Category Archives: Family Spirituality

Each religious tradition holds water sacred. In the Judeo-Christian scriptures, it’s mentioned 722 times, beginning with Genesis 1:2, “The earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.” The New Testament concludes with Revelations 22:17, “let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.” 

Jesus used water to heal, and in John 4:10-15, he speaks with the woman at the well. There he refers to “a spring of water welling up to eternal life,” or the God-life within. St. Francis prayed, “Be praised, My Lord, through Sister Water; she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure.” The Koran states, “From water we have made all things.”

But what about the 771 million people around the world–1 in 10—who lack access to safe water at home? And the 1.7 billion — 1 in 4 people — who don’t have access to a toilet?  Commenting on the scarcity of clean drinking water,  actor Matt Damon said during a panel discussion at Forbes’ annual Philanthropy Summit, “This particular problem is solvable during our lifetime. It’s just about bringing the energy to bear.” Oddly heartening to see someone more familiar from the big screen trudging through scenes of desperate poverty, eagerly discussing ways to change.

Damon is the co-founder of Water.org, which has offices and staff members in Bangladesh, India, Indonesia, Kenya, Peru and the Philippines. To date, they have brought water and sanitation to 58 million people through their small loan programs, which are paid back at a rate of 98%, according to the founders. People living in poverty use these loans to put a tap or toilet in their homes.

In an interview with ABC News April 19, 2023, Damon explained how in studying poverty, he came to see that water undergirded everything. The grinding, daily search for it robbed girls of their potential; providing it unshackled them from drudgery. (https://abcnews.go.com/International/video/power-water-mexicos-water-warriors-98711382)

Before Water.org, millions of people were waiting for rain, paying high prices (some 20% of their income) for water from vendors or collecting water from unsafe natural sources. Those options cost families in time, money, opportunities and health. Now, Water. Org works with financial institutions, international nonprofits, United Nations agencies, and governments to increase affordable access to safe water.

Women are disproportionately impacted by clean water scarcity. World-wide, they collectively spend 200 million hours a day collecting water. But if girls and women aren’t spending all day walking to a water source and carrying it home, their days are freed for attending school or tending a small business, thus quickly repaying the loan to the family.

In the case of a young Kenyan girl named Meuni, when water had to be transported from a nearby stream, it often made her family sick, so she had to miss school. But her mother took out a loan for a rainwater tank that improved their health, and gave her daughter the chance to attend school rather than spend time lugging water. Or consider Edme, who traveled an hour round-trip, 3 or 4 times a day, to get the family’s drinking water and carry it in a plastic jug on her head.

Chief among the 11 countries Water.org serves are India, Indonesia, Cambodia, the Philippines and Kenya. The nonprofit is among the 2% of charities that have received the highest ratings from Charity Navigator for 11 years. According to their website, (https://water.org): “Water is the best investment the world can make to reduce disease, increase family income, keep girls in school, and change lives.”

Watch a few of the uplifting videos on their website, and you may not take that next glass from the tap, or that next flush, for granted.

Full disclosure: my son-in-law recently became CFO for Water.org.

Register for an online Advent Day of Prayer with Kathy Coffey December 2:

 https://futurechurch.org/event/?=272  (free will offering)

“Hypocrites! Does not each one of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his ass from the manger and lead it out for watering?

This daughter of Abraham, whom Satan has bound for eighteen years now, ought she not to have been set free on the sabbath day from this bondage?” (Luke 13:15-16)

The seventh and eighth graders at Samantha’s parochial school in Denver were part of the input-gathering process before the recent synod of Catholic leaders in Rome. Asked what issues were important, they—like many counterparts in parishes around the US—said, “the role of women, clerical sexual abuse, and outreach to the L.G.B.T.Q. community.” After a massive amount of time, energy, and money spent on the October meeting in Rome, the results are now in. Yawn.

After a  month of discussion and a year of preparation, “the final text calls for further theological or canonical study, evaluation or consideration at least 20 times.” https://www.ncronline.org/vatican/vatican-news/news/popes-major-vatican-summit-ends-without-action-women-deacons-mention. In other words, not much happened. No inspiration to action. No definitive, inspiring statements. No changes in tedious-business-as-usual.

Those with lots of patience can tune in next October, when the whole expensive production recurs. The rest of us can agree with Richard Rohr who said in another context, “men tend to have a more defended ego structure” and can stay in “Delay, Stall, or Pause forever.” (The Naked Now, p. 50) Sorry, Samantha.

Wiser sorts have presented a more optimistic, nuanced view, which follows below. But I keep toying with a bold, audacious alternative, which risks criticism: what if the 350 bishops had ditched their red beanies, chartered a plane, and stood with the children of Gaza instead? My guess is if you’d asked the ordinary person-in-the-street sort, grabbing lunch at Kentucky Fried Chicken, what they thought of the Synod, they’d have stared at you blankly.

But they might recognize an international effort to help the Israelis cope more humanely and proportionately with their own loss of life by protecting Palestinian civilians. What if every bishop and lay delegate had driven a truck carrying food, water and medicine into the enclave? That probably would’ve been cheaper than the synod, and have spoken more clearly the gospel message to the world.

Trying to be fair, other voices have spoken in favor of subtler dynamics operative at the synod. Before it began, Dominican Timothy Radcliffe gave a retreat with this theme: “So the foundation of all we shall do in this synod should be the friendships we create. It does not look like much. It will not make headlines in the media. ‘They came all that way to Rome to make friends. What a waste!’ But it is by friendship that we will make the transition from ‘I’ to ‘We.’”

Some, like James Martin, SJ writing in America, thought that the synod’s real achievement was lay people joining in discussion, everyone on an equal footing. Perhaps for some bishops, who haven’t quite gotten the idea that women can contribute intelligently, that’s important—and 50 female delegates (15% of the body) did, for the first time, have a vote. But it’s also sadly out of touch with the realities of our century, this process like molasses on ice.

Skirting the burning issue of women’s ordination, the pious flummery of the final statement declares that women’s contributions should “be recognized and valued, and their pastoral leadership increase in all areas.” And what about the two commissions that have already studied the women’s diaconate? No reports?

Martin does admit his disappointment over the lack of any mention of the term “L.G.B.T.Q.” in the final synthesis, called “A Synodal Church on Mission.” Despite emotional debate, the final report largely glossed over the tensions that emerged at the tables. It offered a carrot: those who feel ostracized because of their gender orientation should “feel safe, be heard and respected, without being judged,” after being “hurt and neglected” (15f).

As for the sexual abuse crisis, the document suggests exploring another structure, not relying on bishops to investigate cases. Haven’t some of us joked for twenty years about the wolf guarding the hen house?

Some may relate to a final comment from Michael Sean Winters: “The synodal process needs to make sure it is not hijacked by professional Catholics, those with the time, training and interest to exercise co-responsibility — people like you, dear reader, and me. As a class, we can become insufferable. The B+ Catholics, even the D+ Catholics, need to be engaged on their terms if this synodal process is to be small ‘c’ Catholic.” Think they’ll recruit us D+ sorts next year?

Register for an online Advent Day of Prayer with Kathy Coffey December 2:

 https://futurechurch.org/event/?=272  (free will offering)

The feasts of all saints and all souls once clearly delineated between the officially canonized, and others who’ve died. Now I’m not so sure about that hard, fast distinction. I’d prefer to think of heaven as those singing slightly off-key belting out tunes with Maria Callas, Mozart conducting the orchestra. Or my dad, who specialized in the Russian novel, having earnest discussions with Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky about their themes. Dualistic thinking is bad enough in this life; let’s not project it onto the next. The Communion of Saints is a broadly inclusive concept referring to all people in this life and eternity. Or as Thomas Merton put it in Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander: “the gate of heaven is everywhere.”

In this time and space, I sometimes wonder if Zumba class is a gate or a preview. All these women, with various shapes, ethnicities, ages and sizes are dancing and whooping together: from Asia, Afghanistan, Africa and all over the US. Muslim women shed their burkas in the dressing room, and enjoy what may be a rare chance to exercise freely. Our Ukrainian teacher, on their Independence Day, wears her distinctive blue and yellow t-shirt, socks and cap, weeping as she plays their national anthem. We may not all know each other’s names, but we energize each other, commiserate during the strenuous numbers, and would in a minute help anyone who fell or flagged. In his splendid book AWE, author and professor Dacher Keltner names it “collective effervescence.”

It’s an improbable chorus line, usually moving right or left together, but no guarantees whether we’ll stick out an arm or a foot when cued. Having been trained too long in perfectionism (trudging grimly, carrying the whole burden), I like the playful, shared sloppiness of it. As my favorite author Richard Rohr points out, when we don’t realize we’re part of a larger whole, we take our small part too seriously. It’s not about figuring it out alone, or doing it perfectly by myself. All I gotta do is participate in God’s life, stand in the stream of mercy.

What a relief! This may be a long stretch from Zumba, but I’m greatly comforted by the idea that “My holiness is, first of all—and really only—God’s, and that’s why it is certain and secure. It is a participation…not an achievement or performance.” (Rohr, A Spring Within Us, pp. 289-90.) I guess this is why I value teachers in the company of saints (e.g., all of us) who are positive and uplifting, not ranting and finger-pointing. After hearing too many condemning sermons, I’ll take my spot with the awkward chorus line, dancing, elevating their heart rates, laughing at mistakes and doing it again next week.  

What intrigues about this story is that the five women martyred in Liberia in 1992 had a chance to escape. They left the violent civil war in 1990, returned to safety in Illinois, but made the decision to re-enter the craziness of maniacal military leader Charles Taylor, armed rogue bands, fire ants, and child soldiers.

Why? The sisters who knew them respond: they had work to do: teaching poor, illiterate women, staffing medical clinics, counseling high school students with PTSD who’d been forced to kill in the war. Over and over, a theme recurs: their love for the Liberian people, their desire to share their lot. Brief biographies:

Sister Barbara Mutra was a nurse specializing in prenatal and infant care. In a previous assignment, she reduced infant mortality from 80% to 20%, from two deaths a week to two a year. By 1990, 40,000 civilians in Monrovia, the capital city had died of starvation. Barbara would commandeer vehicles to bring Catholic Relief Services food and medicine to hungry children, bribing the guards at checkpoints with spearmint gum.

Sister Agnes Mueller taught Liberian women to read. Before she came, one said, “I didn’t think I had a brain and could learn.” Agnes was grateful for “learnings in pain, vulnerability and suffering,” which she might not have experienced in another culture.

Sister Joel Kolmer was especially fearless about returning to Liberia, saying, “it’s impossible for fear and love to occupy the same place in one’s heart.” An elementary school teacher, she waved her red and white baseball cap embroidered “Slick Chick” during a terrifying interrogation by a rebel soldier.

Sister Kathleen McGuire prompted her motherhouse in Illinois to break the law and become the only Catholic organization in the area to offer sanctuary to Cuban and Central American refugees in 1985. A PhD in education, Kathleen wrote, “My work…is to breathe a little life into those I know, help them to come to be a little more fully, a little more freely who they are. And knowing, then, their own grace and beauty, be able to guess at the beauty and graciousness of their Father.”

Sister Shirley Kolmer, a PhD in Math, first went to the University of Liberia on a Fulbright. Her argument for returning: Terrible conditions were exactly why they should go back. She began the counseling program at their high school for boys pressed into war, both perpetrators and victims.

William Twaddell, US ambassador to Liberia, wrote in a telegram confirming the deaths that the sisters were “acting in the most noble tradition of their order and their faith. The safety and welfare of the wounded and defenseless motivated them and were their only concerns in the midst of war.” And aren’t we the lucky ones, to have their bright lights shining on our paths?

Excerpted from When the Saints Came Marching In by Kathy Coffey, Liturgical Press, http://www.litpress.org

I must admit to avoiding detective series—until two friends recommended “Unforgotten,” streaming on PBS. What a delightful discovery there–police who are gentle, compassionate and humane. And it’s stimulating to follow twisted plots and random clues that seem to lead to dead ends, but eventually result in closure.

I know. It’s fiction. And it’s British, so even an interrogation can seem mildly conversational, and even a psychopath can ask for a cuppa as he’s being accused. Remarkably the star detective is as fair and decent to suspects as she is to victims. She and her partner accomplish brilliant work never once using guns, flashing lights or sirens, only the power of their wits.

The pattern of the episodes is: accidentally finding a body buried for 30-40 years, prompting a revisit to the cold case. Then we see three or four people with their families and careers, leading ordinary and sometimes exemplary lives in different parts of Britain. (The scenery an added bonus.) The viewer wonders what could possibly connect these disparate threads, but they come together as all the people become suspects. Sometimes the scrutiny unveils other unfortunate things they’ve done, but not murder. Sometimes, it pinpoints the murderer. But clever writing keeps us guessing, trying to piece together the little we know, admiring the detectives who finally pull it all together.

Nicola Walker, who plays detective Cassie Stuart, and Sanjeev Bhaskar, her partner Sunil Khan head a team exploring tedious mountains of information as well as discovering sudden brilliant connections. In the case of a missing girl, Cassie cautions them, “Tread very gently.” Although she doesn’t pontificate about her work, occasional comments unveil her motivation. In this case, she explains “somewhere parents are suffering unimaginable pain.” She becomes so close to the mother and sister of the girl that she takes up a collection to bring home the remains in a lovely coffin, and tenderly brings flowers to the burial site.

I was especially touched by an episode where the team gradually discovers that three people abused as children killed their abusers many years ago. In the meantime, they have become a nurse, a high school teacher and an attorney trying to adopt a girl he and his partner clearly love. Cassie asks Sunil what purpose it would serve to send them to prison when they’ve been suffering all their lives. The story powerfully depicts the life-long traumatic effects of child abuse, especially when the victims reveal it to their families. In all the cases, the crime has been a secret kept from even the most supportive and sympathetic spouses. The two detectives make a wise decision to not pursue charges.

On the other hand, when two suspects in a particularly grisly murder and dismemberment are fellow police officers, the detectives agree, “Let’s do it by the book.” It’s a refreshing departure from the police corruption that’s surfaced in the US recently.

Although Nicola Walker doesn’t play a role in the most recent series, there’s a stunning contrast between her vulnerable humanity and the lack of feeling in one murderer she pursues. Normally, she’s calm and professional. But as he reveals, almost proudly, the number of young women he’s raped and murdered, and displays the places he buries them, she falters. Her partner subtly takes over the questioning, as Cassie surreptitiously wipes away tears. Exhausted, she makes a mistake in that investigation, forgetting a confidential folder at a coffee shop where’s she’s been working. A seemingly small error can have huge consequences, which lead to the odd reassurance of a “tough cop” weeping in the ladies’ room. The job also takes its toll on her personal life, as she struggles to cope with a dad falling into dementia, prod a son who can’t seem to get a job, and find time for an understanding boyfriend.

While there is nothing about the series that’s explicitly religious, humans have loved stories since Eve first hooked her kids with “Once upon a time…” And we love to cheer for the imaginative, plucky, persistent good.

Leticia Padilla was initially inspired by Laudato Si’ in 2015, so it seems appropriate to see how she put it into action as Pope Francis publishes a new document on the environment October 4. It’s fitting he chose the feast of St. Francis for this publication, as St. Francis saw all creation as a sanctuary. This week continues 3 more of her “5 R’s” begun last week.

Reuse

“In my house, we repair everything. The three kids (now young adults) have been raised since kindergarten on a steady diet of dinner table discussions about sustainability. They know how to sew, mend and fix what’s broken,” Leticia says. “Life is so much easier when you just quit buying.” Her daughter majored in environmental studies, and now works at the Ecology Center in Berkeley CA.

Rot

The answer to Leticia’s question seems obvious: “Food waste rotting in landfills releases methane gas into the atmosphere, which contributes to climate change. Why not let it feed our gardens and nurture us?” Her daughter designed and with her dad built a master composter for their home, and Leticia introduced the practice to their parish campus. As a high school Home Economics teacher, she taught students to shop wisely for food, to minimize food waste and to repair their clothes. She taught All Saints elementary school students to separate food waste and compost in the school garden. “The garden is my happy place,” she smiles, and when the Padillas grow too much food for their own family, off it goes to the food bank or All Saints parish.

But she also notes the importance of an infrastructure to support her practices. In California, Senate Bill 1383, passed in 2016, set a goal of diverting 75% of organic waste (about 27 million tons) away from landfills by 2025. Nonprofits like Second Harvest also collect unused food from grocery stores and restaurants, channeling it to hungry people.

Recycle

“I’m done living with blinders on,” Leticia says. “We can’t recycle ourselves out of this mess.” Cardboard and paper can be recycled, but not plastic which disintegrates into tiny particles (microplastics) that killed twenty elephants who ingested it at a landfill in Sri Lanka. Preparing infant formula in a plastic bottle degrades the bottle, so babies drink a kind of plastic soup. And the research isn’t yet in on how microplastics which contain suspected carcinogens might affect our diets and health.

As long as companies continue to churn out single-use plastics, we’ll poison the environment for the sake of dubious convenience. As Matt Simon explains in his book, A Poison Like No Other: How Microplastics Corrupted Our Planet and Our Bodies, “we’re trying to drain the tub without turning off the tap. And it wasn’t so long ago that humans got along fine without plastic.” The Padilla family, in fact, went waste-free for three years—due to their habits, no trash service needed.

If all life and all God’s creation are sacred, so too are even our smallest efforts to care for them. Surely God who created fog-feathering redwoods, vast oceans and glistening mountains can’t idly watch beloved humans foul their home, destroy their health and ruin their planet. Ever the courteous parent, God sends scientific researchers, conscientious citizens, and Leticia Padillas. 

Annual global production of plastic? Over 800 billion pounds

The Great Pacific Garbage Patch? 600 thousand sq. miles between CA and Hawaii, roughly 1.8 trillion plastic shards

Greatest polluters? North Americans produce 500 lbs. of plastic waste a year, twice as much as the average European, 16 times as much as the average Indian

National Sword? the 2017 policy whereby China refused imports of “foreign garbage,” leaving the west with plastic they couldn’t get rid of  

Largest producers of plastic? The fossil fuel industry. “Exxon Mobil, the world’s fourth largest oil company is also the largest producer of virgin polymers.”

“A Trillion Little Pieces,” by Elizabeth Kolbert, New Yorker, 7/3/23, 24-27.

If the reader feels like I do–drowning in plastic crap that leaches nasty chemicals into our food and ocean–take heart. One woman stands stalwart against the tide. Leticia Padilla, bilingual mother of three young adults and barely five feet tall, could be the patron saint of sustainability. If we all did even half of what she does, there might be hope for humans!

She was initially inspired by Laudato Si’ when she read it in 2015, so it seems appropriate, as we anticipate Pope Francis’ new document on the environment October 4, to see how one family could adjust its lifestyle to reduce their use of single-use plastics. I ask Leticia for the “dummy’s guide,” 5 things any moron could do to reduce plastic pollution. She suggests the Five R’s:

Refuse. The E.P.A recommends we avoid single-use plastic altogether, since the chances of a bottle or bag winding up in landfill or the ocean are high. Before buying anything, Leticia and her family ask questions that might have come from the early Christian abbesses and monks, “Do I really need this? And what do I do with it when I get it home?” She thinks we must speak directly to the producers of items we are purchasing and demand they change. (Why, for instance, must Costco wrap my small jar of face cream in an impenetrable layer of plastic and a huge chunk of cardboard?)

For essentials like groceries, she provides her own containers, buys bulk foods, and saves a fortune. Much of what we pay for is a container we don’t need; the spices in a $5 jar might be worth only 60 cents. She consistently gets off the mailing lists for catalogues and junk mail; even though paper is recyclable, that still takes an industrial process.

Reduce. Leticia once went a year and a half without buying any personal items (clothes, make-up, accessories, household items). Her husband runs the only green pallet company in California, recycling wood with an electric grinder, making wood chips for ground cover. Unfortunately, there is no meaningful way to recycle plastic; the only way to reduce it is to cut off the sources. Predictably, oil/plastic producing companies lobby intensely against alternatives. But in a bright banner of hope, Leticia is a “gleaner.” At first that sounds like a Biblical term (wasn’t that how Ruth met Boaz?). In California it means ringing doorbells and asking owners for the fruit rotting on their trees: oranges, pears and plums that can go to the food bank. She belongs to the Forestr organization https://www.forestr.org/ that has gleaned over 73,534 lbs. of food. One owner of a huge, 27-year old citrus tree expressed her thanks to the gleaning team, doing a job that would be impossible for an individual. Forestr also starts urban farms, collects litter and develops pocket parks.

Three more “R’s” to be continued next week…

Some of us pounce on the punch line. An inept gardener, I’m thrilled when a plant blooms in spite of me. There in my raggedy, bug-bitten patch, a scarlet spike, a creamy-crimson rose! I s’pose I could worry about being the choked or withered seed, but fretting about anxiety seems redundant.  

Even seasoned farmers must leave a lot to chance—they can’t control the weather, weeds, or various calamities that could befall something as small and unprotected as a seed. The crop, like our lives, must rely heavily on grace.

The stretch from metaphor to experience shouldn’t be too long. Against the wildly improbable odds, the Word sometimes blossoms in us. In every setting—filling stations, hospitals, prisons, bars, retirement centers, offices, stores—kindness flowers. Teachers, addiction counsellors, social workers, parents, therapists, spiritual directors all focus on peoples’ innate goodness and try to reflect it back. 

So maybe today’s parable, brought to us by Luke, is about the slow, mysterious working of unearned grace. Even through our cracks and weeds and fissures, a green shoot can sometimes sprout. “God, who gives life to all things” (1 Tim 6:13) compensates for flaws.

Jesus, ever the storyteller, knew how to make a dramatic point. Once mistaken for a gardener, (Jn. 20:15) he also told the parable of wheat and weeds growing up together in a non-dualistic field (Mt. 13:24-43). Facing opposition and betrayal, Jesus modeled how to learn from the thirsty deserts and dark crevices of negative experience.

And he might reach into our rockiest chasms to retrieve the frail and fragile tendril.

Kathy Coffey, “Grace in the Garden,” from the September 2023 issue of Give Us This Day http://www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN) 888-259-8470

After I watched a few episodes of “Astrid,” a French detective series streaming on PBS, I asked the nun-friend who’d recommended it, “Will it always be this dark?” She replied cheerily, “every episode starts with a murder.”

Usually murder mysteries aren’t my style, but this one has intriguing elements beyond the gory details. What I like best is the developing friendship between Police Commander Raphaelle Coste and Astrid, who is on the spectrum. Coste quickly realizes that Astrid thinks differently and sees things that “neurotypicals” miss. Wisely, she brings her to crime scenes where neither woman flinches at the bloody corpse. Astrid then works as an archivist in the police records department to uncover relevant cases; she has a photographic memory of files, and arranges evidence visually in a private room. There, she demonstrates an intelligence that breaks the mold, reaching her conclusions in solitude. A childhood fascination with puzzles surfaces when she treats each crime as a matter of fitting clues together precisely.

Gradually, Raphaelle invites Astrid to tea, then dinner. They exchange symbolic gifts, and become friendlier without some of the usual social cues. (Astrid hates being touched; it’s a real breakthrough when she gradually learns to touch Raphaelle’s hand as she lies in the hospital after a gunshot wound, and finally lets Raphaelle hug her, towards the end of the first series. Surprisingly, she smiles with joy.)

Astrid’s habits of punctuality and pristine order serve her well. In a complicated and perhaps implausible ploy, on the verge of being kidnapped, she arranges files in her workroom startlingly out of place, which Raph notices she’d never do. They send a signal as Bach once did, translating musical notes to letters and spelling out Astrid’s kidnapper’s name.

Like refugees in another country, Astrid’s social skills group–people on the spectrum–meet regularly to discuss how to function in the neurotypical world, how to read cues in another language. They may not understand jokes or social signals, but several are geniuses at computers, their skills helping the police unravel some baffling murders. Without spoiling the end of the second series, they come through like champions for wrongfully imprisoned Astrid and Raphaelle, brilliantly helping to solve a crime.

My nun-friend was sad when the second series ended; so was I, mightily impressed by the deep humanity of the show. But hope springs: a third series has been completed in France and awaits translation for export to the US. On the horizon: a brightness for the long winter nights?

At first, it sounds depressing. A squatters’ village of 5000 women and children, 50 miles from Guatemala City, without electricity, clean water or sewage treatment, with violence endemic. As some mothers in the US buy Barbie notebooks and backpacks, choose cute clothing for Back-to-School, mothers here rotate days when each child can eat, spreading out the meagre food.

But stay tuned: el salitre means “salt,” which has a rich resonance in Christian scripture. (See Matthew 5:13-16.) It’s the juice, the spark, the seasoning when everything seems tasteless. Now the women of the settlement are working to transform their community for generations to come, providing food, child care and meaningful work. In partnership with North American women, they are learning vital sewing and embroidery skills, earning enough to provide not only material support, but to give them hope and confidence in their own creativity and entrepreneurship.

Hear the story in their own words.

• Judith, the sole provider for her family: “I worked first as a maid and then as a factory worker and had difficulty feeding my children. With this work I am able to feed my children, keep them in school, and have returned to school myself.”
• Lety: “I never attended school and have learned to read and write on my own since joining the cooperative, where I [also] learned to sew and embroider. With my work from the Center we are able to feed our children and keep the oldest two in school. If I successfully continue this work, the two smaller boys will be able to start school when they are old enough.” [Her photo in the annual report shows her holding smartly decorated tennis shoes and beaming.]
• Betsy Wack, board president: “in 2016, five of us asked five women living in intractable poverty, ‘How can we help?’ By 2022, we’d completed a new building, surrounded by a security fence, where ten women work and an educational center cares for 25 children. By now, the children no longer look malnourished, the women have bank accounts, health insurance and retirement benefits. They are poised to welcome new colleagues whom they’ll train on electric sewing machines.”

The products are marketed in Antiguan stores and on their website: www.elsalitrecenter.com. Vivid colors, sustainable natural fibers, and intricate hand embroidery make their clothing, purses and shoes immediately stand out from what we normally buy off the rack.  Besides, that purse has a story! How many people can boast that their shirt, pants or shoes are keeping children from starvation? Or that they’ve joined the noble effort to “transform lives, one stitch at a time”?

Full disclosure: Betsy Wack has been a dear friend since high school, and for several years, I’ve deeply admired this, her generous, dangerous, crazy, wise adventure.

Grandparents Day is September 10 & the perfect gift is Kathy Coffey’s latest book, A Generous Lap: A Spirituality of Grandparenting, is available from Orbis Press, 800-258-5838

A Generous Lap: A Spirituality of Grandparenting