Ernesto Cardenal: Revolution to Evolution

This past month on March 1st, Ernesto Cardenal passed away in Managua. Priest, poet, revolutionary.  95 years old.  He died in the same hospital where Miriam was born, actually.

When I was taking Latin American Literature in college, Ernesto Cardenal was the first Nicaraguan I came across.  I found his story interesting and wrote a few pages about him and his work for an assignment.

He was a Jesuit priest, pulled between the mystical and the practical.  In the 50s, he was part of a failed plot to take out the Somoza dictatorship, and then went to Thomas Merton's Gethsemane monastery in Kentucky.  He decided that wasn't his calling and that he needed to be more involved with his people's struggle. He went to the island of Solantiname in the great lake Colcibolca, believing that the poor need to be the lead theologians and artists in the new kingdom of God.  And then he was part of the Sandinista movement that overthrew the Somoza dictatorship in 1979. He served as the Minister of Culture through most of the 80s. Cardenal and a other priests who worked with the revolution were at odds with the Vatican and he was famously scolded by Pope John Paul II during the pope's visit. He was defrocked and eventually reinstated by Pope Francis in 2018.

Cardenal defended the Sandinistas consistently through the 80s. But tensions between the leadership grew. When they lost the election at the end of their decade, there was the infamous piñata, a property-grab by government leaders on their way out the door.  This was a breaking point for Cardenal.  For the rest of his life, Cardenal remained committed to a Christianity through a lens of Marxism.  But he was at odds with the Sandinista party for the rest of his life. He focused on his writing, his poetry, his dreams of another kind of kingdom.

After Cardenal's death, I picked up a copy of his book La Revolución Perdida (The Lost Revolution).  I was interested to see how his thinking developed over the years, especially recent years, and what may have contributed to that.  As it turned out, only the last 15 of the book's almost 600 pages really focused on his split with the Sandinista party, in the aftermath of the 1990 election. It was an important book though. There were many stories recounting the tragic violence of those years, as well as the fascinating initiatives such as the literacy campaign and promoting poetry and the arts with the working class.

In 2018, the year that the protests broke out, Cardenal published Hijos de las Estrellas (Children of the Stars) and I had bought a copy.  I reread it in the week after his death, along with a similar book of his poetry that I had picked up in 2017.  Through Cardenal's poetry, in his stream-of-consciousness, unpolished style, he writes of divine love and purpose within the universe.  What will we do with our awareness, our consciousness, on earth? We are responsible for the next step in humanity's existence or evolution.  Will we allow ourselves to be pulled by God's love, a force like gravity?

He had an intriguing comment in the back of the book about the sociopolitical happenings of 2018. He was hopeful about what might emerge.  And while it doesn't seem he had regrets about resorting to violence in the revolution in his day, he affirmed the commitment to nonviolence among the new movement he observed.  So in comparison to the essay that I wrote about Cardenal in college, I am now more curious about how Cardenal's ideas continued to evolve in the last decades of his life.  How are we part of God's emerging new world?

Hijos de las Estrellas ends with these lines (my translation, original in the photo below):

And the certainty that another world is possible
a God, not of the dead, but of the living
the union of the resurrected, the banquet of the kingdom
banquet bread and wine wedding guests
     and a planet that's partying

The leaves - Las hojas (for the healing of the nations)

So the song of the last post was written thinking more about social healing, but now the world is currently overwhelmed by the new coronavirus, and health as well as mental health are now our concerns.  The song has continued to run through my head in this new context, and has been something of a prayer for both physical healing and for the social support that we give and receive from one another.  Here's a video of the song that we did as a family.

La canción del último post fue escrita pensando más en la sanidad de nuestras sociedades, pero ahora el mundo está actualmente abrumado por el nuevo coronavirus, y la salud y también la salud mental son ahora nuestras preocupaciones. La canción se ha quedado en mi cabeza en este nuevo contexto, y ha sido una oración tanto por la sanidad física como por el apoyo social que damos y recibimos unos de otros. Aquí hay un video de la canción que hicimos como familia.

The leaves / Las hojas

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. (Revelation 22:1-2) 

El ángel me mostró un río limpio, de agua de vida. Era claro como el cristal, y salía del trono de Dios y del Cordero.  En medio de la calle principal de la ciudad y a cada lado del río, crecía el árbol de la vida, que da fruto cada mes, es decir, doce veces al año; y las hojas del árbol sirven para sanar a las naciones. (Apocalipsis 22:1-2)

I'd guess that the metaphor of the "leaves of the tree" in Revelation 22 is understood as something like a natural medicine, but maybe someone else can write a song about that.  Here in Managua, I appreciate leaves for their shade.  I understand that traditionally or historically a large Ceiba tree was planted in the center of a town.  I think the idea of shade can also represent the shared space in God's creation where people can meet and hear from each other.  Which is another way of understanding healing, I think. It seemed appropriate to bring some different languages and generations in this song, so special thanks to Lia and to Francisco Morraz for lending their voices!

Supongo que la metáfora de "las hojas del árbol" en Apocalipsis 22 se entiende como algo de una medicina natural, pero tal vez otra persona pueda escribir una canción sobre eso. Aquí en Managua, tengo mucha apreciación por las hojas por su sombra. Entiendo que tradicional o históricamente se plantó una ceiba en el centro de una ciudad. Creo que la idea de la sombra también puede representar el espacio compartido en la creación de Dios donde la gente puede reunirse y escucharse. Y me parece otra manera de entender la idea de la sanidad. Parecía apropiado incluir idiomas y generaciones diferentes en esta canción, así que muchísmas gracias a Lia y a Francisco Morraz por compartir sus voces!

The leaves | Las hojas

Would you sing here with me
in the shade of this tree?
The fruit is fresh
and the sun is high

The children enjoy the swing
a simple and beautiful thing
and the children go
and the children grow

Rest upon these roots
Retreat from the summer sun
Look up at how the branches
reach out over all of us

And the leaves of the tree
make a place for you, a place for me
And the leaves of the tree
are for the healing of the nations

¿Cantarían conmigo
en la sombra de este arbol?
La fruta está fresca 
y el sol fuerte

Descansen sobre estas raíces
escapar del sol de verano
Contemplar como las ramas
nos cubren a todos

And the leaves of the tree
   y las hojas abriránmake a place for you, a place for me
   para todos, un lugarthe leaves of the tree
   y las hojas traerán are for healing of the nations    la sanidad de las naciones

Misunderstanding, El Güegüense, & Gladwell's 'Talking to Strangers'

(español aquí)

Some 300 years ago, 'El Güegüense' was born in Nicaragua.  It's a lively satirical play with lots of dance and music, celebrated by Nicaraguans and honored by the UN (UNESCO) list of "intangible cultural heritage". El Güegüense's origins are somewhat unclear; it seems to have grown out of oral tradition among indigenous people in the area during the colonial era.

The story centers around an wily, elderly indigenous man, who is El Güegüense. At the beginning of the story, the Governor, the local Spanish authority, asserts his control by banning music and dancing while lamenting not having nice enough clothes, furniture, and such. He blames el Güegüense for his situation and summons him.

When el Güegüense arrives, along with his son and step-son, he faces the Governor's various complaints and accusations.  El Güegüense feigns ignorance at times, boasts at times, and generally spins any point that he can to his favor.  Through distraction, deceit, and dances, el Güegüense convinces the Governor that he should desire his friendship because of el Güegüense's status and wealth (all a bluff).  Before they are done, el Güegüense even manages get the Governor's daughter to marry his son.  And when the Governor asks them to bring the wine to celebrate, el Güegüense and his son respond to the request by mischievously using someone else's wine.

--

Nicaraguans draw various meanings out of this story. To some it is about Nicaragua's culture of humor and resilience, finding joy or laughter even in difficult circumstances.  It is also something of an origin story in the narrative of Nicaragua's struggle against imperialism. It is a symbol of protest, a mockery of the oppressor.  As the El Güegüense is acted out, there is significant use of masks. This is a symbol of its own, hiding an identity for both art and laughter, as well as safety and resistance. The symbolism of el Güegüense has shown up in the streets in times of protest during the Somoza dictatorship and again during the 2018 protests.

The primary plot or conversation in the play is between the governor and el Güegüense, but tucked into the story is also a level of conversation between the el Güegüense, his son, and his step-son.  The son is on great terms with his father, consistently giving and receiving affirmation.  However the relationship between el Güegüense and the step-son is a hostile one, as step-parent/step-child relationships often are in folk tales from other cultures. 

This is an interesting layer in the story that is much less discussed. The conversation between el Güegüense and his stepson is full of satirical insults and manipulation, similar to the conversation with the Governor, but in this situation el Güegüense is the one with more social status. El Güegüense is at the center of the story, and maybe this is simply showing how his character interacts with everyone around him.  It might also suggest that the same skill or person who challenges and takes power from an oppressor can also be abusive, transferring injustice. At all these levels, the interaction between the powerful and the powerless in the play is literally and symbolically a dance.

---

I had the symbolism of el Güegüense in the back of my mind as I recently read Malcolm Gladwell's latest book 'Talking to Strangers' (thanks to parents-in-law for the book!).  In his past books and his podcast, I've enjoyed his storytelling and ability to question the history we tell ourselves.  This latest book probably spent too much time on high-profile criminal cases to try to understand ordinary human interactions or misunderstandings, but the questions he was looking to answer and some of his observations are still worth considering.  

In our world, we inevitably interact with "strangers." We overlook the importance of location, contexts/background, and misread one another's communication/gestures.  And sometimes in trying to pay attention to one aspect of misunderstanding, we get it wrong or inadvertently cause other problems.  Through all of this fumbling along, Gladwell observes that there is a tendency to cast the blame on the stranger.

In the stories of breakdowns in understanding that Gladwell tells such as police abuse or sexual assault, the play 'El Güegüense' might suggest he under-emphasizes the impact of asymmetries of power and differences in cultural communication.  In many of these stories it seems the person who holds power projects his understanding or interest onto the other, which ended badly in these stories.  As dramatic as Gladwell's stories are, "listening but not understanding" is an everyday challenge (Mark 4:12). 

Try as we may to be in solidarity with the vulnerable, as U.S. citizens here in Nicaragua, we are still outsiders.  We mistakenly assume we've understood someone or that we've been understood. We miss cultural cues or miss the humor around us.  As we fumble along, how do we avoid becoming the jaded expat, blaming culture or institutions around us that we have not fully understood?

Caution and humility, Gladwell suggests, are important first steps in talking to strangers.  There are many values we could add, including time, listening, value/interest, sharing, play, lament, grace...

If we are going to be part of a process of making right our world of inequality and injustice, we need to work at understanding.  El Güegüense seems to suggest that we need to see the ridiculousness of our society's brokenness and also how we're wrapped up in it.

Sometimes we need to ask again (and again) to understand the joke.  Maybe we can laugh together, and sometimes it means a willingness to laugh also at ourselves.

--------

Hace unos 300 años nació ‘El Güegüense’ en Nicaragua.  Es un teatro vivo y satírico con mucha danza y música, celebrado por los nicaragüenses y honrado por la ONU (UNESCO) en su lista de  "patrimonio de la humanidad".  Sus orígenes son algo poco claros; parece haber surgido de la tradición oral entre los indígenas de la zona durante la época colonial.

La historia se centra en un  hombre indígena anciano, astuto, que es El Güegüense. Al principio de la historia, el Gobernador, la autoridad local española, afirma su control prohibiendo la música y el baile mientras se lamenta de no tener suficiente ropa, muebles, y tal. Culpa al  Güegüense de su situación y lo convoca.

Cuando el Güegüense llega, junto con su hijo y su hijastro, se enfrenta a las diversas quejas y acusaciones del Gobernador.  A veces, el Güegüense finge ignorancia, a veces se jacta y, por lo general, gira y manipula cualquier punto que pueda a su favor.  A través de la distracción, el engaño y las danzas, el Güegüense convence al Gobernador de que debe desear su amistad debido a su estatus y riqueza de el Güegüense (que son mentiras).  Antes de que terminen, el Güegüense incluso logra que la hija del Gobernador se case con su hijo.  Y cuando el Gobernador les pide que traigan el vino para celebrarlo, el Güegüense y su hijo responden a la petición con la travesura de traer el vino de otra persona.

--

Los nicaragüenses interpretan varios significados de esta historia. Para algunos se trata de la cultura del humor y la resiliencia de Nicaragua, encontrando alegría o risa incluso en circunstancias difíciles.  También es una historia de origen en la narrativa de la lucha de Nicaragua contra el imperialismo. Es un símbolo de protesta, una burla del opresor.  A medida que se actúa el el Güegüense, hay un uso significativo de máscaras. Este es un símbolo en sí, ocultando una identidad tanto para el arte como para la risa, así como la seguridad y la resistencia. El simbolismo de el Güegüense se ha presentado en las calles en tiempos de protesta durante la dictadura de Somoza y de nuevo durante las protestas de 2018.

La trama o conversación principal en la obra está entre el gobernador y el Güegüense, pero escondido en la historia está también un nivel de conversación entre el Güegüense, su hijo, e hijastro. El hijo está muy cómodo con su padre, dando y recibiendo afirmación constantemente. Sin embargo, la relación entre el Güegüense y el hijastro es hostil, parecido a las relaciones de padrastros/hijastros en cuentos folkloricos de otras culturas.

Este es un nivel interesante en la historia que recibe mucha menos atención.  La conversación entre el  Güegüense y su hijastro está llena de insultos satíricos y manipulación,  similar a la conversación con el Gobernador, pero en esta situación el  Güegüense es el que tendría más estatus social. El  Güegüense está en el centro de la historia, y tal vez esto es simplemente otra muestra cómo su personaje interactúa con todos los que lo rodean.  También podría sugerir que la misma habilidad o persona que desafía y toma el poder de un opresor también es capaz de ser abusiva, transfiriendo la injusticia. En todos estos niveles, la interacción entre los poderosos y los impotentes en la obra es literal y simbólicamente una danza.

---

Tuve en mente el simbolismo de el Güegüense al leer recientemente el último libro de Malcolm Gladwell 'Hablando con Extraños' (¡gracias a mis suegros por el libro!).  En sus libros anteriores y su podcast, he disfrutado de sus historias y su capacidad para cuestionar la historia que nos contamos a nosotros mismos.  Este último libro probablemente pasó demasiado tiempo en casos criminales de alto perfil para tratar de entender las interacciones humanas ordinarias o malentendidos, pero las preguntas que estaba buscando para responder y algunas de sus observaciones todavía vale la pena considerar.  

En nuestro mundo, inevitablemente interactuamos con "extraños". Pasamos por alto la importancia de la ubicación, los contextos/fondo, y nos malemos el paso en la comunicación/gestos.  Y a veces al tratar de prestar atención a un aspecto del malentendido, nos equivocamos o inadvertidamente causamos otros problemas.  Con estos luchas y fracazos con la comunicación, Gladwell observa que hay una tendencia a echar la culpa al extraño.

En las historias de malentendidos que cuenta Gladwell tales como abuso policial o agresión sexual, el teatro de 'El Güegüense' podría sugerir que Gladwell poco enfatiza el impacto de las asimetrías de poder y las diferencias en la comunicación cultural.  En muchas de estas historias parece que la persona que tiene poder proyecta su comprensión o interés sobre el otro, lo que terminó mal en estas historias.  Aunque sean muy dramáticas las historias de Gladwell, "escuchar pero no entender" también es un desafío cotidiano (Marcos 4:12). 

Por más que intentemos solidarizarnos con los vulnerables, como ciudadanos estadounidenses aquí en Nicaragua, seguimos siendo extranjeros.  A veces asumimos erróneamente que hemos entendido a alguien o que hemos sido entendidos. Perdemos las pistas culturales o no captamos el humor que nos rodea.  Mientras nos acercamos, ¿cómo evitamos convertirnos en el extranjero negativo, culpando a la cultura o a las instituciones que nos rodean que no hemos entendido completamente?

La precaución y la humildad, sugiere Gladwell, son los primeros pasos importantes para hablar con desconocidos.  Hay muchos valores que podríamos añadir, incluyendo tiempo, el escucha, valor/interés, el compartir, jugar, lamentar, gracia...

Si vamos a ser parte de un proceso de mejorar nuestro mundo de desigualdad e injusticia, tenemos que trabajar en la comprensión.  El Güegüense parece sugerir que necesitamos ver lo ridículo en nuestras sociedades y también cómo estamos enrededos en ellas.

A veces tenemos que pedir de nuevo (y de nuevo) para entender el chiste.  Tal vez podamos reírnos juntos, y a veces significa una voluntad de reírnos también de nosotros mismos.

MCC Central America Retreat - Siguatepeque

On November 20, 2019, we traveled to Siguatepeque, Honduras. It was a very long trip!! That same night we (the kids) saw someone in the play house shining a light in his face! It was funny and a little scary.

The next morning we went down farther to a play house next to some ranchones. It was fun until we were called in for breakfast.

🚌☕

We played from morning til night (sunset). 

δυηδετ   ωαδ   βεαυτιfυl!

One of the tree houses we played in was this one.↓ 

                                                                       

All week we played (except for the grownups).

Playing when the grownups where in meetings was fun the baby-sitters had lots of craft supplies. After lunch we could play outside. Running down the hill was fun. 😊   

⇦⇦ The bakery we went to had lots of delicious pastries, drinks, and ice cream flavors.😋🧁

One time we went on a boat it was very big & it had 2 floors!!!

🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢🚢

 

The last day we where there, it was Clivia's birthday (one of our baby-sitters). We decided on making teepees out of the paper cups, and painting the phrase 'Feliz Cumpleaños Clivia!' (happy 
🎀birthday Clivia!) 🎈🎂

😃😜😃😆🎅🌮🎀🎈🎆🧵☮☸💠⚜🚲🚌⛲🌈❄🌟❄🌈⛲🚌🚲⚜💠☸☮🧵🎆🎈🎀🍳🌮🎅😆😃😜🎂🧁😋😊😀😂🤣❤😍😒👌😘💕😁👍🙌🤦‍♀️🤦‍♂️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♂️✌🤞😉😎🎶😢💖👏💋🌹🎉🤳🐱‍👤🐱‍🏍🐱‍💻🐱‍🐉🐱‍👓🐱‍🚀✔👀✨🤔🤢🎁😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀👩🏼🧑🏼😀😀😀😀😀😀

by: Lia

Two weeks with Mommy in Mexico

Our work routinely includes travel, and it's not unusual for Rebekah or me to be gone for overnight or a few-day-long trips.

There are other families out there who know how to do longer trips, but we knew that the plan for Rebekah to be in Mexico for two weeks was going to be a stretch.  Rebekah would be part of a three-member program evaluation team for MCC Mexico, and they would travel between Chiapas in the South, Mexico City, and Chihuahua in the north.  The schedule would be full of various meetings and interviews each day, but thanks to internet/WhatsApp, we would be able to send messages and do some video calls on occasion.

Compared the last story about family apart, this one was considerably different.  Even though it was much longer, the opportunity to prepare made it much more tolerable in the end. We had our planning conversations, I mapped out meals for the full time, tried to block out flexibility with work during that time, had some back-up plans for problems that might arise, and so on.

Rebekah flew out early in the morning on Saturday October 12.  As the kids woke up, my first coping strategy was to keep everyone busy.  We did some small house repair projects and made up our Mommy-tracker map that we would update throughout Rebekah's trip.  (I realized later that the map was just as much for me as it was for the kids.)

Since we had made the effort to get the office projector over to the house, we pulled out a mattress into the living room and had a movie night before calling it a day.  Other days were going to probably need to be less ambitious.

It happened to be that there were a number of days during this time that the kids didn't have school, for teacher in-service days or parent-teacher conferences.  We're always glad to have Yahaira and her daughter Elizabeth around to help when school is off but work goes on.  Here's a birthday celebration for Yahaira. Lia made her the crown and designated the birthday chair.

During these weeks Lia participated in NCA's "Eagles-in-training" basketball camp, which met two times a week after school.  Silas and Miriam enjoyed library time while we waited until pick-up time.

Unsurprisingly, it took a while for Miriam to get used to the idea that Rebekah was out for a while. She cried the first few nights, but really mostly settled down and slept through the night well afterwards (or at least I did!)

Miriam still mostly came barreling into the office hoping Mommy might be there.  But she did seem to understand that Mommy would be away for "muchos minutos."

The following Saturday went down to the school apparently to see a basketball game, which we actually had the wrong date for. The kids had fun running in the grass soccer field nevertheless and watching a pavilion construction project.

During the parent-teacher conference days, we saw some of the kids' artwork.  Always fun to see NCA's art program's creative projects and what kids can do with them.

At the end of Rebekah's marathon of meetings, they got the last day to do a little sight-seeing.  They climbed the pyramids at Teotihuacan and she sent us some pictures.

On Saturday October 26, we woke up, had breakfast, got dressed, grabbed our Welcome Home poster and excitedly got in the car to pick up Rebekah at the airport. We were so glad to see her again!  Here's our celebration with frozen yogurt.  No more plans for long separations for the foreseeable future!

On passports, planes, and family

On July 1, our family went to the airport mid-morning looking forward to traveling to the US to be with family and friends in Virginia and Pennsylvania.  We had just traveled to Colombia a few weeks earlier, and we felt comfortable with this routine with three kids, backpacks, suitcases, and everything.  Our turn came to check in and we pulled our crew and gear up to the counter.  I gave the attendant our stack of passports, all bundled together in a rubber band and waited while he began to go through them.

The attendant asked about Miriam, a question we often get: Does your daughter have two passports?  Yes, I respond and begin to explain as I often do.  No, he says, I don't have her U.S. passport here.

What?! I panicked. Rebekah told me to calm down. But I couldn't think of where else it could be but in the stack of rubber band/passport bundle. We looked through my bags, Rebekah's bags, and tried to think as rationally as possible.

I remembered letting Miriam play with passports on the return trip from Colombia, and wondered if there was a chance it was left behind on the plane.  She would have only presented the Nicaraguan passport coming back to Nicaragua.  While Rebekah started to call back to our office to see if it was there, I hustled over to the airport information booth, where they redirected me to a Copa Airlines office.  No luck on that trail.

I came back to Rebekah and two of our MCC members were on the search in Linda Vista.  They couldn't find it at the office, and were hurrying over to our house.  If they would find it, there would be enough time for one of them to bring it to the airport, but not enough time for us to go over and back before the flight.

I got a call from a neighbor.  "There are two women going into your house, do you know anything about this?"  I laugh a little.  Yes, thanks for looking out for us, Jorge!

Rebekah tells me that they couldn't find it at the house in the closets, drawers, countertop, etc.  Our last thought, other than the passport being simply lost, was to have them look in one of the small office safes. It would be unusual for it to be in this safe and our team members weren't able to get it open.

So among tears and suppressed emotions, I got in a taxi with Miriam and headed back to Linda Vista.  I explained to her that we needed to get her little book for the airplane.  She had her pack of "gummies" (fruit snacks) for take off on her lap.  She opened it, but told me she was waiting to eat them until we were on the airplane.  I told her she should go ahead; I would give her another pack.

We went to the office, opened the safe, and there, at the bottom of the pile inside was her passport. I gave Rebekah a call.  We would need to reschedule the flight, but we at least wouldn't have to wait on the embassy to process a new passport.  Rebekah sent me a picture of the empty seats on the airplane through WhatsApp, and they were off.

We rescheduled our flight for the soonest option with the same airline, two days later.  Miriam and I spent the afternoon picking up a few things and groceries at the mall. Other than Miriam's sadness at bedtime, the rest of that day wasn't so bad, I guess.

And then I got sick.  I'm not sure if it was related to this whole episode or if it was simply a virus (I learned later that Silas got sick too).  The next 24 hours were slow and miserable hours at home with diarrhea and vomiting. I was unsure how traveling alone with Miriam the next day was going to go, but I was not about to miss that flight.

The next day I was feeling better, and Miriam and I went to the airport with lots of extra time to spare, just in case.  There was no problem this time, and we enjoyed watching the planes come and go until it was our turn to board.  Miriam got a new pack of gummies, and we were heading out.

We arrived in Miami and seemed to be on schedule to catch our connecting flight in Miami.  We went on their shuttle train and made our way to Immigration.

As we came up to the Immigration area, we followed the lines down the hall toward the end. Unfortunately we never even found the end.  Everyone was commenting that they never saw the lines this long.  Eventually we got to a place where hallways came together and we merged into the line.  I had WiFi access and started sending some messages to Rebekah and downloading the Global Passport app to see if I could jump over to a shorter line.  But both the line I was in and the WiFi downloading were slow, and I was starting to be concerned about getting to our flight.

The line moved slowly, but it was moving.  I started to feel optimistic, until we came up to the Immigration check-in kiosks and I saw just how many back-and-forth lines there were yet before we even got to the kiosks.  At that moment, the App downloaded, I slipped out of line with Miriam, took our pictures, entered our information and scurried over to the other Global Passport line.

Sadly, these lines were hardly faster. I nervously watched the time and talked with other travelers.  Rebekah had googled and sent me the gate information, and the others there seemed to think it might still be possible to get there in time.

Miriam had fallen asleep on my shoulder by the time we were called up to the official's desk.  I presented our information, he asked about Miriam's mother, I explained, he approved. I started to run as best as I could with a sleeping baby, carry-on suitcase, and Miriam's backpack.

At security, I set Miriam down and she woke up as she started to fall over.  She saw everyone taking their shoes off and immediately followed their example. The time for boarding had now passed, but the plane hopefully hadn't left yet.  I sent a message to Rebekah saying that if she didn't hear from me, she should assume we made it on the plane.

We went through security, and took off running again.   I asked a few people along the way for our gate.  I got some blank looks and repeated my question in Spanish (it's Miami), got my answer and hurried along.  I paused to walk at one moment because apparently I'm out of shape for running with a baby like this.

When we got to the gate, it was empty. As I was setting Miriam down I asked the lady at the desk if it was too late. "I'm sorry, the gate is closed," she told me as she pulled the tape from one post to another in front of me. No! I sunk down with Miriam on the ground on my knees. You've got to be kidding me.  I asked again. Same answer.

In a moment of miraculous mercy, the second attendant at the gate asked if I was waiting on any other family members to catch up to me.  No, just Miriam and me, I said. "I think we can let you get on," he said, and opened the door. I was so grateful.

I clumsily carried Miriam and our bags onto the plane, through the narrow aisle, and we sunk into our seats.  Sweaty and panting, I pulled out my phone to send a message to Rebekah: "We made it." The message didn't go through.  The plane pulled out and we were off.

We arrived in Philadelphia and there were Rebekah and my dad waiting for us.

It was great to be back together.