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!

Hadrian's Villa, Tivoli

--From a journal entry earlier today, when we visited two villas. This is from the first, where the first hour was spent in silence and solitude (I actually squeaked out even longer...) Happy Wednesday!--

Hadrian's Villa, Tivoli

We have spent an hour in silence with no media or even picture taking (I think some skipped that part, but I held resolutely). I have wandered around in the quiet and grandeur and had time by myself to think. I dreaded it a bit at first, but a minute or two in I wished we had two hours of silence. It is a gift.

Hadrian's Villa has some impressive ruins. Most impressing to me was perhaps the canal that was part of the “Egyptian” portion. It was a a very warm walk in the sun from one end of it to the other. Reaching the terminus, though, with its structure and the shade that it created, was like walking into Grandma's house on a summer day in South Georgia. Air conditioning blasting. Hot to cold in an instant; and in this case dry to moist as well. The smells and feel of the air changed to dampness and there was a cool breeze. I cannot believe the engineering expertise of 2000 years ago that makes such things possible…even in the ruins.

Aside from that section, my favorite part has been the old-growth olive trees. While they are interspersed throughout, over on one side of the site there runs a grove. I spent quite awhile here at the end of my hour, sitting in the shade, feeling the breeze, smelling the grass. We have been so urban for a while now that these things stand out to me. Not only because of how they bless my senses, but also because of this idea: that Hadrian in all of his glory has been gone for centuries and these yellow flowers, thistles, and olive trees keep falling to the ground that new life will come. I wonder whether these same sorts of flowers grew when the villa was at the height of its splendor. It has been a good morning to “consider the lilies, how they toil not neither do they spin, and yet Solomon [or Hadrian] in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. And if he cares for the birds and the flowers of the filed, how much more does he care for his flock? (Luke 12)

One of the most striking things about the morning thus far has been e sounds. Apart from the rural sounds that you would expect–birds, bees and wind in the trees–we have had a (near) lack of sirens and city noises, although from where I am on the side of the hill I could hear distant church bells strike eleven. But the most striking difference has been that here I can hear my own footsteps, whether crunching on gravel or padding on stone or disrupting the grass. In the city, my steps on the ubiquitous cobblestones are quiet and drowned out by everything else. For someone thinking so much about pilgrimage, the difference in what those sounds mean for walking is kind of a big deal. In this place the sound of steps announce presence. But if no one can hear them, as in the city, do my steps matter? Do they exist? How do I fit in or matter or leave anything behind? How can I tell whether I am going anywhere? 

Rome is too-much, in an eternal city sort of way. While it is easy to lose ourselves there, we can also be part of her story--as co-inheritors of Western civilization--and see her as constantly in motion instead of trying to capture all of the chronological stages separately (as our guide Francesca encouraged us to do). Sitting here outside of Tivoli, alone and quiet, it helps to remember that even Hadrian wanted to retreat from Rome, and that this was as good a spot then as it is now. From what I can gather, he took a lot of walks here, too. It has been a refreshing morning of peace amidst the storm.

A Tale of Two Days

Last Friday and Saturday, to be exact.

Friday we took a long day trip to Pompeii. After a month of ruins I had expectations for Pompeii which were inaccurate. This was no reconstructing in our imagination, a la Greece and the Colosseum. Pompeii is so intact that you can see the individual apartments in a block of buildings (something I can envision more clearly after a month of living in such connected-yet-distinct buildings). The roads are laid out clearly and walking the ruined city is much like walking a modern one: go to the corner and turn, three blocks more and...

Inside some of the buildings there are frescoes still on the wall. Painted as if wallpaper, brilliant colors and patterns, and faces. Sad and ancient faces. Unlike other ruins, the ones in Pompeii felt still alive, and that if the plumbing problem could be solved one could return and build the top two stories back onto the buildings (those floors were originally wooden, and are no more) and move in. I would have liked to have wandered quietly around in there all day; but we had a guide and the tour lasted three hours. Three. Hours. The kids made it through the tour in spite of the fact that our guide's accent was just unfamiliar enough that they had a hard time following. And by the end William wasn't attending the tour but hanging out with Maddie and pretending to spy on us without being seen. Maddie has wisely figured out that games where he keeps himself hidden are a big improvement over some other ones he may play when worn out and frustrated.

Still, after three hours we only saw a fraction of the site. I took a kazillion photos and at the end almost wished I hadn't brought my camera. I may change my mind once I look at the images, but I left feeling like I still hadn't really been in Pompeii.

We had dinner in Naples--where pizza was supposedly invented--and had, of course, pizza. We ate down on the waterfront. The house white was sparkling. Here's Charlie's opinion. (We thought it was golden).



Saturday morning rolled around and we intentionally had a late start after our late return. The only program activity was optional play in the Borghese gardens.

For that, I am happy to report that I don't have a single photo. I intentionally left everything at home--even my phone--and only carried the backpack with the frisbee and the soccer ball.

We met the students (about 20 turned out!) and hiked to the Gardens. It took about half an hour--a nice warm up--and I was thinking that it would be a good time to see more of the city, my experience of which has been limited to the track between our apartment and the students' convent (where they lodge and we have class and Vespers) and walking to the Colosseum. And church.

Instead of looking around, I had some great conversations and walked out in front of more than one car (so far I've not lost the game of chicken Roman drivers play with pedestrians). We made it to the gardens and after looking around found an open-ish area with no picnickers. A small part of the group broke off to play frisbee, but I stayed with the group of women students who played a soccer game. Carmen and Charlie were team captains and chose teams old-school schoolyard style. We were fairly evenly matched and played hard for a good long while. Some people sat and watched. Others played hard (I can barely move today). Charlie took several hard hits and kept going. We cheered for one another, apologized for fouling one another, and headed the ball. William handed out verbal yellow and red cards. It was fantastic. Who knew how therapeutic play could be? In theory, yes. In practice, the opportunities come so rarely.

Later the two groups joined again for two rounds of capture the flag. I always play conservatively so I don't get tagged, but this time decided instead to try to play aggressively. Perhaps a continuation of practicing being out of my comfort zone? Sure, I wound up in jail a few times, but I also tagged people out of jail a couple of times, too. It was one of the happiest times together as group.

Although Jesse and I worked hard all Saturday afternoon with Maddie's help to hold the household together, we were still able to salvage an hour of date time before the students came over to watch...the NOTRE DAME GAME! We did spend half of that hour buying refreshments for the game, but I'm still counting it as date time. We invited the students for the first half, since it started at 9:30 here...About half of them came and hung out while Notre Dame vied with Michigan State. There was something about the normalcy and the homeyness of having people on our couch and lying on our floor with pillows that was the perfect finish to the day. It felt like a family atmosphere, especially coming on the heels of many of us also playing hard together that morning. Splendid. I know that our experience of Rome is very different in many ways than that of the students, but there is some lovely overlap and I am again reminded of the privilege it is to be spending this time with them.

We would like to do it again, and as one of the students said to Jesse: "You have all week to recover!"

And because I left my camera, I don't have any snapshots with one third of the soccer pitch and four of the players at once, but instead have in my mind's eye the whole field (I was a defender) and all sixteen playing and the movement and give-and-take and the smell of the grass and the give of the soft earth under my running shoes. And the group of people sitting and taking pictures of us playing (turns out we were the subject of a photography class). It was a delicious day.

And tomorrow is William's 6th birthday! We are trying to juggle schedules so as to spend as much time with him as possible on a "teaching day." I went and bought his cake this afternoon--the chocolatiest chocolate cake to be had from the bakery across from the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore. Unfortunately they only had pink candles--but I thought I packed some somewhere...