December 8, 2006 

Dear Virginia, editor of the Trailblazers e-newsletter, The Compass,

You asked us to write a testimony of our experiences while on the Trailblazers Youth Pilgrimage to Our Lady of Guadalupe.  I felt called to do so tonight.  I will break the experiences down into lessons that I was taught, rather than report things chronologically, to make it easier to follow. 

First, I was taught a great deal of humility.  At forty-three years of age, I was the oldest person on the trip.  I don't think of myself as being old, but next to a bunch of teen-agers, and young adults hiking, with a backpack, my age really showed.  I was last to arrive at our destination after each day of walking.  The second day, we went without our backpacks, which were bussed in the pick-up truck by the Mexican Scouts leader, Juan Pando. The third day, the fifteen year old scout assigned to our group got lost, (he was given the wrong map.)  I overheard him calling Juan on his cell phone.  I don't know that much Spanish, but I understood we were in big trouble.  The sun was setting, and we were in the middle of a corn field.  That and the mountains made for beautiful scenery.   “¡No comida, no agua, no mapa, y no camino!”  I started singing, “The hills are alive, with the sound of music...” complete with the running, spinny move from the movie.  A few of the other kids joined me, and we sang one musical sound track after another until we were picked up.  So I got trucked the last few miles the third day.  

Five days of hiking were planned, but I had a talk with Fr. Ward after the third day, and pleaded for mercy.  I told him that we were crossing the line between purgation and demoralization (if we continued on with the itinerary as it were).  Since he had quite a few blisters himself, he saw the logic, and we stayed at an old church for two days recuperating, before being bussed to a really nice parish inside Mexico City.

The first five days of the trip, we were fed homemade food by the moms of the boy scouts. It food was delicious, and I can't explain how absolutely humbling it was to have this poor woman spoon food into my empty plate.  The food was delicious, but after one dish that was a chicken soup eaten with lettuce, I got diarrhea.  (That never really went away until after I got back.)  I rarely have anyone over for dinner.  I can't imagine cooking enough food for thirty-plus hungry adults who have been hiking. 

There were many other humbling experiences where I saw such poverty walking through these little towns.  We think we need so much stuff in order to be happy here in the U.S.  The first town we stayed in had a public bath and shower, because the people didn't have plumbing in their homes.  The natives of the town didn't have too much in the way of niceties to say to us.  After singing in their church, being respectful at Mass, and leaving their church some money, they were all smiles and waves when we left the next day.  One little boy my son's age ran up to me and shook my hand, calling me his “amiga.”  His hand was sticky, like my son's hands.  I guess Mexican boys and American boys have some things in common.  We saw so many homes where the kids played in the same yard with the animals, like horses and cows or donkeys.  And there were stray dogs everywhere.  They don't have the resources to treat their animals like children, like we do here.

After three days of hiking, I couldn't straighten my legs.  My stride became very short, and with my small stature, I was walking very slowly, no matter how fast I tried to move my legs.  Sara asked me if she could rub down my legs to loosen the muscles contracted behind my knees.  I had been enjoying my role of Dr. Mom for the Trailblazers, and Fr. Ward, and wasn't ready to be taken care of yet.  I took some Motrin, declined her offer, and continued limping for a few more days.  Finally, after the extra two days of resting, the Trailblazers and scouts were playing soccer on the grounds of the old haunted church where we were staying.  Sara asked me again if she could help me with my legs.  As much as I had tried to hide my pain, I was pretty pathetic looking, limping around, so I consented to her aid.  After she was done, the muscles in my legs behind my knees finally relaxed, and I could straighten them again.  My gait was back to normal.  I was profusely thankful to her.  She reminded me that even moms need to be taken care of sometimes!

to be continued . . .