The miracles of Chimayó

(This article was created for inclusion on the website www.cancerjourneys.com)

Let me start off by stating that I am not a Catholic but I was raised in the Catholic church and I love their traditions. I find some of the rituals very reassuring and calming. Therefore, when I read about Chimayó, a shrine in New Mexico, I wanted to visit. It wasn’t until after I had been diagnosed with breast cancer, however, that I knew that I had to visit. Many people lose their faith in God when battling cancer. Others cling on to everything a faith in God offers at a time of misfortune. I was somewhat in the middle but I figured a bit of help from God couldn’t hurt.

The story of the shrine states that one day, around 1810, a Chimayó friar noticed a light bursting from a hillside. He dug into the hillside and he found a crucifix, which was called the miraculous crucifix of Our Lord of Esquipulas.

A local priest took the crucifix to Santa Cruz, about 5 miles away, but each time, it disappeared and was later found in its hole back in Chimayó. The third time it happened, everyone understood that the crucifix would remain in Chimayó. That is when the people built a small chapel on the site.

The curative powers, however, do not seem to come from the crucifix itself but rather from El Posito, the "sacred sand pit" from which the crucifix was dug up. Hundreds of people visit the shrine on holy days and pilgrims walk great distances just to collect some of the soil with the miraculous healing powers.

We arrived in Chimayó among a crowd of tourists, some believers, some just curious. It was a warm day and the sun glistened off the stones of the plaza in front of the chapel. It was a simple adobe structure with the rustic beauty of northern New Mexico. We walked into the chapel which was full of people praying. It was so small that we could not sit. Instead we walked to the front of the chapel to gaze at the crucifix that still adorns the chapel altar.

From the altar, there is a small doorway to the left, which takes you to the small cubicle-like room that contains El Posito. People were crowded around the hole, looking in, not sure what to make of it. I got down on my knees and said a little prayer. I spread the soil all over my chest and then turned to my boys. I took each one by the hand and first put a handful of soil over the 4-year old’s head and then did the same to his little brother. They were very grave and quiet, not sure what I was up to. Afterwards, we sat for a minute and watched other people enter the room. It was crowded and I knew that we should leave to make room for others, but I felt a need to wait a moment longer.

Then a family entered and looked into the pit. It was a couple and their two pre-teen children. They obviously all were mystified about the pit and what it signified. I told the man about the reputed healing powers of the soil in the pit and that he should rub the soil on the body part that was causing problems. He looked at me with such earnestness and pain as if he were frightened. At first he reached into the pit but then he just jumped in. His bulk took up the entire space. Then he took up a great handful of the dirt and rubbed it all over his wife’s left leg. She didn’t appear convinced but he continued rubbing her leg. The man then turned and put soil on each of his kids and then again on his wife, tears coursing from his eyes. I had to leave because tears were pricking at the corners of my eyes too.

From the tiny closet where El Posito resides, you exit the shrine through a room lined with benches. The walls of this small ante-room are covered with the crutches of those who regained their ability to walk after visiting the shrine. There are hundreds of photos, drawings, and missives from those who were healed of a variety of ailments. Their stories were as unique as snowflakes but the stories of the children were the ones that touched me the most. It was really quite moving to see what people’s faith had achieved.

We left the shrine and walked down the hill to the altars that have been adorned with rosaries, photos, notes and pleas for divine intercession. My sons and I had purchased two plastic rosaries in the gift shop and we hung them on a shrine. When our rosaries had found their place among the dozens of other plastic rosaries of all colors, we stood back and looked at the amazing mass of objects on the altar. Aside from the rosaries, there were candles, ribbons, photos, messages on napkins, messages on rocks, handkerchiefs and other paraphernalia that shrouded the altar, from top to bottom. The altar was such a mass of color and texture that it assaulted the eyes and yet filled one with such awe and wonder, that such a desire to believe still existed.

We walked away from the altars to an adjacent field where there were several stone arches. I could not tell if the arches were old but they gave a feeling of peace and solitude. We walked over and touched the stone and breathed in the fresh air. It was good to be in this place, relishing the feeling of serenity and the closeness to the divine.

We were done with our visit. It was with regret that we climbed back up the hill and walked away from the shrine. Yet, the visit would never end in my mind. It gave me a sense of hope, however remote, that my life would continue and my connection to God would strengthen.

The wild waves of Water Key: A trip off the coast of Utila, Honduras

(In case you didn't catch this one on examiner.com, here is a rerun)


While visiting the island of Utila, one of the Bay Islands off the coast of Honduras, my son, a friend, and I chartered a 10 foot “lancha” out to see one of the cays. The cays are the epitome of the deserted tropical island.

We visited Water Cay, a privately owned, undeveloped, three-acre cay that is a half-hour boat ride from Utila. The ride over was choppy but exhilarating and provided glimpses of a mellow sea turtle, a mansion built on a miniscule cay, and the topsy-turvy development on Pigeon and Jewel Cays. When we arrived, we arranged with our captain to meet him for the return trip at 1 o’clock in order to avoid the rough seas.

For about two dollars per person, payable upon arrival, you can spend the day lounging in the powder-white sand, floating in the shallow water, or walking over to Morgan’s Cay. We made sure to bring food and water with us, because when they say that the island is undeveloped, they mean that there is nothing, not a shack or a dock or a boat ramp. There were several trash cans, however, and a handsome young man raking up palm fronds and coconuts.

At 1 o’clock promptly, our captain was waiting for us and we hopped in the boat for our return trip. The captain suggested we move to the back of the boat and it didn’t take long to find out why. In the three hours that we had been on the island, the swells had grown and the chop had picked up. At one point, I swear the swells were over five feet, at least it seemed like they were. The bow of the boat would rise like a needle piercing the blue sky and then moments later plunge downward, leaving you with nothing but a view of the aqua-marine underworld. We screamed, gasped, laughed, and hid our eyes. It was then that I realized that I was possibly the only one in the boat that could swim. I clutched my son to me as he reached farther and farther out of the boat to touch the water. By the time we returned safely to Utila, I was soaked, hoarse, and exhausted from one of the most memorable days I had ever experienced.