We Are Moving to Mexico
It hasn’t set in yet.
I’ve had so much on my plate that I’ve spent hardly a minute processing that fact. But Friday morning early, we’ll buckle our little boys into the car, already packed with luggage, lightbulbs (I just can’t handle the blue LED ones down there), and a few other things to help make our house a home. We’ll head west through the dry, scrubby Texas hill country, up onto the high plains, then south to the suffocatingly-hot little town of Presidio, cross over the Rio Grande to Ojinaga, then a long stretch through more cactus, rock, and rugged mountains. Finally, fourteen hours of driving later, we’ll top up in the Cuauhtémoc valley.
We’ve done that drive almost ten times already, always knowing we’d retrace it just a few days later. On Friday, we’ll know and feel something else: the acceptance of a foreign country as our new home — for the summer at least.
But we won’t be lonely foreigners.
Helen’s family arrives a day or two ahead of us, along with another family we’re close to. We’ll be greeted by a small bunch of folks who, over the past two years, have become dear friends. Benny & Erna, David & Lisa, and others. I’d never have picked this place, but God did, and we feel incredibly excited and humbled to be a small part of the promising little church mission He is planting in this great, dry desert.
It was at the end of our longest trip there, back in January, that my heart changed. I went from enduring these little ventures to an unexpected excitement that I get to serve in some small way — almost overnight. I can’t fully explain it, but neither can I deny it. I just know that God knows what He’s doing. That’s enough.
It’s going to stretch us in more ways than one. Different culture, language(s), landscape, living standards. Our family is also stretching in size. Baby #3 is due July 10th, and we’re planning to welcome her/him (surprise) down there! Helen’s mom is a wonderful midwife who delivered both of our first, and there’s a good medical system as additional support if we need it.
Even while accepting that we’ll miss a hundred small comforts of home, I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving The Nook empty and alone all summer. And that sparked an idea: what if I opened the door and invited some of you to experience the most personal space I’ve ever made?
That’s what I’m doing.
I’ve spent the past few days dreaming and preparing little surprises for you to discover. Handwriting notes. Picking handmade snacks. Curating a record collection. There’ll be piles of books to get lost in, and a few writings and drawings in progress.
For all the videos I’ve made and words I’ve written, you won’t really understand until you come. Come and experience the trees, the light quality, the limestone and white oak and cowhide. All the tiny details I spent months poring over, inspired by my grandfather’s shed office where I spent countless afternoons as a kid. His care for that little one-room, cedar-clad space shaped me more than I ever realized at the time. What if The Nook could do that for you?
When you come, bring a journal. I’ll leave a few extra in case you forget. And I’ll leave my pencils and paint brushes. Come notice, sketch, write, create. Or simply be.
The tension of leaving home and so many friends behind, venturing deeper into new territory, and learning to trust God in ways I haven’t yet is real. But so is the peace knowing we’re in God’s plan, and the faith for what comes next. Friday we hit the road, and behind us, The Nook will be waiting for whoever might need it.
Onward.