We drove up into the mountains where our church used to be until two years ago. Leaving our cars in front of the old church, we headed out on foot taking the same trail Maria did, almost every Sunday for the past eight years.
That journey taught me a lot. Every Sunday Maria and her brother-in-law, Efrain, wake up at 5 a.m. to get ready for church. Efrain is blind. He lives with his mentally handicapped adult son.
At 7 a.m., after bathing either in a river, or from barrels of water if God brought rain, they head down the side of the mountain. Having walked the path, I now understand why it takes them an hour to get into town and catch their ride to church.
The path is steep and uneven with rocks. There is little shade from the heat of the sun. I can't imagine it in the rain. Walking at a normal speed, it took me about 20 minutes. I was not leading a blind person.
My church friends, even the kids, were huffing and puffing. We stopped several times to rest and seek shade. The sun beat down so hard we were covered in sweat. It is a difficult hike for a person who is not blind.
Besides the steep mountain, there is also a river to cross. It's not a creek, as was described to me when I noticed at church one day that their pant legs were wet. It is a river. A river of filthy water. Efrain told me that sometimes it is chest deep. Yet Efrain and Maria faithfully cross that river every Sunday, sometimes with Efrain's son in tow, to catch the bus which drives them 30 minutes to church. I am told by others who ride with them that Efrain and Maria are always the first to arrive at the bus stop.
I thought about myself that morning. As I wrote about in my previous blog, I was having a bad day. My mind was full of reasons why I shouldn't go to church. By the time I pried myself out of bed, it was already a few minutes before I should have hopped into my air conditioned car. I was too lazy to bath in my heated shower and make myself as presentable as possible as a daughter of the Most High.
By the time I get out of bed most Sundays, Efrain and Maria have already bathed and cooked breakfast outside over a fire, scaled a mountainside, crossed a river, and hiked to meet the car that drives them to the church. All while I lie in bed. Now that is dedication. That is living a life of praise and honor for our Heavenly Father.
Until Sunday, when I thought of Maria I immediately thought of her hugs. Over the past year, I made a point to sit and talk with Efrain and Maria several times because Efrain can't get up and socialize, but he does love to talk. We ate together a few times after the church service. They are friendly, happy people who are nice to talk with. Whenever I think of Maria, she has a big, slightly mischievous smile on her face.
The thing that stood out most to me was Maria's hugs. Our church members greet each other with a hug. But Maria's hugs are like no other. Maria hugs you tight. And not only are her hugs tight, they also last really, really long. When Maria embraced you, you had no choice but to receive the love she shared.
Every week Maria hugged me. Every week I would hug her back for the "appropriate" amount of time. Then I would pull away. But she never let go! So I'd settle back into a hug with her again, and find myself letting go for a second time. But she was never done yet. Usually by the third hug by conscious mind kicked in and I was able to let her hug me until she was done.
After a year's worth of hugs with Maria, I never learned to just let her hug me. I always let go. I regret that now. I know hugs were important to her. I wish I had learned how to hug her back in the same loving embrace that she hugged me.
As we climbed up and down that mountain on Sunday we all talked about Maria and her long lasting hugs. We all came to respect Maria and Efrain in a new way after walking that walk, and seeing their homes.
I hope in the future I am better at receiving love when it is offered to me so freely. I hope I remember Maria on Sunday mornings as I wake up and prepare for church. Maria's love, joy, strength, dedication and obedience are exemplary of how I believe God called us to live. I want to be more like Maria.
At our church retreat last summer the kids had a piñata. They were playing around. Finally Maria said, "Let me show you how it's done!" She grabbed the stick and started whacking Minnie Mouse with such force we didn't know she had it in her! All of the adults were laughing so hard as the kids dove for the candy.
