A Major Step...

It's not very often that you can step back and get one of life's bigger perspectives. This weekend we had one of those.

After 2+ years of coordinating teams from the United States to help the hurting, forge new relationships, and spread the Gospel here in Antigua, Guatemala, we had the opportunity to do just that again. But, this time it was at a whole new level... without teams... and mostly our own church. It all started a few weeks ago when some local students approached our church to ask for help organizing some event details, and, through that relationship, they invited us to present the Gospel at the clinic.

Wow!

This kind of stuff doesn't happen every day. A group of over 20 volunteers from our church quickly mobilized to share games, face-painting, coloring, testimonies, music, and children's Evangicubes to clearly share the Gospel. Over 70 families were seen by the doctor, and over 70 families heard about the Great Physician. One of the Police Chaplains prayed with each family as they left the doctor's office, and one person accepted Christ. Incredible!

This was also an event that our whole family got involved in for several hours, and it was a great opportunity to get perspective on why we're here... one person at a time.

Sand in My Suitcase

I'm not a fan of unpacking. Now packing a suitcase, that's a different story. There's so much anticipation, the imagining of what the trip will be like, the expectation of reuniting with family and friends, the excitement of a long-awaited vacation from the daily grind.

But unpacking is bittersweet. And when I do it right after arriving home, like I did this trip, there's more bitter than sweet.

Oh yes, there's still the thrill of unloading all of the things we were blessed enough to purchase, the fun of putting them in their new places.
But there's also the sand. And the sand is what brings on the tears.

You see, on this trip, we got to share three amazing days on the beach with our family, soaking up the sun, the waves, and each other. While we were there, I had an epiphany: when we lived near family and friends, we all too often took them for granted. We knew we could see them anytime, that they were just around the corner...and while we saw them as often as we could, we didn't cherish that gift like we do now.

But on vacation, we simply lived life with those we love.

I got to wake up each morning and drink coffee with my sweet friend Melanie.

I got to watch her kids and mine pick up their friendship right where they'd left off.

I had the luxury of spending a couple of hours walking to and from Starbucks with my sister-in-law and brother, hours in which we shared our thoughts and our hearts with each other.

I got to make an early morning donut-run with my grandma, a woman whose shared wisdom is precious to me.

I had plenty of delightful, "let's just hang out together" time with my niece and my brother.

I spent priceless hours on the beach with my kids and loved watching my dad and mom watch their grandkids.

I had the talks I can never get enough of with my mom...the kind where we can go from oohing and aahing over cookbooks to telling our hopes and dreams for each other in a matter of minutes.

And so, while the sand-encrusted swimsuits in my suitcase (and the myriad of shells I fished out that eventually ended up in the bottom of my washing machine) made my heart physically hurt with the missing, and while the tears I'd tried to squelch came up....it was impossible for me to forget just how ridiculously blessed we are.

To have family and friends who love us and express that love to us.
To spend hours with those we love and have the freedom to debate, to laugh with (and at!) each other, to accept and actually like each other.
To get to see them as often as we do and know that, for that brief moment, we will all put the busyness of our lives on hold in order to take advantage of every hour together.

So, I'll take the "bitter" in the unpacking, because I got to taste the sweet, and now I get to savor the memory of that.
I'll dump out that sandy suitcase and hold onto those memories.

And dream about next year.

Oh No He Didn't

This past weekend, we enjoyed a long-overdue getaway to Lake Atitlan. It is the deepest lake in Central America and is shaped by three volcanoes.
We swam, canoed, read, ate, and just relaxed together as a family. The surroundings were breath-taking.
And peaceful.
Until Jackson decided to share his wildly entertaining personality with the other guests.

Steve & I were sitting by the pool taking in the view of the lake and keeping an eye on Jack, who was splashing around in the hot tub. The quiet moment was interrupted when Jackson suddenly stood up and announced LOUDLY, "Dad, I just peed in the hot tub."
Whaaaat????
And again.
"DAD, I JUST PEED IN THE HOT TUB!"
I jumped up, not quite in time to stop him from announcing it AGAIN. LOUDLY. I told him I'd take him to the bathroom. At this suggestion, he replied, "I CAN'T STOP!"

At this moment, all of the other guests, who'd been very politely pretending that they couldn't hear our sweet little boy could not hold it together any longer, and everyone completely erupted in laughter.

Steve managed to get Jackson out of the tub while he (Jackson) was in mid-sentence informing everyone that, "It's weird, because the hot tub doesn't smell any different now."

More wild laughter.

We hustled him off to the restroom, and joked with the other families that we were pretty sure we wouldn't have to share the hot tub for the rest of the day. All was quiet again, and everyone went back to their reading and relaxing.
Until Jackson ran back to the pool and let us all know, "I didn't have to go anymore."
Surely our proudest moment as parents.

Well, This Was a First

Building houses is something that our teams do here. A lot. There's always a huge need for decent shelter for families, since many of them live in conditions that Americans would call slums.

Two weeks ago, a team from Georgia was here and built a home for a family of 4 living together in one room. And not a very big room at that. Our people constructed a much bigger, more sanitary structure that would keep out the rodents and insects and keep the family safe from the elements. The family was so touched by all that was done for them that they decided to make a special gesture of gratitude.

Now, this is not abnormal. Typically, a family who is receiving a home does not have much to give monetarily, but they will do things like buy drinks for the team or maybe share some treats. But this time was different.

The young woman of the family announced to our team that, to show her gratitude, she was going to change her son's middle name.

To Steve.

As in OUR Steve.

When Steve heard this, he was a little bit in shock, but he quickly recovered and posed for a picture with his new namesake.

Good thing "Little Steve" didn't seem to mind much either.

Two Years

Two years ago today, we landed in Guatemala....two very tired adults, three extremely excited children, and 27 suitcases containing all of our wordly belongings.

Much of that day is a blur to me, but I do remember lunch at McDonald's (and wondering at the fact that a Happy Meal could cost $20-some dollars...it didn't. It was Quetzales). I also remember finally settling down into bed for the night, and being shocked when said bed began to move across the floor. And then the walls moved. And everything else. When I realized, Floridian that I am, that this MUST be an earthquake, I decided that we'd probably made a mistake and should head back to the States.

The last two years have been full of incredible highs....and incredible lows as well. I think the best way to describe the adventure we've been on is to compare it to marriage and parenting. Some days you love it and can't imagine anything better. And some days, you ask yourself, "What was I THINKING?!" You know there's a bigger picture and you hold onto that even when the daily minutiae seem like they will overwhelm you.

Last night at dinner, each person in the family shared their bests and worsts of the past two years in Guate. Some were funny, some were poignant. But the bottom line was this: we all feel great peace and great fulfillment in living our lives for a purpose and trying to live in a way that reaches beyond our own needs and wants to help other people. That's not meant to sound arrogant in any way. It's just that, on those difficult days, we find comfort in knowing that we're doing exactly what we're supposed to be doing right now.

Lest I make us sound TOO spiritual.....when it was Jackson's turn to share his "worst," it didn't take him long to announce that it was this: "missing shopping at Target." Have to say, I'm right there with you buddy.

I Can't Say it Better Than This

CS Lewis:
There is a stage in a child's life at which it cannot separate the religious from the merely festal character of Christmas or Easter. I have been told of a very small and very devout boy who was heard murmuring to himself on Easter morning a poem of his own composition which began 'Chocolate eggs and Jesus risen.' This seems to me, for his age, both admirable poetry and admirable piety. But of course the time will soon come when such a child can no longer effortlessly and spontaneously enjoy that unity. He will become able to distinguish the spiritual from the ritual and festal aspect of Easter; chocolate eggs will no longer seem sacramental. And once he has distinguished he must put one or the other first. If he puts the spiritual first he can still taste something of Easter in the chocolate eggs; if he puts the eggs first they will soon be no more than any other sweetmeat. They will have taken on an independent, and therefore a soon withering, life.

Bloom

We've been terrible bloggers this year, mostly because, to be honest, it has been an overwhelming year so far for the Ottos. We've faced the death of my Grandma, Jackson's surgery, sickness, difficult situations in the lives of some friends and family, and well, just plain life in another country.

Here's how I'd summarize the last few weeks:

1. Grandma. I already wrote about her in my last post, but it always surprises me when I think about her and remember, "She's not here anymore." I'm glad she's happy and strong again....but I'll always be sad that there's one less person like her on this earth. I miss her.

2. Jackson. This boy does not do anything half-way. His surgical experience began with him leaping up onto the gurney, ready to go. Everything went just as smoothly as it could have, for which we are unendingly grateful. It's still a wee bit stressful to have your little guy go under the knife in a Guatemalan hospital. I'm still amazed at the peace we had as we made the decision, though, and the incredible gift God gave us of sending my mom down that very week.

3. Mom. I can't say enough about this. Except maybe I can, because if I start, I'll just end up blubbering. Ah well. We enjoyed almost 3 weeks of relaxing, laughing, talking, watching stupid movies, being tourists, talking, spending hours in the hospital, coffee-drinking, cooking, talking....just doing life together. And this house is way too empty without her.

4. Sickness. Before we moved here, we rarely got sick, rarely went to the doctor, never had a serious medical situation. Since we've lived here, we've experienced an onslaught of illness and injury, and while they've all turned out well, it takes its toll, especially these last few weeks.

5. The, um, interesting way things roll here. Let's just say that we've felt the earth move, literally, underneath us. Nothing, absolutely nothing at all like what people in other places have been through, but very! exciting! especially in the dark. Although the kids think it's quite fun to run outside at 2 a.m. in their pajamas. What's so wrong with that?
Then there are the "usual" challenges like: having the water go out for hours on end, power lines blowing up and blowing out some of our electronics (nothing valuable...thankful for that, too), and even just the general chaos around town as Easter season kicks in.

The bottom line is that, despite the stress and plain craziness of the last couple of months, we are all here, we are all healthy, we're all not only still speaking to each other but still loving each other.
I've actually gotten to see my kids step up and pitch in to help when I was sick. And they've simply blown me away with the gentle, sweet way they've taken care of their brother after his surgery. So, I don't know if I could honestly say that I'm thankful for the difficulties, but I am thankful for the beautiful things that those difficulties reveal, the things that you hope you are planting all along and that, when given the chance, really do bloom.