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.