Home
As I began to compile all the updates I wanted to share in this post, a theme kept showing up over and over again—home. Here’s what’s been going on in my life over the last several months.
At the end of March I moved into my own house in San Antonio, less than a mile from the children’s home where I work. It took several weeks of cleaning, painting, and prep work, but at last this space feels like home. I’ve been enjoying living more simply and am amazed by how quickly we are capable of adjusting to our surroundings. Things that phased me in the beginning—like concrete floors, a sink-less kitchen, unpredictable critters, and the sound of birds hopping on the tin roof—are now completely normal.
There’s a relief in escaping American excess and standards, but it’s so easy to slip back into patterns of “wants” instead of “needs”—and I’m working hard to avoid doing that. I’ve realized my life is still showered with luxury when compared to typical life in this country, despite the simplicity in comparison to life back in the states. The fact that I have kitchen appliances and a water heater in my shower sets me apart from most Guatemalans. I’m appreciating gaining a new perspective on luxury and reflecting on simplicity by choice versus simplicity by circumstance.
So this is my house: concrete floors and tin roofing. Throw in some color, furniture, and mementos from life back in the states, and it becomes my home away from home. While I know it is not what many others would choose, it is everything that I need, and I know that God is working in me to let go of the things that I cling to from my comfortable life back in the states and embrace what he has before me here. I’ve learned some valuable skills along the way—like how to repair a toilet, use a weed wacker, and kill spiders without flinching. It’s all a part of the experience!
On March 14th, we welcomed a new child into the children’s home—Kevin. At just 15 pounds and a few months shy of 4 years old, Kevin came to us severely malnourished. He came into our home at a very critical time in his health—a few more weeks in the care of his family and he likely would not still be with us. We have seen steady gains in his weight, his muscle tone has decreased, and he is more interactive. He adores attention and almost always bursts into tears when he is put down. I have been working with him consistently for occupational therapy to facilitate developmental skills, as he is significantly delayed in motor and cognitive skills. He adds so much joy to our lives, and it is a beautiful thing that we have the opportunity to love him—to be home for him.
On May 2nd, we lost our sweet little Edy. It’s a day that will forever be etched into my heart. I keep writing and re-writing this paragraph, trying to do justice to Edy’s life, to the love and joy he brought us, to the pain and grief in his absence. No words will ever adequately describe the depth of pain experienced watching a child die. Edy suffered for so long—he was almost 5 years old, with a terminal lung condition, and he struggled to breathe on a daily basis. But he was also a very happy child, and in the moments where his breathing was a little easier and he had rest from his spasms, he would lighten up a room with his smile and laughter. He was on comfort care, which meant all measures were to keep him as comfortable as possible, and when he had his moments where he stopped breathing, efforts were not made for resuscitation. He hung on for so long.
The week before he died, his condition steadily worsened—it was the worst I had seen him during my time at the children’s home, and I worried for him, unsure how near the end might be. The night before he died was our monthly worship night. And as I look back, I see how beautiful it was that he was surrounded by the worship of our heavenly Father, just hours before he would stand directly in God’s presence and worship in a whole new way. Edy was held the entire evening, and near the end of that night, I stole him away for a few minutes of cuddling and prayer. I never expected to be in a situation where this would be my prayer, but I prayed for Jesus to take him. I prayed that Edy would let go. I prayed for his suffering to end. That was the last time I held Edy. I greeted him the next morning with a kiss on the forehead, and within the hour he passed. I will never forget the sight of his small body—finally relaxed, finally at peace, no more spasms, no more strained breathing. Still.
For days after, tears streamed down my face, and every time I recount the story of his passing and his funeral, I still choke up. My heart is torn between sorrow and joy. As much as it pains us that he is no longer with us, he is now made perfect in the arms of Jesus. He no longer has earthly limits. He knows perfect joy. He can breathe. He can run. He is free. I wouldn’t wish for him back knowing what it means I would be stealing him away from. He is in heaven. He is home.
In May I took a quick trip home to Ohio, prompted by a close friend’s wedding and my brother’s high school graduation. Oh how good it was to be home!! It’s one of the hardest parts of being here in Guatemala. Being apart from those I love most is a daily challenge. Trying to explain to my almost-4-year-old niece why I can’t make her birthday cake this year, or why I have to leave again—there are no words to explain how my heart breaks. But my goodness am I grateful to have that type of love in my life that makes being away so difficult.
While I was in Ohio, two of my best friends here in Guatemala departed from San Antonio. Julia returned to North Carolina after completing her 4-month internship at the children’s home. And Rachel completed her 10-week pre-service training before transitioning to her service site in another part of Guatemala with the Peace Corps. These two played a huge role in helping me adjust to life here in Guatemala, and I’m so looking forward to the next time I can see them again. Having a revolving door of people come in and out of my life here is challenging to navigate, but I am so grateful for the opportunity to meet so many people and for the short amount of time when our paths overlap. I really do believe God brings certain people into our lives at certain times.
The longer I’m here, the more I realize that home isn’t a location, home is in the presence of the people I love. Home is these children. Home is my family. Home is my friends. Home is scattered all over and forever will be. When I am here, my heart longs for those I am closest to in the states. And when I am in the states, my heart longs for my children here. My heart will forever be pulled in multiple directions. What a beautiful thing it is to be able to experience that kind of love, despite the hardship that comes with it.
To all of you who are reading this—thank you. Thank you for sharing in this life with me, thank you for letting me share a bit of my heart with you. Thank you for your love, and support, and prayers. Thank you for being a part of my home, no matter where you are around the globe. Please continue to keep me in your prayers, knowing I’ll be doing the same for you.
Much love,
Lindsey
At the end of March I moved into my own house in San Antonio, less than a mile from the children’s home where I work. It took several weeks of cleaning, painting, and prep work, but at last this space feels like home. I’ve been enjoying living more simply and am amazed by how quickly we are capable of adjusting to our surroundings. Things that phased me in the beginning—like concrete floors, a sink-less kitchen, unpredictable critters, and the sound of birds hopping on the tin roof—are now completely normal.
There’s a relief in escaping American excess and standards, but it’s so easy to slip back into patterns of “wants” instead of “needs”—and I’m working hard to avoid doing that. I’ve realized my life is still showered with luxury when compared to typical life in this country, despite the simplicity in comparison to life back in the states. The fact that I have kitchen appliances and a water heater in my shower sets me apart from most Guatemalans. I’m appreciating gaining a new perspective on luxury and reflecting on simplicity by choice versus simplicity by circumstance.
So this is my house: concrete floors and tin roofing. Throw in some color, furniture, and mementos from life back in the states, and it becomes my home away from home. While I know it is not what many others would choose, it is everything that I need, and I know that God is working in me to let go of the things that I cling to from my comfortable life back in the states and embrace what he has before me here. I’ve learned some valuable skills along the way—like how to repair a toilet, use a weed wacker, and kill spiders without flinching. It’s all a part of the experience!
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| Before the work began. A fresh coat of paint and grass seed goes a long way! |
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| Kitchen (before) |
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| Kitchen (after) |
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| Kitchen (after) |
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| Bedroom (before). Still wondering who thought orange and green sponge paint was a good idea. |
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| Bedroom (after) |
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| Living space |
On March 14th, we welcomed a new child into the children’s home—Kevin. At just 15 pounds and a few months shy of 4 years old, Kevin came to us severely malnourished. He came into our home at a very critical time in his health—a few more weeks in the care of his family and he likely would not still be with us. We have seen steady gains in his weight, his muscle tone has decreased, and he is more interactive. He adores attention and almost always bursts into tears when he is put down. I have been working with him consistently for occupational therapy to facilitate developmental skills, as he is significantly delayed in motor and cognitive skills. He adds so much joy to our lives, and it is a beautiful thing that we have the opportunity to love him—to be home for him.
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| Kevin on his first full day with us |
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| Smiling (and drooling) during therapy |
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| He has gained over five pounds, and it shows! |
On May 2nd, we lost our sweet little Edy. It’s a day that will forever be etched into my heart. I keep writing and re-writing this paragraph, trying to do justice to Edy’s life, to the love and joy he brought us, to the pain and grief in his absence. No words will ever adequately describe the depth of pain experienced watching a child die. Edy suffered for so long—he was almost 5 years old, with a terminal lung condition, and he struggled to breathe on a daily basis. But he was also a very happy child, and in the moments where his breathing was a little easier and he had rest from his spasms, he would lighten up a room with his smile and laughter. He was on comfort care, which meant all measures were to keep him as comfortable as possible, and when he had his moments where he stopped breathing, efforts were not made for resuscitation. He hung on for so long.
The week before he died, his condition steadily worsened—it was the worst I had seen him during my time at the children’s home, and I worried for him, unsure how near the end might be. The night before he died was our monthly worship night. And as I look back, I see how beautiful it was that he was surrounded by the worship of our heavenly Father, just hours before he would stand directly in God’s presence and worship in a whole new way. Edy was held the entire evening, and near the end of that night, I stole him away for a few minutes of cuddling and prayer. I never expected to be in a situation where this would be my prayer, but I prayed for Jesus to take him. I prayed that Edy would let go. I prayed for his suffering to end. That was the last time I held Edy. I greeted him the next morning with a kiss on the forehead, and within the hour he passed. I will never forget the sight of his small body—finally relaxed, finally at peace, no more spasms, no more strained breathing. Still.
For days after, tears streamed down my face, and every time I recount the story of his passing and his funeral, I still choke up. My heart is torn between sorrow and joy. As much as it pains us that he is no longer with us, he is now made perfect in the arms of Jesus. He no longer has earthly limits. He knows perfect joy. He can breathe. He can run. He is free. I wouldn’t wish for him back knowing what it means I would be stealing him away from. He is in heaven. He is home.
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In May I took a quick trip home to Ohio, prompted by a close friend’s wedding and my brother’s high school graduation. Oh how good it was to be home!! It’s one of the hardest parts of being here in Guatemala. Being apart from those I love most is a daily challenge. Trying to explain to my almost-4-year-old niece why I can’t make her birthday cake this year, or why I have to leave again—there are no words to explain how my heart breaks. But my goodness am I grateful to have that type of love in my life that makes being away so difficult.
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| Julia |
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| Rachel |
The longer I’m here, the more I realize that home isn’t a location, home is in the presence of the people I love. Home is these children. Home is my family. Home is my friends. Home is scattered all over and forever will be. When I am here, my heart longs for those I am closest to in the states. And when I am in the states, my heart longs for my children here. My heart will forever be pulled in multiple directions. What a beautiful thing it is to be able to experience that kind of love, despite the hardship that comes with it.
To all of you who are reading this—thank you. Thank you for sharing in this life with me, thank you for letting me share a bit of my heart with you. Thank you for your love, and support, and prayers. Thank you for being a part of my home, no matter where you are around the globe. Please continue to keep me in your prayers, knowing I’ll be doing the same for you.
Much love,
Lindsey
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