A Room with a View

During our last weeks in Guatemala, time started tumbling over itself, picking up speed till it dumped us out of a plane in the Midwest. The reverse culture shock was pretty rough. On the drive home from the airport, one of us (I won't tell you which one!) cried when we drove past the Bass Pro Shop with its vast parking lot and enormous building filled with dead wild animals. After cobblestone streets lined with colorful one-story buildings and little shops run by their owners, the view from the interstate was a pale wasteland of commerce and isolation. Dramatic, I know, but that's how it felt.

For two months we'd been walking everywhere--to school, the grocery store, cafes, markets--always in community. The center of town was a park filled with benches: an invitation to be in community, even if you felt like sitting alone. The cathedral that lined one side of that central square had giant doors that stood open in another invitation to take refuge, reflect, pray, cry, sit in silence. I accepted that invitation and did all of those things. Sometimes I was the only one in the sanctuary other than the pigeons (very inclusive cathedral). Other times there were many of us coming and going, alone together in the silence.

While we were in Guatemala, I wasn't justifying my existence in the world based on what I accomplished, produced, or achieved on a given day. Just walking down the street, I was happy. Complete. Enough. Like Mr. Emerson from "A Room with a View" (the movie, anyway), "I know we should make our heaven and earth where we are. However, I fear I've faltered and need some help from outside." Sitting in the park for a few minutes after dropping the kids off at language school, I was off the radar of my own neuroticism I wake up to when I'm at home. Here at home there's a pervasive buzz of stress that runs through me, telling me I should be doing more than I'm doing or that while I'm busy doing THIS, I should really be doing THAT. And THAT. And THAT.

I know that's my inner work to do. But it was eye-opening to be outside of that buzz of stress for a while. It was more than just the vacation phenomenon of being away from the ordinary stresses of home. In spite of the poverty and precariousness of daily security and well-being so many people in Guatemala live with, there's a general spirit that things are going to be okay. It's going to work out. They work very, very hard to feed their families every day, but in the midst of that I often perceived an ease and joy that was infectious and inspiring.

Part of me held my breath while we were there, and luckily we didn't have any medical or dental emergencies . . . or major earthquakes (we had minor-ish!) or large volcanic eruptions (there were small ones nearly every day from Fuego, one of the three volcanoes that ring the town). Of course we were happy to come back to family and friends. And supermarkets with all the foods we're used to. And our dishwasher. But I actually liked washing dishes by hand. It was never a big job because we only had enough dishes for one meal! And even though it was sometimes frustrating to be at the mercy of the weather, I loved hanging the clothes out to dry on the roof. When the mountain sun was shining, they dried in minutes!

When we got home from Guatemala, we hit the ground running with band camp, school registration, overdue orthodontist appointments, etc., etc. I'm just now beginning to process and integrate the experience. For today, here are some "views" from a few days we spent around Lake Atitlan.

Boarding a boat from San Lucas Toliman to Panahachel.

Our brave captain. Look, Ma, no hands AND no feet!

Panahachel

A room with a view of volcanoes!

Skipping rocks on Lake Atitlan.

Waiting for the shuttle back to Antigua.