacks.
I am utterly bereft at that.
In other words, if a child picked up a handful of stones and pelted other children with them, the solution to keep the other children safe would not be to remove the stones or to limit access to them.
The solution would be to give each child a helmet.
Bullet? Proof? Backpacks?
I could not sleep last night.
Monday, July 22, 2019
meanderings: We are watching a show on NetFlix called The Kindn...
meanderings: We are watching a show on NetFlix called The Kindn...: We are watching a show on NetFlix called The Kindness Diaries. The host is traveling the world hoping to live off people’s kindness. One ...
meanderings: We are watching a show on NetFlix called The Kindn...
meanderings: We are watching a show on NetFlix called The Kindn...: We are watching a show on NetFlix called The Kindness Diaries. The host is traveling the world hoping to live off people’s kindness. One ...
We are watching a show on NetFlix called The Kindness Diaries. The host is traveling the world hoping to live off people’s kindness.
One man that gave him a place to stay in Tijuana was an immigrant who had been deported. He had a shabby little place with cots to share for those with no home.
The part that struck me was that his wife is American and his children were born in America. He said they are struggling mightily with him away. He then showed the host the wet suit he wears to try most nights to swim back to his family. He said one man died recently trying to do the same. When the host asked if it bothered him that it was illegal, he hesitated and quietly said “How could I ever tell my children that I HAD NOT TRIED to get back to them?”
I was profoundly struck by that; his responsibility to his family.
I am certain many think he is wrong. I suppose we could go to and fro about that for a long time with worthy points on all sides. The immigration crisis is real. It is a logistical nightmare. Solutions are needed and I/we don’t seem to have them.
But, in the meantime, families are torn asunder.
That is one reason why Joe and I are heading to the border next month, to be a titch of help and to gain SOME understanding.
I suspect, however, that I will return with more questions than answers.
BUT, back to our wet suit man. What I ponder is why we choose language such as ‘illegal alien’ for those seeking asylum?
Language matters; as soon as one says “illegal alien”, the word ‘criminal’ comes to mind and we begin to ‘criminalize’ an entire group of people...and THAT allows us to treat them with less care...and THAT flermookles me.
Because, I just do not believe that dad is a ”criminal”.
One man that gave him a place to stay in Tijuana was an immigrant who had been deported. He had a shabby little place with cots to share for those with no home.
The part that struck me was that his wife is American and his children were born in America. He said they are struggling mightily with him away. He then showed the host the wet suit he wears to try most nights to swim back to his family. He said one man died recently trying to do the same. When the host asked if it bothered him that it was illegal, he hesitated and quietly said “How could I ever tell my children that I HAD NOT TRIED to get back to them?”
I was profoundly struck by that; his responsibility to his family.
I am certain many think he is wrong. I suppose we could go to and fro about that for a long time with worthy points on all sides. The immigration crisis is real. It is a logistical nightmare. Solutions are needed and I/we don’t seem to have them.
But, in the meantime, families are torn asunder.
That is one reason why Joe and I are heading to the border next month, to be a titch of help and to gain SOME understanding.
I suspect, however, that I will return with more questions than answers.
BUT, back to our wet suit man. What I ponder is why we choose language such as ‘illegal alien’ for those seeking asylum?
Language matters; as soon as one says “illegal alien”, the word ‘criminal’ comes to mind and we begin to ‘criminalize’ an entire group of people...and THAT allows us to treat them with less care...and THAT flermookles me.
Because, I just do not believe that dad is a ”criminal”.
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