Colombia

It has been three days since my return home to Boston from the beautiful land of Bogota, Colombia, where I went on a mission trip for 9 days with a group of parishioners from Grace Episcopal Church, where I have been working for the past year and a half. The descent into life's busyness, particularly with balancing my work at the church on the one hand and my work as a recruitment coordinator for Life Together on the other, has not been easy. My back still aches from hours of less-than-comfortable sitting on the airplane, my body is readjusting to American food, and it is difficult to stay fully alert without an extra cup of coffee... or two. That being said, I am currently basking in the afterglow of an evening spent telling stories and reflecting with my fellow mission trip companions at Grace's community dinner and adult education program tonight. It was a welcome reminder to me of the beautiful week that it was.

I've been on my share of mission trips, beginning with trips to Appalachia and Juarez, Mexico during my early teenage years with my former Methodist church in Rockwall, Texas, and the familiar mantra "It's about building relationships" was one I was quite ready to embrace and, admittedly, perhaps toot my own horn about with my with Colombia mission trip compadres who did not have as much mission trip experience. 

What I was not prepared for, however, was just how much this familiar phrase would become a self-fulfilling prophecy, and one that would ultimately transform me. The magnitude of the love poured out by the community at Church of the Divine Savior in San Rafael took me aback in a way that I can only describe for myself as a gift from God. The hugs goodbye during our closing celebration were not done out of politeness or nicety, nor were the tears staining the cheeks of not only me and my group as we drove away from the church for the last time, but also the precious children and women who prepared and served Colombian dishes to us all week, and those accompanying Padre Jose Romero's words of unity and love which transcends place and language. They were tears of bittersweet acknowledgment of the connection that happened across cultures, of an experience muy, muy rico (very rich). The impact of this connection struck me so fiercely as I sunk down on my bed after my overpriced cab ride home from Logan Airport that all I could do was cry, thinking to myself "these people live with real struggle... and yet they love so fully" as I stared at the photo of beloved 4-year old Simon, one of the Colombian children who had stolen our hearts, on my iPhone background. It is one of the more beautiful paradoxes of this life that has shown itself to me time and time again... this time with more conviction than ever before. 

There was a real presence that I experienced during this week that I find myself longing for as I resume daily life in the United States. There were times when the group was not sure exactly what we were doing, how the heck we would translate "chuck key" in Spanish to the hardware store attendants down the hill, or how it was possible to be so out of breath from climbing up and down the church steps (oh wait..." it's the altitude!" we would suddenly remember). However, the relationships that were formed--accompanied by the work done, the Spanish spoken (however broken), and the prayers offered each morning and evening, went beyond words. The Grace Church group had arrived a group of perhaps over-eagerly benevolent gringo strangers, attempting to figure out a week's plans with people from an entirely different culture and in a country with such a difficult past, and we left with a dozen or more new friends, brothers, and sisters. It is with delight that we receive Facebook messages from our new friends, and excitedly anticipate their visit to our community next year. 

So much gratitude.