small modern living blog - streets lined with lace
In the coldest days of January, my heart stood steadfast as children giggled and pressed rocks into my palms. Their curious eyes initially followed us through the winding roads leading up the rocky hillside. I could feel them, following our movements -their apprehension soon turning into smiles. Javi, a five year old boy wearing a Spiderman t-shirt, seemed to enjoy my re-enactment of my son skating on our pond at home, far away from the alligators and palm trees that adorn Lake Atitlan. They agreed, seemingly in unison, that they would follow us around the village, until our very last home visit. I was careful to watch my step, aware of the hurried bare feet at my side.
My mind drifted to a memory, 20 years prior, in the neighboring village of El Porvenir. We all pilled in the back of an old Toyota pick up truck, holding on for dear life as we ventured up the hillside. As we became airborne, the children laughed and grabbed our hands, reassuring us that magic existed in this far away place. At the end of the last rainy season, a landslide had devastated their village, bringing unimaginable hardship, and yet, here they were laughing and smiling.
Guatemala is a place that shook me to my core. In quiet moments, I found myself playing backgammon with Monsignor Gregorio, a Catholic priest from the Twin Cities who championed social justice efforts for decades in the fincas of Lago de Atitlan. In his youth, he walked from Minnesota to San Lucas Toliman, raising money for his acquired homeland - a place that now adorns hospitals, schools, and buildings named in his honor. In those nervous moments as a teenage girl, I wondered if he discovered my secret - I had no idea how to play backgammon but desperately wanted to be in his presence. I felt a kinship and desire to learn as much as I could from this man, who I firmly believed held some insight into life’s greatest questions. I still remember him peeking his head above the table top to play hide and seek with a child, relishing in the awe and magic of our youth.
Twenty years later, I sat at a rustic tabletop overlooking Lake Atitlan in the bright afternoon sun, surrounded by new friends and stories of Father Greg. Joe and TJ recalled joyous moments at construction sites when Father Greg give children wheelbarrow rides, seemingly always making time to foster relationships with his youngest parishioners.
As in the past, we met at the mission every morning, afternoon, and evening to eat, reflect, and share a meal with other volunteers and visitors. The bright aroma of coffee beans, purposeful handshakes, and new conversations filled my heart with immense gratitude. What an honor to finally meet “Arch” and his family, who helped care for Father Greg toward the end of his life. I was thrilled our visit coincided with an opportunity to spend time with the director of Friends of San Lucas, who immediately impressed us with her purpose-driven philosophy.
As I peered between the rafters separating the mission from the church, I knew this is exactly what Father Greg wanted - The mission is managed by the Kaqchikel people for the Kaqchikel people. The melodic rivers continue to flow from the Guatemalan highlands to the sea, far beyond the hills leading to the fincas where Father Greg once walked. The children continued to skip through the streets, marveling at a piece of lace held high in the glimmering sun.