A Peregrina Reflects

Cuando me acuerdo de que tengo sangre asturiana, me pongo de pie derecho.
                          --When I remember that I have Asturian blood, I stand up straight.

Un Horreo--tipical en Asturias

This has been my physical reaction since our return from visiting my rediscovered, encontrado family in Asturias last week. One week ago Monday was our one full, entire day on the ground there: As I said about that day in a facebook photo comment thread,

"Uno de los mejores días que le ha pasado. Un regalo de Dios y de la familia. No hay palabras, pero mucho amor." One of the best days that ever happened. A gift from God and from the family. There are no words, but much love."

Why do I stand up straight? I am not exactly sure, but here are some ideas. Maybe...

--Maybe it's because I'm feeling a little nationalistic. Asturias is "verdadera España," where the Conquest stopped and the Reconquest began...around AD 718. Details aside, the Asturian people feel a deep connection to their past and it has certainly rubbed off on me a bit.

--Maybe it's because of Covadonga. See above, with all of the beauty and connection of family weddings.

The Cathedral at Covadonga

--Maybe it's because after going to the ancestral homesite, I feel part of wider and deeper story.

"The missing link," myself, and some of her family 

The kids were invited to pick apples by the current residents of 

Baltarén (the ancestral family home).

--Maybe it's because I have to physically combat the grief at leaving them: a grief that would like to bow me over, weigh me down, put my shoulders in a slump to match my heart.

-Maybe it's because of the welcome they gave us: in the face of our rude, last minute connection they warmly welcomed us into their home and feasted us like royalty. They thanked us for coming to see them. They invited us to share in the riches of both their history and their present. We were blessed from [even before] the moment we arrived and Juan asked "What do you prefer? English or Spanish?": yet another way of demonstrating a willingness to welcome (we all agreed that communication was what we would pursue, whichever language it took, and switched back and forth as various strengths allowed). Maybe it's because in spite of the fears going in, I'm left with no regrets except that the time was so short and we were not able to come sooner.

And this last maybe: the welcome we received, and the nature of it: this is what puts me in mind of the King who calls me to his table and welcomes me, not because of who I am or what I have done (quite the contrary) but because of the relationship we have which are made possible by Another.

The hospitality of mi familia Asturiana has been such a clear picture of the gospel to me that I find it coloring all of the rest of my imagination. I want to be a part of the history and story of this family and of this kingdom: and through no merit of my own find myself welcomed as an inheritor of all of its glories and invited to share. It is so terribly beautiful that I am both strengthened and undone.

And so my brief pilgrimage to Asturias and my ancestral home has somehow turned my world inside out: if an earthly family and earthly kingdom can so deeply speak to my heart, it must be because of how nearly it resonates with the truth of my real story, identity, family, kingdom, sovereign, history, and commission. I have met God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit in a new way on a trip that just crossed the camino to Santiago.

At the bottom of the hill from Baltarén.

Booking Pilgrimages, Part 1,376

I'm glad that I did not know what I was in for when I decided that students should actually take a pilgrimage for my class.

I like to think of myself as an administrative type--but even so, my mental energy output is redlining. There are thirty students with one pilgrimage each--how hard can it be? Each student has their own reflections describing where they want to go and why. We've gone through two drafts of that. And they each have proposed an itinerary and budget. We're starting booking this week.

And honestly, the strain of processing which parts of proposals are valid and which are not is just about to do me in. Do I say no to someone's dream because it doesn't meet project criteria? Is it more fair for everyone to get the same amount of money, or get the equal opportunity to go where they feel led even if it is more (or less) expensive than others'? 

Besides all of the approval process questions, there are the logistical ones. How do we make payment for literally hundreds of different hostel rooms, bus rides, and train fares? Prepay or reimburse? Procedures? I am charting new territory here. We are charting it--because Jesse is patiently talking through the tough decisions and procedures with me. Thanks to him, we're having a booking party here tomorrow afternoon!

Tonight I met with students to discuss some issues to be resolved before then. I'm so grateful for this work and to get front-row seats at how the students are stretching and growing in these far-off places. They are not the only ones growing and stretching, though. I am learning how to both walk students through tough decisions and how to make them myself. I am praying for wisdom--and some of them are praying for me, as well.

Since starting this post I have taken a break for a fabulous Facetime date with my beautiful new niece. She's three days old, and the text alert on my phone is still set to joyous church bells ringing--what I woke to during the night she was born. Glorious.

I have also spent about 90 minutes wrestling with the aforementioned budget. Alas, my brilliant Co-Director has long since gone to bed (and I'm past my 1am self-imposed deadline). Time to walk away. "And all will be well."

And there was just a glimpse of that this afternoon--Jesse and I had a date afternoon instead of Date Night so that we could go riding bikes together. It has been a little dream to ride bikes in Tuscany, and here we are. Up the river, down the river, Florence and occasionally the Duomo in view. And then to the grocery store for dinner, and return the bikes and walk home. Family dinner--cooked food! (Thanks, Jesse). A little sweet spot of dreams-coming-true and salve for unnamed homesickness all cosily wrapped into an afternoon.



I didn't know that I needed comfort food, but I'm grateful for the comfort of old and new (pork chops and potato gnocchi in mushroom sauce--truly, the span of my life in the meal). And while I do enjoy being deliciously scared, I'd frankly rather take on a raging thunderstorm than seem to hold the hopes, dreams and logistics of these 30 students in my hands. That's the kind of scary growing that's happening here.

Fortunately, while they are squarely within my realm of concern, I'm not responsible for how they experience the world or their pilgrimages, can't make them grow or love or appreciate. As I'm ever telling them, they are responsible for wrestling and being faithful in the pursuit of Jesus. And we'll all see what the One who sends the lightning bolts on their way has in store for all of us in the days and on the road ahead.

Rome, Day 21--Trek to Trevi

We had been in Rome for three weeks, and had done very little sightseeing. I woke up on a Saturday morning thinking that if I could get out the door early enough, I could head to the Trevi fountain before it got crowded.

As I started getting ready, I realized that it was a little dark out, even at 7:45. Was that rain? Maybe a few sprinkles. So much the better--I wasn't really leaving early enough, but maybe some rain would deter others from heading toward my destination. I grabbed my jacket and an umbrella and started off on my mile-plus morning walk. As I left, the thunder started rolling in.

Rain started barreling down, and the lightning started taking itself seriously. When I got home I learned that the kids had pulled chairs up in front of the windows to watch the show. Most of my walk was a straight trek straight into the heart of the storm. The long, straight street (what, are there six of these in all of Rome?) created a wind tunnel. The sky was dark and deserted but for me and the umbrella-sellers seeking shelter in deep doorways.  My eyes were constantly darting around, noting the nearest such doorway for possible shelter for myself, which felt something like looking for the nearest exit in an aircraft. I also found myself gauging the height of the buildings, thinking, "Surely lightning will strike the tops of one of these buildings before coming all the was down here...right?" I missed my street turn; the rain was so thick I couldn't read the names of the streets. Three times my umbrella blew out before I finally just shut it for a while. More than once I was genuinely, deliciously afraid. 

I did eventually make it to Trevi, though, and it turns out that only three other people were insane enough to brave the weather and get there. One couple left soon after my arrival. The other (an American, of course) and I took photos of each other. I made it!

I am so grateful for my dark, stormy morning adventure. And that I didn't get struck by lightning. Perhaps not the most conventional tourist excursion, but I'll take it!

Cathedral Crawl

I'm getting out of order here, but last Wednesday afternoon Nif organized a "Cathedral Crawl" of three churches to visit in a row. There was built in time for reflection at each church, and it was a walking tour (which limited the scope of choices somewhat, helpfully perhaps, as did the opening hours of the churches). Our first visit was to the Basilica of San Clemente (this had been my request, as it was recommended by Margaret [friend not daughter] after her visit in July). There is an amazing 12th-century mosaic ("The tree of life") that looks like this:

Another striking thing is that the basilica is built on top of another one from the 4th century, and you can go downstairs and walk through it and see the painted frescoes from that time. And that is built on top of some first-century structures. Pervading the whole was a sense of continuity (clearly) and it was also something of a mini-pilgrimage for me. It was a glorious place to think about the past and be grateful for God's steering the church through history.

The second church on our list was a healthy walk past the Colosseum, the Forum, and the Vittorio Emmanuel II monument with the tomb of the unknown soldier. As what I think of as "the other side of town" and completely unexplored by me up until the day before, it was refreshing to be able to recognize some things. The second church was an example of counter-reformation art that included a statue of "Religion Overthrowing Heresy and Hatred." Heresy and Hatred have Luther's writings with them and Cupid is ripping pages out of Calvin and Zwingli. This was a very vivid reminder of the intensity of the struggle that was the Reformation and Counter-Reformation, and was a bit shocking in its "political incorrectness" (the exterior of the church also has two statues of Ignatius's feet on the necks of pagan/barbarians).

On a happier note, the church is famous for its ceiling, which is frescoed but has statuary and other art "fading" into it such that it's difficult to tell where different elements begin and end. I was grateful for the large mirror they have set up so that visitors can inspect the ceiling without serious neck injury. Here's a peek:

On the way to our third church of the day (Chiesa di San Luigi dei Francesci), we passed reporters stationed on a curb (kerb?) and lots of security and police officers. From what I can tell from later research, it's the headquarters for one of Italy's political parties. I know that the US government is in the news with the shutdown, but over here Italy's coalition government has been repeatedly on the edge of collapse as Berlusconi has made threats of pulling his party. Anyway, it was a bit of a sideshow on our way to the church, which was next door.

The attraction of this church was a set (3) of Caravaggio paintings in a side chapel. I didn't know anything about Caravaggio when we started the crawl, but two of our party are knowledgable art-types who were willing to explain both "tenebrism" and Caravaggio's biography, so I was slightly prepared going in. I have not taken a visual art class since 5th grade; as soon as there were choices of subjects in school I always chose music, and schedules did not allow for both music and art.

I was not prepared for the paintings. They were of the life of the apostle Matthew: the first, his call; the second, his inspiration/writing the gospel; and finally, his martyrdom. They are still hanging in the chapel of the church for which they were commissioned in 1599. Perhaps that is part of why they were so powerful; they were not in a museum (where one might be tempted to see art for art's sake) but serving their devotional purpose. 

I have been moved by music (and frequently am) but I was astonished to find tears on my face as I stood before The Calling of St. Matthew. The tax collector's "Who, me?" with one hand still on his moneybags and the light of Christ shining on his face is a sermon that unfolded as I stood before it. It was deeply powerful.

It seemed like I would never get tired of looking at it. We did eventually have to leave, but the way I think of art has been changed (and I hope that I have, just a bit, too).  I was a bit torn about whether to bring home a print: I know I cannot capture the moment or the work, but I still wanted to have it, even though the scale and location will be all wrong. So when you come to my house and happen upon this,

you will know the story behind it. And maybe we can look at it and talk together of the riches of God's grace.

Wombles' Sixth Birthday

We celebrated William turning six just the way he had hoped to ever since he heard that we were planning to do Europe Semester.

[Just typing that sentence makes my fingers tingle and my pulse pick up a bit. After 13 months of planning, sweat tears and late nights, we are (a Meg says) "doing this." I think I am at the point now where I am able to lift my eyes--just a bit--from the very next thing that must be done.]

Anyway, one of William's first questions about Europe Semester was where he would be on his birthday. He was disappointed that there would be no birthday party with his other first-grade friends. After explaining that we would be in Rome, his birthday wish was that we would go to the Colosseum on his birthday.

He was only slightly deflated upon learning that there were no longer gladiator fights going on.

We told him we bet he could get his picture taken with one, though.

As the schedule played out, we actually went to the Colosseum with the whole group the week before his birthday. We had the most amazing tour guide who taught us how to "read" the walls and the different stories represented by different bricks or sorts of holes and framed the story of Rome with a frame wide and tall enough to include us.

And then the next week, Jesse's film class voted to move their class to Thursday so that Jesse could spend the afternoon and evening with William (both of us taught all morning). And we went back to the Colosseum again.

This time, we could wander around and see whatever William wanted to see at our own pace. And he led the way, as we all enjoyed the delight of recognition after getting through the discovery phase the week before.

On the way out of the Colosseum, I confess we avoided the dressed-up gladiators who charged 5 Euro per photo-op.

After we walked home, Jesse walked to seven different pizzerias looking for the sausage pizza William wanted. It just didn't happen. But the other kinds of pizza were delicious. And William didn't mind the pink candle on his chocolate cake!

The dear students all signed a birthday card for him and gave him a chocolate cupcake and miniature Colosseum souvenir for a birthday present. I think he had a great day, and now he is six.

In all, one of the delightful things about William's birthday is that it was a "longing fulfilled," which is a tree of life. (Prov. 13:12) He had long been looking forward to something that did not diappoint, and getting to participate in that with him was a real blessing.

Something else we have been looking forward to for about the same amount of time is taking the kids to the Blue Grotto on Capri. I had no. idea. that this was a touristy island when we first proposed it to them; we had just finished reading Red Sails to Capri and thought it would be lovely to actually see what it was like.

We have now come to the art course portion of Europe Semester, so while Jesse and I are still the directors we don't have any teaching responsibilities and have been planning to take a single-overnight away (there are still 3 other leaders onsite). However, we have been feeling worn out and somewhat ambivalent about the logistics involved in getting us all down there (train, bus, ferry, hotel, rowboat, and reverse). When asked about it this morning, even Charlie basically said it would be fun but he kinda just felt like staying home and not being busy going somewhere. In addition, Saturday is forecast for rain and thunderstorms; with rough seas the Grotto is inaccessible, meaning there's no guarantee that we'd actually get in. After all that. And yet, and yet. We have been planning it with the kids for a YEAR.

And then today, while in a museum with the students, Jesse and I got the text from Maddie that Carmen had succumbed to the stomach bug that had William down and out two days ago. That's when we called the trip off.

And you know what? It's OK. With everyone. None of the "big three" are complaining about it, in spite of the fact that we've been looking forward to it for so long. I feel grateful that other "goods" have been raised up such that our heart is not sick at hope deferred--and that the children are fine with the change of plans, as well.

I bought this book of poetry in Georgia last February and then brought it over to Europe for his birthday present.

He loves it and keeps it in/near his bed. The poem on the last page is a keeper:

"Now We Are Six"

When I was one I had just begun
When I was two I was nearly new

When I was three I was hardly me
When I was four I was not much more

When I was five I was just alive
But now I am six, I'm as clever as clever;

So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.


Happy Birthday, William!