Blog Title: Sunlight, Song, and Stars: Day One at Resplandor Summer Camp
This morning began not with a bell, but with a song. Our host, Sol, greeted us not just with words, but with a voice that poured out tenderness and longing. She sang a lullaby about a mother watching her child take their first uncertain, miraculous steps—each note woven with wonder, each phrase wrapped in the quiet ache of love growing into freedom. We sat spellbound. In that moment, music was more than art. It was a vessel, filled with memory and hope.
Between sips of strong coffee and laughter, we shared dreams. We spoke of future collaborations between Sol, her music group, and the Latinx Choral Project. Ideas sparked across styles—folkloric rhythms meeting choral textures, voices blending into something both ancient and new. Plans were planted like seeds, and with them, the promise of something beautiful to come.
Soon after, we boarded the bus to Resplandor, our shared enthusiasm buzzing through the warm morning air. Volunteers from every corner of the globe introduced themselves—brief origin stories, reasons for being here, all strung together by the golden thread of service. The bus pulsed with stories and anticipation.
When we arrived, the first thing to greet us wasn’t a building or a sign—but a tree.
A tree that looked as if it had grown solely for children to climb. Its branches reached out like arms ready to catch dreams. Around its sturdy trunk, yellow stones formed the shape of a star—its roots anchoring us, its limbs blessing us with shade and promise. We gathered around it in a wide circle as the camp announcer, electric with joy, welcomed everyone. Then, with laughter and open hands, we began a ritual: running around the circle clapping palms, one by one, child by child, volunteer by volunteer—a chain of connection, of trust being built with every slap of skin and smile.
The tree, we were told, represented the sun. Its life-giving energy would nourish us all this week.
My first class was a chorus of bright eyes and braver hearts. In our music room, we started with rhythm games, and the giggles came quickly. Each child took a turn introducing their favorite music—we listened to the first 20 seconds of every song, glimpsing little windows into their souls through reggaetón beats, regional ballads, and pop hooks.
We sang "México Lindo y Querido," and one child called out with joy, “I love Fernando Vicente’s version!” Another turned to me and tried out their English proudly. When I stumbled on my Spanish, they smiled back and helped me, as if to say, “We’re all learning here.” And we were.
The day closed as it began—under the tree. One child from each class was awarded a star for their kindness and helpful spirit. Watching them hang their stars on the sun-tree, I felt my heart stretch wide. It wasn’t about perfection or performance. It was about presence. Generosity. Light.
Todd, the founder, stood at the entrance as we left. His face glowed with pride as he welcomed each new and returning guest like family. You could see it in his eyes: This is a place built on love.
Back in the city center, dinner was a celebration of color and conversation. We dined at a colonial hotel where arches framed the fading daylight and vines clung to stone walls like ancient lace. The patio was an oasis—ferns cascading down iron railings, flowers arranged like painted scenes, fountains whispering beneath it all. The air held the perfume of blossoms and wood smoke.
We feasted on mole enmoladas, queso fundido con rajas, handmade taquitos, and salsas as fresh and fiery as the day's joy. The limonada was sharp, bright, and distinctly Mexican—an echo of the land’s citrus kissed by the sun.
Around the table, we reflected on our day. There was warmth in every voice, tenderness in every laugh. This place—this camp, this hotel, this community—held us in its arms. A sanctuary. A celebration.
And tomorrow, we begin again.