Sketches and Reflections

It's been a week of many goings-on. My story class only has two pages left to illustrate. Last weekend was the anniversary of the Massacre in Copapayo and this weekend is the anniversary of the 6 Jesuits who were killed at the UCA 31 years ago. A week ago to the day was the Day of the Dead. It's been a week of challenges, as I learn again how to live here and how to live into myself (my created self!) and recognize and acknowledge that createdness in those around. It's been a week of hard work (and rewarding!); a week of, very literally, life and death.

And so in the midst of this, I've felt this desire to draw, to create myself something beautiful and to, through pictures, somehow express the mezcla of everything, when the words escape me or just aren't enough. It has been a way to prayer.



This first is a drawing of the cemetery where Eva's mother's family -- parents and siblings -- are buried. The tradition here is on the day of the dead, every one decorates the graves of loved ones with flowers. More than anything else, this day was a day of celebration: of the lives of the ones gone, of the family coming together to remember them. We drove an hour and half to arrive at the cemetery -- a road that Eva told me they used to walk three hours when she was growing up. We drove through Cinquera and the tone of the day was sent. The park outside of the church of Cinquera has the tail of a bomber plane on a concrete pillar. It the fence around it, sawed-broken guns are attached; a promise to never forget the war. The church bells are three bombs (duds). Hit with a rock, the make a beautiful ringing sound. What a powerful symbol: this transformation of objects of destruction to calls to worship. From death to life. The line, it turns out, is very fine indeed.
From Cinquera we continued on and came to the cemetery. The whole family was already there and we spend the morning decorated the crosses, surrounded by these luscious green plants. (In the drawing if you look closely you can see 8 crosses, in two lines of 4, among the green plants to the left of the big tomb adorned with floods of flowers). When it was time to go, Eva's mom said "Good bye until next year, and if we cannot come, others will."



This image is one that has been developing and growing in levels over the past several years. In the center is a heart - jar. By which I mean it is at once a heart and a funny shaped clay jar. The aorta and vena cava form the mouth of it and water is being poured in. Yet it is a broken jar, wounded. And through the brokenness the water is flowing out. I remind myself that it is often through my own hurts and brokenness that I can be a vessel of God; and my prayer that God's love and grace may be poured through me (because my love on its own can be so small) and that even my failures, imperfections, and wounds may be ways through which that love may be shared.



Finally. This one I painted last night in my house -- the only paint brush I brought with me is one from my Taiwanese friends I met during World Youth Day in Sydney, used to write characters. So, in this one I was going for a some what Oriental style. Yesterday was a hard day in my house. Eva and Rosa had had terrible days at school among other things --everything hard at once. I think perhaps this picture is wiser than I am, so I can do nothing more than tell you what I see and perhaps you, my friends family and supporters, could let me know as well what you think and see:

On the right there is a cross with a vine bearing fruit growing up it. On the cross is a small person picking the fruit and giving it to the big person on the ground, putting it in the basket. To me, I think of how connected life and death are, the fruit that is born amdist suffering and death, the necessity of working together to have this life-giving fruit -- the big one needs the little one, clearly, but the little one will need the big one for help to get down. There is life even in death