It’s up to us to do the walking

…I came to learn that God never shows us some-thing we aren’t ready to understand. Instead, He lets us see what we need to see, when we need to see it. He’ll wait until our eyes and hearts are open to Him, and then when we’re ready, He will plant our feet on the path that’s best for us… but it’s up to us to do the walking.”
—Immaculée Ilibagiza

Hello Good and Faithful Friends,

Oh it’s been a minute… several minutes actually. I haven’t written anything in a very long time. No freelance, no blogging, nothing likely since the last time I was in this beautiful place last summer where my life slows down long enough to think.

I would like to think that I will resume writing more often again. It’s been on my heart and even stirred up somewhat of a book idea, but that’s for further discernment.

I’ve been in Guatemala about six days and finally on day five, I felt like I had fully arrived. I spent a Sunday of Sundays, first reading the Mass readings in English, then going to Mass at the Cathedral a little later than normal. 

Afterward, I sat on a bench in the central park, something I don’t think I’ve ever done for any length of time here. Do you want your shoes shined? How about a bracelet? A flute, a bufanda, a new purse? Vendors walked the many intersecting pathways hoping for a sale, bartering with anyone who showed the slightest interest. Two gringos asked “how much?” to a young boy of maybe seven who was selling flutes. “75 quetzales.” They turned to leave and the boy followed. “60.” “55.” The price continued to drop the further they walked. Still no sale.

I began wondering about the people in the park. Where do they live? Do the kids go to school? How thin is the line on which they try to survive? 

I wandered to a cafe, bought an overpriced coffee from a new trendy coffee shop. They don’t use plastic, so if you want a coffee to go, you pay for the glass jar to take it with you. A good idea for sustainability I suppose, but part of me wonders how many of those glass jars now fill the trash cans around the central park. 

A friend met me in the park around noon for lunch. Around is a common idea here, with meetups happening on Chapin time (read: a bit late or a lot late or somewhere in between, but never early). We walked to a cafe, ordered and visited for a couple hours, catching up about the past year and everything that took place between our last visit and now. 

After lunch, we walked the couple blocks to my favorite bookstore in the area. They have a healthy collection of English titles in a small back room. That room absorbed an hour mas o menos of the afternoon while I perused each section and tried to decide what I was in the mood for. Decisions are sometimes the hardest thing once I get here – what to read, where and how to spend a few hours, whether or not I need to go to the grocery store or if I can wait another day or two. It’s a silly preoccupation I know, but it exists nonetheless. 

I settled on Solito, a memoir by Javier Zamora. It’s the story of a 9-year-old boy from El Salvador who makes the long and dangerous journey to the U.S. to reunite with his parents after more than four years apart. I’m only about 50 pages in, but it’s already a very compelling read. 

It was about 4 o’clock and a beautiful, clear day in Antigua. I wasn’t ready to go home so I wandered a bit more and ended up on the terrace of a restaurant (with shade) and spent the next couple hours there. I’m constantly aware of the time as evening comes quickly here around 6:30 p.m. during the summer months, and it’s not safe to be out alone after dark. 

I think this is trip number 10 for me. Ten. That feels significant. I couldn’t remember whether it was 10 or 11, but I added up the days, and I’m fairly certain it’s 10. Arriving here was an adventure similar to a couple years ago with heavy traffic in the city after a manifestatción and a route through a different town, up and over a mountain, unfamiliar to me a todavía.

I jumped into Spanish classes the morning after I arrived and it was r-o-u-g-h. I felt as if I had learned nothing before. I heard the words and made sense of them in my head, but nothing came out of my mouth. There is a unique frustration that exists when you know what is being said and are searching desperately for something in your mind that seems to be hiding behind a locked door. It got a bit easier in the days that followed, but there is still so much to relearn. 

The afternoons have been simple, yet new at the same time. A new grocery store el miercoles, a new cafe el jueves, a new group of extranjeros at a 4th of July party el viernes. The apartment where I am staying is closer to the center than last year’s apartment—a welcome change—and much easier to access the people and places I want to see a pie. I’ve seen friends and familiar places along with the newness, sometimes seeing old friends in new places. 

Antigua is a place where you are bound to run into someone somewhere, no matter where that somewhere is. This morning, it was a friend in a coffee shop, last Wednesday it was a friend in a grocery store. Happenstance or divine orchestration, I’m not sure, but I prefer the latter. Little moments of affirmation that God sees me and knows that I need reassurance sometimes, even after eight years of visiting the same places. 

Eight years. 

In my life now, there is B.G. (Before Guatemala) and A.G. (After Guatemala). It’s incredible to think about how little I knew before I arrived the first time – no Spanish, no friends, no experience of life here. God had BIG plans. Big, big plans. And He is still revealing those plans with each trip. He planted my feet on this path, but it’s up to me to do the walking, one step at a time, through the streets of Antigua and beyond. 

The days are slower, thinking and praying comes easier, and each day affords an opportunity to walk a little more in His direction. 

Thank you for walking with me. 

—Your Faithful Writer