More Than Gold

Here’s the truth:  Leaving the mission field has crushed me. 

I didn’t want anyone to know.  I wanted to be strong, and to protect my family from the collateral damage of my grief and anger.  I continued attending church, kept the Bible on my nightstand, and tried to smile at all the right times so as not to raise any alarms—waiting for moments alone to fall apart.  God was near to me in every breakdown.  He whispered of His love in my ears and gave me visions of battling beside me when I cried out to Him.  Yet in all of it, I held him at arms’ length.

He could not be trusted with my heart, I reasoned.  He had not rescued me from the depression and anxiety that plagued my years in Guatemala and eventually caused me to give up.  He was God, and therefore worthy of my obedience... but my broken heart raged against Him for making me so weak.  I begged him for more strength, more ability, but instead He chose to embrace my weakness.  To wrap me in gentle compassion when I wanted to be treated harshly.  I wanted Him to send me back to Guatemala immediately—as penance, as discipline against the weakness in my spirit.  

He waited for me.  Ever-loving.  Ever-good, as I tried to make life work without Him.  As I fought to take care of myself without anyone’s help.  We worked hard and saved lots of money.  We would go to Bible school and return to the mission field.  I would be the "perfect missionary".  I would prove what a good help-mate I am to my husband, and I would never admit how scared I was.  If God would not punish me for my mistakes, I would do it for Him. 

And then, on Monday, I became the victim of a terrifying scam and ended losing our entire savings.  In the five most terrifying, isolating, and traumatic hours of my life, I lost every penny we had.  Literally. 

When I realized what had happened, I did what I should have done when the entire episode started:  I sought help.  And help came.  Without judgment at my gullibility.  Without anger for the money lost.  Grace proved stronger than terror.     

     

The very next day, as my family was still reeling from what was happening, my dad was in a potentially deadly disaster at work and had to be carried off the work site.  Although he was physically uninjured, he spent the rest of the day with a medic and a trauma counselor. When he came home he described the event as the most terrifying, isolating, traumatic event of his life.  The same words I had used only the day before. 

In the still-unfolding aftermath of these traumatic events, I am in awe of God’s grace.  My dad was not injured and neither was I.  My family rallied around Dave and I and it looks like we will still be able to go to Bible school, albeit not with the ease or flexibility we had planned.  And most importantly, our family has experienced a deepening of our trust in God.  I received grace in such a real way from Dave, and my parents, that I am assured of the words the Lord has been speaking over me all this time.  He doesn’t need me to be stronger, or more independent—He wants me to have faith in His strength, His love, His grace. 

There are those who, if in the same situation as I, would be homeless right now.  So, as I prepared oatmeal for my son’s breakfast this morning, I shed a tear of thankfulness for God’s provision.  He accepts me even though I am weak.  He surrounds me with loving people who want to care for me.     

As Dave and I sat together to pray yesterday, I told Dave again how sorry I am for what happened.  He stopped me with a hug and said, “Don’t apologize.  You’re praying again.  That’s more important than the money.”

“In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials.  These have come so that your faith—which is of more worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”

- 1 Peter 1:6-7, NIV.

It's Not Over Yet

         I have been hiding. 

         In a moment of weariness, ministry burn-out, and fear of the unknown, we made a hasty decision and fled from Guatemala.  The final crisis was built up of a thousand mistakes along the way:  never taking time to rest, unresolved infertility grief, and being completely unprepared for the intense struggle of parenting six traumatised teenagers.  We went in with arms open, hearts trusting that love would be enough.  That we’d figure it out along the way.  But in the end, we caused our boys additional pain. 

        We wanted to be the perfect parents.  To create a perfect home where the boys would desire to be, and to love the hurt out of them in the blanket of our parental affection.  We were overconfident, trying too much too soon and becoming too easily frustrated by the setbacks in bonding with the boys.  We were stretched thin emotionally before we’d even begun this extreme parenting, unable to see that we were on a collision course.  We expected too much—of ourselves, the boys, and the situation—and finally, when it exploded, we took the last remaining lifeboat and abandoned ship. 

         We came back to Canada in early November, 2017.  At first we were too numb to feel anything, and when we did think about the boys, or about Guatemala, we could only cry.  The life we’d spent four years building in Guatemala was suddenly over, and we’d lost everything that mattered most to us.  Worst of all, it was by our own choice.  Our own fault. 

         It took Dave three months to find work.  We lived with family, struggling with simple things like how to order coffee or be part of a church service.  Nothing felt good anymore.  We tried to press forward, to find a way to forget the six boys we’d left behind.  If we could get far enough away from the memories, Guatemala would fade in our hearts.  We’d find a new dream.  A new passion.

        

       But that hasn’t happened.  The longer we are here, the more comfortable and normal our life becomes, the stronger the desire to go back to Guatemala becomes.  Those boys were our sons, and working with them was our passion.  It was our life’s calling cut short.

          On our final day with the boys, there was a football tournament for Zane and Wisly’s football team.  Our whole family spent the morning at the football arena, and then we took all the boys to Pollo Campero for lunch.  Sitting around the table felt surreal, knowing that we’d never be this family again.  The boys messed around in the car on the way back to the orphanage, teasing Zane until he was  upset and crying.  I was frustrated, feeling a sickening blend of anger at their behaviour, and heartbroken that my role as their mom was about to be over.  I didn’t need to discipline them for being obnoxious in the car—that wasn’t my job anymore.

           We want our job back. 

           The longer we are in Canada, and the more options career options we look into for the future, we know that we have already found the work we are intended to do.  We want to return to Guatemala and work with children at risk, most likely with the same organisation we worked with before.  We can’t get our sons back, and be the family we were before, but we can live near those boys and be a part of their lives again.  We can make good on our promises to love them for life. 

           The road back will not be quick, we know that much.  We left Guatemala when and how we did because we were in crisis—and we want to return healthy, with hope for a long career working with children at risk.  We feel the first step is to become better educated, and so we have begun looking into Bible school and counselling programs.  We are also looking for courses on working with traumatised children.  Schooling is only the first of many steps we will have to take before we are boarding a plane to Guatemala, but we feel peace in our hearts that God is with us and guiding our journey. 

          When we arrived in Canada it felt like our life was ruined.  We couldn’t hear God’s voice and we felt afraid, and alone, and ashamed.  Only now are we beginning to feel hope for the future.  It hasn’t been easy to keep trusting Him, but as always, God is proving His faithfulness. 

          Our story isn’t over yet.     

Worthy

This is my new normal.

One day we were a family of three, basking in the general simplicity of life with one child.  Suddenly, as if by accident, we became nine.  Seven sons each with their own unique needs and personalities. Every day is different.  There are days when it is as though we have been together forever and it feels natural to see so many faces around the table.  Then there are days when the trauma of the past rises up and tries to rip us apart.  They are not always sure that they want to become a family with us, that they can risk loving us enough to let us parent them.

To love is to risk loss, and they are not always sure they can trust us that much.  We are driven to our knees in prayer daily, begging God for the wisdom and strength to give our sons what they need.  To help them to grieve their losses and move forward in wholeness.  To ignore their rejection as they try to protect themselves from our love.  To hurt with them, and play with them, and love them no matter what they do.

The journey of building a connected, healthy family is long and painful, but God is with us in every step. 

My eldest and I have already had "the moment"-- where we cried together over the time we didn't have each other, and I told him how much I love him and that I wish he'd been mine since the beginning.  I've cried over the few little-kid photos I have of them, wishing with all my heart that I could have been here for them during that time.  That they wouldn't have grown up here without a mom and a dad.

It breaks my heart that they grew up without me.

But I am here now.  As I told my son, "I am sad because I missed your childhood, but if you will let me, I want to be your mom and love you for the rest of your life."  And through his tears all my son could say was, "I've never had a mom like you."

For these moments we battle.  For the chance to show them the love of God through a mother and father, we are willing to fight.   

They are worth it. 

 

Our Side of the Red Wall

This week was Camp Varones (Boy's camp).

The Varones are all of the boys, ages 11-17 who live on our side of the red wall.  The wall divides the children's home(Fundacion Salvacion) into two parts so that the boys can be locked away from the other kids at night.  Guatemalan law requires us to separate the older boys because of the potential threat of sexual deviance due to their past trauma and abuse.  Some of the boys in this age group have avoided the stigma of living behind the red wall because they were taken in by a couple of the house parents on the other side.  But sixteen young men remain on this side, waiting for the chance to have parents.

Fundacion Salvacion came under the directorship of Story International only a few years ago, and in that time they began implementing the "house parent" model, meaning taking smallish to medium-sized groups of kids and raising them under the care of a foster parent (or parents).  Currently at the Fundacion we only have three full-time house parents units, leaving four groupings of children without true family-style care.  One of those groups is the varones.

So, in response to this need, we had Camp Varones-- a dedicated week of eating meals, doing chores, playing sports, and hanging out, to help us gain an accurate assessment each of the boy's needs, and formulate a plan for the future.

And let me tell you:  It.  Was.  Awesome.

Mealtimes were a joy, laughing at all of their jokes and sharing devotions together each morning.  Afternoons were spent playing soccer, cleaning up the massive storage building, and winding down each evening for creative journalling and dinner.  The boys responded so well to us and were thrilled to be eating on their own, away from the noise of the main dining hall.  All week Dave and I prayed for God to reveal to us a plan for the future.

Finally, on Friday, we prayed again, and in an instant, God downloaded to us an idea for separating the varones into three groups.  We'd throw up a wall in the middle of the current varon bedroom to make two smaller apartments, and take the third group into our house.  One of the maintenance guys on staff had already approached us with a desire to house-parent the boys-- and it turned out that our director already had someone in mind for the third house parent.

And just like that, we went from an institution-setting, to making plans for three little homes.  The plan is that each room will have it's own bathroom, bedroom, and living area with a table for meals (which will be brought from the main kitchen).  Maybe in the future we could even get a couch or two for each house so that they will have a private area to hang out as a "family".  Each room will have five boys and a full-time house parent.  The boys will have loving, personal attention at last.    

For us, we will be welcoming six boys to live with us.  We will tell them tonight at dinner.

I am reminded of a dream that I had about a year ago.  I dreamed that I was standing on a stage, with a line up of handsome, well-dressed young men beside me.  I couldn't see their faces, or even see how many there were, but in my dream I wept, because I knew that they were my sons, and I was so proud and thankful to be their mother.  When I awoke from the dream, I knew it was from God, but I had no idea how he would possibly fulfill it.

God has answered my prayers and fulfilled His promise to me.  Every tear I cried and every prayer I prayed brought me here.

I have finally found my children.  

 "Then you will say in your heart,

    ‘Who bore me these?
I was bereaved and barren;
    I was exiled and rejected.
    Who brought these up?
I was left all alone,
    but these—where have they come from?’”

22 This is what the Sovereign Lord says:

“See, I will beckon to the nations,
    I will lift up my banner to the peoples;
they will bring your sons in their arms
    and carry your daughters on their hips.
23 Kings will be your foster fathers,
    and their queens your nursing mothers.
They will bow down before you with their faces to the ground;
    they will lick the dust at your feet.
Then you will know that I am the Lord;
    those who hope in me will not be disappointed.”

      ---- Isaiah 49:21-23  (My favorite chapter of the Bible)

The Long Way Around

I knew I would marry my husband before we met.  We exchanged emails for a couple weeks before meeting, and in those messages he told me of his love for children and missions.  Once we were dating, we spent hours walking and planning of all the children we'd have and the ones we'd adopt.  Our love was built on a mutual desire to raise children.

Once engaged, we planned a May wedding-- then moved it up to February when we found out about an opening for houseparents at a children's home in Mexico.  We knew what we wanted to do and we were in a rush to get there.  A few months after our wedding we headed to Guatemala for language school, enroute to Mexico.

Then, I had (what I thought was) a miscarriage.

And with that, everything changed.  The confidence I'd held in my calling to work at a children's home was wrenched from my grasp in the wake of the pain of infertility.  It hurt to see pregnant women, especially teenage moms.  It hurt to see other people's children, while we were waiting for one of our own.  The idea of being around a bunch of kids a children's home felt like salt in the wound.

Since then, we have almost become house parents three times, tried to adopt for years, and been through multiple other fertility treatments.  In all of it, the pain, the changes, the many moves that have taken us to new houses, cities, and countries-- God has been working in our hearts.  And in His unfailing love, He has been patient with us as we grieved the loss of fertility, and even the loss of adoption (as we've gone through years of waiting for Guatemalan paperwork to qualify us to apply for adoption).  It has been a painful process of relinquishing control over the deepest desire of our hearts.

On Saturday we are moving to a children's home in a city in northern-western Guatemala.  We will be helping to raise 93 children and teens (+ Z, of course).  Arriving at this point has taken almost ten years, but we recognize all that God has done during that time, and how much better prepared we are now than we would have been when we were first married.

We took the long way around, but we've finally found our way home.

He's in the Waiting

We are all waiting for something. 

For me, it’s the wait for a baby.  We have waited for years, and as much as we have healed from the original trauma of being diagnosed as infertile, it still hurts.  The longing doesn’t go away, and the grief stays with me.  Some, with only the best intentions to try to end my pain, have suggested that I stop waiting, stop wanting, stop praying for healing.

This week I waited for another woman’s baby.  As she battled through each of her difficult contractions and the hours began to pile up, the baby stayed hidden within.  Her husband and I supported her as she fought and breathed.  The midwife assured her that progress was happening, but it was not until the moment of birth that we had the proof.  It would have been easy to get discouraged, but instead my friend repeated, “I can do this.  I will see my baby today.” 

Watching her labour I rediscovered my own courage to fight for my children.  Though they are hidden from me, they are no less real.  I am battling for them in the spiritual realm.  My prayers are not unanswered.  Every one is heard and remembered.  My Heavenly Father holds my hands and looks lovingly into my face as I labour to bring them home.  He has not forgotten me.

Maybe you are like me, waiting for something that seems to be taking too long to come.  You’re weary from the battle.  You feel like you have prayed the same prayer over and over—without visible results.  The baby seems stuck and you are worried that you will be in labour forever. 

Take courage, my friend.  Your prayers are doing in the spiritual realm what we may only be able to see in the triumphant moment of birth. 

He’s in the waiting. 

My Mom, the International Traveller

My parents.  September 2016

My parents don't travel.

Ever.

Even if their daughter became a missionary and raised their grandson in a different country.  They don't travel.  They'll fork out the money to bring us home for a visit and rent us a great apartment to stay in during our visit.  They'll heavily support us each month.  They'll write us emails and buy us an Ipad so that we can use Facetime to talk to them.  All that and more, becuase they are amazing and generous parents.  My Mom and Dad are two of my very closest friends on the planet and we have a great relationship.

But they don't travel.  And since I live three countries away, this was becoming a problem.  I miss them.  Like, ALL the time.  And their grandson misses them.  They are the kind of parents who you want to have around all the time.  My dream life would involve living next door to them and having my mom help me homeschool Z.

I prayed for them to come visit.  I want to share my life with them and have them walk in my world for a while.  To take them to the market and see the sights and smells of a weekly grocery-shopping trip.  To chat beside the pila while I wash clothes by hand.  To take a walk around the Base and pray together in the prayer room.  For the whole three years that we've lived in Guatemala I have prayed for them to visit.

And then suddenly, unexpectedly, during a chat on Facebook, my mom announced that she'd started taking Spanish classes.  I thought this sounded like good news, and suggested again that she come down to visit to hone her skills.  To my shock and delight, she said she'd talk to my dad about it.

The next day, she wrote to say that since Dave will be in Canada for his sister's wedding in May, that she would travel back to Guatemala with him and spend a week with us!  My mom, travelling?  Apparently yes!  Z started making plans for all the toys he wants to show his Moma.

It feels like a miracle.  My beloved Mom is coming to visit me!  I miss her everyday, but during these few days in May we will be together.  We are so thankful and happy!  



 

The Prayer Room

The prayer room at the YWAM base is finally set up.  After 20+ months of pursuing this dream, we finally have a dedicated space for the purpose of prayer and intercession.  Thanks to the generous donations of a couple in the States we were able to purchase everything needed to create a comfortable place for people to join together to pray, or to talk with God on their own.  

Dave spends about half of his time in the prayer room, while I, meanwhile, am pursuing my writing and practicing hospitality by inviting dinner guests a few times a week.  I help out at the base, and at church, while also maintaining our home and home-schooling Z.  It’s a pleasantly-full life, bordering on too-busy.

There are always too many opportunities—good, ministry opportunities.  We are learning to jealously protect our prayer time, knowing that although there are dozens of other good things we could be doing, we would be ignoring God’s best.  All true fruitfulness flows out of intimacy with God, and my heart is consumed with desire to know His heart and to reach the lost from a place of fullness.  I want to be so filled up by His Spirit that His love spills out onto those around me. 

Too often I have tried to minister from a place of thirst.  I have not taken the time to be with my Lord, to hear His voice or experience His love for myself.  I am offering others a drink from an empty cup—and He offers us so much more than this. 

We cannot give what we do not have.  My heart’s cry is to be filled up with more of Jesus, that when I speak to others I would have a fresh word of encouragement and strength for them.  That when they meet me, they would encounter Jesus through me.  But without spending time in His presence, I can do nothing. 

It all starts with prayer. 

  

Prayer request board

Desk for creative intercession 

This is the only room in the base with a carpet-- so people can kneel or lay down when they're praying.  

House of Light

In the morning the light spills over the back wall of our house, filling the kitchen with a golden glow.  If I was to climb the stairs to hang the laundry I would see the sunrise crashing against the corner of the volcano and splaying into a million beautiful rays.  I prepare breakfast in my new kitchen and I feel a calm in my heart that has been missing for a long time.  

David leaves early to work at the YWAM base, and Z and I spend an hour or two at the kitchen table working on his schoolwork.  The neighborhood outside the front door is abuzz with the sounds of the carpenter shop next-door, the metal shop kitty-corner, and the children heading up the block to attend the school.  It's not quiet, but it's pleasant.  I feel surrounded by people.  

Z has begun to attend an afternoon program called Light House, which takes place twice a week in a building just down the road from our house.  He is loving having a special place to call "his own", and I am glad to see him growing in confidence.    

Dave has been given a room at the new YWAM base to use as the "House of Prayer".  He is thankful to be able to continue in his calling as an intercessor, as well as serving as kitchen manager.  His giftings are being utilized to the fullest, and he seems happy every day as he leaves for work.  

I am enjoying the routine of home-schooling every day, and having opportunity to spend time with friends almost every day.  Hosting dinners and chatting with friends over steamy cups of tea in the living room have taken the place of watching movies every night to avoid feeling lonely.  We've found a new church and been accepted immediately.  Dave and I were even able to go on a date, thanks to the amazing friends willing to take care of Z!  

It feels like real life.  It feels happy.  

Our house is filled with friends, and laughter, and plans for adopting in the next year or two, and, of course, non-stop episodes of Adventures in Odyssey (some things don't change).  I'm so thankful to be back in Antigua, I really am.  

As the house fills with morning light each day, the warmth reaches my heart, and I feel the love of my Heavenly Father for bringing us back to the place where we can be part of a community again.    

The Return

Sometimes things don't work out the way we plan.  Actually, that happens a lot of the time, and in those moments we have to trust that God will still take care of us and show us what to do.   

This is one of those times.

We have decided to leave Lake Atitlan and move back to Antigua.  

This decision didn't come easily for us-- we had a lot of dreams for what we hoped to accomplish with God at the lake.  We went back to Canada and told everyone we saw about our work and ministry of prayer.  We made display boards that were covered in pictures of blue water and colorful Mayan handicrafts.  It was epic.  We looked like really cool rural missionaries.  We were the kind of people I would have wanted to be when I was young.  

Now let me, Shawn, speak for only myself.  Dave is that epic missionary.  He deserves to have a book written about his ministry and devotion to prayer.  He's amazing. I am different than he is though, and my giftings and personality didn't mesh as well with the situation.  

The isolation was getting to me.  I was scared of the street dogs and didn't have many friends.  It was to the point that I was hardly willing to leave the house and I felt strangled by any unsolicited visitors that came to the house.  I was drowning in loneliness to the point of not wanting to be around people at all (as if that makes sense). 

 I wanted to be more like Dave.  Able to cope.  Thriving in the face of challenge.  But I couldn't.  

I prayed.  I cried.  I journaled, and wrote a novel, invited people over, and even forced myself to walk to the market when I was scared.  I wrote messages to myself on the white-board that said, "If you didn't leave today, you were a success".  I was burnt out.  I was unhappy and unaffective. 

While we were in Canada, I was a different person.  I was brave and vibrant and excited about life.  I stood in the middle of our apartment (that my parents had kindly rented for us) and told myself, "You should enjoy this month here because you aren't going to be happy again for a long time."  And yet, for Dave's sake, I agreed to go back to Lake Atitlan.  

So how did we get to finally making a decision?  I don't know exactly, but somewhere along the way to re-adjusting to life in Guatemala after our time in Canada, I looked at Dave and said, "I can't adopt children here.  I can hardly take care of myself here.  If having a big family is truly our greatest goal in life, we have to leave the lake."  To which my godly husband said, "Let's pray."  

And after a couple weeks of praying... we agreed, it was time to leave Lake Atitlan and build a more sustainable life in Antigua.  Dave could continue the prayer ministry as usual, just in a new location, and I could raise Z (and our future kids) in a situation that would afford me a community and support.

Four days after making that decision we found out we had only six days to complete our permanent residency application (or be stuck waiting four years more!)... we rushed to Guatemala City and miraculously were able to apply in-time!  We could feel God guiding us and advocating our cause.  In the same week we also found a house that will be perfect for our soon-to-be-growing family, and found a new church that welcomed us with open arms and powerful prayer support.  

... and that's my story.  Sometimes it doesn't work out the way we think it will, or the way we say it will or even how we print 700 brochures to explain how it will.  Life is messier than that, and sometimes it takes a bit too long for true feelings and needs to be addressed and discussed.  But in the end, God is still good, still in sovereign, still loving.  And I know that He goes with me.    

I am so thankful.

The front of our house (Zane with the Realtor)

The courtyard

Ashley showing off the kitchen-- a real sink????

The bathroom-- with a tub!  

Upstairs (two unfinished rooms and a patio up there)

Front door 

Front patio

View up the street 

The Quilting Club

The original concept for my newly-released novel, Under the Red Spotlight, was a story I wrote as a pre-teen.  The story was called, Lionheart, and followed a team of “Sundancers”, basically enslaved acrobat teams, to perform in high-stakes competition for the glory of their owners.  The main character was a teenage girl named Aurora and her boyfriend/acrobatic partner Lance, along with their other teammate, Trent.  Aurora’s ultimate victory?  Finding freedom and having a baby. 

For any of you who have read Red Spotlight—doesn’t this sound familiar? 

   

I was fourteen when I fell in love with writing.  I was home-schooled and boy-crazy, not a very compatible combination, since the only boy around most of the time was my little brother.  Writing about romance was the closest I could come to experiencing the real thing.  After the success of my debut story,  Zack, a story about a teenager stranded on a desert island with her boyfriend (a real page-turner, you can be sure), my little sister and her quilting club requested that I write more stories for them, so I wrote Lionheart.

Oh, and yes, you read that right, my little sister and her quilting club... Remember, we were home-schooled. 

The week I finished writing Lionheart, I waited impatiently each week for all the quilters to assemble.  It took three quilting club meetings to read the entire 18,890 word tale of Aurora and her team.  My sister and her cohorts loved it.  I had them write comments on the back page of the manuscript, y’know, so I could use them as endorsements on the next novel.    

“I read your story it made me almost cry I felt as I was there It was the BEST STORY EVER!!  (I hope there’s 90,000,000 and a lot more storys).”  -- Saralyn

Comments like these spurred my young heart on to write more stories, including a sequel to Lionheart in which I killed most of the main characters and subsequently bankrupted the series of fans.  The quilters were not impressed with my calloused abuse of their hearts.  After that, all my stories had happy endings. 

Fast-forward about eleven years. 

I’d married the love of my life, given birth to a beautiful baby, and moved to Guatemala as a missionary... pretty much fulfilled all of good ol’ Aurora’s dreams.  I was in the middle of our seven months of language school and feeling a bit lost in the world of Spanish verbs and nouns and sentence structure.  Life in a different country felt hard and lonely, and I wanted to go home.  Then it struck me—it was time to write another story. 

And so, in the hours while my son napped every afternoon, I crafted a new, more realistic version of my younger-self’s attempt at a novel.  I found comfort in the familiarity of typing English words, and imagining characters and dialogue and storyline.  With each word I was transported back to the days of reading to my sister and her friends as they huddled over their little nine-patches.  Writing became my solace, my friend when I was lonely. 

Under the Red Spotlight was published in November, 2016, thirteen years after its original conception.  My next manuscript is well on its way, and will hopefully go to publication in 2017—and isn’t based on a childhood story this time.  I’m older now, and my writing has grown up with me... but no matter what changes, I will always treasure where this love of writing began. 

Thanks Quilting Club girls.  You inspire me still.   

Home

On Wednesday I will be going home again, for the second time since August.  

Last time I said the word "home", I meant I was going to Canada, the place where our families live and our passports were issued.  This time when I say "home" I mean that I'm going back to Guatemala, where we have a house full of our belongings and a room-full of kids waiting for us to teach Sunday school.  Both places feel like "home", and then again, neither does.  

I think I understand that verse in the Bible a little better now-- y'know, the one about how are citizenship is in Heaven with God.  I find comfort in the thought that there is a day coming when I will really be home, and it will feel like home, and I will stay there forever and ever.  

As our time at our Canadian home comes to a close I am overwhelmed by the love and generosity that has been poured out upon us.  It's been a time of adjustment welcoming new family members, and a time of enriching old relationships.  Our needs have been great, but greater still is the ability of God to provide in every way.  My heart is strengthened by the encouragement of our family and friends.  I am so thankful to have had this time in Canada.  So very, deeply, thankful.  

I face our imminent departure for our Guatemalan home with hope and even some eagerness.  Leaving our family in Canada is always hard for me, but I feel confident that God is with us, and we are walking in His will.  To walk in obedience to the One who loves me most, for me, must always be enough...even when it's hard to say goodbye.  

I'm looking forward to being in my own home again, in Guatemala, and waking to sunshine and avocados falling on the roof.  I'm excited to buy a papaya at the market and show the Sunday school kids the new puppets.  In not too long it will be time to decorate for Christmas, and in January we will start home-school grade 1 with Z!  So much to look forward to, and yet it's still hard to leave one home for the other.  

In all these bitter-sweet emotions I am struck with a deep gratefulness to God, that I have not one, but two places on this earth to call home.  Two places where I am know and loved.  I am blessed beyond measure.  

And so in the midst of the pain of another goodbye, I reach for my Father's hand, and He leads me home.

"All these people died still believing what God had promised them. They did not receive what was promised, but they saw it all from a distance and welcomed it. They agreed that they were foreigners and nomads here on earth. Obviously people who say such things are looking forward to a country they can call their own. If they had longed for the country they came from, they could have gone back. But they were looking for a better place, a heavenly homeland. That is why God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them."

 

      -Hebrews 11:13-16

      

From Hospitals to Wedding Bells Z

During our Discipleship Training School Outreach, Dave offered to carry a table for a mom who was struggling to wrangle the unwieldy piece of furniture home.  The road back to her house was long and he had plenty of time to get to know the mom, Ana, her common-law husband, Luis, and their two kids, Miguel and Damaris.  

After that day we visited them other times, including throwing a birthday party for little Miguel.  Sometime near the end of the DTS we found out that Luis was suffering from a cancerous tumor and the doctor was giving him a dark prognosis if they couldn't scrape together the money for surgery.  We prayed for them, but knew that God was looking for a greatest level of response.  

Dave shared the testimony of Luis and Ana's family during the DTS graduation and a generous couple named Mike and Gloriann came forward with an offer to pay for the entire surgery, as well as covering all the expenses for the family post-op when Luis couldn't work.  Dave sat in the hospital with Luis and Ana for days while Luis recovered from the intensive surgery, praying for complete healing.  A couple months later the doctors pronounced Luis as cancer-free.  

This miracle happened almost three years ago.  Since then we've had the joy of getting to know this family better through many visits and having Ana attend our literacy class in 2014.  In May they announced that they were considering getting married and invited us to come to the wedding.  

It took a couple months to get everything arranged, but this week while we were in Antigua we finally saw our good friends commit their lives to each other in marriage.  When we visited Ana at the beginning of the week to find out the plan for the wedding day, we asked her how she was feeling.  

She said, "I feel valued that he wants to marry me.  I feel safe because now if something happens to him I know that the kids and I will be taken care of.  I never thought this day would come."  

The day they married, Dave and I signed the papers in place of Ana's family, who weren't able to be there.  She said, "You are my family.  You have cared about me when no one else did.  Many good things have happened because you came into our lives."  She smiled all day.  

"I didn't think this would ever happen to me," Ana laughed as we walked through Antigua after eating dessert in a restaraunt.  "I will never forget this special night."  

Congratulations Luis and Ana

May God bless your new marriage.   

Z and Damaris walking to the wedding 

The ceremony (they will be having another church ceremony later)

Officially husband and Wife 

Signing in place of Ana's mom 

Luis' Mom signing 

The newlyweds! 

The three amigos 

Walking to the reception, hosted by a friend of Ana's 

Reception dinner, cow-heart soup with rice, tortillas and coffee

We took them for dessert/pizza in Antigua afterwards.  It was the first time they'd eaten in a real restaurant.  

No leftovers here!  

Enjoying a walk through Central Park 

Luis' side of the family