This weekend did not exactly go as planned. I never left Miacatlan. Teresa and I were planning on heading to Cuernavaca for the night on Friday when she received a call from her family in the States. For the past several months, Teresa's grandmother has been in Hospice and Teresa was informed Friday that it would not be long now, probably only a few hours. Needless to say, we cancelled our plans. The next morning Teresa was told that her grandmother had passed. I chose to stay in Miacatlan with Teresa so she wouldn't be alone. The rest of the volunteers were working long hours around the house and so were not around very much. In some ways, my presence mattered little as Teresa slept nearly 36 hours straight and I saw her once for about 10 minutes from Friday night to Sunday night, but I felt like I should be there just in case.
For me, this meant I spent most of the weekend on the couch. Not a horrible place to be, but it did get a little boring after a while. I watched a little TV on my computer, helped Ignacio out with some English vocabulary, ate random stuff (:-P), and made a huge dent in my book. I've always wanted to read Christy; I have many fond memories of the show from when I was little and have wanted to pick up the book for a while but just never seemed able to get around to it. When I found it on the shelves of our "library" in Cuernavaca, I knew it was a God-send. And I mean that literally. As I read, I found myself identifying with the main character Christy as she attempted to integrate herself into the culture and hearts of back country Appalachia much as I'm trying to here in Casa San Salvador. I discovered yet another literary role model in the character of Miss Alice Henderson to add to my list of fictional favorites and became inspired by the many Christian lessons in the pages. My journal is now half full of wonderful quotes.
Here's a sampling:
I felt fear rising in me - a greater fear than I had ever known. That train was my last link home. Everything dear and familiar was disappearing there, right there over that horizon with that train. What was I doing standing beside these train tracks in a strange village? I did not know a single human being in this desolate town. What would I do now?
How odd life is, I could not help thinking. Why are things so disproportionate? Why do some people have so much and others so little?
But perhaps, I reasoned, the accident had nonetheless been one of many signposts trying to tell me that I had made a mistake, pointing me back to my world where I belonged.
If we will let God, He can use even our disappointments, even our annoyances to bring us a blessing. There's a practical way to start the process too: by thanking Him for whatever happens, no matter how disagreeable it seems.
Call this what you might - "starter-force," "God," "Father" - it was personal all right. It thrust deep into me. It pulled. And it insisted that life was precious - all of life - Fairlight and I, and every bird and every squirrel and every tree reaching through its forest cover for the light. It cried that all effort was worthwhile; that doubt and fear and discouragement were a desecration of beauty, that hope was always right. It insisted that small achievement was not enough; that hopes and dreams must be large enough to stand up beside those soaring summits and not once bow their heads in shame.
Just a small sampling. ;-) I guess I'm trying to say, if you haven't read it you should and if you have read it, maybe read it one more time. Can't hurt!
