it's so fluffy

"As they were going along the road, someone said to Him, 

'I will follow You wherever You go.' And Jesus said to him, 

'The foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, 

but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.'" 

-Luke 9: 57-58

As our plane began its final descent into Lima, I shared some profound reflections with my sister by relating my emotions to those of Agnes in Despicable Me, whose excitement can hardly be contained by the words she chooses:

While Lima is far from fluffy, the knowledge that I would soon be re-immersed in a world of crazy drivers, humid ocean air, Peruvian Spanish slang, delicious piles of rice, cumbia music, crowing roosters, street-side venders, etc., etc…. was too much to bear.  No words could suffice.

Plus, I got to see my brother for the first time since he moved to Peru in September. 

So it was a complicated whirlwind of desires—desiring to see my brother, help my sister experience Peru, have sibling share time, meet my brother’s community, have an authentic experience of Lima, and, under the surface of all those desires, really wanting to go to Chimbote.  Because, said and done, yes, I was happy just to be in Peru, but Lima is not my home. 

Lima

Unfortunately, it is my brother’s home and his primary experience of Peru (which I say with a smile because there are wonderful things about Lima, too, but it’s kind of its own world). 

Despite all the noisy traffic and polluted air, the overwhelming characteristic of the visit for me was a sense of community.  I felt communion with my brother and sister as we explored the new ways we had grown apart and together during the previous several months.  I was embraced by the Sodalit community as they continuously went out of their way to make sure my sister and I were happy and comfortable.  I felt pride in observing so many signs that my brother has developed meaningful relationships not just within his household but with all the people around him—little acts of kindness and teasing from the ladies who cook for his community, a warm greeting from the neighborhood guard, affection and respect from the community leaders of Las Tunas in Pamplona Alta, where my brother visits regularly. 

I was opened up to a new dimension of Peru, a dimension that my brother is more at home in than I am.  He became the caretaker, the money handler, the bus navigator, the presenter… all roles that I had previously filled when family came to visit me in Peru. 

This new dimension now also included my younger sister.  Her unique perspective and insights as we explored the saints and churches of Lima helped me reach a new depth of reflection on Peru’s unique history.

So it was difficult to say goodbye to my family, especially Jeff, but he has now become an integrated piece of my experience of Peru, and in a way I feel closer to him now than ever.

Chimbote

Lima was nice, but I can’t help but grin when I remember pulling in to the Terminal Terrestre (bus terminal) in Chimbote.  The foul smell of fish, the taste of humid salty air, venders selling sandwiches of pan francesa and shredded chicken and cups of hot quinoa for breakfast… I was home.

There were so many little things that I hadn’t even realized I miss.  I miss bumpy moto rides blasting reaggaton music.   I miss the accessibility of fresh fruits and veggies, snacks, and household products through the local market or corner stores.  I miss the mornings: donkey carts, cool air, people heading off to work, people just finishing the party, women starting lunch still wearing their pajamas.  I miss hanging up my laundry on the roof.  I miss bargaining with taxi drivers.  I miss cachangas and combinado and Inca Cola and fresh bread and fishing boats and having neighbors… (My heartache gets stronger with each sentence I write!)

During my four and a half days in Chimbote, I was busy from one activity to the next from morning until night.  I could frame these activities in many ways—things I did, foods I ate, places I went… but none would provide exactly the right fit, because the visit was, more than anything, about being together. 

If there was any doubt in my mind before this visit, it’s gone now: what makes Chimbote home for me isn’t its cultural charm.  What makes Chimbote home are the youth in my parish family.

I was so touched by the effort everyone made to spend time with me, as well as their generosity and hospitality.  We played volleyball, had a theater practice, waited in line two hours for a pollada (chicken dinner), went for walks, went out to eat, danced, took pictures, talked, laughed…

Returning to Chimbote has helped me to recognize that many of my friendships there are truly unique.  They are not based on age or similar life stages; they are not based on shared career interests; they are not based on political ideology or even religion. 

They are based on our desire for community.  Everyone who comes through the youth program, even if they don’t stay, is seeking to belong somewhere.  And those who stay learn to love each other not because of everything they share in common, but simply because they are members of the same community.  (Am I painting an idyllic picture?  The community certainly isn’t perfect, but the love is there!)

Thanks to the grace of God and the love of my friends in our little corner of Chimbote, I feel affirmed in the fact that I do belong in their community.  I am not just a passing breeze through their lives, and neither are they through mine. 

We are friends.  We are a community.  And I can’t think of one place where I feel more comfortable and more alive than I do at San Francisco parish in Chimbote, Perú.

Chicago

After hugging two of my best friends goodbye at the bus terminal in Chimbote, we watched each other through the bus window as we texted words that we had been unable to say out loud. 

We are sad, but you are a part of us now and you will always have a home here, they wrote.

As I read, I let them see my tears.  I replied that they are also a part of me, and that I hope to be able to carry the love that they have shown for me and share it with other people wherever I go.

On the bus ride from Chimbote to Lima, I wrote in my journal:

Thank you, God, for so many meaningful relationships in my life… so many opportunities to love you and be loved by you.

                            I love falling in love,

and I know I will again, dónde sea.

Now as I prepare to expand the territory that I can call home, I open my heart to let that happen, so that I may continue to be so excited about life that I can hardly contain it in my words.