As I begin my writing late on this beautiful partly-cloudy Wednesday morning, I find myself lying in a hammock with my bare feet stretched out comfortably in front of me.
Well, maybe I should say ‘almost’-bare feet, as my left foot continues to be covered in a very stylish off-white gauze bandage, leaving only my toes peeking out into the warm humid air.
Off to my right, some fifty feet away, Ewout is working hard, diligently watering the many plants in this lush thriving garden area—a task that he faithfully performs twice every day.
Enjoying these hammocks has become somewhat of a spontaneous daily routine, as I frequently spend an hour or two immersing myself in this relaxing environment. Conny and I have often engaged in deep spiritual conversations while swaying back and forth on adjacent hammocks, usually simultaneously playing with Bob and Kalugin, our adorable little Chihuahua friends.
A persistent mosquito hover’s nearby, skillfully dancing around me in the air, patiently awaiting an opportunity to dine unobserved on my bare ankles. Such mosquitoes also seem to be very talented when it comes to biting through my clothes left exposed through the underside of the net. For this reason, I usually avoid using the hammocks in the early morning or late evening—times when these little flying vampires seem to emerge in greater numbers.
It is hard to believe that eleven days have zoomed by since I last picked up my laptop to write. So much has happened—yet so much has remained the same.
Christmas has come and gone, as have perhaps one hundred or more backpacking travelers from around the world. I am amazed by the colorful diversity of these roaming adventurers. Most seem to originate from Europe, with the majority of those coming from Germany, Holland, and France. In some ways, I find it surprising that there are not more U.S. citizens represented here.
With some travelers I feel an almost instant energetic connection. I thoroughly enjoy visiting with them, spending time swapping stories and experiences. Around others, however, I feel no such bond, and I find myself silently turning inward, pretending they are not there, not speaking to them unless they first speak to me.
This phenomenon puzzles me.
“Am I being judgmental?” I quietly ask myself. “Why do I feel absolutely no desire to be proactively friendly with some people?”
With further pondering, I realize that my heart is only yearning for some alone time—time to write—time to meditate—time to reconnect with the silence. I reassure myself that there is no judgment involved—simply discernment telling me that I need to be spending my time elsewhere.
Today, on the day after my dear friend Conny boarded a plane to fly back home to Germany, I find myself craving the peaceful silence. Over the past three weeks, a great deal of my precious spare time has been spent cultivating my growing friendship with Conny—a process that I truly believe was inspired and meant to be.
Yet, as I followed those intuitive promptings, I often felt an internal tug of war as ego voices inside nagged me about my lack of writing, attempting to fill me with guilt for following a slight detour—a detour that I know was inspired.
Many blessings have flowed into my life as a direct result of my friendship with Conny, the first of which was a deepened relationship with Tania and Ewout—a relationship that led to a fascinating experience on Christmas Eve.
A Christmas To Remember
A few days before Christmas, Tania approached Conny and I.
“Brenda and Conny,” she began, “I am hosting a family party on Christmas Eve, and I want you to come because I consider you both to be part of my family.”
Feeling deeply honored, I eagerly accepted Tania’s gracious invitation. How could I turn down such a rare opportunity to celebrate Christmas with a beautiful Nicaraguan family in the heart of Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula?
Tania’s mother gave birth to all four of her beautiful children while living in Nicaragua. If you are at all familiar with Nicaraguan history, you might recall the intense civil unrest in this Central American country as the Sandinista National Liberation Front (SNLF) successfully fought and overthrew the dictatorship of Anastasio Somosa in 1979. But the hostilities were not over, as U.S.-backed groups called “Contras” soon began to engage in skirmishes against the Sandinistas who were now in power.
Tania, who is second oldest of three girls and one boy, was born in 1981 just two years after the Sandinistas took power. While living in a country overwhelmed with poverty and suffering from the lingering effects of war and U.S. trade embargos, Tania’s mother managed to raise a beautiful young family.
In spite of the desperate conditions evident all around her, Tania tells me that she grew up feeling safe, loved, secure, and happy. She was never aware of just how much her incredible mother really struggled to provide for and protect her precious children in such difficult and dangerous times.
Over the past few weeks I have had several opportunities to meet this incredible woman when she visits Tania at the hostel. When Tania was in her upper teens, this strong matriarch uprooted her family, left Nicaragua, and moved to Valladolid, Mexico, giving them a new start with new opportunities. In her interactions with others, Tania’s mother exudes a well-balanced mixture of strength, confidence, and love.
In the few limited interactions that we have had, I have developed a deep admiration for Tania’s mother. She has set such powerful examples for her family and others, and is definitely a woman of genuine loving character.
As Christmas Eve fast approached, I found myself becoming increasingly immersed in the loving Spirit of Christmas—feeling eager to experience the festivities in a combination of Mexican and Nicaraguan styles.
For the first time in my life I opted to leave commercialism completely out of Christmas, neither giving nor receiving any gifts whatsoever. While I have to admit that I experienced a small amount of guilt for not attempting to purchase and mail gifts to family and friends back home, I also experienced a great sensation of freedom and liberation as I simply allowed myself to focus on being present with the holiday itself.
As I understand local tradition, it is quite customary in both Mexico and Nicaragua to begin Christmas celebrations at twelve midnight on Christmas Eve, having a large family banquet, fireworks, and opening of presents—not necessarily in that order.
When Tania mentioned that her family likes to get an early start with dinner at 10:00 p.m., I felt a great sense of relief; I am still not a late-night sort of girl.
Dinner was delightful—roast turkey, mashed potatoes, salad, and baked eggplant (those who know me will be amazed to hear that I actually liked the eggplant)—with cake for desert.
As dinner began to conclude, Tania’s nephew and his dad began to play with sparklers, lighting them with a nearby candle. The young man’s face lit up with delight as he practiced making glowing circles in the warm humid night-time air.
But the real magic started as the stroke of midnight made its way into the record books.
The moment that someone pronounced Christmas to have officially arrived, the entire family let out huge grins as they rose to their feet and began a genuine round of hugs, cheek-kisses, and loving Christmas greetings. I was thrilled to be included as I lovingly exchanged warm hugs, one by one, with all eleven who were present.
Deep gratitude filled my heart when Ewout greeted me. Rather than stopping with the traditional kiss on the right cheek, Ewout continued on with two more kisses—one on the left cheek, and one more on the right cheek.
“That is how we do it in Holland.” He told me. “We always exchange three kisses.”
Then Ewout startled me when he continued. “Brenda, I am so happy that you are here with us, and that Tania and I have had the opportunity to get to know you.”
My heart nearly melted as Ewout briefly continued his loving grateful words, following which I replied with my own words of gratitude, following that up with, “The pleasure is mine.”
Giggling Gifts
I have never had so much fun watching other people open gifts.
I don’t know if this is a cultural practice or a family thing, but shortly after the “Feliz Navidad” greetings ended, the family began their gift exchange. One by one, each adult member of the family took their individual turns passing out gifts. Part of the fun was forcing everyone to guess who the gift might be for.
Before giving out each gift, one at a time, the giver teased and cajoled the others. Looking sneakily at someone, the giver might say something like “Hmmmm … who could this gift be for?” Then, while glancing around in a silly way, the giver would teasingly ask, “Is it for you? … or you? … or you?”
Meanwhile, everyone in the family was being equally silly, eagerly trying to guess just who the recipient might be.
Finally, the giver would excitedly announce the recipient with something like, “It is for … TANIA.”
That person would then jump up and down in a silly over-dramatized response of excitement, before hurriedly ripping the wrapping paper off to reveal their gift. Then the process began anew all over again.
With seven gift givers, the entire delightful process took nearly an hour to complete.
As 1:30 a.m. ticked away on my watch, I decided that the time had arrived to honor my primal need for sleep. As much as I found myself enjoying the experience, I decided that my evening was complete. Before retiring, I made the rounds, once again wishing everyone a Merry Christmas, and thanking Tania and Ewout from the bottom of my heart for having included me in their family festivities.
Rumor has it that some family members stayed up partying as late as 4:30 a.m.—I honestly don’t know how they do it.
Hello, Brenda … This Is Guatemala Calling
As Christmas day progressed, my heart was overflowing with peace and gratitude. Sometime that morning, Conny had approached me, asking, “Brenda, when you have a minute, I would like to briefly borrow back the Central America book that I lent to you. There is one small thing that I need to check and then I’ll give it back to you.”
Over a week earlier, Conny had allowed me to skim through her Lonely Planet book on Central America travel. It is the same one that she used heavily when she spent three months traveling from Panama all the way to Mexico, just one year ago.
When she originally loaned it to me, Conny made one thing perfectly clear. “I will let you borrow this book while I am here … but I definitely want it back because this book has special meaning and memories for me. If you want one, you will have to buy your own copy.”
For several days I eagerly vacillated between reading through the pages about Guatemala and having frequent conversations with Conny about her own experiences while traveling there.
Energy resonated through my soul as my internal Jedi voices quietly but clearly called out to me, “Yes … you know there is nothing to fear … you know you want to do it … you know you will go to Guatemala very soon.”
When I came to Valladolid, the thought of spending time in Guatemala frightened me deeply. Now, merely six weeks later, I am filled with peace and confidence. An invisible energy is calling out to me, pulling me in that direction. There are many other places in Mexico that I would love to visit, but I will be very surprised if I am not in Guatemala very soon.
As I expressed these feelings to Conny, I also voiced my intention to look for and to purchase my own copy of the book when I visit Mérida. She must have been paying close attention.
An hour or two after I had given the book back to Conny, she returned to find me sitting in the outdoor kitchen area listening to my IPOD.
Prior to handing the book back to me, she opened it to a page where she had handwritten the following comment:
Dear Brenda,
It is old, it is used, but it wants to travel back to Central America with you—to all the beautiful, amazing, and friendly places you will visit one day. […] I will be traveling with you in my thoughts.
Your Friend,
Conny
Minutes later, after deeply thanking Conny for the generosity of this beautiful gift, I looked into her eyes and said: “But I feel bad because I don’t have a gift for you.”
“No, you don’t understand.” She insisted. “This is not a Christmas gift and I do not want you to reciprocate. This book is telling me that it wants to travel with you, it wants to help guide you on your journeys, and I could not tell it no.”
Doctor Brenda
For eight of the past eleven days, I have been playing the role of Dr. Brenda while Dr. Gomez and his daughter visited a friend up in Indiana.
Soon after beginning to care for my own wounds, my fears melted away and dissipated into a puddle of silliness.
Every day, around 10 a.m., I removed and discarded my old bandages, put on a latex glove and began the methodical process. After spraying the open wound with Lidocaine (anesthesia), I gently scrubbed it with Betadine Solution before rinsing it with sterilized water. Then, on days two, four, six, and eight, I removed a tiny sterilized disposable knife from its protective packaging, following which I used the knife to gently rough up the raw tissue to make it bleed (tricking the tissue so it will continue growing). Finally, I sprayed a thin layer of silver sulfate solution over the wound before covering it with special ointment treated gauze. After layering on several additional squares of ordinary gauze, I wrapped the foot in a stretchy gauze-like bandage—ready to take on a new day.
Feeling a sense of healthy pride, I congratulated myself on a daily basis. The process was easy, even the part where I had to cut myself with the knife.
Most of the exposed tissue appears to be growing just fine, but one small area seems to be resisting, refusing to participate in new growth opportunities, still being sunken in more than a quarter of an inch.
As I visited with Dr. Gomez yesterday on his first day back in town, he reassured me that everything looks great, telling me that I had done a stellar job. He did not seem concerned about the stubborn area, and reemphasized his opinion that we will probably not need to perform any skin grafts—even though he acknowledged that grafts are still a remote possibility.
But somehow, all of the details do not matter. I have reached a point in my recovery where I am content with whatever happens. Peace continues to flow through my veins, and I can easily look back on the countless blessings—none of which would have happened had I not stayed put in Valladolid.
Believe In What Your Heart Is Saying
A few evenings before Christmas, I sat in my room with my IPOD, feeling a prompting to listen to portions of the soundtrack of “The Polar Express.” When I first watched this delightful Christmas movie several years ago, a small selection of the songs had deeply touched my heart.
As I lay on my bed enjoying the beautiful music, the chorus of one particular song performed by Josh Groban immediately captured my attention, sending a burst of energy throughout my soul as I meditated deeply on the words.
Believe
Words and Music by: Glen Ballard and Alan Silvestri
Sung by: Josh Groban
Album: The Polar Express (Soundtrack)
Children sleeping, snow is softly falling
Dreams are calling like bells in the distance
We were dreamers not so long ago
But one by one we all had to grow up
When it seems the magic’s slipped away
We find it all again on Christmas day
Believe in what your heart is saying
Hear the melody that’s playing
There’s no time to waste
There’s so much to celebrate
Believe in what you feel inside
And give your dreams the wings to fly
You have everything you need
If you just believe
Trains move quickly to their journey’s end
Destinations are where we begin again
Ships go sailing far across the sea
Trusting starlight to get where they need to be
When it seems that we have lost our way
We find ourselves again on Christmas day
Believe in what your heart is saying
Hear the melody that’s playing
There’s no time to waste
There’s so much to celebrate
Believe in what you feel inside
And give your dreams the wings to fly
You have everything you need
If you just believe
Yes, when I was a child I did know how to dream. Like all children, I was born with the magic inside of me. But years of growing up in this fear-filled world taught me to be realistic and practical—to bury my inner dreams and passions under a layer of common sense, apathy and responsibility. I seemed to be taught that dreams are for children, but adults have to work, doing things the way they have always been done. As a busy adult, I simply could not spare the time to listen to the whimsical childish dreams in my heart.
But the magic is indeed still there, easily found on days like Christmas as we experience the world through the eyes of our innocent children—beautiful shining souls who have not yet forgotten how to dream.
Yes, this incredible magic is not lost. I have regained much of it as I have gradually relearned how to believe—to believe in what my heart is saying, to believe in what I feel inside, to believe in the dreams that are once again resurfacing.
My heart has never ceased to play a beautiful melody, but that inner music is so soft that I can only hear it as I learn to silence the other worldly noises that distract me. Listening to these still and quiet voices often feels as if I am indeed trusting in the faint glimmers of starlight to get me to where I need to be—but time and time again, the results continue to amaze me.
Each day my wings seem to grow a little stronger, a little fuller, a little wider—causing me to dream of soaring to new heights, to new and never before imagined possibilities. All I have to do is simply learn to listen and to believe.
Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved