Beginning, Middle, End

Anyone can begin. That's the easy part.
We begin the school year with fresh, unsmudged notebooks, razor-sharp pencils, a lunchbox that doesn't smell like week-old crusts, a folder with everything neatly tabbed and filed.
But come Christmas break, the lunchbox isn't even used anymore, the pencils are missing all their erasers, and the folder? What folder? A backpack makes an excellent filing system, thank you very much.
We begin an exercise program with a plan, the best shoes to enhance our performance, catchy tunes on our iPod, and intensity in our hearts. A few weeks later, the snooze button is the only thing getting a workout.
We begin marriage fully convinced that OUR marriage will be the best, the most intimate, the one that defies every odd and every statistic. A few years later, we're pretty sure we married the wrong person. It must be their fault we're not happy, not feeling that first-kiss rush.
We begin parenting with great hopes, sure plans that we will never, ever raise our voice at our children, we will spend beautiful afternoons making amazing crafts, we will provide financial security for their every need, we will play boardgames every night after our delicious dinner consisting of every food group, and we will simply be the best parents ever.

Beginnings are easy. It's that tricky middle part that makes us want to quit. The middle of the school year, the long, mind-numbing miles 12-19 of a marathon, the times with our spouse when talking through things feels like too much work and too discouraging, the days of mommyhood when the clock seems surely to have broken.

I don't want to be a person who just survives the middle.
I want to begin and end well.
I don't want to always be pushing ahead to the next milestone and miss what God is doing in my heart, in my family's hearts right now. And even though some days are endless, and some days are glorious, I know that the long days, the hard days are the ones that build my character, that prove what I am made of.

Character is a rather unglamorous word. It certainly doesn't stir great emotion, but when you know someone who has it, and who demonstrates it when you need it most, you realize just how unimaginably beautiful it is.

It's often said that a marathon is a great metaphor for life, and as a wannabe marathoner, I kept thinking about that during my first 26.2-miler. There were so many times I wished that I could JUST STOP MOVING. I wanted to have my finish-line moment already. But isn't that the point? I can't stop moving. And if "just finishing" a marathon is an accomplishment in itself, what does finishing well look like?
I want to know.
And not just in a race.

Phil. 3:13-15, The Message
I'm not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don't get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I've got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I'm off and running, and I'm not turning back.
So let's keep focused on that goal, those of us who want everything God has for us. If any of you have something else in mind, something less than total commitment, God will clear your blurred vision—you'll see it yet! Now that we're on the right track, let's stay on it

Same and Different

Life is life, no matter where you live it. There is a common human experience that makes it possible for us to relate to people who may not even speak the same language we do. In the interest of such experience, I'd like to answer the question most commonly asked of me:
"How do you live in a Third World Country??"
Here's how:
In the States, I went to the grocery store. In Guatemala, I go to the grocery store. The only difference is, I can only buy what I can carry in bags (or boxes) to my car, which is usually parked a couple of blocks away.
Well, there might be another difference. I am getting some lightning-fast math skills since I convert every price I see into dollars by dividing it by 8 in my head. I say "price I see," because often there is no price that I can see, and apparently whatever price the cashier assigns it that day is the final answer.

In the States, we sometimes visited our local farmers' market to buy produce. In Guatemala, I sometimes buy produce at the mercado. The only difference is, I speak Spanish, I try to haggle for a different price, and I have learned to ignore the iguanas, rats, roaches, and other wildlife I may come across.
On the plus side, the produce is so ripe and ready that it tastes exactly like it's supposed to.

In the States, I turned on my stove. In Guatemala, I turn on my gas stove, and if, perchance, it is out of gas, I call my friendly gas people and they bring me a new tank. If you run out of gas in the middle of cooking dinner, there's always cereal.

In the States, I went running. In Guatemala, I run with our IDC running club. The only difference is, in our many (hilly!) miles, we have come across all manner of animals, including snakes, pigs (large, and dead), aggressive bees and dogs. We also get the view of an active volcano puffing nearly every time we run.

In the States, I ran errands. In Guatemala, I run errands. The only difference is, I've learned to use my hand as my turn signal, cobblestoned streets don't even feel bumpy to me anymore, and I'm pretty sure I no longer remember what a stoplight means.

In the States, I swore we'd never own a motorcycle. In Guatemala, we do. Enough said.

In the States, we drove everywhere. In Guatemala, we still rely on our car a lot, but we've also taken advantage of our local transportation system, such as chicken buses, tuk-tuks, and just plain old walking.

In the States, I took my kids to the doctor. In Guatemala, I sometimes don't have to. Amoxicillin is available at our local farmacia, right over the counter. Nifty!

In the States, I used my dishwasher every day, sometimes twice a day. In Guatemala, I wash dishes by hand, in a single sink, and at the risk of sounding arrogant, I am pretty darn fast at it.

In the States, I bought fruit and ate it. I turned on the tap and used the water for cooking and drinking. In Guatemala, the only difference is I clean fruit with a disinfectant, and I use a special filter for all of the water. Because parasites are not our friends.

In the States, we went to church. In Guatemala, we go to church. The difference is.....pretty much nothing. We worship the same God, read the same Bible, have the same love for each other, feel our hearts stirred in the same way.

In the States, we were blessed. And in Guatemala, we still are.

July in Pictures

July has been our busiest month ever. We've had teams back-to-back, and sometimes two at a time. It's easy to get overwhelmed with the work of either leading teams (Steve) or helping to cook for them (Jess), but one of the coolest parts of what we do here is that our whole family can join in with not just the work, but the fun stuff, too. Here are some of the highlights of our month...

Our family gets to love on kids at the Malnutrition Center.












...or on the pet rabbit there.

I got to run with my friends in Antigua's Las Rosas Half-Marathon, and there was nothing better than seeing my family at the finish line...








One of the teams had lots of kids with them, so we tagged along on a visit to the local coffee finka and a hike up Volcan Pacaya.




















We get to be a part of an amazing bilingual body of believers.

Celebrating Communion...














...and Jackson as an angel.



So, although July has been one of the most challenging months we've experienced in our time here, it has had many rewards...new friends, new experiences, lives changed.
On to the fall.....

Redemption

Lately, I've been frustrated with God because I've been asking Him some questions, and I haven't gotten any answers.
There have been so many times I've heard His voice, known what He wanted, known His plan for me. But not lately.
And so, today, as I was asking Him again my questions, I got my answer.
"You keep asking because you know my answer, and you just don't like it."
Ouch.
Truth.
In my mind, I'd already picked out my desired answer, concocted an amazing scenario in which it would all work out the way I wanted, all the while forgetting that, in fact, I am not God.
I read a quote recently in the book "Unfashionable" by Tullian Tchividjian that described the way I have made decisions in my life:
"To be a wordly person, is, in fact, to be a 'practical' or 'functional' atheist. It's someone who--despite all he professes--lives and makes daily decisions as if God doesn't exist. A practical atheist is a person who comes to conclusions about money, business, worship, entertainment, ministry, education, or whatever else without the directing influence of God and his revealed truth..."

I've been a Christian for years, and I can rattle off a list of things I believe. But in my reality, my life, I don't live this way. I make decisions based upon what I want, not upon the answer I've sought from God.
I forget that God is not capable of doing wrong. That He is the ultimate Redeemer, and that if I would just listen and then, the tricky part, obey, He will work it out.
Not in that cliche, "happily-ever-after" way that I mistakenly believed for years, but in a way that will, as it has so many times in the past,
Blow. My. Mind.
That is the way He redeems. So that He gets all the credit, and I can only stare in disbelief.
He takes my knotted-up mess that I am just so sure can never be made right and beautifully reworks it.
So, I'm gonna take that scary leap, jump that gap between what I see and things unseen.
And choose to believe that He will redeem.
"... stand up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near." (Luke 21:28)

Soccer & Surf...Pathways Youth Team

Just finished up a week with Pastor Andrew and the youth from our home church, Pathways. What a whirlwind of a week! What started out as a "let's get the Tourist Police soccer field cleaned up" ended up as a entirely new field, complete with heavy machinery and machetes working side-by-side.

The police were anxiously checking on the progress of the field, especially after they realized they got an upgrade from the "machete special". We got the team on the field with the police for a dedication, sharing the Gospel through a wordless book style soccer ball... and finally... a soccer game!

Next step... need some grass so this field is playable for years to come. Anybody interested in taking this on as a fund-raiser?

The week ended up with a free day, which the team chose to explore a new beach which we had heard rented surf boards and motorcycles. Well, the surf was great, and the ride out to the island by boat was a nice trip through the tallest mangrove trees we'd ever seen! The surf shop turned out to be a thatch hut with 5 short boards to pick from, and the motorcycle rentals turned out to be a restaurant owner's "clutchless" 4-wheeler, but we sure made the most of it! 4-8 foot waves pounded the beach, and we did our best to jump over (or through) them for several hours.

Oh, and on the side the team took several trips to the Malnutrition Center in San Juan, and spent an evening helping feed infants in a clinic in Antigua. Great job!

Corpus Christi

My kids and I were flat on our back in our yard trying to make out shapes in the clouds when Nate heard some music. We all ran outside to see what all the commotion was about, and we walked right into the middle of a celebration!

Today is Corpus Christi, which means "the body of Christ". When I checked with some of my neighbors to see exactly what was being celebrated, I got several blank stares, a few "we're celebrating the body of Christ" (duh), and a few other unhelpful answers. The official catholic answer is found here, but it is the celebration of the institution of the eucharist (Protestants would call this the "Lord's Supper" or communion).

Anyways, it is celebrated in catholicism world-wide, but here in our neighborhood, special attention is given to yellow banners with symbols of a cup and bread, processionals with floats of the patron saint of our town (Saint Peter), and plenty of fireworks! Nate especially like the mortars which fired percussion shells straight up in the air, just ahead of the processinals.

Click on the picture (above) to see some highlights of the afternoon, as we followed the processional through our tiny "suburb" of Antigua (called Panorama), which ended at the town cathedral with bell-ringing, and a fair with lots of loud music.

Torn

The last few weeks were full of questions.

We were blessed to catch up with so many friends and family in Florida, and they all had questions as to how life is in Guatemala.

There aren't any simple answers. I think the best way I can put it is that I feel I have a heart torn in two. Not in a bad way, like a broken heart, but a heart that is stretched between two places.

On the one side, our time in Florida felt like we were being bathed in love. When we spoke at our home church and had so many people hug on us, tell us they loved us and prayed for us, press donations into our hands, we felt so supported, so humbled by their care.

When we spent 2 1/2 weeks being spoiled rotten by my mom and dad, so overwhelmed by how they just poured their hearts into letting us rest and renew, we felt so blessed to call them our family.

All of these good things made saying good-bye more painful than it's ever been. It was a reminder of how many people we love that we leave behind for months at a time. It was a reminder of the silly little comforts we miss....grocery stores so shiny, clean and stocked with everything.....speaking English.....Starbucks!......smooth, broad streets. All of these are unimportant, but they sure are nice to have.

And yet, now that we're back in Guatemala, although I wish I could pull up to a Starbucks drive-thru and get my favorite, and although my heart hurts if I think about the very tearful good-bye my children said to their grandparents, there is peace in knowing that this is where God has us.

No, we don't know how long we'll be here. We don't know what is next. But we know that, right now, we are obeying God's plan for our family, and even though that may cost us emotionally, the peace that accompanies that obedience is indescribable.

I've heard from other missionaries that this tearing of the heart is something that you, somehow, learn to live with. This trip to Florida was the time I felt it the most. For all the pain of missing my family, my friends, I knew that I didn't really "belong" there right now. Maybe someday, but not right now.

We shared with our church that missionaries are not "supermen" or "superwomen." They're just ordinary people following God. We've learned this year just how ordinary we are, how being a missionary is not some romantic feat. We've never wanted to glamorize it or be less than honest about it either.

Some days are really, really hard. Sometimes we wonder why we're here.

Some days are amazing. Sometimes we know why we're here.

And when you think about it, we all have torn hearts, longing for those things that we'll only know and share in eternity. No matter where God has led us, we should never really belong. One day, the tear in our hearts will be healed, and how good that will be. Until then, we want to do more than just survive. We want to live a wild adventure following the Spirit, trusting Him to care for those we love, trusting Him to bring the healing and peace we need. And He does.