It’s with an odd sense of deja vu that I write this post. It all feels a bit familiar, and yet it is all very different this time too.

First, I’m aware it has been a good while since the last blog update, so here’s a high speed summary of the past 4 months: for the weeks after Christmas life in Mexico felt really hard (not unexpectedly) for a long time, but around mid-February, it all got better. We got more used to the tough things, we connected with more people, we went deeper in friendship, we found more things to do, and we began to feel quite at home. There was some English teaching, some basketball coaching, a bit of karate, the beginnings of some community outreach, and some house building. And our Spanish improved!

Then all at once our 6 months were up and we left Mexico to return to the UK (for a month or so, we guessed), mainly to apply for a visa so that we could return for longer and then get straight back to it. We wouldn’t have come back to the UK quite so soon if it had been entirely down to us, as 6 months isn’t very long in such a massive transition, and our Mexican life was just getting going. But as it turns out it’s a good thing we did.

Because once again, as in 2019, our plans to return to Mexico are being put on hold because of cancer. This time though, it’s Matt.

I told the kids. It went something like this: “I need to tell you something, my darlings… The doctors have found that Daddy has a tumour on his testicle which is very likely to be cancer. He has to have surgery to have it removed, and then depending on what they find, he might need chemotherapy for a few months afterwards (but probably not years like Ben). He’s very likely to be ok in the end as the doctors are confident they can cure him and people usually recover well from this type of cancer, but it’s going to take at least a few months to get him treated. So, once again…it looks like we’re going to be in Edinburgh a bit longer than we planned.”

Their reaction was interesting. Of course they love Daddy, but none of them were particularly worried. They felt sorry for him, and there was frustration and displeasure at the disruption to plans, at being caught here in extended limbo. But as for the illness itself, the overall reaction from the children was one of almost…boredom. Cancer? Yawn.

It surprises me that my children are not afraid of cancer, given what we’ve lived through before. But then perhaps they’re right. It wasn’t all bad news, nowhere near. They remember milestone celebrations and surprise gifts, the kindness of nurses, the visits of friends. Stream upon stream of answered prayers (amid some unanswered ones). The joy of the snack trolley visiting the ward, of ‘just this once’ video games and late nights and special food. They know first-hand that cancer can be healed and moved on from, that God can provide for our family in miraculous, unprecedented ways and that he holds us extra close on the worst of days. They know that a sudden unwanted uprooting can later blossom into a beloved new norm.

So in many ways this is familiar ground. We’re already equipped. Our hope would be to navigate this storm anchored by the lessons we learned last time round. At this stage, certainly, it’s not as bad as it was with Ben. The verse that comes to mind is Philippians 3 v 16: ‘Only let us live up to what we have already attained.’

Another surprise in the kids’ reaction was that after desperately looking forward to this trip back to familiar British soil for the past few months in Mexico, they’re NOT now happy to have extra time in the UK. They’ve had their visit and want to get back to ‘normal’ life. The strongest sentiments came from Beth. You may remember she was adamantly against the whole emigration idea from the outset. She held her protest steady for the whole 6 months.

Imagine my shock then, when we were out for a walk recently, soon after hearing Matt’s health news.

“I just want to go back!” explodes Beth. Now, this is not uncommon when out on a walk. Beth often needs to be bodily winkled out from some cosy corner she’s snuggled into with a book and out into the roofless world for her own sake. Each time it takes at least 30 minutes in fresh air and daylight before she stops asking to go home and realises that it’s actually quite nice. I roll my eyes ungraciously and say as much.

“No…” Beth dismisses this offhand, “Not the walk – I mean I want to go back to Mexico!”

We all stare at her. But she actually means it! Somehow this unique blend of circumstances was just what was needed to work an unexpected effect on her heart and she actively wants to get back to our botched-together home in Leona and the few possessions she left behind in her curtain/cardboard ‘bedroom’. She’s even murmuring about getting more involved with things over there and joining in a bit more than she has done, when she next gets the chance. That encourages us a lot!

In other news, the visa route we were pursuing has now hit a dead end. We won’t be getting a visa that way after all. We’re back to the drawing board on how to re-enter Mexico and legally stay longer term. Oh.

So in many ways the UK trip is not going wonderfully well. Within the same few days Joe broke his toes falling down some stairs, I (Cal) broke a rib in my upper back falling down some different stairs, and Matt received the news above. Add the visa fail to that and it’s hardly a roaring success so far. It’s a real logistical headache trying to temporarily undo the fact that we left the country, and it’s deeply inconvenient to be now staying on when we did all our prep and planning with the intention of only being here a month or so.

But in other ways, already we can look back and see a trail of grace. So many people have loved us and blessed us, fed us, prepared us a bed, prayed for us, given to us, helped us. We’ve been hugged and held, questioned and listened to, thoroughly humoured and for the most part, warmly encouraged. Accommodation for this extra phase has fallen neatly into place so far thanks to a string of immensely kind strangers. We haven’t got a clue why the plan is going a bit pear-shaped now, but we do have a sense of peace and a strong hope that sooner or later things will all pan out. We know unexpected detours can leave us with unrivalled treasures. And the Mexico dream isn’t dead yet. So many miraculous and otherwise impossible things have already happened up to now to make it a reality that it surely won’t finish here despite the delay. God will make a way.

First though, we’ll get Matt through his op and onto safer ground on the other side. Then we’ll support his recovery and eventually find out the results from his various tests which will then inform his treatment going forward. We’ll get some idea of how long it will all take. We’ll keep homeschooling as we go. And that’s enough to be getting on with for now!

As before, we’re so grateful for the NHS – for having expert, linked-up care available to us without the need for Google translate and without needing to swipe a bank card before doctors will even say ‘hola’. We feel very privileged. More than before, perhaps, having now tasted a ‘no NHS’ alternative.

We miss our Mexican home, our friends, our church, the sense of purpose we were just discovering. We worry for the new little shoots of life and relationship that were just springing up and now are left untended. But when it’s out of our hands, it’s not out of God’s. He knows what he’s doing, and already we feel wrapped up in his care.

So we settle back into the strangely familiar but now slightly surreal scenario of wanting to be in Mexico really, but finding ourselves in Edinburgh instead, and doing the best we can to make the most of it. At least this time we know our way around this beautiful city and we’re surrounded by wonderful friends. It’s not a bad place to be stranded, after all.