Last Hours in Las Nubes: Showered in Flowers

I just spent my last praxis day in Las Nubes.

I was, and am,an emotional wreck right now. I am writing this last blog post somewhat frantically and trying to get my thoughts together.

I woke up this morning at 6:45AM at the request of Suly. The CC's were making breakfast. They made us French toast and coffee.

I thought to myself "okay, that's it! This is going to be a great day!"

And a great day it was, but not in the usual "happy-go-lucky" kind of way.

Today was bitter sweet. I arrived to El Pueblo de Dios en Camino and walked in the front door for my last time. We sat in a circle and Hector presented us all with cards he had made. The art contained actual pieces of flowers from Las Nubes and wrote on the back a personalized letter.

I broke down. I remembered all of our moments together. All the times we walked up the volcano and how much I was going to miss that. It killed me.

I composed myself and we began our walk up the Volcano. Mary Catherine, my praxis partner, bought flowers to give to all the women in Las Nubes for Dia de la Madre (Mother's Day). We had these beautiful yellow flowers that we distributed throughout the day.

The day was marred with tears. Victoria and Niña Tancho wept with us as we realized it would be our last time together. Victoria will not be able to make it to the Despedida (our final mass with everyone).We played mika (tag) with daughter Victoria and Marvin for the last time and shared mangoes off the tree. We ate lunch at Juana's house. She also won't be able to make it to the Despedida. We ate carne asada and rice and salad and drank coke.

She told us how much we meant to her. How every year, with every group, her love expands. We are the latest part of that love. Again I teared up.

The end of the day provided us with the opportunity to have one last hang out session with all the kids. We all met  up in the cancha (field) outside of The Santos Family's house. So many of the children were there.

Victoria
Marvin
Jennifer
Brenda
Ivonne
Rosa
Gladys
Elgar
Cesar
and Daniel

We shared pan dulce and drank more soda. We played Bachata music from Rosa's phone and danced and ate and played soccer together

for the last time.

Even with all this joy I couldn't shake the pain of knowing that this was our final day on the volcano, as a group, as a family, in the way that we know now.

I was smiling and laughing but on the inside I was bawling like the boy at the 5th grade dance who asks the girl of his dreams to dance... and gets rejected.

3:40 came around and we knew the time had come to walk back down the volcano. We were saying our goodbyes when Daniel came up to me with his fist out and said "Puedo?" (Can I?

I looked at him and realized he had the yellow petals in his right hand and wanted to throw them in my hair like all the other kids.

In all the commotion I had failed to realize that Daniel wasn't able to reach my head, even if he threw the petals as hard as he could. He is three years old and about 2 foot short.

I bent down on one knee and said "si, Daniel" (in a near whisper). He gently dropped the petals on my head and laughed as hard as I've ever seen. He grabbed another flower top and did it again. I started crying. Tears of joy. The closest thing to God I know.

Greg Boyle recounts an eerily similar, if not identical, story of a man who only wanted to lay flowers on his head and thank him foe being him. He calls these kinds of moments "don't move" moments.

We are constantly moving all the time. We sometimes move so fast that we miss these moments of pure love, until we're forced to simply be. I was called in that moment to slow down. To do more than slow down. I fully ceased moving.

And my eyes were opened to Daniel's beautiful smile and beautiful gesture.

Don't Move

Love
Toñito