Echoes and Moments

Sunset over central New Mexico, from atop Sandia Crest, August 2011. In my house there remains a recurring conversation about our dreams. As we arise in the morning, readying ourselves for the day ahead, I hear the now familiar question, "How did you sleep?" now paired with, "Did you have any dreams?" At times this question is hard for me to answer. Many times we awaken with the last glimpse of our dreams fading into the morning, and nothing is left but that feeling of mystery. It seems all detail of the arc of the dream has been left behind in the night. At other times these dreams are vivid and remain with us and allow us to process our unanswered questions, our longings, anxieties, and even hopes. The  popular culture  of my generation certainly has an interest in it. Still, I find I can connect more with those dreamers that remind me of my own roots, who therefore give me ground to engage an ever present struggle to carry the rich history of my family wi...

I find it necessary to reflect on my relationship with the sporting world, especially as Facebook and the Twitterverse blow up with the praises of the San Francisco Giants. Don't get me wrong. I love San Francisco. It is my favorite city on earth, ahead of Madrid, Washington D.C., Barcelona, London, and Paris. Sports are about engaging in the tribal struggles that we humans have always needed to vent our aggression. All allegiances are about sticking through the tough times and celebrating the good. For that, I appreciate all my friends. But I must say, because I was brought into this world on the other side of the Bay, I'm going to have to agree with this guy. Yes, there's no such thing as a bandwagon fan in the Raider Nation. And thank the Lord for that.

Most nights I enjoy reading on the front porch of our house, especially when the cool night air sets in and my body rests easier after a long day among so many people. Today I read a woman's words that spoke to me through her experience among the marginalized in Latin America. Tonight her words hit me with the characteristic precision of a prophet and the earnest honesty of a poet. Though she wrote these words only a few months after I was born, they ring with the truth of so many gone before us. It was just what I needed to hear. I'll share an excerpt below, from Penny Lernoux : I feel like I'm walking down a new path. It's not physical fear or fear of death, because the courageous poor of Latin America have taught me a theology of life that, through solidarity and our common struggle, transcends death. Rather, it is a sense of helplessness--that I who always wanted to be the champion of the poor and am just as helpless--that I, too, must hold out my begging bowl; t...