There are mornings at Lake Atitlán when the first light moves across the water and everything in me grows quiet. The volcanoes emerge from the clouds. A heron passes close to the surface. The lake receives the first warmth of the sun, the birds sing, and another day begins along its shores.
After so many years of living here, I still feel the wonder of it. I also feel concern for its future. It is a tender thing to love a place so deeply and know that it needs more help than you can give.
At Villa Sumaya, we welcome people who come to rest, practice, and reconnect with themselves. The lake is part of that experience. Its spaciousness offers perspective, and its changing colors and textures draw us out of our thoughts. Again and again, guests speak of the peace they feel simply being beside it.
I find myself wondering: as we come here seeking renewal, how can we extend that care to the waters that have given us so much?
My wish is simple, even if its fulfillment is complicated. I want this lake to be healthy. I want children growing up along its shores to inherit waters they can safely enjoy. I want the life within and around it to flourish. I want its sacredness to be reflected in the way we live.
I do not know how to bring all of that about. Running a bustling retreat center and our Mayan Mothers and Fathers Project already makes for a full and demanding life. There are days when the distance between what I hope for and what I can personally do feels enormous. Still, I want to give that hope a voice.
Perhaps you know this feeling, too? Loving a river, a forest, a stretch of coastline, or a place from childhood and wishing you could protect its future. So much of our human story unfolds in places that sustain us. We build our lives around them, drawing nourishment, livelihood, and belonging from their presence. Their wellbeing becomes inseparable from our own.
Small steps on our land
On the land we tend at Sumaya, we have taken small steps to honor that relationship. We have planted a modest food forest and medicinal herb gardens and installed solar energy, solar water heaters, water catchment systems, and septic biodigesters. Our chickens eat kitchen scraps, and their manure, once composted, enriches the soil that feeds our gardens.
Each effort takes time, attention, and steady work. These are modest ways of caring for the ground beneath our feet while holding a much larger hope for the lake.
A prayer for the lake
For me, prayer is one way to remain present to that hope. It gives me somewhere to bring gratitude, worry, and the longing for things to be well. It helps me stay open when I have no clear answer.
Here at Sumaya, we hold a space in that field of prayer for Lake Atitlán: for its waters, for the communities whose lives are inseparable from it, and for those working toward its protection.
We pray that their efforts receive the understanding, resources, and lasting support they need. We pray for good decisions, cooperation, and solutions that take root and endure.
When I imagine a miracle at Lake Atitlán, I imagine a future in which the lake is healthier than it is today. I imagine people looking back and recognizing that change became possible, even when the way forward once seemed uncertain.
I cannot say how that story will unfold. I can say that we care, we are concerned, and we hold a loving vision for these waters.
If Lake Atitlán has touched your life, perhaps you will take a moment to remember it. Visualize the morning light, the wind creating ripples across the surface, or the feeling of standing at its edge. Offer a wish, a blessing, a song, or a silent or spoken prayer for its future.
We hope that generations from now, someone will stand here in the early morning and feel what we feel today: gratitude, belonging, and wonder.
May the waters be well. May those who care for them be supported. May the answers we have yet to find become possible.