My bed the previous week was a dusty floor in an end-of-the-road town named Zeballos. We planted ourselves for 5 days at this 1st Nations reserve. We were continually running and playing with the children, visiting shut-ins, and connecting with the teens of the community. It was our fourth visit.
We go to connect. There has never been a big plan or project with these folks. It has simply been to form relationship with people who are hungry for what we take for granted. We don’t seek to change or fix, just be. We with them, they with us.
If there has been any goal it has been this. About two years ago a beautiful teenage girl was brutally killed. About the same time, their school principal died. We were told, “This is a community in loss, and try to connect with that.” My goodness, how? I’ve never felt our visits came to the point of touching on this deep family and community injury.
This time was different. The parents, who lost that young girl to the hands of some devil on earth, were often with us at our meals, events, and hang times. They talked and opened up, “I’ve not discussed this before, and it’s good to do so, finally.”
Ah, the one other thing I have taken for granted, the opportunity I have to talk to so many people and my culture that allows, even promotes it. Oh, but there is still one other I neglect. Time. Time to allow things to unfold, take their course, and occur when fully ripened.
The clouds hung heavy every day on this journey of faith. The rain so constant, we were no longer being rained upon but were standing in it. The water-clogged air we breathed reminded us of the lives many live in this town. Bored, hopeless, and static. Yet, sun broke through the clouds as we drove away that day, and it was the metaphor we needed. There was a ray of light that burned deep within our Zeballos friends and us. I think we all felt it.
daily...
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