For seven years, we’ve served in Guatemala. And for seven years, family has been the hardest part to be away from.
This month, that distance closed — at least for a little while. Jeff’s dad, Garry, made the trip down to spend two weeks with us. It was his first time visiting since we moved here, his first time seeing with his own eyes the work we’ve poured our lives into. We can’t tell you how much it meant to have him.
He arrived just as our summer nursing intern, Natalie, did, and the two of them jumped right in. His first full day with us turned into a twelve-hour marathon — from the moment we opened our eyes until we walked back through our door that night — made even longer by the fact that we’d flown in from the States just the day before, landing home at nine in the morning. But Garry never slowed down. He was a genuine help in the villages, and afterward he couldn’t stop talking about it.
When we asked him what he enjoyed most, his answer surprised us with its honesty. For years, our visits with family have been rushed — a couple of days, once a year, and then goodbye. What he treasured most this time was simply the quiet gift of being with us, unhurried, day after day. We felt exactly the same. Being far from the people we love has always been one of the deepest costs of serving on the mission field.
The second thing he loved was going out to the villages and serving alongside Jeff and the team. The people, the landscape, and — of all things — the rough roads carried him back decades, to his time serving in Vietnam. It looked and felt so familiar to him that old memories came rushing back. There was something sacred about watching a father recognize pieces of his own history in the place his son now calls home.
Garry and our stepmom, Pat, have stood behind this ministry from the very first day. But supporting something from a distance and standing in the middle of it are two different things. Seeing the work up close moved him. He told us that Jeff carries a tremendous weight on his shoulders, and that he loved seeing everything taking shape here. Then he said the words every child hopes to hear from a father: that he is proud.
Last night, before an early-morning airport run, we took him out for one final dinner — and celebrated Father’s Day a little early, since we haven’t been able to be with him on Father’s Day for seven straight years.
We want to close with a few words from Esther, because this visit meant something to her that words barely reach:
“I love my biological father, but I can’t honestly say we ever had a true father-daughter relationship. He wasn’t there for me growing up, and as an adult I moved to the States before we ever had the chance to change that. He passed away, and that door closed.
So, Garry — thank you for being my dad these past thirty-five years. You became my dad the day I said ‘I do’ to your son, and I love you like my own father.”
Dad, we love you. Even two weeks felt too short. Our prayer now is that soon you and Pat can come together and stay a while longer — with us, and with the team.
And to everyone who has walked this journey with us: this is a picture of what partnership really looks like. Faithful people, standing with us from day one, until the day they can finally stand beside us in the villages themselves.
