Grounded with Hope

Grounded WITH HOPE

BY Guadalupe Friaz

So often we put attention on what pulls us down, thus I’m pleased to focus instead on the things that lift me up and bring me joy. I love to read, write, sing, travel, garden, and play with  my grandchildren. These are wells from which I draw joy, alegría, delight, glee, and even bliss.  It’s true, the world seems upside down, bloated with fear. It reeks of cruel, senseless violence.  We receive intense doses of this reality and all the more reason to relish in joy. 

“So often we put attention on what pulls us down, thus I’m pleased to focus instead on the things that lift me up and bring me joy.”

I write to share with my grandchildren the stories of their grandparents; how they met as  they crossed the U.S.-Mexico border, how they picked cotton in Texas then joined a caravan to  California where they picked oranges, olives, and many other fruits. Here they played Loteria,  made new friends, and sent their children to school so they could have good jobs. 

I love to sing karaoke with comadres and compadres—oldies but goodies, corridos, modern Mexican songs, and cumbias. Every year my husband and I go to the Mariachi festival at  the Mexican Heritage Plaza to receive inspiration. 


I love to travel; each time I am reminded that humans are one race and we are more like one another than any other species on earth and that grounds me. We recently returned from a trip to Vietnam and what a joy. The ocean in Nha Trang, the Mekong River, the mountains in  Dalat and the people everywhere are generous, humble, and welcoming. 

I tend my garden full of lavender, geraniums, roses, and cacti. I love to watch the  hummingbirds and bees dance around them. When I’m outside with my knees in the dirt,  trimming my roses, I enjoy the breeze, the caress of the spring sun, and the sounds of my young  neighbors playing. 

I play with my three-year-old Celi on Tuesdays. When I arrive, her face lights up and she  runs and jumps into my arms. She says, “You play with me, Mapita?” Yes, I tell her, “we are going to the parque today.” And she runs to grab her hat. We arrive at the parque a few blocks  away and she squeals at the sight of the shooting water from the large fountain. The water is  white as it rockets up and flows down, the gushing sound envelopes us, shutting out the rest of  the world.  

She runs to grab the largest rock she can hold in her little hand and throws it into the  water. Her face glows in wonder at the splash the rocks make. She does this over and over fully  aware of the loving attention my gaze holds her with. Finally, she tires and plops onto my lap as  I sit cross-legged on the Earth. We both sit there full of wonder and awe and I, for one, feel full. Back home I’m exhausted but my visits with her have grounded me in hope, filled me with light  and love that will sustain me through the darkness.