By:

Bonnie D’Souza

owner of love that ripples, shalom wellness fair vendor

Three years ago, I stood at my first vendor table at the inaugural Shalom Wellness Fair, my face sweaty and my hands slightly trembling as I arranged my materials. I remember both the hopefulness and uncertainty I carried. Who would stop by? Would I find the words to share what I offered? Would this community embrace the healing work I was still learning to name? I also remember the trust I held that I would cross paths with just the right people.

What I didn’t know then was that somewhere in that gathering, I would be placed next to and meet Krista, a nurse practitioner who, nearly a year later, would become one of my own healthcare providers. At the time, I didn’t know her as that, I just knew she had a kind heart and quiet presence.

One thing I’ve come to understand from this fair is that the significance of a connection isn’t always visible in the moment it’s made.

What unfolded that day, and in the years since, has been a beautiful divine orchestration.

There was something quietly electric about that first fair. As a vendor and, I suspect, for the guests as well, there was a subtle excitement in being part of something inaugural — a new gathering, a new space being woven into the life of this community. Shalom has always held a welcoming energy, and that first fair was no exception. It felt less like a marketplace and more like an invitation.

I returned the following year, and the year after that. Each time I arrived as a different version of myself, with my work and my understanding of it, continuing to unfold. Perhaps that’s what sacred spaces do, hold us while we grow into who we’re meant to become.

At the second fair, I met Sue. We realized quickly that we had crossed paths before, a thread between us, though neither of us could place exactly where or when. Months after the fair, she reached out to me. For me, it came out of the blue, but Sue had a knowing that I was the right person to help her navigate some difficult terrain she was moving through. I was surprised, and deeply honored.

The day of her initial healing session, she brought along a scrap of paper from the first time we had met, on which I had written my name and phone number. How strange it was to see that note in her hand!

What has unfolded through our relationship has taught me things I didn’t expect. We’ve had regular sessions, yes, but we’ve also worked side by side on a few of her home renovation projects: doing physical labor together, problem-solving, resting when needed, talking deeply in between. She’s taught me about planning, taking action, and adjusting when plans shift. She’s taught me about working smart and protecting the body, about endurance, about how enjoyable it is to do hard things alongside someone with whom real conversation can happen. Our relationship has grown into friendship, and into the kind of mutual exchange that I find most nourishing.

I couldn’t have predicted any of it, standing at my table that second year.

At last summer’s fair, my third, I met Tina. We had a lovely conversation, and she won my giveaway. But the story of our meeting is one I love to tell, because it illustrates something I believe deeply about the way meaningful connections unfold.

Tina approached my table while I was talking with Becky, a dear colleague I came to know through a beautiful thread of coincidence a couple years prior. With surprise and delight, I got to witness Becky and Tina standing at my table at the same time, reconnecting after many years. They had gone to high school together and were even friends back then! In Dubuque it’s not uncommon to bump into someone you know. But they hadn’t known they’d both be there; Becky doesn’t even live here anymore. And yet, there they were, reunited at the Shalom Wellness Fair, beside my table.

I can’t help but wonder how many invisible threads were already woven between us before any of us arrived that day.

Tina and I have continued to connect since then. She was so moved by our conversations that she gifted sessions with me to her closest friends for Christmas. We’re now in the early stages of exploring how we might collaborate in ways that serve our communities. And as is so often true in this work, I suspect we are only at the beginning of understanding what our connection is for. It’s deeper than a collaboration.

This is something I’ve come to trust: people find me, and sometimes they come back — not immediately, but when the time is right. Maybe months, a year later or sometimes even longer. It always moves me when that happens, when someone reaches out and says, “I’ve been thinking about this. I think I’m ready.” It speaks to the kind of trust that I hold with great care. I’ll be honest — I’m not always patient with that unfolding.

There are moments when I’d like to know sooner how things will take shape. But I continue to learn that the timing is rarely mine to determine.

What I’ve also learned is that the fair itself is a kind of invitation to patience. You don’t come to find answers. You come to explore, to sample the energy of the practitioners and service providers who are selected with care. You come to hear about what they are offering in our community and to discover an unexpected resonance or notice it’s the absence, which is equally useful. For me as a vendor, I’ve shifted over the years from offering a list of healing modalities that are mostly unknown to those visiting my table to something simpler and more honest: an openness to hear where someone is, and to share, gently, how what I do might serve them there. Particularly now, as I focus more intentionally on supporting those navigating end-of-life — their own, or that of someone they love — that kind of right-fit conversation matters more than ever.

I don’t know who will stop at my table this year. I never do. This July, I’ll return to Shalom for the 4th Annual Wellness Fair, and I’ll bring with me everything these years have woven together. The nurse practitioner I didn’t know I’d need. The friendship built through sessions and old insulation and deep conversation. The unexpected reunion at my booth, and the slow-blooming collaboration still finding its shape.

I find myself wondering what connections are waiting to unfold this year and what conversations will plant seeds we don’t even know we’re ready to receive.

You might come knowing exactly what you’re looking for. Or you might come simply curious, drawn by something you can’t quite name. Either way, I invite you to consider this: You don’t yet know who you’ll meet. You don’t know which person or table you’ll almost walk past before something stops you. You don’t know what conversation will surface months from now, when you least expect it, and remind you of something you needed to hear. I didn’t know any of that, the first time I stood trembling at my table.

Come to Shalom on July 11th. Walk the space. Let yourself be drawn to whatever calls you. The Shalom Wellness Fair is, at its heart, a community, with each of us arriving with something to offer and something to receive. There will be many of us there, each holding something a little different, each genuinely glad you came. I’d be honored to be among the people you meet that day. Wherever our paths lead from there, I trust it will be exactly right.

Learn more about Shalom’s 4th Annual Wellness Fair

REFLECTION:

Is there someone who entered your life in an unexpected way whose presence shaped you in ways you couldn’t have anticipated?

What skill, story, or way of seeing are you carrying right now that someone in your community might be waiting to encounter?

By:

Father Mario Domínguez

Franciscan Associate, guatemala

See Spanish translation below — Consulte la traducción al español a continuación

Saving oneself or offering oneself in a pandemic situation. Where is perfect Joy?

It was during the time of the pandemic (Covid-19), when, for preventive measures, confinement in homes was decreed. Commerce stopped; the streets were empty. Church buildings were closed and the sacramental life of the faithful was reduced to virtual participation.

People began to die, among them, dear, irreplaceable friends. We all secluded ourselves. Fear arose, and extreme measures were put in place for distancing to avoid contagion.

In that time of such circumstances and needs, the Word of God appealed to my conscience. Meditating on the quote from Mt. 10:39: "Whoever finds his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for me will find it," I thought I couldn't stay locked up without taking care of the spiritual needs of the people who needed me. I had to lose my fear and to look for ways to support, accompany, and strengthen them.

In the parish, we began to distribute food until our funds ran out, thinking that the pandemic would last only a short time. The money was indeed depleted, but the pandemic continued.

We began to pray every night, before the exposed Blessed Sacrament. People started to connect with us, sharing their names and their prayers. Some time later, people commented to me how much comfort they received in those moments! The holy hours went on for two years, night after night, as we prayed and prayed.

I began to visit the sick when they requested it and celebrated with them the Sacrament of the Sick. Many had Covid-19, although their relatives preferred to tell me that it was pneumonia. I also offered prayers for the deceased, in funeral homes and in private residences, regardless of ecclesiastical jurisdiction. The important thing was to bring God's comfort.

To administer the Sacrament of Reconciliation, since it was not possible inside the church building, I went out to the atrium, armed with a small screen made of PVC pipes and lined with transparent plastic. On Thursdays and Saturdays, many people came. The two hours, sometimes three, that I dedicated to it were insufficient.

The most painful experiences were: praying and saying goodbye by video call to a parishioner brother, already in agony, and encouraging him in his passing; visiting and giving the last rites and viaticum to a brother priest who died in the early morning; waiting for the body of another brother priest outside the hospital and accompanying him to the grave, with all the restrictions and care imposed by the authorities; and offering the prayers for the deceased for another brother priest from afar, at the entrance to the cemetery, because that was the only way possible.

I also recorded daily meditations for about 150 days and sent them via WhatsApp to all the contacts I had. The purpose was to accompany, strengthen, and encourage. We made some videos with those same topics and posted them on the parish’s Facebook page.

Why do I share all of this? To meditate on the theme of "Perfect Joy" through a personal experience.

In the face of a pandemic and the possibility of contagion and likely death, the logical thing to do is to seclude yourself and to take care of yourself. Yet, the Word of God questioned me so that, at that moment, I could not be afraid. I couldn't "save my life" because that would be to lose it. That made me leave my fears behind and go out and bring God's comfort to sick people and their families.

That experience helped me to live life with greater intensity, to celebrate it every day. It also helped me to be a little freer. Joy arose from letting go of the fear of contagion and death, in this specific situation of the pandemic; and without ceasing to be careful with my health, to see an opportunity to give myself, offering what from my priestly ministry I could give, consolation and the closeness of God. I am thankful for that.

REFLECTION:

Perfect joy is a gratuitous gift. When have you received the capacity to respond positively in a difficult situation?

¿En dónde está la Alegría perfecta?

By:

Padre Mario Domínguez

Franciscan Associate, guatemala

Guardarse u ofrecerse en una situación de pandemia. ¿En dónde está la Alegría perfecta?

 Fue en los tiempos de pandemia (Covid-19), cuando por medidas preventivas, se decretó el confinamiento en las casas. Se detuvo el comercio, las calles quedaron vacías. Los templos se cerraron y la vida sacramental de los fieles se redujo a la participación virtual.

Comenzaron a morir personas, entre ellos, amigos entrañables, insustituibles. Todos nos recluimos. Surgió el miedo, los distanciamientos y medidas para evitar el contagio se hicieron extremas.

 En tales circunstancias y necesidades, la Palabra de Dios, me llamó a la conciencia. Meditando la cita de Mt. 10, 39: “El que encuentre su vida, la perderá; y el que pierda su vida por mí, la encontrará”, pensé que no podía quedarme encerrado sin atender las necesidades espirituales de las personas que las necesitaban. Debía perder el miedo y buscar formas de cómo apoyarles, acompañarlas, y fortalecerles.

 Comenzamos a repartir víveres, con los fondos parroquiales, hasta que se agotaron, pensando que era cosa de poco tiempo. El dinero se agotó y la pandemia siguió.

 Comenzamos a orar, todas las noches, con el Santísimo Sacramento expuesto. Las personas comenzaron a conectarse y a compartir sus nombres y oraciones. Tiempo después, me comentaron, ¡Cuánto consuelo recibieron en aquellos momentos! Las Horas Santas se prolongaron por dos años, noche tras noche, orando, orando.

 Empecé a visitar enfermos, cuando me lo pedían, y darles la unción o extremaunción. Muchos de ellos enfermos de Covid 19, aunque los familiares preferían decirme que era pulmonía. También a ofrecer responsos por los difuntos, en funerarias y en casas, sin importar jurisdicción eclesiástica. Lo importante era llevar el consuelo de Dios.

 Para administrar el Sacramento de la Confesión, puesto que no se podía en el interior del templo, salí al atrio, armado de un pequeño cancel hecho con tubos de pvc y forrado con un naylon transparente. Los días jueves y sábado. Las personas acudieron. Las dos horas, a veces tres, que dedicaba a ello, eran insuficientes.

 Las experiencias más dolorosas fue orar y despedir a un hermano feligrés, que ya estaba en agonía por video llamada, orando y animándole en su trance; visitar y darle la extremaunción y viático a un hermano sacerdote que falleció en la madrugada; esperar el cadáver afuera del hospital a otro hermano sacerdote y acompañarle hasta la tumba, con todas las restricciones y cuidados que imponían las autoridades; y ofrecer un responso, de lejos, porque solo eso se podía, a otro hermano sacerdote en la entrada del cementerio.

 Así también, grabé meditaciones diarias y las enviaba vía wasap, a todos los contactos que tenía, fueron alrededor de 150 días. El fin era acompañar, fortalecer, animar. Hicimos algunos videos con esos mismos temas por el Facebook parroquial.

 Y todo esto, ¿Por qué lo comparto? Para meditar sobre el tema de la “Alegría perfecta” a través de una experiencia personal.

 Ante una pandemia y la posibilidad de contagio y muy probablemente la muerte, lo lógico es recluirse y cuidarse.

 La Palabra de Dios, me cuestionó, que no podía en ese momento, estar con miedo. No podía “guardar mi vida” porque eso era perderla. Eso me hizo perder el miedo, dejar los temores y salir y llevar el consuelo de Dios a las personas enfermas y sus familiares.

 Esa experiencia me ayudó a vivir la vida con mayor intensidad, a celebrarla cada día. También a ser un poco más libre. La alegría surgió de soltar el miedo al contagio y a la muerte en esta situación concreta de la pandemia; y sin dejar de ser cuidadoso con mi salud, ver una oportunidad de darme, ofreciendo lo que desde mi ministerio sacerdotal podía dar: El Consuelo y la cercanía de Dios. Agradecido por eso.

Guardarse u ofrecerse en una situación de pandemia. ¿En dónde está la Alegría perfecta?

 Fue en los tiempos de pandemia (Covid-19), cuando por medidas preventivas, se decretó el confinamiento en las casas. Se detuvo el comercio, las calles quedaron vacías. Los templos se cerraron y la vida sacramental de los fieles se redujo a la participación virtual.

Comenzaron a morir personas, entre ellos, amigos entrañables, insustituibles. Todos nos recluimos. Surgió el miedo, los distanciamientos y medidas para evitar el contagio se hicieron extremas.

 En tales circunstancias y necesidades, la Palabra de Dios, me llamó a la conciencia. Meditando la cita de Mt. 10, 39: “El que encuentre su vida, la perderá; y el que pierda su vida por mí, la encontrará”, pensé que no podía quedarme encerrado sin atender las necesidades espirituales de las personas que las necesitaban. Debía perder el miedo y buscar formas de cómo apoyarles, acompañarlas, y fortalecerles.

 Comenzamos a repartir víveres, con los fondos parroquiales, hasta que se agotaron, pensando que era cosa de poco tiempo. El dinero se agotó y la pandemia siguió.

 Comenzamos a orar, todas las noches, con el Santísimo Sacramento expuesto. Las personas comenzaron a conectarse y a compartir sus nombres y oraciones. Tiempo después, me comentaron, ¡Cuánto consuelo recibieron en aquellos momentos! Las Horas Santas se prolongaron por dos años, noche tras noche, orando, orando.

 Empecé a visitar enfermos, cuando me lo pedían, y darles la unción o extremaunción. Muchos de ellos enfermos de Covid 19, aunque los familiares preferían decirme que era pulmonía. También a ofrecer responsos por los difuntos, en funerarias y en casas, sin importar jurisdicción eclesiástica. Lo importante era llevar el consuelo de Dios.

 Para administrar el Sacramento de la Confesión, puesto que no se podía en el interior del templo, salí al atrio, armado de un pequeño cancel hecho con tubos de pvc y forrado con un naylon transparente. Los días jueves y sábado. Las personas acudieron. Las dos horas, a veces tres, que dedicaba a ello, eran insuficientes.

 Las experiencias más dolorosas fue orar y despedir a un hermano feligrés, que ya estaba en agonía por video llamada, orando y animándole en su trance; visitar y darle la extremaunción y viático a un hermano sacerdote que falleció en la madrugada; esperar el cadáver afuera del hospital a otro hermano sacerdote y acompañarle hasta la tumba, con todas las restricciones y cuidados que imponían las autoridades; y ofrecer un responso, de lejos, porque solo eso se podía, a otro hermano sacerdote en la entrada del cementerio.

 Así también, grabé meditaciones diarias y las enviaba vía wasap, a todos los contactos que tenía, fueron alrededor de 150 días. El fin era acompañar, fortalecer, animar. Hicimos algunos videos con esos mismos temas por el Facebook parroquial.

 Y todo esto, ¿Por qué lo comparto? Para meditar sobre el tema de la “Alegría perfecta” a través de una experiencia personal.

 Ante una pandemia y la posibilidad de contagio y muy probablemente la muerte, lo lógico es recluirse y cuidarse.

 La Palabra de Dios, me cuestionó, que no podía en ese momento, estar con miedo. No podía “guardar mi vida” porque eso era perderla. Eso me hizo perder el miedo, dejar los temores y salir y llevar el consuelo de Dios a las personas enfermas y sus familiares.

 Esa experiencia me ayudó a vivir la vida con mayor intensidad, a celebrarla cada día. También a ser un poco más libre. La alegría surgió de soltar el miedo al contagio y a la muerte en esta situación concreta de la pandemia; y sin dejar de ser cuidadoso con mi salud, ver una oportunidad de darme, ofreciendo lo que desde mi ministerio sacerdotal podía dar: El Consuelo y la cercanía de Dios. Agradecido por eso.

REFLECTION:

La “alegría perfecta” es un don gratuita. ¿Cuándo has recibido la capacidad de responder de manera positiva a una situación difícil?