Stories…
My life is a story that is composed of hundreds of stories about others’ stories. My faith journey is a telling of stories that have shaped and molded my heart in ways I didn’t know possible. My fears are alive because of stories that once caused me great pain and suffering. My dreams exist because of stories of unbelievable hope that infect my being. My tears are welcomed because of stories that break my heart, even when I think it’s no longer possible to break it more. My love is raw and real because of stories that make me feel love, deeper and deeper.
Padraig O Tuamua writes, “The stories we live in, the stories we live by and the stories we tell, can, we hope, deepen our story of being alive. But they are uncontrollable.”
This year, the stories I hear, the stories I tell, the stories I have the privilege of holding and embracing and feeling, have deepened my story of being alive.
Sometimes they hurt, sometimes they make me laugh, and other times they make me really mad, but at the end of the day, there is something inside me that moves, that shifts, that is transformed. I can’t tell you what this year has been about without sharing stories. Every day, there are a number of stories that get added to my story. Not one is more important or less important. Each and every one of the stories that I hold in my heart make me who I am. I want you all to know me… and you can’t know me without these stories.
So please, welcome them and greet them. They are now a part of me.
On April 2nd, Lilibeth, one of the women living at Casa de Acogida, reached 1 year living in the shelter. For about a week straight, the only thing she could think of was the fact that for the past 365 days, she had spent them in between the same 4 walls. It was difficult to see her struggling with that because she is truly, one of the most joyful women there. Both of her sons love her deeply and the feeling is mutual, which is something so special to see in a place like Casa sometimes. I remember sitting at the doorstep with her and her saying, “Lo unico que quiero es que mis hijos puedan salir.” / “All I want is for my sons to be able to leave.” She is 15 years old and has an almost 2 year old son and a 7 month old baby. She is there because of a man 3 times her age. She should not have to be living this. She shouldn’t have to be handing me her baby because all she feels like doing is crying. She shouldn’t have to be dictated to stay in that shelter for the next 3 years because the system does not get this man behind bars. Yet, despite all this, she is a hardcore lover. She loves so hard – her sons, some of the other women, her ñaños, and me. She constantly hugs me which reminds me that even when the story isn’t pretty, loving, nunca esta de mas. She teaches me to love harder every single day.
This month a new woman by the name of Nataly arrived at Casa with her 2 adorable sons. For the first time since I have been working at Casa, I saw a woman’s face destroyed, dripping in pain and suffering. Often times, I witness this pain and suffering in their eyes and in their voice, but this time, I saw it on her skin too. I remember walking into Casa and being taken aback when I first saw her. Later that day, I got to spend most of the afternoon chatting with her. I heard all about her childhood, which was not an easy one. I heard about her love story which soon turned into her biggest nightmare and what led her to a place like Casa. She told me about her studies and how she is currently finished with 2 years of her university career. She told me about her sons and her love for singing and her hope to one day be part of American Idol. She told me all about her dreams. That’s my favorite part about her… that she’s a dreamer. She dreams big and that, unfortunately, isn’t a common characteristic among the women at Casa. There is no doubt that she is struggling, that she is suffering and that she is scared, but she has hope – and that hope is contagious. When I first saw her, she seemed timid. But more than anything, ashamed. Why? I’m not sure. Maybe it was because of the way her face looked or because of the fact that she was at the shelter – either way, I couldn’t help but be angry. Angry that society has failed to love, honor and respect others that then leads them to feel ashamed. Yet, in the way that she raises her children and the way she dreams, she manages to put all that pain and anger into her pocket and choose to grab hope instead. Nataly teaches me to never stop dreaming.
Another special moment happened outside Luz Maria’s shop. One of my community mates asked us to pick a place that was sacred to us. I picked Luz Maria’s home/shop. Later that night, we prayed outside of these places. As we stood outside her home, gathered in a circle, Ricardo, her son, who has become like my brother, was the first to join our circle. I remember praying for them and as each word was said, feeling a flow of love interweaving us. It didn’t take long until Luz Maria came out and asked to join too. I remember asking her to pray and so she did. Quietly whispering, she began to pray. I was holding her hand and suddenly felt a cascade of emotions. Until today, I’m not quite sure what Luz was carrying in her heart that night, but it was such a sacred moment – to stand in the middle of the road, holding each other’s hands and talking to God. I don’t get to pray with my neighbors as often as I wish, but in moments like these, I feel so close to Him. Luz Maria reminds me that we are standing on holy ground.
On Holy Saturday, we decided to take our neighbor Gloria and her son, Raulito to the Easter vigil at the downtown Cathedral. On our way there, we asked Mariano, who lives in front of the foundation, to drive us there. That day had been a pretty long one. I was exhausted and I really didn’t feel like talking. I literally said that to my community. While on our way, Mariano, began to ask many questions. I let the other girls answer because I really wasn’t down for a conversation. However, like usual, I heard him say, “Valeria, usted que sabe mas espanol, contesteme una pregunta.” / “Valeria, since you know more Spanish, answer a question.” He continues, “Tu que piensas que es la iglesia de Dios?” / “What do you think is the church of God?” As you can imagine, I was very taken aback at first. It’s a big question. Mariano is a great man, but has very traditional beliefs which were a gift to receive, but that to be honest, differ from my perspective. I remember breathing in deeply and letting my heart speak. It was a long answer, I won’t lie. But for the first time in a while, I verbalized what I thought the church of God was. La iglesia de Dios es el pueblo de Dios, sin importar las divisiones que la sociedad ha creado. The church of God is the people of God, no matter the divisions society has created. There’s a lot more to it, but I am still learning about the way I understand all of this. I’m thankful for Mariano and his devoted spirit for asking the questions that must be asked. Often times, the hard questions come in between unexpected moments. He teaches me to go deeper.
I can’t go without talking about one of my sweet friends. I love this guy. He has been struggling with drug addictions recently and had finally been admitted to the rehabilitation clinic. One day, as I was on the bus, I saw him sitting at his sister’s shop. I hadn’t seen him in so long. I decided to stop by. I sat there for a couple of hours and talked. He told me about how he’s doing, his worries and fears and the reason he had left the clinic. When he was initially admitted to the clinic, he was going for a 1-year program. He shared that a 20 year old male died because of the clinic conditions. He told me all about the program at the clinic and how scary it is. He told me they would throw him into a deep pool until he learned how to swim. He said he tried to behave as much as possible because they would beat them, otherwise. He told me he’s not happy, but that he believes God is going to help him. He held my hand most of the time as he talked to me. His hands shake so much. He looks down too much. I tried to remind him how important he is and how loved he is by so many of us. I told him I have been praying for him so much and will always be when he brought up the fact that I only have 3 more months left. Not one bit of this was easy, but he has been such a huge part of my year here and I am so amazed by his choice to fight. I know I can’t fight for him, but I can cheer him on and so I do.
Sometimes, in stories, we are meant to be the cheerleader, other times – the fighter, the witness, or the helper. The options are countless. But as Padraig O Tuamua says, “to tell stories is to tell of things that are always changing, because even if the stories don’t change, the teller does, and so the story always moves. Hello to the stories we tell.”
Hello to your stories. Hello to my stories. Hello to my neighbors’ stories. Hello to our stories. I am lucky to receive them, to tell them, to be a part of them. I hope you too, are welcoming and greeting both, the short and long stories that mold your heart.