I don’t recommend quitting your job without another job lined up and I understand that quitting a job usually isn’t as simple as quitting. But all in all there is a lot of wisdom in “The Holstee Manifesto” (see theholstee.com/manifesto for more)
Six years ago this month, I sold and gave away almost everything I owned. I moved to Belize, a country I had never set foot in, on a wing and a prayer and a call from God–with a George Strait song playing in my head.
People–especially newcomers to the blog or the new friends I make on Facebook–are always asking: Why did you move to Belize?
My short answer is typically, “Because I could.”
Which is to say I had nobody but myself to support. I was divorced and my three children were grown and thriving on their own. I was free to indulge the free spirit in me and live anywhere I wanted to live.
“Chaplain Paul,” who was always dressed up and wearing his silver cross in his church and chaplaincy life, at an interfaith function in Dallas in 2011.
The expanded answer goes like this:
— I felt I’d been rode hard and put up wet (not to mention rode wet and put up hard) from two intense and stressful careers, the first in newspaper reporting and the second in hospital and hospice ministry. I was weary and restless and wanted a change.
Years before, when I was 50 years old, I had turned my back on a thriving, lifelong career in journalism, enrolled in seminary at SMU, and got myself ordained as a Deacon in the United Methodist Church.
When I make a change, I don’t fool around.
— I wanted to strip my life down to the bare essentials, to live a simpler, quieter and more deeply reflective and spiritual life. I wanted the writer’s life.
You’ve heard of the starving artist.
I wanted the simple life of a starving writer. (I have achieved that goal, Belize me.)
— The Nature Boy in me wanted to live in a beautiful place with lots of green trees and beaches and waterfalls and birds and exotic wildlife.
When Chaplain Paul makes a change, he don’t fool around. Here pictured at DFW airport in Dallas on his way to Belize with everything he owned, July 15, 2012.
— I wanted diversity. Belize has one of the most diverse cultures and populations in the world. Every day I hear Belizeans speaking English, Spanish, Kriol, Mayan or Chinese. And then there are the Mennonites with their mule-drawn carts who live off the grid and speak a lot more Dutch or German than English.
— I’m a natural-born free spirit and I wanted to indulge the free spirit in me.
Did I mention I was in a place in life where I could do that, since I had no one to support but me, myself and I?
As a starving writer wannabe, I was inspired by one of my favorite songs of all time sung by fellow Texan George Strait, who said in classic hit “Amarillo by Morning” — I ain’t rich, but Lord I’m free.
— I wanted to live up-close and personal among the poor for the simple reason that I’ve always had an affinity for children, elderly folks and the poor among us.
I wrote a little book last year about my experiences with needy people. It’s titled The View From Down in Poordom: Reflections on Scriptures Addressing Poverty. It’s not exclusively about poverty on the other side of paradise in Belize, but it does include a lot of stories about the poor I’ve known and observed up-close and personal in Belize, Guatemala and neighboring Mexico.
My first book isn’t exclusively about poverty in Central America as I’ve seen it up close and personal, but it is full of stories about what I’ve seen and people I’ve known south of the U.S. border.
— And yet another reason I uprooted and moved to Belize: I wanted to live on my own terms before I die.
Having been a hospital and hospice chaplain and having the privilege of walking through the valley of grief with people in their final days or months of life, I heard some variation on the following from scores upon scores of dying people.
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“If I had it to do all over, I wouldn’t have worked so hard.
“I would have spent more time with my family.
“I would have traveled more.
“I would have done all the things I always wanted to do and never took the time to do. I would have gone scuba diving. I would have jumped out of a plane. I would have gone to Africa.
“I would have taken a month (or a year) to live (or travel) in Europe (or Africa, or Costa Rica, or Belize). I would have moved my business to Florida (or Nashville, or Seattle).”
Chaplain Paul the intrepid adventurist at Big Rock, one of the world’s most famous waterfalls and swimming holes up in Mountain Pine wilderness, an hour’s bone-rattling drive the Chap’s home in San Ignacio/Santa Elena BZ.
“I love horses. I would have cashed out, moved the family to a shady little farm or ranch outside some little country town and got out of the rat race.
“I definitely would have retired or semi-retired sooner and enjoyed life while I had a lot of good years ahead of me.”
“I would have done this… I would have done this.”
You get the drift, dear reader.
I didn’t want to be on my death bed some day like all those people who spilled their guts out to me about all their many regrets.
AND SO … THIS MONTH MARKS THE SIX-YEAR anniversary of my move to this whole other country. And Belize me when I tell you (Belizeans love their puns and one becomes a chronic punster here), every day is still an adventure here. Belize is both a Caribbean nation and a Central American nation. That fact alone is enough to make it the oddest little country in the world.
I’m an odd old bird. An odd nation suits me.
And while my reasons for uprooting and moving here were many, it all came down, in the final analysis, to a calling from God.
I’m a strong believer in God and believe that God calls us Christians in ways large and very large, and ways quite small to move out of their comfort zones.
He wasn’t exactly sure why he felt called to Belize, of all places in the world, but he definitely felt God nudging, and then pushing him, to go there. And God never promised him it would be an easy, care-free life in a country that prides itself on being “The Eden of the Caribbean.” Chap Paul was called to the other side of Paradise.
I always felt my first calling was to journalism, which for most journalists is absolutely a calling.
My second calling was a loud and clear call from God to ministry.
There is no greater call than the call to ministry. And any minister who has had God tap him or her on the shoulder and prod them into the holy life knows how powerful that call is. You reach a point where you can’t NOT heed the call, no matter how young or old you may be.
Chaplain Paul and his Belizean daughter Ludy Paulita McKay. She turns 5 on July 29. . Could she and her family be the reason God wanted him in Belize?
I attended seminary with a woman who was 64 years old when she was ordained. She had six thriving years as an associate pastor in a city church and spent another 15 years in retirement doing mission work with orphans in Siberia.
So for a full year before my move to Belize in 2012, I had this mysterious, nagging sense, which was starting to feel more and more urgent, that God was calling me to, of all the places in the world, Belize.
The mystery of that divine calling I had has since been cleared up. It was a call to meet a poor “bush woman” whose long estranged husband showed up at her shanty heavily intoxicated one night. He pinned her to her bed and had his way with her, impregnating her.
The baby she had is my adoptive daughter, Ludy Paulita McKay. She turns 5 on July 29. I’m pretty sure God called me to Belize to support her mom and to get her big sister and big brother all the education and graces in life they can get.
But that’s another story I’ll share in more detail before the milestone birthday of little “Miss Belize.”
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