grateful...

It's 9 am Thanksgiving day and already 84 degrees and rising. I walked into the kitchen this morning and was greeted with a 'Como amaneciste?' as the cooks were already starting to prepare our traditional United States-ian feast. Certainly it's a strange thing to be in such a different place on these larger holidays. The table at my parents' house seems so far away, and yet it's all I can think about today.

Thankfully, Thanksgiving is one of those holidays that doesn't let you off easy. You just can't be grumpy on Thanksgiving - it's contrary to the whole essence of the holiday. This day demands gratitude; and that's a lovely thing, I think. My mother speaks often of gratitude and raised us in a house that demanded we be conscious of all of the ways that we were blessed. And, over the years, it's become clear to me how much happier I am when I'm grateful, how much more motivated and willing, believing and open I can be when I'm conscious of my great fortune.

I'm reading a book right now in which the main character talks about 'big bursts' and 'little bursts' as getting her through life. Big bursts like my stunning, new, little nephew, having a job that i adore, the engagement or marriage of a dear friend. And the more day-to-day things that keep us going - little bursts: a letter from home, dancing until I'm exhausted, opening a new jar of peanut butter, or my companero Chepe managing to crack me up every day.

And then there are the over-arching things that don't really burst at all, but gently exist as a glowing foundation below it all. I am grateful for the unconditional love of my family, the friendships that embrace me tenderly as I grow and transform continually, the tenacity I see in the people here and the idea - the stubborn hope - that progress and change, and justice are possible.

I am grateful today. Sweating, but grateful :) I miss you all.
Happy Thanksgiving.

20 years later...

Today is the 20 year anniversary of the assassination of six Jesuit priests, their housekeeper and her daughter. These priests, through their classes at a Salvadoran university, their writings, and their work with local communities openly struggled against the violence of the 12-year civil war and worked towards peaceful negotiations to end the conflict. Because of their work, they were brutally killed by the Salvadoran army, which was financially supported by the US.

We visit the place they were murdered with students and have the chance hear the history while being in that sacred space (to read old blog posts about our visits, see: 'six of many' or 'hidden in plain sight'). If you have a chance today (or this week) think of El Salvador and educate yourself on it and the United States role in its history.

If you're in Northfield: attend the commemorative events at St. Olaf!
Monday, Nov 16th at 7:00 pm - "El Salvador, What happened to Liberation Theology?" Father James Torrens, Viking Theatre
Wednesday, Nov 18th at 7:00 pm - Documentary "Enemies of War" followed by Q & A, Holland Hall 501

If you're not in Northfield check out a movie about El Salvador:
'Voces Inocentes' - a film made about the civil war in El Salvador
'La Vida Loca' - a recent documentary on gang life in El Salvador
'Hidden in Plain Sight' - a documentary on the School of the Americas

And if you're not a film person, just say a prayer for peace.

Thanks for checking in; I'm headed to the mountains for a few days. I'll be back in a week.

"All the blood of martyrs shed in El Salvador and in all of Latin America, far from plunging us into discouragement and dispair, instills a new spirit of struggle and new hope in our people. In this sense, even if we're not a 'new world' or a 'new continent' we are cleary and verifiably...a continent of hope."

-Jon Sobrino, Jesuit Theologian

what to do about water...

Water has been on my mind lately. And those of you who know me well know that I haven't always been great about actually drinking it. It's just not something I think about often. I haven't had to. And yet, whenever I've wanted water, it's been right there waiting for me. Easily accessible, without a thought nearly my entire life.

Life in Latin America has made me much more aware of water. The heat demands it, the faucet often unexpectedly fails to dispense it in the city, and the lacking resources in the country make it tough to find and too dirty to drink. 1 in 6 people globally do not have clean drinking water. Families that have taken me in and generously shared their homes with me, walk miles to get water and carry it home, use it scarcely and respectfully and still, tragically, in the last few years, they have watched their children die of diseases caused by dirty drinking water.


Earlier this year a friend recommended the documentary FLOW: For the Love of Water, to me and watching it changed the urgency with which I think about water. (http://www.flowthefilm.com/trailer) The scarcity is scary, absolutely. But what's more frightening to me, is the ease with which we're letting companies bottle and sell us something we can drink for next to nothing from our faucets. That's scary in a country with resources, and even more so in countries where expendable incomes are something known only among the elites.

As I was looking around for different facts about water today I went to google and was less than thrilled to be reminded about our little $79 million moon-bombing to look for water there. I just don't get. Not at all. Am I way out of line to feel that we should start taking care of water sources here on Earth first? That we should start claiming our Earthly water sources for people and nations and thirsty populations before large corporations buy, pollute and exploit them?

After a visit from my family here and their wonderfully relentless asking 'what can we do about it all?' I've been thinking about how to give more ideas for action and hope here in this little blog space I call my own. Of course these are always just suggestions, and I'll hope you'll keep reading even if not moved to action, but I know that being witness to life in a third world country is both a privilege and a responsibility. I personally need to remember that I am connected to people of other nations. That I can affect their lives positively. Probably not as much as I'd like to, but who doesn't need water? This is one sustainable, tangible, easy way we can improve people's quality of life.

A few ideas:

Those of us privileged enough to have regulated, drinkable tap water, should drink tap water, and encouraging our local and state governments to protect it and the water sources in our home states.

Educate yourself about water!
- Watch FLOW (Rent it or search for it online, many documentary sites provide free links)
- Read one of the many books out there bringing this issue to light: Blue Gold, Bottlemania, etc...

Donate to organizations helping abroad:

charity: water - building wells in Africa to bring clean water to entire communities

Potters for Peace - Helps potters around the world set up facilities to produce and sell water filters to families that don't have access to an uncontaminated well or other clean water source. The filters are low-tech, low-cost ($15-25), and effectively eliminates 99.88% of most water-born diseases.

"The banks of a river may belong to one man or one industry or one State, but the waters which flow between the banks should belong to all the people."

-LBJ, 1965 when singing the Clean Water Act

fascinated with family...

It's been nearly a week since my family headed out from their week long visit to Nicaragua. And still, at least one person a day asks me how the visit went - I guess I mentioned it to a few people! It's fabulous to be able to say that we had a wonderful week and that I'm continually reminded of how fortunate I am to have family like them.

It went ridiculously fast, as expected and after a day in colonial Nicaragua, a day at the lake, time in Managua, a visit to an ocean resort and an interesting (rainy) day on a nearby mountain with friends...they were hugging me goodbye. And suddenly I was no long surrounded by this group of people who somehow manage to make me feel more me than nearly anyone else can.

They left and I laid down and cried - sad to see them go of course, but also overwhelmingly grateful. To have a family that affirms the decisions I've made and the things I love by coming all the way here to see them, to laugh and love through it, and to remain so entirely open to the experience and whatever it might gift them...well, I think that's remarkable. I think I'm remarkably blessed.