The first time I remember moving as a child was when we relocated from Zacatecas to Torreón. My dad had been transferred to a new city for work, and that was the reason for the move.
My mom took great delight in arranging our new home. She would try out different furniture layouts, and she really enjoyed unpacking the dinnerware and placing it exactly where she liked.
I remember that every Sunday afternoon, my mom would call my grandma in Zacatecas. I don’t know how long they spoke, but I remember the calls were brief, as every minute of long-distance communication was expensive.
After many months, the time would come to visit family. Both my mom’s and dad’s families were from Zacatecas. This meant that when the visit ended and we said our goodbyes, we were also saying goodbye to my paternal grandma.
Something that stands out clearly in my memory is that, without fail, she would tear up as she watched us get into the car to return to Torreón. No matter how much she tried to hide it or hold back the tears, her emotions would get the better of her.
Another thing I remember about those farewells is that she would prepare gorditas for us to eat on the drive back. Even though my dad was an adult, she still worried about us, making sure we wouldn’t go hungry on the journey home.
The gorditas she made were incredibly simple: made from corn flour dough filled with refried beans. Simple, yet delicious. My grandmother would wrap them in a cloth napkin; whenever I saw that napkin again at home, it would inevitably remind me of her.
Usually, my dad was the one who drove the five hours back to Torreón. When we couldn’t manage to leave early, the sun would shine directly into the front of the car. On those trips, my brother or I would switch seats with my mom, as she didn’t want the sun shining directly in her face.
One time, when it was my turn to ride in the front seat with my dad, he began telling me about how he used to watch my grandma prepare those same gorditas for my grandpa back when he still lived with them.
My grandpa had a physically demanding job, and he would come home very hungry.
My dad was the youngest of six children, and he told me he sometimes wondered how my grandma managed to feed so many mouths. Since she often served them those very same gorditas, the answer seems clear to me now.
When my grandma gave us her gorditas, I remember her murmuring something like:
“Take these gorditas, even if they don’t look like much. It’s what I have, and I give them to you with so much love.”
It just so happened that I was the last one she said goodbye to, so she would hand them to me.
What about you? Have you ever felt that what you have to offer isn’t very impressive, or have you hesitated to share it?
The fact that my grandmother thought the *gorditas* looked a bit “rough” didn’t stop us from enjoying them.
In Scripture, Jesus feeds a a huge crowd using five loaves of bread and two fish.
Regardless of the exact nature of the miracle, Jesus made use of “the little that was there.” And how was that possible?
The biblical account says that Jesus blessed the loaves and fish and distributed them.
My grandma sought to share love through the *gorditas* she gave us. And it was enough.
Jesus blessed the loaves and fish, and it was more than enough.
In your own life, have you ever thought that what you have to offer is unimpressive, inadequate, or not enough?
If the Spirit leads you, share with Jesus the Carpenter whatever aspect of yourself or your life feels less than enough to you. And perhaps, with His blessing, you will discover that there is more than you imagine, even enough to share in abundance.
Marisol
P.S.: We can hear about the feeding of the 5 thousands in the readings for the 18th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year / cycle A.
P.S. 2: For you who seek to deepen your personal relationship with God, I invite you to participate in the Christian Spirituality course offered by the Center for Religion and Spirituality at Loyola Marymount University , offered in Spanish in the fall of 2026. Register at https://crs.lmu.edu/espanol/programas/espiritualidad/
