My Uncle

~My Uncle & I on one of many trips to the Village~

(along with a friend who soon became an Uncle Lowell fan ;) )

How do you begin to put into words your memories of a person who has been so intertwined in your heart for so long? How do you grieve the loss of someone who's impact in your world can be seen at nearly every turn? I don't know. But, I do know that treasuring the memories and the impact, and recording it for my kids and their kids to have access to has to be a part of it. And, I know that my memories are memories shared by hundreds of other people, so, in my telling, it may also help to keep their treasured memories alive as well.

My first memories of my aunt and uncle was from when I was probably 7 years old. I say aunt and uncle, because--although it is my uncle we are mourning--the two are one: they are two halves of an orange, or two halves of an avocado, as they say in Mexico. Mi media naranja...mi aguacate. My little self saw them as almost celebrities, as my mom would excitedly tell us about how her sister and brother-in-law were serving Jesus in Mexico, and that they were coming to our house for a visit. I remember being obsessed with my beautiful baby girl cousin, Amanda, who must have been around 18 months at the time? Of course, I'm digging into my 7-year-old archive, and 7-year-olds are smart, but often need fact checking. Anyway, in the way of a child's memory, I have only snapshots of the excitement of the visits from our beloved Glicks. I have a vivid memory of the way Uncle Lowell was obviously and madly in love with his Amanda. He would excitedly tell us about how quickly she was picking up Spanish and how smart she was. We, as monolingual Midwesterners, were bowled over by the idea of a toddler who could speak Spanish and English! What?! I also remember him raising Amanda high in the air over his head so she could touch the fan blades and us all thinking that was just the funnest thing ever. Just remember-- 7 years old. ;)  

Uncle Lowell was a master storyteller. I loved trying to be a fly on the wall and listen in on all the amazing stories of what life in Mexico was like. His love for the adventure permeated every story. He was always up for anything people suggested... and always able to roll with challenges and setbacks. Two necessities for living in a different country.

The other day, I was going through a box of old keepsakes, and I came across letters written to me by my Aunt Sheri when I was in this age range. They were beautiful letters, telling fun little stories about life in Mexico, often cute stories about her girls, and signed in love. I know those letters also made my connection to the Glicks that much more real, and made the idea of life in Mexico become one that lived in my mind. 

We loved our visits from the Glicks so much, that at one point, my older sister and I had created a whole strategy of how we were going to go become part of their world.  It was fool-proof. My sister must have been around 16, so I would have been around 13. The idea was to take a little Ford Ranger truck with a topper on the back. The topper was essential because we were going to put a mattress in the back to sleep in on our drive to the far-off land of Mexico. I remember my sister also felt that taking her keyboard was a must, because she played well and that could surely be of use to the church in Mexico. I, as a stellar younger sister, was 100% on board with this plan. Really, the only thing was to wait until we were old enough, we thought. Oh, yeah. And probably learning Spanish would be a good thing. But, how hard could that be?

You'll be shocked to discover that we never did get that Ford Ranger. What actually happened, was that in December of 2002 (when I was 19), I felt like I had won the lottery. I was able to take my first trip to Mexico (!!!) with my super-cool older brother (!!!). I was beyond thrilled. We would be staying in Queretaro with the Glicks, and I had about a year of college Spanish under my belt, so I was excited to try to practice it.

That trip surpassed every one of my childhood imaginations of the adventure and beauty of life in Mexico. Even though Mexico had lived in my mind for so many years~ I really knew next to nothing about it. For example, I had.no.idea. that Mexico had mountains! I truly thought that it was completely flat and covered in cactus (cringe). I also had no idea the Mexico had states, just like the US. Amazing. Flying into Mexico City and navigating the airport, hearing only Spanish, was both exhilarating and overwhelming. Seeing the smiling faces of our aunt and uncle waiting for us instantly made that huge, unfamiliar place feel like home. 

Uncle Lowell loved to drive. He was an expert at navigating often dangerous and precarious roads with an ease that did not give away just how difficult of a task that is. City streets in Mexico are extremely narrow, and often lined on both sides with parked cars. I would be sweating through my clothing each time I'd inch through, and both he and Aunt Sheri had figured out how to get through the streets like it was easy. But, the open roads and long stretches of driving was the driving he loved. He often would tell us with pride how he came from a family of truck drivers, so he thought it was in his blood. It's a good thing he loved to drive, and that he was a fearless driver, because most of his ministry was to remote places where that love and skill were required. I mention his driving now, because I first got to see his driving skills right then-- navigating the chaos of Mexico City traffic. Am I exaggerating when I say there are 17 lanes of traffic with NO lines on the road to demarcate who goes where? You may never know.... 

I felt so extremely blessed and honored that on this trip, I got to be part of a "real missionary adventure", because we got to go with an outreach team to a brand new mountain village in a tropical mountain area (oh, yes. Tropical. Did I tell you Mexico is not all flat desert? Okay, good.) several hours away. We arrived unannounced to the village, and found a friendly face and began making connections. Although the man we met (Nicolas) had never met us before, he allowed all 15 in our group to stay at his house for 2 days and nights. I could tell hundreds of stories from this trip alone, but I am really only telling you all that to give you an idea of the kind of work the Glicks do. So we stayed, and connected, and had some open-air services, and slept on the floor of their house, and ate plantains from the trees growing in their yard... 

Here's a good Uncle Lowell story. In the middle of the second day, a young man came running. "La vibora, la vibora!!!" I finally found out that vibora meant "big snake", and that the vibora had been KILLING AND EATING their baby goats (yikes)... and, of course, joined the mob running towards the vibora, as you do. We all circled a tree where the vibora had gone up, and a young man climbed the tree with a machete. He followed the snake all the way up to the top, and then flicked the machete under it--causing it to soar from the tree, through the air over our heads. The sight of looking up at the S-shaped snake body falling above our heads, silhouetted against the blue sky, is forever etched in my mind. You know, before I screamed and ran. Menfolk ran to the snake on the ground and chopped it's head off, and then we all crowded around it to be amazed. 

The snake was over 5-foot long, and so wide that when I tried to put both hands around it, my fingers didn't touch. That snake was held up and carried like a trophy back up the dusty road to the house, and we all followed behind. It was hung, head down, from the clothes line, to allow the blood to drain out. The craziest thing? Even headless, the whole snake would lunge at anyone who came within a certain distance of it.

This brings us to the Uncle Lowell part of the story... the snake was then cut into about 3" sections and fried in a pan over the fire. And Uncle Lowell was so excited to add it to the list of crazy, adventurous things he had eaten. And, I was excited to make my first entry to my personal "crazy eats" list. The things Uncle Lowell had eaten throughout his life were one of his favorite things to talk about, and some of my favorite stories to hear (even though most of them would have me saying, "Ewww! I can't believe you could eat that!"). On one of my last visits, he was mentioning that he thought skunk meat was the last one he hadn't tried yet, so he was thinking about making that happen. :) 

He taught us that to eat the food offered to us is to honor the person giving the food. For people coming from the US, it is often challenging to eat the food that is offered, but it was a lesson I was so thankful to be taught. He would tell a story about a group of youth who came who were given Menudo (basically, a soup broth with intestines as the protein). He said the girls were all crying into their soup, and the boys were using the intestine pieces to form pretend binoculars. He would laugh through his embarrassment of reliving that moment and say, "Just don't do that!"  

Uncle Lowell also loved the beach. So, that first trip introduced me to a "real" Mexican beach in Veracruz, Mexico called Chachalaca. It was not a resort, it was a room on top of a beachside building. It was not found by making reservations, but by getting to the town and then driving around asking locals if they knew of anyone who rented rooms. The adventure of this was so exciting to me then... I can imagine I would have found it less enchanting as a mom. Smile. But, that is the great thing about Aunt Sheri. She brings her amazing gift for organization to the mix, but also rolled with the things in Mexico that can't be quite as organized and planned out as in the US. 

We also got to go with Uncle Lowell to some of his weekly outreaches to remote villages. We got to meet families who were scraping by to survive day-to-day, but whose faces lit up when it came time to sing along with Uncle Lowell on his guitar, and who entered in wholeheartedly when he would open scripture to discuss with them.

Uncle Lowell's gentle sense of humor was also a trademark. I remember once, I think in that first or second trip to Mexico, when my Spanish knowledge was still so limited-- I found myself in a carload of only Spanish speakers. And there was a young man who was speaking incredibly fast and with a lot of idioms I hadn't learned yet. As I listened intensely, trying to keep up with his story, Uncle Lowell caught my eye in the rearview mirror. He must have seen my laser focus, because he said, "How much of that do you think you caught?" So, I told my version of what I thought I had heard. He chuckled with delight at my version, and said, "Well, not quite", and proceeded to tell me what was actually being said. But, his humor never felt cutting or embarrassing. Always fun and inclusive.

I share so many details from this trip because I think it can so vividly show how my love for Mexico was set on fire during that visit. And, this relates to Uncle Lowell because his passionate, overflowing love for Mexico so permeated every part of him, that it was contagious. This is the part where I say, I can look around and see things I love around me... that I know partially came through me "catching" his passion for those things. 

Would I have been open to marrying a man from Mexico and living in Mexico if it weren't for them? Would I love Marcos Witt and be instantly returned to being in the car with Uncle Lowell when I hear it, if it weren't for the hours of bouncing along dirt roads with that on in the background? Would I be up for trying crazy foods, have beautiful children with Mexican heritage... if it weren't for them? Would I have as much love, hope, and compassion for the complexities of Mexico, if it weren't for seeing that modeled in them?

All of these words come from me sharing just one of my visits to Mexico. It does not even bring into account the way they supported us (even financially) while we lived in Mexico. It does not speak to the 2 years of ministry we spent together, and the ways he mentored Rey and brought him in, like a father Rey had never had. It doesn't speak to the grace bestowed when we had to make the heart-wrenching decision to come back to the States, it doesn't mention the years of help and collaboration with Tribal Designs. It doesn't speak to the early morning airport runs, the hours and hours of driving to the village and back, the hospitality. It doesn't speak to the way his love was also felt by our kids. 

[More] Things I love about Uncle Lowell:

-His humility, love for God, prayer life and worship

I think these all 3 go together. Prayer was woven throughout his daily life. I remember during one of my first visits, passing by as he knelt alone in prayer before heading out to the outreach of the day. His humility would also cause him to ask to be prayed over at any chance he got. He would ask my aunt to pray over him before he would leave for the day, he would ask people he was visiting with to pray before ending the visit, he would respond to offers for prayer immediately. I know my own pride often impedes me from practicing this humble discipline, so watching him live that out has served to instruct me. His love for God would show up in instantaneous and whole-hearted worship no matter where he found himself. He could step into any worship setting--no matter how unfamiliar to him--and instantly move into the presence of the Lord. Another powerful instruction for me.

-The bounce in his step

It is interesting how it often comes down to the smallest things, right? But, this was one of my favorite things. He always seemed to meet each day, each interaction, with that bounce in his step. That optimism and open-heartedness. And, of course, that joy. 

-The twinkle in his eye when he was just about to tell his punch line

As I mentioned, Uncle Lowell was a master storyteller... and most of his stories led up to a hilarious ending. So, when we would be getting close to that hilarious ending, I loved watching how excited he would get to clue us in on what he already knew we would burst into laugher over. I also loved that, even when I knew he'd told the story multiple times before, he'd tell it with equal enthusiasm each time.

-His patience and gentleness

To live the life he and Aunt Sheri do requires infinite patience. The dictionary says patience is: "the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset." Oh, how often this virtue has been required of them. Daily. They have definitely shown the grace of learning to live joyfully with very little, to bear up under hardship and discomforts with a spirit of gratitude and acceptance... This also has taught me much. Uncle Lowell's gentleness was one of his defining characteristics, and it coupled with his eternal optimism of "what could be". Of the good that could be coming. Of the break-throughs that could happen, of the life transformations possibly right around the corner. Endlessly patient and forbearing, I also found there to be a fierceness under there, when it came to anything that could cause harm to his girls or his people. 

His passing leaves an unfillable void in our lives. He is irreplaceable. And, he was a precious gift to all of us that got to love him, be loved by him, and share life with him.

Uncle Lowell, thank you for teaching me throughout my life simply by the way you lived yours. And, even your passing--which has happened so many years before we wanted it to--has taught me. It has taught me to not count on tomorrow, to not store up goals and dreams for "maybe later". It is teaching me to live now into whatever I feel God has for me, for Rey and for our family. This is not a gift I asked for or wanted. It is a gift I would have refused, if given the choice. But, since it has been given, I will take it and live into it the best I am able.