“I can’t make it here if I can’t talk or understand what is being said to me. I can’t even talk to the parents of my kids’ friends at school. I feel insecure all the time.”

These were my words upon returning to El Salvador after visiting the U.S. following Pete’s shooting. I felt so frustrated. In the States I was able to communicate with no problem, maintain relationships, and go to many levels within conversation. The sting of not speaking Spanish now felt even stronger after Pete lost his voice. When he talks he is not heard clearly so I find myself needing to step it up a bit.

We had begun yet another journey. We want to thrive in El Salvador, not just survive. To do this I had to learn Spanish. After much prayer, talking with our kids, consulting with friends we made a big decision. I was going to travel to Guatemala for three weeks to study and immerse myself in Spanish. I would return as often as I needed to learn. We also hired a teacher for me to learn with while in El Salvador.
antigua street

I broke down two nights before I was to leave. I attended my Tuesday night Bible study. This is a group of gals from the U.S. who live in El Salvador. We are all trying to serve God faithfully. We pray, talk, study God’s word, and encourage each other. This night, all had something beautiful and profound to say. I was completely silent, and felt insecure, overwhelmed, scared, and plain awful. All I felt was, “What the heck am I doing in El Salvador?” Finally it was my turn to share. I broke down and wept. I was so broken and needy. Yet, I did not know how to ask for help. All the women listened and loved me, available to be my friends. They encouraged me to go and that it would be an amazing trip. Three days later I was getting into a taxi at 6am and waiving good bye to Peter and the girls. I felt sick to my stomach.

I had no idea what healing the Lord had in store for me through my time in Antigua, Guatemala. A few days before leaving, my friend Alba (who is from Guatemala) offered to go on the bus with me. This was a gift from God. I had planned to go alone, by faith. But, God had a better plan. A day later another friend (originally from Ecuador) asked if she could come too. We were the three musketeers off to Guatemala. The night before leaving, I found out that Alba had to rush to Guatemala because her mother, who had cancer, was in horrible shape. This left Carolina and me.

God used this time to begin a friendship between Carolina and me. Alba eventually met up with us, and we spent that weekend visiting ruins, coffee shops, and practicing Spanish. I treasured the time, three women from completely different countries and cultures laughing and acting like school girls as we toured the city. Alba gave me a calculator to figure out the exchange rate between quetzales and dollars. We sat around the table having breakfast as I practiced my math. I think that this time was a bit of bliss for Alba, taking her away from the loss she was enduring with her mother.

I had met Alba’s mother during Christmas the year before. She was a wonderful woman who loved Jesus. She was young and vibrant. She was an anchor to the family. Her cancer came on too quickly. Two weeks after I arrived in Antigua, she died. This was a major blow to Alba and her family.

mendoza familyPart of studying in Antigua meant staying with a local family. It seemed like God had selected the exact family he wanted me to spend my time with, the Mendoza family. It was a stretch for me. I had wanted to stay in a motel or guesthouse to have some privacy. But, I’m so glad I didn’t. Senora Mendoza (whose first name is Jesus) was an incredible cook, and her hospitality was warm and inviting. She had five children who were all grown. She now has fourteen grandchildren and thirty great grandchildren. She and Senor Mendoza are about to celebrate their 60^th wedding anniversary in September.

After the first week in the house Senora Mendoza invited me into here “sala” (living room) to see pictures of her family. It was amazing. On every corner and wall there were pictures of her quiver. She had framed diplomas of achievement. She shared with me that her first born son, Antonio, had become a doctor. He had taken the bus all the time he was in med school and dreamed of buying a car when becoming successful. He accomplished his goal, purchased a car, and practiced medicine for four years. One afternoon on his way back home from the city, he was in a major accident and died. He was 29 years old.

I was stunned and heartbroken by the story. I spent the rest of the night in my bed reflecting on the lives of my children, especially our firstborn PJ. I thanked God for the time we have had as a family, begged him to spare us from such a tragedy, and thanked Him for sparing Peter’s life. I ended the prayer by surrendering my family back to God, and then I cried.

I had a classmate staying in the Mendoza’s house as well, Kathleen. Very quickly I learned about her life. At just twenty years old, Kathleen was diagnosed with cancer. She told me that at that time she was excelling in school as a sociology major, and was poised to enter the grad school of her choice. Yet, for the next four years she battled with cancer while fighting to finish university. She endured years of chemotherapy, but finally finished school with honors and cured from cancer. However, there would be lasting side affects. During one of here surgeries the doctors removed a major set of muscles in her shoulders that help hold up her neck. She has had to relearn how to hold her head up using other muscles. This would now limit many decisions she was to make. She was faced now with the haunting question so many of us face at points in our lives, “Now what do I do?”

As she shared her story, I was blessed. She became a friend that allowed me to walk through my own struggles for three weeks. She demonstrated to me such compassion for others. She was thoughtful, intelligent, and a fighter. After her cancer she chose a profession completely different than anything she had ever done. She trained to become an airplane engineer. She wanted to work a job that was demanding, meaningful, and full of action. Over 25 years in this career she had met all kinds of people while working hard, long hours. She had found contentment. She had to endure yet another trial just a couple years ago when she fell on the job and shattered both knees. This began years of surgery, workers comp claims, and emotional roller coasters. Through it all Kathleen found ways to emerge with a smile, and with a confidence that I admired. She had become a great writer and artist, an intriguing person. I loved our walks home from class in the pouring rain. I loved climbing the Pacaya Volcano with her, and in simply having a friend to journey with during my pursuit to learn Spanish.

I met so many incredible people. Jen, an actress, was traveling Central America and visiting here brother who was a missionary in Guatemala. Young and full of adventure, this 22 year old had her sights on New York City, and planned to move there in the Fall. It was all so bizarre for me to be a mother of four kids, just having endured a life crisis, around so many individuals who were freely traveling with little responsibility. From all ages, faiths, and walks of like, each one I met had an amazing story and a journey that in some odd way I could relate to.

In the Spanish school I was able to change teachers at the end of each week, something that I found myself wanting to do. I thought it wise and interesting to get multiple teaching styles. Yet, I realized quickly that there was a deeper reason why I wanted to change teachers. One of the main ways to learn Spanish is to simply spend time talking about life experiences in the new language. I discovered that I wanted to share the story of Pete’s shooting over and over again. Even when meeting new people in coffee shops, I struggled to not blurt out “My husband was shot in the neck.” When talking to my teachers about El Salvador, I had such a chip on my shoulder. Nothing about the country was beautiful to me. The teacher would ask me to describe it, and I all I could think about “mi paiz” was that it was “feo y peligroso” (ugly and dangerous). I had no idea the depths of the wounds I had received.
studying

By my third week, after three teachers, and after talking about the incident a ton, I began to experience some joy. I actually began to feel that I was not the victim, the wounded soldier on the battlefield of missions work. I at least was feeling a touch of God’s healing hand. It was an incredible awakening. For quite some time, I had felt so insecure, thinking, “what do I have to give…I am the one in need.” Suddenly, my desire to talk about the incident subsided. I began to be much more interested to hear the stories of others. God was using Antigua to bring healing.

By the second week, I was wanting to come home. I missed Pete and the kids, and my head hurt from all the study. God sent a dear friend from El Salvador to give me a weekend of play. Trena (who helps run a study abroad program with her husband) spoiled us by checking us into a fabulous hotel run out of an ancient monestary. We laughed, ate chocolate and talked for hours about family, life, God, religion, you name it. God continued to reinforce the need I had for relationships, and His desire to restore us all through friendship.

I met a couple from Canada with three girls who had just sold their home to go on the mission field to Peru. They were studying in Antigua to prepare to serve God. My stomach turned because of the emotions from our move to El Salvador. I wanted to be very careful to not discourage them with our stories. I was not the one to talk to about the victories of serving in missions. I saw how new they were. Our two years in El Salvador has felt like ten. I knew that their decision came from a heart for God and a love of Christ. But, I still felt like saying, “Don’t do it…It is so hard!” I bit my tongue and prayed, “God let me honor you and please help me to be careful with my words.” He was faithful, and we had a nice dinner during one of my nights there. During my last week I met Sara, a true gift from God. She is a sister in Christ and was enduring her own trials, learning to lean completely on Him. By the time I met her, I could finally say “You can” with some confidence. What a miracle. I was able to be an encouragement by simply trusting God, listening, loving, and sharing life with Sara.

I can’t finish this story without the tale about my ride on the “chicken bus.” On my last day in Antigua I traveled out of the town with my teachers and classmates to a “pueblito” named San Antonio for a cultural experience. I used to think that a “chicken bus” was so named because of the baskets of chickens often strapped to the roof. Well, my theory has changed. I think it is because one feels like a chicken packed into a coupe with hundreds of other chickens balking and spreading their wings wanting to get out.

mayan homeIn San Antonio we sat in the home of a Mayan family as they shared the traditions they have struggled to maintain over the years. As we learned to make tortillas, we were surrounded by the love of these women who fought daily to survive in an ever changing world. We visited our teacher’s home nearby, she being Mayan as well. Her husband is a doctor, so they run a clinic out of the front of their house. Their dream was to keep building so they could turn the relatively small downstairs into a hospital, and live upstairs. They struggled to make it financially, so the construction is suspended until they see better days. It felt like such an honor to be in their home, and was special to share it with my Christian sister Sara.

We laughed while making our way to the bus, because the rain poured so hard we looked for Noah and the ark to pass us by. After sloshing through the mud, up the hill we boarded a local bus. We sat in the bus for thirty minutes as the sun disappeared and darkness began to overwhelm me. The driver was absent, and I figured out that we were only waiting for the bus to fill beyond capacity before leaving. I felt like a chicken in the coup. The windows were small and let in little air. All of sudden I envisioned pistols in all the people’s pockets. My heart raced. I asked Sara to crack her window, but I didn’t want to tell anyone that I was having a severe anxiety attack. My breathing was laboring, and I started to sweat. I prayed, “Lord please start the bus.” I started to look for ways to get out but was stuffed in like a sardine. Just when I thought I’d scream, the driver boarded and started the engine. I begged God to help me breath the whole ride home. It felt like forever, but when we arrived I could have kissed the sidewalk.

The next morning I woke up at 3:30 a.m. to board a shuttle to Guatemala City. There I would catch the bus to get home to Pete and the kids. As I sat on the bus, I reflected on my time and felt God working in my heart. I felt thankful for God’s specific love for me, and for the way he cared for me. I watched the lush landscapes of Guatemala turn into the dry terrain of El Salvador. It seemed dirty to me, the trash on the ground reminding me of how I felt. I began to feel ill. I ran to the restroom and vomited three times during the ride. I asked God to help me follow Him in El Salvador. I wanted to be reunited with my family, but nothing in me wanted to return to the country where Pete was shot, and where I felt like I did on that bus in Antingua. I started looking for a way out, but could not think of one. God had called us here for this season in our lives.

It took three hours and three trips to the restroom before a peaceful surrender finally came. I acknowledged that God holds my life, my dreams, my desires squarely in His loving hands. He poured out his grace so that I could surrender and trust him in El Salvador. It was not an easy struggle, but it was true.

My reunion with Peter and our kids was incredible. They appeared to have grown and had plenty to share. As they hugged me each day, my heart filled with God’s grace. I took more risks speaking Spanish and felt my previous embarrassment gone. I realized that God had changed me, even if just a bit, for my good and for His glory. I feel a renewed sense of courage that can only be explained by His love. I feel ready to follow Him wholeheartedly, knowing that He has my best interests at heart.