The Pinecone

On the final night of my last retreat as a Jesuit Volunteer in Nicaragua, we all held pinecones in our hands and contemplated their metaphorical significance to our time here. My friend Patrick the Eagle Scout explained to the rest of us that a pinecone can germinate only after passing through fire. I pictured a forest fire and the new pine trees that bursts forth from the ashes. I imagined dead trees, rotting and laying the foundation for young plants and mosses. Then I started thinking about the history of humanity and the world, about meteors hitting the earth, ice ages, floods, and all the new life that commenced after the destruction. A lot of religions speak to this cycle of death and rebirth, whether it is called reincarnation or resurrection. I think they are on to something. And I think that some of the most complex truths of the universe and of our lives are reflected in something as simple as a pinecone.

So I thought about the roaring fire that destroys a forest and the germination of a pinecone that follows. Over the course of 23 months of living in Nicaragua I have experienced proverbial forest fires of culture shock, homesickness, teaching, and dengue, among others. And after each fire, after experiencing a little bit of personal destruction, something inside me grew. From the charred remains of a forest sprouted bright green, tiny saplings.

And so it will be as I approach my transition from Nicaragua back to the United States. In 40 days I will be at home in Seattle. From the reflection sessions that we did on our final five day retreat (dubbed ReO-DisO), I gathered that returning home will be no walk in the park. I have a deep bond with this country and it will be very hard to leave. But I expect that much like all the trials of adapting to a new life in Nicaragua, the challenges of “re-entry” will be life giving in the long run. In our modern society we’ve come to demonize forest fires. But they are nature’s way of purifying itself and preparing fertile ground for new life.

That being said, I look forward to another 40 days in Nicaragua, AND I look forward to coming home on December 16. I figure there’s no point in fretting over leaving Nicaragua, nor in holding my breath until I finally get home. I’m here physically, so I might as well be here mentally and emotionally. Same goes for coming home in December. I hope that my remaining time here is an opportunity for me to say goodbye to beloved people and places, and I hope to be ready to return home when the time comes.




Reflection session during our ReODisO retreat in La Garnacha, in the mountains of northern Nicaragua.


The male representatives of JVC Nicaragua


Rain-soked clothing at our cabin in La Garnacha. In the final 20 minutes of our 6 hour trip to La Garnacha we trekked through a deluge of rain, soaking the majority of our warm clothes


Meet Abigail, arguably the most adorable child in the El Recreo neighborhood


Two of my best friends among the bank women, Guadalupe and Esperanza