I'm sitting in our hammock, on the upper patio of our home in Antigua, and listening to the familiar noises around me. I wish I knew more about birds. I can see a beautiful yellow bird with black wing tips on a branch nearby, chirping happily at his companion, a petite little blue bird. A helicopter whirs by overhead, giving tourists a glimpse of Antigua from the sky. A string of firecrackers is lit a block or two away, and the ratatattat is as familiar to me as the chirping birds. A chickenbus in the distance honks its horn, and the ayudante calls out "Guate, Guate, Guate!". Women call to each other in the street below, greeting each other for the day. A pickup truck passes by, its empty bed rattling over the cobblestones. These are the sounds of Guatemala and, no longer foreign to me, the sounds of my home.

As we near the end of our stay in Guatemala, I find myself reflecting on how this journey began. Exhausted from an overnight flight and a long day of shopping in Guatemala City, my mother and I arrived in Antigua fifteen months ago, on a Thursday afternoon. I don't remember my thoughts as I first saw Antigua out of the windows of our taxi, but I do remember- clearly- ringing the doorbell of our new home and being invited in by the housekeeper. She brought the landlady to us in the entry of the home, and we were greeted and welcomed in Spanish. I panicked. I knew absolutely no Spanish. Ok, well that's not entirely true. I could count to ten and say buenos dias, but in the grand scheme of things, how useful is that really? Fortunately, the woman's daughter spoke English and was able to translate for us.


I think it hit me then how overhwleming this was going to be. I wanted to be with my baby, and so I decided, with my heart, that I would come to her country and care for her myself. I prepared as best I could, asked all the questions I knew to ask, and then got on a plane. But, other than our trip immediately following our referral, when we came to Guatemala City and stayed at the Westin the entire time, I'd never been outside of North America. I didn't even know how I was going to feel when I first saw the nakedness of poverty. I didn't know how overwhelming it would be to be surrounded by the noise of Calzada Santa Lucia. I didn't realize how frustrating it would be not to know the language and I had presumed I would pick it up easily. I didn't understand how tired a mother can get when she is caring for a child on her own.

I thought I understood that I would get lonely, but I had no idea how lonely I would feel sometimes. I thought it would be hard, but had no idea how often I would cry myself to sleep. I thought it would be fulfilling and wonderful to finally have my baby and care for her, but didn't anticipate how incomplete it would feel without Greg.

And I didn't really like Guatemala all that much. I, in my Americanism, was nauseous at the smell of raw meat in the market, horrified at the site of urine and feces on the sidewalks, judgemental of peeling paint and dusty corners, irritated by ambitious sales people. I was afraid of everything.

It took months to open my mind and heart to Guatemala. My friends, Brian and Cheryl, certainly helped. They were extremely patient in teaching me some Spanish, and educated me on Mayan cultures. They came to Guatemala, before their referral, and travelled throughout the countryside. They went from city to village, meeting people and learning about their son's birth country. They love Guatemala and I learned to see it through their eyes. They showed me a Guatemala that most adoptive parents will never know. We ate at small, local restaurants, went into the depths of the market often, and attended every cultural event in the city. And we spoke to Guatemalans everywhere we went. They always wanted to learn more, understand more.


I was devastated when they left. That was something else I was not prepared for. Friendships. I didn't come to Guatemala to make friends, but I've met some of the most beautiful people here. I'm coming out of this experience richer in so many ways, blessed abundantly by the friendships that were fostered here.

Friday was a difficult day for me. There were so many things piling up on me, and I was weary. I was homesick for the United States and Greg and frustrated with a process that isn't consistant. This part of the process, this waiting for pink, is much harder than I anticipated. It's much more difficult for me than waiting to get into PGN, and even waiting to get out of PGN. I'm so close to going home, but not close enough to plan and prepare. It's hard to describe what it feels like. But it's hard. And I lost it on Friday. I was just DONE.

But the Lord is ever faithful! It had been cloudy and rainy for the better part of the month and the volcanos had been wrapped in clouds of grey for weeks. How my spirit lifted when I awoke to the sun on Saturday! The first words out of my mouth that morning were in praise to our Father, who, in lifting the clouds, lifted me heavy heart as well!

Today, I'm thankful to be here. I'm not resigned to be here. I'm not being patient. I'm able, today, to rest in the beauty that surrounds me.