December 12, 2013

Dual Citizenship: Where is Home?

Where is home?

Guatemala is where we have lived for about three years. It is the first place we lived as a married couple. It is where we had our first child. It is where I worked my first teaching job. It is where we have made many great friends and have experienced many new things.

Yet, at times, it feels like something is missing. 

Maybe it's because Guatemala will never be the place we grew up for twenty-plus years. Or the fact that our families will never be a drive away. Or that we will never fully understand the culture or fluently speak the language. Maybe it's because we will never miraculously grow long black hair or shrink ten inches. Or because Jocelyn's clothes size will never equal her age. Maybe it's simply because we are minorities, and we will never completely fit in.

(Jocelyn's passports. Perks of dual citizenship.)

So is the United States home?

It's the place we grew up for twenty-plus years. Our families are there. We understand the culture and speak the language. There are other tall people and big babies. When people ask where I'm from, I always say Michigan. When I picture home, I picture Byron Center.

But at times, it feels like something is missing there too.

Maybe because whenever we go to the US we are technically on vacation and live at our parents' homes. Maybe because every time we say hello, a few days or weeks later we have to say goodbye again. Maybe because the thought of owning a car, getting insurance, and buying a house seem daunting. And maybe because we realize at times how Guatemala is slowly influencing us, and that not eating rice twice a week and arriving to places on time seem a little scary too.

So where is home?

(One month old US passport pic.)

I'd like to think that we are not home yet. 

Because realizing that we are not home yet gives us hope. Yes, we are citizens of the United States, Jocelyn, a dual citizen of Guatemala. But as children of Christ we are all dual citizens of an even better "home." A home that's perfect, heavenly actually.

But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ.

(4 month old GUA passport pic.)

And because of this, we have hope. We have hope that the places we live, that this world, is not all there is left for us. 

We have hope that the days we feel like we don't fit in, the days we don't feel complete, the days we feel empty or worthless, will someday come to an end. We have hope that this fallen world full of sin will someday be purified and made new. We have hope that our own personal brokenness will someday be fixed. 

We have hope that the poor shoeshine boys scrounging for customers and a few coins for food will someday never go hungry again. We have hope that although cancer may cause death, there is someone greater who promises eternal life without sickness.

Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of his household.

(She will always carry Guatemala with her.)
And most excitingly, we have hope that one day all eyes will be opened to the absolute Truth.

That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

All of this hope, because we are not yet home.

(Our little dual citizen. And soccer jerseys from our Secret Santas!)

(Proud to be a Xelaju "Super Chiva.")
(And a Michigan Wolverine.)
(And a Minnesota Viking.)

So, how are you? Has it been a rough day? Week? Couple of years? Do you feel like something is missing? That life feels broken? Embrace what you’re struggling with and the emotions you are experiencing. There’s no need to pretend everything is okay. But also, hang on to that hope, that whatever you are going through will someday be healed, fixed, and filled...forever.

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain.

(Hope that mommy will stop taking pictures if I smile.)

(Interesting Fact: Guatemalans have two last names, as they take on both their father and mother's last names. So no matter how hard I try, I can't quite shed the "Potgeter" name. Although Guatemala is trying to change it a little. :) 

Grace and Peace,

PS. And now, we disappear from writing for a few weeks, as we fly out on Saturday! We can hardly wait! Merry Christmas, everyone!

December 8, 2013

Martha, Martha

While Jesus was traveling with his disciples, sisters Mary and Martha opened their home to him. When he arrived, Mary stopped what she was doing, sat at Christ’s feet, and listened to what he had to say.

Martha freaked out.

She was “distracted by all the preparations that had to be made.” She had a to-do list. She was a “work before play” kind of girl. If she could just get all the cooking and cleaning and preparations finished, then she might be able to sit with her guest. She even asked Jesus to scold Mary for her. “Lord, don’t you care that my sister left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

I am a Martha. I am a “work before play…or die” kind of girl. I am a head down, charging through the day, trying to get everything done on my to-do list that never ends. I am usually charging so fast that I often don’t recognize the people or the opportunities I am charging by. I’d rather be crossing something off my list.

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “You are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

Mary knew. Mary recognized the opportunity in front of her, the amazing opportunity to simply sit at Jesus’ feet and listen to the words He said. Nothing else mattered. All her work, duties, and surrounding circumstances were properly put on the back burner as she sat at her Savior’s feet in precious fellowship with Him.

Jesus knew too. He knew that Martha needed a break. He knew that she needed to stop what she was doing, rest with him, and listen to his words of life. He knows that we still need that today.

Do I recognize my opportunities each day? The precious opportunities to stop, sit at Christ’s feet, and simply listen to what He is trying to say to me? No, not often enough.

Kendra, Kendra. You are distracted by all the preparations you think you have to make.

Shower, work, clean, wash, dry, email, errands, sweep, cook, rinse, tidy, collapse. Repeat.

Kendra, Kendra. You are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed.

Stop, sit at my feet, and listen to what I have to say.

December 5, 2013

Happy Holidays! (Did I just say that out loud?)

I can feel icicles being thrown telepathically in my direction.

“Did she just say ‘Happy Holidays?’ Why doesn't she say ‘Merry Christmas?! She’s trying to take ‘CHRIST’ out of ‘CHRISTmas!’ She might as well have said ‘Merry Xmas!’ Doesn't she know that Jesus is the reason for the season?! She probably believes in Santa or something. Santa is just another way to spell ‘Satan,’ you know.”

Now, before you get your Christmas stockings in a bunch, and before you buy me a “Happy Holidays is what Liberals say” coffee mug, hear me out. (And as you can see, those coffee mugs really do exist.)

Photo from Buzz Feed.

Apparently, there are two kinds of people in this world: those who say “Merry Christmas,” and those who don’t. And over the past couple of years, this has become not only an issue, but an all out war. Just ask Fox News.

Photo from Fox News.

Now, I am a “Merry Christmas” kind of gal. I will nine times out of ten say “Merry Christmas” to those I am greeting during this festive time of year. However, there are a few reasons why I believe “Happy Holidays” is still a perfectly acceptable phrase, and why it’s not going to disable you from celebrating the true meaning of Christmas or pee in your punch bowl.

#1. Saying “Happy Holidays” is efficient. It’s an easy way to group the multiple holidays we celebrate during these couple of months. I mean, we could always write “Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, Happy New Years, and Blessed Epiphany” on the cards we send out, or we could sum it up with a simple “Happy Holidays.” I love efficiency. I thank my dad for that trait.

#2. Not everyone celebrates Christmas. Maybe there are a few Christians not celebrating Christmas because they are wrapping up Hanukkah right about now, or because of the pagan roots of Christmas, or because it’s possible Jesus wasn't even born during this time of year. In these cases it’s not a matter of being politically correct or making sure people know that Jesus is the reason for the season. It’s a matter of not wasting our breath on a greeting that technically only refers to December 25 and doesn't apply to everyone.

#3. Saying “Happy Holidays” does not take “CHRIST” out of “CHRISTMAS.” Commercialism and materialism and probably a few other “isms” do. Now, I thoroughly enjoy a lot of nonsense that has nothing to do with Christmas, like getting good deals, opening presents, and eating way too many peanut butter balls. But let’s be honest, those things have nothing to do with our Savior humbling himself and coming to this earth as a baby born of a virgin. So when we get upset when the nice cashier lady at JC Penney doesn't say “Merry Christmas” as we’re buying way too many knit sweaters, new gadgets, and ugly patterned socks with individual toes for our kids, maybe we need to take the ginormous piece of tinsel out of our own eye first. And besides, not every store can be our beloved Hobby Lobby. And I can guess most of us aren't doing all of our gift shopping there.

#4. Bing Crosby. “Happy Holidays.” Enough said.

#5. We shouldn't be surprised when certain people don’t want to say “Merry Christmas.” Yes, there are people who say “Happy Holidays” to accommodate to all religions, cultures, political fancies, etc. My question is, why does this bother us as Christians? Why are we so surprised that other people who don’t celebrate Christmas or who don’t believe in Jesus, are not using a phrase that proclaims His name? There is quite a disconnect here. Yes, it does make sense that in the overlap of those who celebrate the true meaning of Christmas and those who believe in Christ use the phrase “Merry Christmas.” But for the people who don’t fall into those circles on the Holiday Greetings Venn Diagram, we shouldn't be so surprised.

This trickles into other areas as well: public schools not allowing religious songs to be sung in their “Winter Festival” programs, public figures trying to accommodate to all religions and cultures, etc. Why are we so surprised? We aren't worshiping the same God. We aren't guided by the same Spirit. This is a big political issue, but even before it is a political issue, it’s an issue of the heart. And hearts without Christ in it are not going to give two candy canes about whether or not they are glorifying Him in their greetings and holiday celebrating.

So to make my Christmas wishes come true this year, I beg the “Happy Holiday” Haters to consider the following:

1. Stop being shocked and offended when other people who don’t believe in Christ, who don’t celebrate the true meaning of Christmas, or who simply don’t celebrate Christmas at all, aren't saying “Merry Christmas” to you.

2. Do continue to spread holiday cheer and joy that will last more than the months of November, December, and January. But instead of focusing on sharing a specific greeting, focus on sharing the story and the Christ inside of that greeting.

3. And for heaven’s sake, be kind to the nice cashier lady at JC Penney. She has been working horrible hours since we all began stampeding their stores on Black Friday.

Grace and Peace,

PS. We’re coming home! December 14-25 we will be traveling through Wisconsin, Iowa, and South Dakota. December 26-January 4 we will be in Michigan. We can’t wait to see you!

December 2, 2013

Helping or Hurting?

The doorbell buzzes loudly.

And to my shame, I cringe. Excuses start filling my mind. It’s too late, I’m tired, I’m taking care of Jocelyn, it’s family time.

Collin is home, and we exchange glances. He doesn’t hesitate. He never hesitates. He pushes his chair back, heads down the stairs, and crosses the patio to answer the door.

I have two guesses to who is standing at the door. Two guesses to who might be standing, waiting, and hoping.

It may be Victor. Victor sells orange juice for 50 cents and newspapers for 25 cents at the park nearby our house. Lately, his life has taken several hard blows. He has had continual health issues and can’t afford to buy the medicine that helps him function enough to work. He was only a few hundred dollars short of buying a piece of land, when the woman selling it to him threatened to terminate the sale. His mother has been sick and requires him to care for her. His nephew was hit by a car and couldn't afford necessary medications following surgery. His son got sick, and again, he couldn't afford any medicine.

When he has come to the door over the past few months, he explains “business is so slow right now;” “I don’t have many newspapers to sell;” “I will pay you back as soon as I can.” Victor never comes right out and asks us for money. Rather, he shares what has happened, and then waits. He waits for us to talk, to ask questions, and to eventually say how we can help.

A few times we invite Victor in. He sits, drinks some water, and talks with us. We tell him about the fleas we are struggling to exterminate in our apartment. He offers to pick us up a special flea powder from the vet for us, and we give him money to buy it. We have yet to receive the flea powder.

But it’s not just Victor who comes to our door. It may be Alejandra. She usually has a baby tied to her back and another child holding her hand. We hear bits about Alejandra from neighbors we talk to. She has an alcoholic husband. Her husband beats her. Her daughter is always sick and needs medicine. She doesn’t have a job. She got an apartment but can’t afford rent every month. The money she asks for goes straight to her alcoholic, wife-beating husband.

And one time we invite Alejandra in. She stands, and stares at our living room filled with couches, and our kitchen filled with the smell of a hearty meal cooking. We talk, try to entertain her daughter with drawing and games and TV. We try to offer food, a shower, fresh clothes. She doesn’t want any of it. She only wants milk for her baby. Awhile after she leaves, we realize Collin’s cell phone is missing.

And I’m not sure why I am sharing all of this.

Maybe because since high school I dreamed about living in a place like this, a place where it would be easy to get involved with helping the poor. Now I wouldn’t have to drive all the way from my house in the suburbs downtown to volunteer. Now I would be more willing to help and to give. Now I wouldn’t be so selfish with my time and money.

But now I realize how much I romanticized what it means to “get involved.” Moving to a third world country doesn’t fix my personality, doesn’t rid me of my desire for first world comforts, doesn’t help me get to know people out of my comfort zone, doesn't make me the Mother Theresa I wish I was.

In the US, I was “too busy” to drive twenty minutes and volunteer at a shelter or soup kitchen. In the US, I was shy, uncomfortable, and a little awkward in new settings with new people. In the US, I had a hard time naming any friends who aren’t Christians.

And guess what? In Guatemala, I am no different.

In Guatemala, sometimes I am “too busy” to walk down one flight of steps and answer the door.  In Guatemala, I am shy, uncomfortable, and a little awkward trying to speak Spanish and build relationships with new people. In Guatemala, I have a hard time naming friends who aren’t Christians.

Now I realize how much I romanticized what it means to “help,” what it means to “give.” Helping and giving can be complicated.

What if, when Victor and Alejandra come to our door, we are not actually helping them? What if we are enabling a husband to drink and beat his wife? Enabling a man to beg rather than “earn his own way,” which our Republican-raised minds are trained to think? What if they are abusing our desire to love? What if he is lying to us? What if we invite her in again and she steals something? What if we are only giving away fish instead of teaching people how to fish? What if we are alleviating symptoms but not addressing the sickness? What if poverty now has a face, the face of a child staring at us, and it’s not a simple yes or no anymore? What if we have read books like When Helping Hurts, and have talked to our missionary friends, and still struggle to find solid answers to these questions?

Getting involved. Helping. Giving. They’re  complicated.*** They take desire, commitment, sacrifice. They require wisdom and direction. They come with questions, troubles, and heartache. They’re inconvenient, messy, exhausting.

But that doesn’t mean we don’t try. Jesus never said to take the easy way through life. Rather, he said stuff like “narrow is the road that leads to life,” and “consider it pure joy when you face trials,” and “love with actions and in truth,” and “consider everything a loss compared to knowing Him.”

And I’m not saying to be stupid or to enable a brother to continue sinning. Jesus also said “I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.”

But Jesus did not sacrifice His own life worrying about whether the people he was saving would take advantage of him, be thankful, or pay him back. Actually, Jesus sacrificed His own life knowing the people he saved would take advantage of Him, be ungrateful, and never be able to pay Him back.

So again, our faith and calling brings up a few more questions than answers, which is great. Through our questions we learn to trust. But what we do know for sure is this: Jesus calls us to get involved, to help, and to give. So we try to imitate his example of love and sacrifice. We pray for guidance and wisdom in our involvement, our giving, and helping. And we hope Christ receives the glory.

Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you.  If you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.

***(And when I say “getting involved,” “helping,” and “giving,” I want to be careful. It’s tempting to think that when we help, we are above those whom we are helping. Or worse, it’s tempting to have a “Jesus Complex,” thinking we are saving others or fixing them. We are not in Guatemala, thinking that as foreigners we can fix an entire country and save a nation of people. We are simply talking about building relationships and getting involved with those around us. Helping and giving are Christian duty, not means to lift ourselves up higher than we ought. But that’s an entirely different book that could be written.

Will he thank the servant because he did what he was told to do? So you also, when you have done everything you were told to do, should say, “We are unworthy servants; we have only done our duty.”)

Grace and Peace,

November 25, 2013

How Do You Teach “Thankfulness?”

Thanksgiving is a fantastic holiday.

I am all about getting together with family (which will hopefully happen again on a Thanksgiving someday). I am all about eating great food (mostly the dessert). I am all about kicking off a few months of holidays (because I love Christmas). And I am all about sharing what I am thankful for (including the bag of chocolate chips in the cupboard that I sneak small handfuls of, and that Jocelyn laughs every time we take her clothes off because she loves being naked).

But about a month ago my friend Kaylee came to visit, and in one of many great conversations she asked, “How do you teach kids to be thankful?”

And I had no idea. And in light of Thanksgiving, I would like to know the answer.

It’s hard enough to teach kids the politeness of consistently saying “please” and “thank you” (which I have always been impressed with how Kaylee, a career super-nanny, enforces this great habit with the children she cares for).

But her question reaches at something deeper than being polite and saying “thank you,” (because when I was little, if we fought in the car on the way home from Chuck E. Cheese’s, my mom would glare in the rearview mirror and yell, “So this is the ‘thanks’ I get for bringing you to Chuck E. Cheese’s today?!” And I was always confused because I never remembered saying “thanks” in the first place.)

Rather, I think her question points more toward an attitude or an action of being thankful.

So in your opinion, how do we (as teachers and parents) actually teach kids the deeper attitude and action of being thankful?

One thing that I found from being a first grade teacher is that kids learn by example. If I wanted students to speak with their “indoor voices,” I simply lowered my own voice. If I wanted students to not interrupt me, I simply listened first. If I wanted students to be honest, I made sure to admit my own mistakes (usually followed by me exclaiming, “Silly Mrs. Broekhuis!”).

And part of me guesses that thankfulness works the same way. (“Monkey see, monkey do,” right?)

But if that’s the case, how do I model thankfulness? Is it by saying “por favor” and “gracias” to the nice boy who makes our ice cream cones at McDonald’s every weekend? Is it by saying one thing I am thankful for every day of November? Is it by dressing Jocelyn up and putting a sign next to her that says “Be Thankful?” Is it by showing her our poor neighbors and saying “be thankful, because you have way more stuff than they do?” (which can be tempting in a third world country).

Thankfulness, I believe, is related to contentment.

So when I attempt to model thankfulness to Jocelyn, I hope I don’t just say “thank you, Lord, for all the awesome blessings I have in my life.” I hope she also hears and "sees" me say, “Lord, what I have is enough.” And even more importantly, “Lord, what I have is Yours.”

I hope that when days are “terrible, horrible, no good, very bad” that I can show her how to keep a trusting attitude about where God has us. I hope that when I take her shopping I don’t have to buy the best, the most, or sometimes anything at all. I hope that when she sees us tithe, she sees us tithing joyfully, just as we saw and learned from our parents. I hope that when Jocelyn sees how generous our friends and family are towards us, that she will also see us being generous towards others (so that as we have freely received, we freely give).

Simply stated, I hope that we turn “thankfulness” into something we are (in the attitude that we portray), and something we do (in the actions we show).

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. (Colossians 3:15-17)

So I am curious, (teachers and parents with way more experience than I have), how do you teach “thankfulness?”

Grace and peace,

November 12, 2013

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Yesterday was a rough day.

And when I say “rough day,” I’m not talking about one big, horrible, life-changing event that is actually “rough.” I’m talking about lots of teeny tiny things that happen and screech your brain like nails on a chalkboard or a hair in your sandwich. Think Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

So let me complain and tell you all about it.

It started with not enough sleep. No, it wasn't Jocelyn's fault. It was bad dreams about tarantulas climbing up my pajama pants. (Yes, my nightmares almost always include spiders. You try sleeping while there are tarantulas crawling up your pajama pants.) 

In the morning I woke up with a crick in my neck, and a little diarrhea. (Oh wait, is there actually such thing as “a little” diarrhea?)

Halfway through my much-needed shower, Jocelyn woke up screaming from her nap. As I rushed out of the shower, I realized there were no towels in the bathroom, and that the closest towels were two rooms over. (Which made for one chilly streak to two rooms over.)

And after Jocelyn’s much-needed bath, she pooped through her diaper onto her clean clothes.

And for some reason on this day, I stopped enjoying nursing for a little bit. I think it's like a cruel joke that the child you are struggling to care for also has to literally be attached to you for 8 hours of the day. And pumping is not much better. Pumping is the cruel joke of making moms everywhere feel like cows on a dairy farm, hooked up to loud machines making weird noises.

But later, I pumped four ounces of milk for Collin to feed Jocelyn her first bottle.  Three out of the four ounces of that liquid gold spilled onto our bed.

In the afternoon, I began researching how much milk I would have to pump for Jocelyn when Collin and I take a trip to Mexico for our adult-only family vacation. And all of the mommy forums were full of mommies who “can’t even IMAGINE leaving one of their children behind to take a trip before they are two years old,” and how “there would be NO WAY they could leave their 7 month old behind,” and how “it would take a medical emergency like surgery or a coma for me to leave their 7 month old overnight, let alone a week!” (But laying on the beach at an all-inclusive resort for a week will kind of be like a coma, right?)

And to make myself feel a little better, I thought I would start a 30 Day Fitness Challenge. You know, simple exercises to make my post-pregnancy body a little less soft and saggy in areas that didn't used to be so soft and saggy. Well, doing crunches after having a baby does not actually make you feel better about yourself, but actually a little worse. What once used to be a nice, smooth crunch is now more like the jerky climb up the first hill of an old wooden roller coaster.

In the evening, Jocelyn cried for an hour and wouldn't fall asleep for her usual cat nap.

And later she peed through her diaper all over her clean pajamas. (Apparently we need to try different diapers?)

And then I looked at Jocelyn and saw once again that her head is getting flat in the back from “sleeping too long in the same position,” or whatever. And we try to move her head and make her sleep on a different side and everything. But my vain mommy self thinks “What if she ends up having to wear one of those stupid helmets someday?”

And sometimes being a #SAHM (Stay-At-Home-Mom…I just learned that this week) is really not that fun, and it’s kind of terrible-awful, and the same old routines get boring, and it makes me miss teaching every day, and I feel like I might go crazy if I spend another day in our house, and I think I just might move to Australia with Alexander.

But in no way do I regret our decisions. In no way am I ungrateful for the opportunity to stay home with Jocelyn every day. In no way am I not "enjoying every moment while they are this little" like every grandma tries to remind you. In no way do I hate being a mom. It’s just that today was not the best of “mommy” days.

And that’s okay. It’s okay to admit we have bad days, and that not every day is perfect or Facebook status worthy. I mean, I could always write a status update like the following: “Jocelyn woke up today! And then she nursed for about 10 minutes on each side. And then I changed her diaper. It was SOOO wet, so I threw the diaper in the trash. Then she played with a rattle for about 20 seconds and threw it on the ground. And an hour later it was nap time. She slept for 45 seconds. But then she woke up again! And started screaming!”

(Let’s be honest, some of our Facebook friends would find that status-worthy, but that’s an entirely different conversation.)

So I would like to raise a glass (hopefully of something with a little alcohol in it…) and make a toast to everyone else out there who had a rough and crappy day. No judgment. No superficial, overly-enthusiastic, or annoying tips on how to make your day better. Just a “yeah that kinda sucks,” and “let’s all hope for a better day tomorrow.”


And yes, usually this sweet face is pretty easy to love.

November 3, 2013

I don't know what to write about...

I could write about how we have finally gotten our two-year visas, after a year and a half of paperwork and way too many unsuccessful, 4 hour trips to the capital and back. (Who knew a little stamp in your passport would be so hard to get, and have so much power?)

I could write about how Collin ran in a 10K race organized by our Community Service class, which raised money to fix a local school’s roof.

I could write about how my friend, Kaylee, came to visit us for a week, and how it was the first time we have been able to spend more than a couple days together in about three years. And how we went to the hot springs, 

and we made pancakes for the shoeshine boys in the park with InnerChange, 

and we baked and we talked and we really enjoyed our quality time together.

I could write about how it was All Saints Day on Friday, so Collin didn't have school. 

And how we ate traditional “fiambre” (a meat and vegetable salad), and we went to the cemetery to look at the flowers,

and to fly kites.

I could write about how today was the Xela Half Marathon, so we watched people run past us for an hour so that we could cheer them on, including the man in a cow suit and another man dressed up like Jack Sparrow.

I could write about how I can’t count the number of times women have come up to me and told me that Jocelyn is going to get sick from the cold, or from me having her “in the street” at such a young age. And how on a 75 degree, sunny day, one of these women had her entire face wrapped in a scarf. And how to avoid judgment on these 75 degree, sunny days, I have to make sure she is wearing a hat and is wrapped in at least three blankets.

But I could also write about how Guatemalans of all ages adore children. And how it is a Psalm 127 culture, where “children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him,” and “blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.” And how people here teach their children to greet everyone, including the babies still in their mom’s tummy. And how so many men, women, and children come up to us so they can kiss and coo at Jocelyn, and tell me how beautiful she is. And how the birthday party we went to last night for a three year old turned into a worship service, celebrating children and praising God for the wonderful gift that they are.

I could write about how Jocelyn is three months old today. And how she is 13 lbs. 11 oz., and 25 inches long. (In other words, she has sky-rocketed off the charts here.) And how she is a very happy, content baby. 

And I could tell you how parenting, the thing I feared and worried about for 9 months prior to her birth, has now become one of the greatest joys of my life. And how I am so thankful for the gift of another month of life with Jocelyn in our care.

But I don’t know what to write about.

Grace and Peace,

October 12, 2013


My dad was not able to come and see Jocelyn when she was born. He asked if Jocelyn and I would come visit so that he could meet her before Christmas. I said yes. My mom said we should make it a surprise. I agreed.

Plan A: Leave our house at 1:30 am. Take a shuttle to Guatemala City. Arrive at the airport at 5 am. Fly to Houston. Fly to Grand Rapids. Arrive at 4:30 pm. Get picked up by my mom. Crash Savannah's birthday party and pull off a very epic surprise for my siblings and grandparents.

Plan B: Leave our house at 1:30 am. Take a shuttle to Guatemala City. On the way out of town encounter a drunk driver, swerving at, cutting off, and flipping off our driver. Drive so fast through the curvy mountain roads that we arrive in Guatemala City in only 3 hours at 4:30 am. Get a lot of grief at Guatemalan customs because Jocelyn does not have a Guatemalan passport, only a US passport. Cry for 30 minutes of the flight to Houston. (Jocelyn, not me.) Delay our flight to Grand Rapids for an hour. 45 minutes into the flight, be told that we have technical difficulties, and have to fly back to Houston. Say a curse word in my head. (Only one.) Instead, fly 15 minutes to Shreveport, Louisiana. Spend 3 hours in the airport waiting while they fix the plane. Try not to cry. (Me, not Jocelyn.) Learn that the problem was a loose bolt in the air conditioning. Think just one more curse word in my head. Arrive in Grand Rapids at 9:30 pm. Be epically surprised at the airport by my siblings waiting for us, because mom called them back to their house after the birthday party to tell them we were coming.

We decided to keep things exciting and go with Plan B. And we decided to simply be thankful that we arrived safely.

Check out a few pictures from this awesome 10 day trip.

At the airport, patiently waiting for us to arrive.

So thankful for my awesome brothers and sisters!

Relieved to have finally made it home.

Surrounded by lots of love.

Meeting Grandpa Potgeter for the first time.

Right away the next morning, we went to surprise my grandparents. For both grandparents, my mom walked in with Jocelyn, while I hid. Here is when we went to see Grandma Potgeter. I believe her exact words were, "Whose baby do you have now?!" She was quite surprised to see me walk around the corner.

Getting a little love from Great-Grandma.

Four generations.

Great-Grandpa Potgeter! Grandma called him right away and told him to come home for a special surprise. When Grandpa questioned her, I believe her exact words were, "Just come home, and then you can go wherever you want!"

Very blessed with wonderful grandparents!

Next we went to see Grandma Post. We were impressed with how quickly she guessed whose baby my mom was holding. "Is that Kendra's baby?!"

Grandma Post has 36 grandchildren (18 boys and 18 girls) and 64 great-grandchildren (32 boys and 32 girls). Jocelyn is #64 of the great-grandchildren, and #100 of her total grandkids! I think that is prize-worthy.

Four generations.

Cousin time! With Kaden and Riley.

It was so great to see Jocelyn around all of her cousins. They loved her too.

Cousin Felicity.

Cousin Faith.

Cousin Natalie.

Cousin Jackson.

Cousin Jude. Jocelyn is 2 months and Jude is 6 months...and they are about the same height.

Uncle Kyle and Cousin Kaden.

Mommy's friend Kaylee! Can't wait for her to visit us in a week!

Old and new friends. Aubrie, my friend since elementary school, and her daughter, Eila.

Eila and Jocelyn. Hanging out and having a good time.

Enjoying a Michigan autumn for the first time in 6 years. Carving pumpkins with Felicity.

Faith's finished pumpkin.

An outtake: Natalie didn't want to take a picture. Just take my word for it that the real picture turned out super cute...but this made me laugh.

A little grandpa time.

A few more outtakes. My mom wanted her Christmas card to be of all the grandkids. In a series of many pictures, this was probably the best one she had...

...And this was probably the worst. You can almost feel the chaos of babies crying, kids squirming, and most not looking at the camera. Thankfully we gathered another day and took some great pictures of all the grandkids for mom's Christmas cards.

We were able to do a lot of fun things, and see a lot of wonderful people. Leaving was harder than ever, but I am so thankful that we had this time together!

Grace and peace,

ps. Our trip back went perfectly. Thank goodness.