The Mission

Remember when we could go places and take pictures of things? No use in dwelling.

Last week I had a conference for work that was held virtually. Absent COVID, it would have been in Denver this year. Denver… with it’s rugged vistas, ridiculously healthy people, and low oxygen levels. I probably would have passed out. But I would have passed out in Denver! No use is dwelling.

Two years ago the same conference was in San Antonio, my second visit. The first, also for a work conference, was decidedly disappointing. I remember rounding the corner on my way to the Alamo.

Huh? I don’t get it.

My mind had so many images patched together from second grade history lessons to movies that made you cry even though you already knew the grim outcome. I imagined dusty fields as far as the eye could see and the Alamo rising in the distance like a tombstone leaning against the sky. I instead was greeted with cheesy souvenir shops and even cheesier bars. Ugh. Davy Crockett would not have approved.

On my second visit fate intervened in the form of a yellow-shirted river guide who was all too happy to give me suggestions about how I should spend my one free day before flying back. Flying! No use in dwelling. Where was I? Oh, yellow shirt. I’m ashamed to say I can’t remember the gentleman’s name but I do remember his kind, weather-worn face. I relayed my Alamo disappointment and he laughed. The Alamo is just the beginning, he said. He recommended doing the entire Mission Trail which would take me to the other four.

With glee, I intently listened and took notes. When he had finished he told me he was actually part of one of the indigenous peoples of that area. His people have always had one person who was tasked with keeping the history, an historian of sorts. Only one per generation. For this one he serves proudly. He is the 68th keeper. I could lie and say I didn’t start crying on the San Antonio Riverwalk when he told me that but that would be a lie. I did. These little moments where life gives you unexpected gifts are so thrilling in their unexpectedness.

These pictures are from the day I spent on the trail. It was a good day. The further from the city I got the more my dreams came to life and I could see what the Alamo had originally been. I was having a hard time. So many things had changed in my life and I still hadn’t found my way. All the confidence and freedom to be myself I had found had been replaced by uncertainty and the knowledge that who I was would forever clash with some facets of my new reality.

When I walked into the first Mission and sat down in the pew I started crying. As you can tell I cry a lot. I’m not particularly religious but I am Catholic - I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense but just go with it- and when I stepped into something familiar, something I knew I could count on that wouldn’t leave me….. I cried.

I felt so much better. Like all the tension and worry was gone. I was ok.

Even though we find ourselves in uncertain times, I cling to these moments where I was uncertain.

And then I was ok.

No use in dwelling.