I took too many photos (Is that even possible?) during my recent trip to Guatemala. Whittling down the images I processed in black and white for this post was a bit painful. Like trying to tell Baskin-Robbins what flavor I want. (In case you’re interested, it’s always vanilla. I know… I know…)
This first gallery contains images from Antigua, Santa Maria de Jesús, Santiago Atitlan and Altamira Oriole Antigua.
Opportunities to love the unnoticed and to care for the forgotten are opportunities to have your soul grounded in what matters, and liberated from all the temporal pursuits that occupy so much of our mental and spiritual energy.
Our contact in Guatemala took us to a ministry in Santa Maria de Jesús that provided a solid foundation for the best that we image bearers carry – namely our longing to connect and to express love for others – as well as giving us a chance to be uncaged from our many preferred prisons. Examples abound.
The ministry is called Harvesting Happiness. The work is profoundly simple and indescribably beautiful. Provide lunch for the elderly population. Provide a gathering space where the aged can enjoy a meal, create art, and have their birthday’s celebrated. They also bring lunch to the elderly who cannot walk due to illness or other physical limitations. Beautiful.
Which brings us to Carmen, and her home.
Standing next to Carmen is Brennan. She is one of the ministry leaders at Harvesting Happiness who leverages her medical training to help Carmen’s oxygen saturation go from below 90 to a marginally acceptable level that morning, and consistently uses her super power (love and other-centeredness) to impact the elderly community around her. Carmen considers Brennan to be her “mom.” Carmen remembers her mom, and feels like the love, care, and medical oversight that she experiences through Brennan is her mother’s love returning to her. Our Guatemala contact built her home a few years back.
Let me encourage you to find the unnoticed and to love them. Let me also encourage you to find ways to be uncaged. Thanks for stopping by. I don’t know when exactly it is, but… Happy Birthday.
The Summer of 2026 has been busy with trips, vacation, work, etc. I have neglected my photoblog, but would like to invite you to my grand-reopening with the first of two posts from my trip to Guatemala. Since 2022 our church has been sending mission teams to minister at orphanages and to build homes in an under resourced community. So, here are a few color images from this beautiful country. The vehicle above is known as a “chicken bus.” There is no organized public transportation in the cities, so these refurbished, tricked out, beautifully painted buses are common. I would love to do a photo project one day in Guatemala and take as many images of these buses as I can.
Regarding building homes… this is what a home looks like:
El Zapote is a small community at the base of Fuego, an active volcano in Guatemala. We partner with a Guatemalan church to build homes for families. Having the opportunity to bless these families with a home of their own is my favorite part of these trips. When we complete the project we surround the family, pray for them, then officially present them with the keys to their new home. Yes… I cry every time.
And then… the children…
The orphanage we work at is located in Santiago, Atitlan, Guatemala, near Lake Atitlan. The beauty of this region is only matched (and exceeded) by the beauty of these kids. These are just a few images of a large ministry that cares for orphans in Guatemala from pre-school age to 18. I’ll close with various images from our trip, including one of an elderly woman that I will write about in my next post. Thanks for stopping by.
to deny the brokenness the darkness the sin is to close our eyes and turn away from injustice from all the craters where schools once stood
is to place our hands over our ears to escape the tears carried on wailing waves on too many streets
is to cover our lips and become statues with utterless words screaming silently injecting our hearts with the novocaine of indifference after all what can we do really
we slingshot around the moon while shots ring out in the southside in the middle of the east on midwest streets unable to speak we cling to the songs of our tribes we can deal with that vibe
it's just too hard to try to understand i clasp my hands kneel down and pray for our enemies for our adversaries for our leaders to stay in a place of grace towards all life that mercy might reign for each child and soldier and mom and dad amen amen
God show us the way Kyrie eleison God come near today Christe eleison heal here today Kyrie eleison hear us we pray Christe eleison have your way in us we pray Kyrie eleison
like trying to hold the sands of the shore moments slipping away swallowed by tide and time like jumping high to swing from the clouds only to fall through the sky i tried to keep a moment or two
like a sunset over a soybean field or at the end of the road or a monochrome lighthouse showing the way to giant icicles on climbing day or two little girls on a summer swing with nana in the middle all is well or a grand city that rises and falls while a grand old bridge anchors it all or our two sons walking by the river or coffee starlings dancing in the air safe from the wind farm or the fire in the sky above a river flowing like time through fields and towns and seasons and lives until it joins the the moments in the sea and sand that still are slipping through my hands
so let’s talk of autumn mornings falling into my consciousness sunny skies shaking off the midnight rain while coffee murmurations dance in my eyes and i come into focus crawling out of my dreams stumbling towards awareness senses trying to make sense of the blue painted sky and those tiny beads of coffee are they escaping the scalding dark amber sea or just singing to the Creator’s design the indescribable unmistakable aroma is fresh and new and tells old stories it is a starling moment and i don’t really know what to make of it so i make my escape with the coffee beads and enjoy the view
when i see all the unrest the could care less and carelessness from those who should be our best it’s like a colorless sunset hollow empty shiny but still somethin’s missin’ life is just dissin’ you and me got to see these leaders and who they really be raisin’ anger makin’ danger riled up fired up lied to free to upset regress and not reset the soul or console the whole of our cities our children all the cryin’ moms does anyone hear the tears they just busy shoutin’ making fear screamin’ for what what do you want take off your mask and task yourself with being someone who is against the grain relieving pain runnin’ away from the insane inane life drain of sin and self of placing humanity on the shelf so your cause won’t die what’s the use if we just abuse and use and consider others refuse to throw away when they refuse to say what i want them to say Lord color us with mercy and grace make space for us to change and stop leaning into feelings and stay here kneeling into releasing the darkness we think is the light color our hearts with love light and truth solid unchangeable unquenchable truth fire that is higher than our silly ways have your way save us from us and deliver us to a new that never dies and that one day will help us to transcend the skies and leave this place of sorrow and woe no more night no more pain tears left behind oh God above make it so make it so we confess our sin leave judgment to you invite you to look within our broken hearts help us to start to say no to lies and yes to your truth oh God have mercy have mercy oh God color our hearts like a sunset singing loud testifying that you are here you entered our pain lived died and rose again HALLELUJAH! won’t you help us down here won’t you help us down here
i don't know about you but there is so much i need to say goodbye to i'll welcome the endings practice some surrendering
it's hard to study all the expectations that are now a pile of eliminations i thought this or that would be the life i would have releasing longings into the fiery ending of this day i guess it will be okay
turns out being free is not about me trying to step aside God are you tired of hearing about my pride set is ablaze like the end of this day i'm tired of getting my way
love and hope sin and shadow peace and stillness heartache and sorrow is there a place deep in the marrow of my soul where all the counterpoint of being human is awakened restored and rises whole
saying goodbye to all that tethers me to this dirt i'd rather stiffen my neck than lift up my eyes stand on my own than fall to my knees search me and know my heart let all the parts of me that you see with grace and mercy
I have been on a three month sabbatical that will end at the end of July. One of my goals during this time was to spend time in New York with my dad and siblings. My previous post came out of my time in New York. In all the years spent growing up on Long Island, and then years going back to visit New York – we have lived in the Midwest since 1988 – I never walked across the Brooklyn Bridge. So, I decided to take a stroll on that beautiful bridge. Here is what I saw, part 1. Thanks for stopping by.
I suppose that I will always be – if not always feel like – a New Yorker. My hometown of East Meadow was right next door to famous Levittown. After WWII, returning vets heard the siren songs of suburban living, and Levittown sang loud and proud.
Not quite sure where East Meadow fits in the swift rise of suburbia, but it mostly likely knew the songs that were in the air.
In 1964, Wilfredo and Carmen purchased a small, two story Cape Cod style home on a corner lot in East Meadow. I’ve always loved the name of our street: Wilson Lane. It has a noble sound befitting my mom and dad. They were poor, could hardly speak English, and were uneducated. Their royalty was in their wisdom, their tenacity and, in full measure, their love.
And you would need love to survive the “dawning of the age of Aquarius” in East Meadow, located in Nassau County, on Long Island, in New York State. Ironically, we were a little island of Puerto Ricans in an ocean of Italian, Irish, and Jewish families. And it was wonderful. I mean, where else could you go to school with Carmine Paradisio – is that a name, or is that a name?! – and then, as a high school student, sing in musicals with members of the local Jewish synagogue. I also grew up with the long, cold shadows of the normalization of hatred and racism.
And about that, I will say this: it wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized that it was difficult for my mom and my dad to live in that white suburban community. I’ll spare you the details of some of the stories, suffice it to say that, by some, we were not welcome. So much so that messages in the form of dog excrement being tossed in the yard was just one of the ways the turbulence of the times reached our corner lot. My mom and dad were silent about it, as far as I can recall. To this day, I truly believe they were teaching me important lessons. Don’t be a person who hates, even if you feel you have every reason to hate. Don’t order your life around those who have struggles in their hearts. Be a person of peace on a small little island in East Meadow in an ocean of turmoil. Peace would also need to make room for suffering, loss, and sorrow on that island. As much as we all want to live and experience life, this life can take so much from us that, even if we are still breathing, it feels like there is no reason to.
Rosalito was her name. Their firstborn. She lived for a few days. My mom mourned her until her last day. This event was the seed of much of my formation, but that’s a story that continues to unfold.
Which, of course, brings us to the present. My mom passed away in 2023 at the age of 97. She passed in the safety of her corner house… her little island in an ocean of love: my dad.
He still lives in that house and, even though my story is being told on the backlot of the Midwest, far from the Atlantic shore I love – more on that later – I have been returning home to be with my family almost every year for…well… 39+ years. And, following the well worn path of my childhood, those visits often included an eastbound trip on the Southern State Parkway to visit Rosalito.
I find that some childhood memories can show up for a visit in vivid, 3-D, surround sound. I find myself taking in the mysteriously beautiful sound of crunching autumn leaves as we brush them from around her tombstone. I can still feel my body sigh in relief as the cold water from a nearby hose washed away the unbearable heat and humidity of a Long Island summer. I can still smell the fresh, winter air as I huddled in my coat while my mom and dad whispered prayers and shed their tears. Home, family, and our little island in East Meadow will, for me, always be associated with death. And that is not a bad thing. It just is.
On this particular visit, a rainy, cold, late May welcomed me back home. Thankfully, a summer like early June won a toss of weather fronts with May. I set aside more than two weeks to be with my dad. We spent a day heading out to the southern tip of Long Island to greet the lighthouse at Montauk Point. A 3 ½ order lens (it sounds like I know what I’m talking about, but I don’t) built in 1902 was recently restored to the tippy top of that lighthouse. In a culture that places unnecessary value on new and improved, it’s comforting to realize that old and traditional can still guide and lead sojourners to light and safety. Of course, we visited Rosalito and Carmen. My mom was finally resting with my sister. We cleared out weeds, took out the artificial flowers that signaled care and love all through winter, and planted fresh, impossibly red flowers. If my mom could speak, she would tell me what the flowers were.
Though uneducated, she was a brilliant “botanist” who could revive any withered leaf, twig or petal and, as if she named each and every one herself, would tell you the name of just about any flower. God created a unique kind of nurturing spirit within her and I think losing her first child only deepened her longing to give and sustain life. Our house was a greenhouse. Green, colorful life was everywhere. And now, my dad made sure that color and life adorned the resting place of his little girl and his bride of over 60 years.
Any pilgrimage back east must include multiple mini-pilgrimages to the southern shores of Long Island. Specifically, Jones Beach.
Like the faithful ostinato from Bach’s Passacaglia and Fugue in C minor, this State Park has always been a part of me. Whether it’s a frigid, windswept winter seascape, or the end of a summer day showing off with a dazzling display of clouds and shafts of light shooting into space, or the slow motion blending and mixing of sunrise colors that Crayola never dreamed existed, this shore has been a place for reflection, prayer, worship and peace. And, every now and then, I hear and see the rocks cry out and tell of a Savior alive in this world.
I enjoyed a mid-morning stroll with my dad along the 2-mile long boardwalk. I marvel at his endurance and determination as he struggles to maintain balance and manage pain while he walks on his two artificial knees.
During a quiet, pre-dawn stroll on the shore, as the sun began to work on its morning art project, I am trying to figure out a way to take the colors right out of the sky and put them in my backpack.
rutakintome pictures 
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