When I move to a new place, the ‘first-of’s’ are always what I remember when I am looking to get my ‘last-of’s’ as I leave that place. In Mexico City, it was the sound of roosters crowing and a bucket of water being dipped into by a large sponge washing someone’s car every day. It was the smell of tortillas being sent through the press, and it was the bone-numbing cold of living up in the mountains at 9000 feet. In Canada, it is the wildlife and the crisp air. In Costa Rica, it was the warmth and the coffee. In Tijuana it was the ocean view.

 

Here in Guadalajara, I have noticed certain things that may not seem so out of the ordinary after a while, but to me they are unique. Trees that are wispy and desperately tall, they almost seem like they should snap if the slightest breath of wind were to drift over them. They remind me of giant dill-weed. And ficus chopped and groomed into animals, boxes, topiaries, pom-pom bushes, and many other odd shapes pique my interest. The bugambilia vines are everywhere, dripping their intense flowers like an expensive perishable carpet all over the sidewalks. Azaleas bloom cheerily, grass grows in crayola colors, and birds of paradise grow and open lavishly as if it were an everyday plant.

 

There are creatures here, too. The birds are wild and tropical, and they are blinding flashes of color as they dip and dive in through the tree branches. Hummingbirds abound, too, which makes my husband’s heart light.

 

In a land that is naturally very dry and gray, a little water transforms its thirsty look into a lush, rich, thriving paradise. It takes very little water, and growth begins quickly, and maintains steadily. May the Holy Spirit be the water to this city’s parched ground. May He nourish the ground, opening the soil for rich growth, steady growth, and a healthy harvest.

 

This is my prayer for Guadalajara.