The first thing is that tomorrow is my grandpa John's 94th birthday. So in the midst of my day in El Sitio I will be giving thanks for the life and gifts of a person who is far away, yet so present with me every single day. After a really frightening illness a couple years ago, it is even more clear that every, every day is a blessing and I give thanks for both the number of his days and the richness of them. The role he has played in my life is indescribable, both through his own presence and through that of his children and other grandchildren.
Some questions that we've (the CAP equipo of volunteers) been turning over for a bit, along with What feeds me?, include Who am I? What do I believe? and one of mine, using imagery that we came up with on my last venture down here (with CGE), What does my puzzle piece look like these days?
There is a line from a Carrie Newcomer song that keeps popping up in my head: It's not the things I've gone and done I'll regret or be ashamed of, but the things I did not say or do just because I was afraid.
More and more, I'm realizing that I am a person with a lot of pena. (Would that there were a good English translation for pena. The meaning in which I'm using it is a sort of fear-shame-hesitation.) I have lived in the presence and shadows of so many extraordinary people, I think I am - and in many ways have let myself be - intimidated by their talent. I've always had the sense that I have the passion but lack the tools and skills.
As tempting as it is to look back and analyze times in my life where I see the evidence of this, I want to look forward. I want to claim the opportunities to take risks, make myself vulnerable, and live into my potential. My pena keeps me from doing that. It also, I think, leaves no room for true humility, which is utterly not based in fear, but rather a conviction that I am indeed a child of an incomprehensible God and the only proper response to that is awe.
These thoughts are going to keep percolating throughout my
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