2020

Easter ("Pascua") in San Felipe is very different than Easter in Santiago. For two years in a row ( 2014 and 2015 ) I was in Spain for Easter. Hundreds of thousands of people flocked to the country for an opportunity to be a part of a two-thousand year-old tradition. They read the local papers for schedules of "Semana Santa" (Holy Week) events. They lined the streets to watch nightly processions go by, from Mary weeping to Jesus carrying his cross. They fasted and waited for the doors of Cathedrals to be opened so they could sit at the altar, touch the feet of the Saints, and receive a blessing. They packed the pews, eager to hear the familiar words of Scripture: He is not here. He is risen! Likewise, hundreds of thousands of people flock to San Felipe every year for Easter. Except they don't call it Easter. They call it Spring Break. They line the beaches to watch nightly processions of 4-wheelers racing across the dunes. They wait in line at the 7-el

When I was growing up, I spent every summer and winter and break that I could with my grandparents in Iowa. Sometimes that meant flying alone, or tagging along with church families who were driving in the same direction. Sometimes it meant family road trips or flights that inevitably got cancelled due to ice storms. There didn't have to be any agenda, other than spending time with my grandparents. This week I got to be on the other side of that. Two of Randy and my granddaughters came to spend their Spring Break with us. They flew into San Diego and then we drove them down to Baja. The past 5 months have been challenging for Randy and me, to say the least. So it was incredible this week to be among family, and to see this calling through their eyes.