Poet-Pirates, Hamocks, and CFRs in Crocs.

 Verso l´alto!

Glory to Jesus Christ!

I want to begin this post the same way I walked into a room in downtown Comayagua: with almost no context. The only context is that this was supposed to be a "poetry lecture" that we went out for fun, last night actually. 

A tall, older fellow stood in the front of the room. He had the exact appearance you would expect of either a poet or a pirate: he had baggy pink pants that were just shy of needing a belt, a very flowy white shirt, and silver, wire-rimmed glasses, through which he scrutinized everyone in the room with big, brown owl eyes. His hair was white, and a bit disorganized. 

When I walked in, he was apparently in the middle of reciting something that he had composed. I do not say "written," because I am doubtful as to whether or not he was actually using words. He was moving around in a stooped, yet controlled manner, and would move his left arm to the rhythm of his words, like a conductor. But darned if I know what he was saying. 

If at this point you're wondering if I just blanked on my Spanish for a night, and that was the reason for my confusion, you would be wrong: if he was speaking a language, it sure as heck was not Spanish. He alternated odd noises that sounded like titters, something that reminded me of Donald Duck, a sound resembling a dog barking, whisperings of what my mentor, Eric, speculated could be words in Dutch, and other onomatopes such as "la-loo-loo-loo-loooo," "tikitee-ikitee-tikitee," "bomb-ba-bombaas," and rather ferocious sounding mutterings. Needless to say, when he proceeded to walk around the whole room in such a manner, and even to loudly whisper something inarticulate in my friend Meghan's ear (don't worry, I had a St. benedict medal in my pocket in case of emergency), our small group of missioners was a little...well, confused. 

But here's the best part: everyone else treated this with completely straight faces...including the poor guy who was "performing." The only people in the room that were laughing were our group of missioners and a few guys to my left. It was clear he had practiced this (he had actual CD's for sale...man alive I wish I had bought one!), and it was clear that he had been asked to this event to recite. I can only assume that he was sober. Come to think of it, there's no way he could have been anything but sober: it was too well rehearsed. The whole thing seemed completely absurd only because everyone treated it like it was anything but. 

I have uploaded the videos I took before my camera died to the Google Photo link. 

I think that myself and the other missioners will be laughing about that story for years to come. It was amazing. That is an example of a rather abnormal day here in the life of a Catholic Honduran mssionary. If this were a YouTube video, right now would be the time when I would play the theme music. Since it's not, you can just insert any music in your head that seems appropiate. Let me know what it was in the comments! 

I realize that it's been a long time since I have written anything here, and for that I apologize. I am grateful for the gift of my friend the poet-pirate (or is it pirate-poet?) for sure, but I am more greatful for what the Lord has been doing in my life in the past month or so. 

The last time I wrote something, I was in language school. I am no longer in language school now: I'm currently writing in the Missioner's home base, listening to Salt Water, from Ed Sheeren's album "Subtract", which I highly recommend. Language school ended kind of like a holy hour experience I've had a few times: the holy hour feels pretty dry; I've tried changing how I'm sitting, the Gospel reading feels tepid, and my emotions are all over the place. Then, in maybe the last 5 minutes of Holy Hour, God drops such a giant grace bomb in my lap that I'm completely overwhelmed. Well, that's how language school finished up. Up until our coordinator Carol paid myself and Isaiah a visit to check in, I was ready to throw in the towel. I kept hitting a brick wall with our teacher, and found myself doing what I hate most: complaining. Carol proceeded to gently make me aware that I had completely missed the oak tree in my own eye. She reminded me of something that I had clarified with people from the start: God didn't call me here for Spanish studies, but for Mission, to see Christ in the eyes of his Children. I had forgotten that after only a week or so. carol pointed out that my mission in that moment was to be the healing hand of Christ to the family we were staying with, like an extended mission house visit. She said that we as young Catholic men had a unique opportunity to gain the trust of the family, especially the two daughters, and speak into their lives in a way that they have never received before. 

I was ashamed of myself, needless to say, but ready to live better with what little time I had left.

Praise God that Carol visited though: it was providentially timed. The last night we were there, my friend Isiah was practicing his testimony in Spanish. That proved to be the perfect stepping stone to a river of vulnerability that I will remember for the rest of my life. Our teacher's oldest daughter took the opportunity to open up (I found out later) more vulnerability than most people have ever seen her do. I won't share what she shared, obviously. What matters for the purposes of this blog is that she trusted myself and Isaiah enough to share an incredibly vulnerable section of her heart. After that, her younger sister opened up about her testimony of all the pain she had experienced in her life. 

I couldn't believe it: Carol had called it almost exactly. 

I was awestruck by the depth of love between these three women who have all suffered so much. I am so glad that we were able to be present in what my good friend Nathan Blanchard calls the "Holy Ground" of the heart. We prayed with them and apologized on behalf of the people that had hurt them. But really, if I learned anything from this experience, it's to be safe in the action of listening without saying a word: your presence is, more often than not, all that a person needs when they share from a very deep place. 

Whew, that was alot. Buckle up though, cuz that was two weeks ago. 

Tangent, I made a playlist on YouTube of all the songs I've been reminded of while on mission here: I'm listening to it and Subtract as I write.

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzs4e-ymaz5Ag08VhoqQHaDQDKHE1AbNe

After that...hang on, what did we do? 

.....Oh yeah! Once we came back, there was a sports mission that took place. In the course of a week, I got to give my first talk in Spanish, continue to rest up from a cold that just did not want to die, translated for someone's testimony to a boy's orphanage, and go on a ton of house visits. My highlights were definitely visiting the boys' orphanage and seeing a CFR priest celebrate mass in Crocs. 

Said CFR is Fr. Felix. I didn't realize this before, but CFR's wear whatever is donated to their community: that means that if they have different colored habits it's because the habits were made of different grey materials that were donated to the community: it doesn't necessarily denote a rank among the brothers. I was particularly struck because this kind of strange sight really brought home to me the poverty of the CFRs, something I had never really been exposed to before. For a moment I wondered, "do I need to be a CFR?" The Lord actually answered that question fairly quickly: something beautiful in my surroundings reminded me of Arizona, and I suddenly had a longing for home. In that moment I remembered that a Diocesan priest feels a special love and desire to serve a specific people in a specific place, that place being a diocese. I also was able to examen my desire and see that I really was just in awe of his poverty and love for Christ, and was drawn to this specifically: that fact that he was a CFR was almost secondary. 

Now to the boys' orphanage. At the boys' orphanage there are many boys and men with special needs. One such hombre with special needs really touched my heart: at one point he just hugged me and stared up at me with a massive smile on his face. He goes by the name of "Tío." Here is a picture of him playing soccer. I looked into his eyes and saw pure unconditional love staring back at me. In short, I saw the eyes of Christ looking into mine. 

What else can I say?

It was breathtaking. 

After that, I got to take a break for a weekend and go on a 2 day silent retreat with the other seminarians. The picture at the top of this blog is a hamcok that I discovered at our retreat house. I don't think I know of many other things as relaxing as a Hamock...not to mention the mountains surrounding us. Anyways, the retreat was a great way to start this past week. I acctually had to remove the links from the two missions, since they are not for public sharing. I will upload all the picutres from the missons to my google photo link. 

For the past week, I have been doing Ministeries here in Comayagua at the missioners' home base. There are alot of graces that I am still processing and still allowing Jesus to tailor and cultivate. Please pray for me that I may be open to Jesus' loving fingers sculpting my soul to look more like Him. 

In addition, this Thursday will see another pretty big mission coming in for 11 or so days. Please pray for it's success. 

Well, that's all for now! Please also keep the Missioners in your prayers! And again, if you haven't already, I invite you to discern supporting their mission in some way (the links I provided in my first blog should help), if you are able. Thanak you for anything you are able to contribute! 

Know of my prayers for all of you. 

In Christ,

Through Mary,

David Wilmowski

"Set me as a seal upon your heart,
    as a seal upon your arm..." 

Song of Solomon 8:6