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.

Why change now?

Although this isn't my first blog, it is my first attempt at a blog for all the world to see. I decided to create this blog so that I could get some practice writing about my travels, to get experience that I might convert into a future job.

See, about 7 weeks ago, I was let go from the job that I have held for the last 8 years. It was with one of those corporate giants and I have decided that it didn't really meet my interests well enough. So at this late stage in my career, I am going to make a change. I love travel and cultures and languages, as do so many people. But I am tired of envying all those others who do what they really love. I need to find a way that I can to. It might be travel writing, it might be getting into the tourism industry, it might be starting my own business. Whatever it ends up being, I want to change direction and go for the brass ring.

Although my life might appear pretty ordinary to many, a single mom of 2 boys who works at a computer day in and out, goes to soccer games and spends her free time visiting friends and taking care of the family, it really is much more than that and I have dreams of something bigger, something more exciting and something more meaningful.

I have not just discovered this love of the world. This blog is titled "Wayfarers & Vagabonds" for a reason. I am a wayfarer and a vagabond, and I have been as long as I can remember. My first trip to a different country was when I was about 10 and my parents took me and two of my sisters to Guadalajara, Mexico. My memories of that trip are just snippets but they are vivid and moving in a way nothing else in my childhood was.

We travelled through Mexico on a slow train, eating chicken tacos as almost every meal. We had a cabin in the sleeper car and the novelty of it all made it quite an adventure. The colonial buildings and the park and plaza were so exotic for a kid from the suburbs of Southern California that I couldn't imagine anything more wonderful. But it was the people that made me know that I would always want to travel. We met a family in Guadalajara, friends of my great aunt and uncle, and they treated us with such hospitality and affection, you would think we were long lost relatives. The sound of the language grabbed me then as well and I fell in love for the first time, with a man about 17 years my senior, named Armando. As we drove away from their house, after an amazing and exotic meal and laughter and jokes, conveyed with a lot of sign language, I sat in the back seat of the rental car, looking out the back window, crying over the end of such a wonderful experience.

Fortunately for me, the international and intercultural experiences just kept on coming, thanks to my parents openness and interest in getting to know new people. One weekend, we hosted two Japanese businessmen, one of whom was named Mr. Toyota. My sister and I thought that was just the best name he could have. After that we hosted two Brazilian students, Luiz and Tony, and their guide, Leo. That weekend caused a pattering in my heart for all Brazilians and might explain why I later married one. But it wasn't until Berit came to stay with us for several weeks that I saw that it was possible for me to achieve some of the things that I wanted, to learn another language and to travel. She came to stay with us during her trip around the United States. She was from Sweden but had lived in Spain for quite a while and spoke fluent Spanish. I was about 12 at the time and I remember sitting in her room and talking to her about all her experiences. I remember being enthralled when, on a day-trip to Tijuana, Mexico, Berit bought a bag of sweets and then walked through the streets handing them out to all the children, while chattering on with them in Spanish. I wanted so badly to be able to do that. I wanted that life.

My family continued to invite people from around the world into our home and expand my love of and fascination with the world. We hosted three exchange students, two from Brazil and one from Sri Lanka, then later hosted the brother of one of the Brazilians for about six months. My younger sister and I both went abroad with AFS as exchange students, me to Germany and she to Colombia. But that was all just the beginning.....