Sunday, March 20, 2011
MCC Retreat #6 in Cali
The theme of this retreat was fear.
Fear of losing a family member.
Childhood fears.
Fear of natural disasters.
Fear of intercultural communication.
Fear of failure.
Fear of letting people down.
Fear of letting go.
Fear of taking risks.
The fears of our children.
Fear of not staying connected with our communities at home.
Fear of causing damage.
Fear of losing ourselves.
Fear of conflict, armed or not.
Fear of pain.
Fear of the future.
Fear for lost perspective.
Thanks to the Caleñ@s on our team, they were able to navigate workshops, games, and worship times around this theme with excellent planning and activities. We had group time, in tears, in laughter, in prayer. We had group games and "dinamicas" using metaphors. We had time to write and stretch, sing and study, play and ponder, and help listen to each other.
Because of so many recent marriages, there are now eight married couples on the team. The other team members honored this with a very elegant candlelit dinner with music, dancing, games, and recited love poems. It was beautiful, and something Aaron and I needed more than we realized.
I am still struck by the numerous transitions that happen within an MCC team. With each and every retreat it seems there are also goodbyes. And as we connect with others through time, these goodbyes get harder and harder...
Still, getting away from the "norm" of life here in Bogota, which has been cold, dreary, rainy, and emotionally heavy and moving into the warmth and beauty and light of Cali was nothing less than therapeutic for us. We played hard, ate well, and slept long, which is what a retreat should be, right?
And I came back to Bogota feeling grateful.
(thank you Shalom Wiebe for some of these action photos...she has a really nice camera.)
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Lydia, who is about to be 13.
I remember studying human development in graduate school, and the parallels between toddler-hood and adolescence. We. are. there.
I feel really close and connected to her. She still sits on my lap. She will walk down the street with me and hold my hand. She "branches out" in independence, comes back for re-assurance, and then goes out again.
There are many late night tears. Can't go to sleep. Feeling lonely. Scared. Her need to know we are here, and we are still in charge is fierce. Yet, she wants to be her own person and make her own decisions, and face her own reality.
She is CRAZY goofy. And sometimes we think this is really funny. Sometimes we think it is not.
She is excited to measure her growth as much as possible. She has a very healthy appetite and the need for vigorous exercise. She works hard in school. She is trying very hard to navigate her way through middle school with grace and dignity.
My girl, who is beautiful...
because she cares about important things.
because she is genuine and unapologetic about who she is.
because she smiles broadly and cries deeply.
because she loves all little things: children, animals, and plants.
because she creates beauty with her words, her violin, her paintbrush.
because she notices pain and sorrow in the world, and wants to make it better.
because she is.
Love you, my darlin' little girl. So glad to walk this way with you again.
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