Remembering Abuelo on Good Friday

Lately, I've been having a "spiritual crisis" of sort. I have been questioning my beliefs, and those of my ancestors. You see, my family has always been Catholic. I was born into a Catholic family, in country where the vast majority (90% or more at that time) were also Catholic. To worship differently was to be an outsider.
So, 36 years later, I'm questioning where I am spiritually and where I'd like to be when the day comes to depart this earth.

Wow, that was deep, wasn't it? But this blog isn't about my journey, or my crisis.

For as long as I can remember, Good Friday has been a day of mourning. Even before I really understood what Christians were celebrating during these holy days, I just knew it was a special day.
The whole world would shut down once the Tridiuum began. Holy Thursday marked the beginning as we prepared for the days to come.

As a kid, I was taught on this day, we were to reflect and pray on the sacrifice Jesus made for mankind. There was no secular music on the radio stations, no fighting or shouting at my house. It was a day of prayer.

Abuelo (my maternal grandfather) was a spiritual man but not a religious man. That's not to say he wasn't a believer. He was a man of faith, and he prayed. His temple wasn't a building, it was simply nature. He loved being in nature, and cherish all the things God had given him.

On Good Friday, Abuelo didn't work. He always said it was a day of prayer and reflection. He would rise early, as always, and without saying a word, he would go outside for his Good Friday ritual. I'm not sure what the ritual was about or what exactly he did. All I know is this was his quiet time with God and he took it very seriously.

Abuelo grew up in the mountains, where the nearest church was at least a day away, and you had to ride a horse to the main road before you could find a bus to ride to town. So attending church wasn't something he did regularly, even when transportation became more available.

But he lived his 93 years of life by the Golden Rule: Love your neighbor as yourself, and God above all things. He helped strangers and family alike. He was kind to people, and thankful of the blessings God gave him. He didn't need to be in church every Sunday to know that God was just a prayer away.

So today, on Good Friday, I'm thinking of Abuelo. He knew that his salvation was not coming from a building where a man presided over the service. He never doubted his salvation would come from the one who died on the Cross. I miss Abuelo. But I'm certain he is finally home and rejoicing in the presence of his Savior.

Memories

It's funny how some smells can bring back a flood of memories.

Coffee and gardenias take me back to my childhood. I was fortunate to spend a lot of time with my grandparents. I didn't know then how much I would cherish the memories I made there.

Every morning for more than 60 years, my Grandfather started his mornings the same way. He would grind the coffee beans he had harvested in his backyard, and make coffee. The smell of freshly brewed coffee takes me back to those beautiful mornings. Before he had any coffee, he would bring Abuela a cup of coffee to bed. Every morning for more than 60 years.

He would go on about his morning routine, feed the chickens, and start his day; while Abuela made breakfast. She would let me help her and made me feel so special. She put so much love into cooking, maybe that's why her food was always so good. That's where I get my love for cooking.

After breakfast, Abuela and I would go out and water her plants. She has a beautiful garden, even now. She would tell me all about all her plants, where she got them from, how long she's had them, when they bloom. I loved the smell of the gardenias and even now, they remind me of Abuela.

It's funny how as we get older, some memories come back more often. For me, the happy memories of my times in el Cope, with my grandparents, are one of my most treasured times.