Yearly Archives: 2012

The Slow Boat From Asia

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Anyone else remember this book? I didn’t read it, maybe because I never had trouble getting my locker open.

Today, my book is titled, “If God Loves Me, Why Can’t We Get Our Stuff Off the Slow Boat From Asia?”

I’m guessing that sweet 70’s era book might have a good answer for me, so now I’m kicking myself for not pulling it off the church library shelf, but I have a pretty good idea what it would say.

I think it might tell me to give thanks in the midst of circumstances so that’s what I’m going to do. I’m thankful that:
1. Our stuff did not fall in the ocean.
2. We are not like those people we met who shipped their stuff to the US and didn’t get it for a year (Oh  Lord, please don’t let us become those people).
3. We have had a place to stay while our stuff has been sailing the seven seas
4. Erik has been able to do other things to get our house ready, so these two trips haven’t been wasted
5. We have things to ship. Lots of things. A lot of people don’t have anything.
6. This is a light and momentary trial, especially compared to what so many are going through.
7. It’s kept us on our knees.
8. God is still God, and He is still good.

It’s this last one that I wrestle with in times like this, and I think that’s good. It’s good because it makes me think about what goodness to us really is – not our comfort or our happiness, but something much bigger and better. It’s good because it reminds me that God is not our vending machine, our Santa Claus, our butler, who does what we ask. when we ask. It’s good because it puts me in my place, a place of being very small and insignificant, which is why the fact that He loves me still is even greater.

I think I know what to do if I can’t get my locker open.

Continue ReadingThe Slow Boat From Asia

A Different Childhood

How many Twinkies have you eaten in your lifetime? I haven’t had one in about a millennium, but our kids have never had Twinkies. Or Ho Ho’s. Or Little Debbie snack cakes, Ding Dongs, etc. etc. They also are unfamiliar with Cool Whip, Velveeta, and Cheese Whiz.

This came to our attention last night at dinner, and it occurred to me that I was both wildly happy and a little nostalgic for them. It’s like they missed a little part of Americana because of their overseas childhood, where these things were never or rarely obtainable.

Truth be told, I try to avoid putting sugar and/or processed food into our kids as a general rule, but not having EVER eaten any of those things seem akin to never watching Sesame Street. Come to think of it . . .

Yeah, our kids had a different childhood. When I first lived overseas, I was determined that our kids were going to be American, gosh darn it! No third culture kids here. (The reality is, I was told, the second your kid stepped on a plane to live in another country, he became a third culture kid and there’s nothing you can do about it).

Our kids do probably have a greater grasp of American culture than the average TCK simply because where we lived and how we lived allowed us to be more exposed to it. But the fact is, they are different. There are things they don’t know, won’t understand, won’t love, things that don’t have any association with childhood for them. And that’s ok.

But I think I’ll still put a Twinkie in their Christmas stockings.

Continue ReadingA Different Childhood

Learning

The garbage disposal in my parents’ kitchen clogged two nights ago. This was inconvenient on a number of levels, such as: my parents were gone, my husband was gone, I am not good with tools, and oh yeah, after 13 years overseas I lack certain skills most people have gained by this point. In other words, I haven’t interacted with a garbage disposal since I was a teenager.

Spending most of my adult life outside of the States has left me strangely imbalanced in my abilities. Sure, I can help you bargain for something in Chinese and get the local price, but I did not know that potato peels shouldn’t go in a garbage disposal (but for the record, that wasn’t what caused the clogging). I may have mad chopstick skillz, but I don’t have a clue how to unclog a disposal, or when or how to call a plumber.

To make it more fun and challenging, one of the pipes below the bathroom simultaneously began dripping in the basement, and both dogs decided the moment needed to be punctuated by excessive barking. “This is exciting! It’s a big mess! You’re clueless!” I think is how it translated.

So I called some family friends, and was immediately cheered by their voices, especially the one that said, “Why don’t I come over and check on it?”

Half an hour, a messy kitchen floor and an unintentionally wet friend later (there was a lot of water trapped in there!) I had a working disposal again. Not only that, but I think if it happened again I might be able to fix it myself. We’re all going to pray it doesn’t come to that, but it encouraged me to think, “I might be sorely lacking in some basic adult skills for life in America, but they are not unlearnable.”

Which is good, because last night I got to practice, “What to do when your mini-fridge was set too cold and caused a can of soda to explode, bursting the door open.” Opportunities to be an adult abound!

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Our Weird Dog

I had hoped that having left China, we would have also left behind goofy conversations about our dog. What was I thinking? Of course we’ll have goofy conversations about our little foreign pup. We’ll just have them in English now!

Case in point – here’s the conversation I had this morning with a sweet little old lady while her dog jumped around like a maniac at her feet:

Woman: Oh look, you have two! What kind are they?

Me: Well, this one is a cocker spaniel, and this one is from China. We don’t know what she is. They didn’t even know over there.

Woman: China China?

Me: Yep. China. The country.

Woman (looking directly at Scout): I bet you have a story to tell about how you got here!

Me: Yes, a long, complicated and expensive tale. But she was only $9 to begin with so . . .

Woman (still speaking to Scout): DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?

Me, laughing: Yes, she does.

Woman: Did she come on an airplane?

Me: Uh . . . yep. She did.

Woman: Well, she’s beautiful! Have a blessed day!

Me: You too!

Ah yes. We have a weird dog. She goes well with our weird lives.

 

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Project 365 October

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So it appears I forgot where my camera was for most of the month of October. What I have is a sad little offering of the few pictures I did take, mostly in Florida because my camera really wanted some sun and surf. Who wouldn’t? Anyway, I blame transition.

the cloister at the local convent
tomatoes ripening on the windowsill
Homecoming at my high school
playing in the leaves for the first time ever
we found a turtle!
a joyful reunion
sunrise
waiting for waves
intercoastal waterway
our lemon tree
sunset
I heart Trader Joe’s (and Milwaukee because two of my favorite people live there)
a walk in the woods
that time of year
Continue ReadingProject 365 October

Stirred

Transition is a bit like someone coming into your life with a giant paint stir stick and swirling it around in your heart. It brings to the surface a whole lot of emotions that might normally stay hidden. If you’ve ever stirred a paint can, you know that vigorous stirring can result in overflow.

That’s how we feel these days – like it’s all right at the surface, and it takes little for it to overflow. A few days ago I made a picture montage from China set to a funny song, and I found myself tearing up as I made it. It doesn’t take much. A song. A commercial. Prayer. Hearing someone’s story. Sharing my passions. The mention of the word “China.” I am brought to tears. It reminds me that there is more grieving to be done. I’m not super excited about that, honestly. There’s a point at which you want to not cry and just move on, but the problem with tears is that they aren’t meant to stay inside you. Letting them out always feels better in the end.

But there’s an upside to all this stirring. It’s evidence to me that I’ve made it through with a soft heart. It’s difficult to stir a heart that is hard, that refuses to be touched by pain or sadness. It doesn’t always look hard on the outside – sometimes we coat it with a thick candy shell and pretend all is good. Whatever we do, I’m learning that the best route is to stay open, to be vulnerable, to let the stirring happen because good things come to the surface too. Things like being able to recognize when others are being stirred, and to enter in with them and catch their overflow; being able to give others a more authentic you; being as in touch with joy and laughter as you are with sadness and pain. That’s the fun part – the fact that it opens me to being quicker to laugh as well!

I’m sure it will be awhile before the swirling settles down. In the meantime, I hope to make the most of what it does in my heart. And don’t be surprised if you see me cry. Or laugh! It’s all there, and it’s all good.

never miss a post

Continue ReadingStirred

Starting From Scratch

My cupboards are bare. By the end of the week, hopefully, our belongings will arrive on that slow boat from China and be deposited somewhere in our new house, but our pantry will be bare. There will be no milk in the fridge, no cereal in the cabinet, no sugar, flour, soup, bread, spices, oil, or random jar of God knows what that’s been in the back corner for longer than you can remember.

I’m starting from scratch.

While that prospect feels a little daunting, there’s a great freedom to it as well. I went to the people’s co-op the other day and bought seven spices-only ones I know I consistently use (and all in identical containers on top of which I can put cute labels. This delights my structured and creative sides to no end). I can buy as I go. It forces me to consider what I get and why. It simplifies. I like it.

We’ll be starting from scratch in a lot of ways down there, and while it’s not quite as pleasing a thought as a new pantry, it does have its advantages. We’re starting with a clean schedule. We can choose what fills it. We will have to consider what we do and why. It simplifies. I like it.

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A day at the beach

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 It’s hard to know why Ethan wanted to crawl into this hole.

Or stay in it when this happened.
 A further mystery as to why he decided to let his dad and our friend bury him in that position.
 Completely.

Why he waited for this with excitement.

As it swarmed around him.

And crashed over him.

While still really enjoying it.

 But he did.

Continue ReadingA day at the beach

Torn

I am torn.

We spent a few days at the beach attending a debrief conference for people from our company who have returned from overseas stints. It was all a bit theoretical for us because we haven’t landed in our “planting” spot yet where we’ll have to try to figure out where to buy food and make friends and tame our wild yard.

But not wanting to miss out on the opportunity to hear from God, I tried to pay attention to my heart. As I did I realized I was feeling a new feeling about the whole transition: guilt.

That surprised me, until we had a session on grief and loss and they reminded me that it is one of the stages of grief. But still, guilt? I didn’t see that coming. I’m more of a denial or anger stage kind of girl myself.

Why do I feel guilty? Well, I’ll tell you. I feel guilty because I think the US is awesome. I can plug my computer in to ANY outlet in the house. That’s big, people. No hunting down an adapter these days. The shower has consistent water pressure and temperature. Have you ever thought about what a gift that is? I do, every day.

And where we’re going to live is practically tropical! I’ve done tropical before and it’s not shabby. Sure, it gets hot and humid but who cares when you have a pool? And . . . and . . . and . . . I could go on and on.

Why feel guilty about that? I feel guilty because I know that my friends who I left don’t have a lot of these things. Why do I get to have them? More than that, several of them are going through difficult things and I am not there to walk through those things with them, and I hate that. I’m here enjoying sunshine and raspberry m&m;’s. There’s a strange feeling as though I have abandoned them, betrayed them even, by leaving. I remind myself that this is where God has led us, and that He has kept them there, but I feel guilty all the same.

Hey – no one ever said feelings were rational. But there they are.

So I am torn. Torn between wanting to enjoy these beautiful gifts God is giving us, hopes of good things in this new life, and the separation I feel from my friends who do not have what I have, who in fact have difficult things. Torn between loving the family and friends we have here and those we have left behind. It’s one of the by-products of moving people don’t always mention – the fact that you don’t get to keep all your heart with you as you go. Parts will be left in each place, and it’s possible for one part to feel something while another part experiences something completely different.

Will it ever be put back together? Probably not. But I choose to see it not as fragmented but as stretched to a greater capacity. Yeah, I’m going to call it that – not torn, but stretched.

Continue ReadingTorn

Our Future in Signs

Signs can tell us where we are. They tell us something of the culture we’re inhabiting. They provide boundaries, assurance, that we are in familiar territory.

So I’ve been paying attention to the signs around me as we have a week here in Orlando. I want to set up my mental map. I want to understand this future home of ours.

I had planned to post a series of pictures of the signs we’ve acquired ourselves – our license plate, the name of our part of town, our street name, our address. And then I realized that armed with all that, someone could potentially stalk us all the way from Minnesota to our new home. I’m not typically paranoid, but that seemed too much like a trail of cyberspace breadcrumbs.

So picture, if you will, these signs that we see. The highway signs – most often 417 and 408 – all have the outline of Florida. Despite that, it took me 3 days of driving to stop thinking, “Hey look – that person has Florida license plates. He’s from Florida!” We too have exchanged loons for oranges. (Not that I am a loon, though that thought was kind of loony. Minnesota plates have loons on them).

The sign I don’t like seeing is the EZPass toll overhang, strung over the highway periodically, there to suck money from you every few miles on the freeway.

Today we drove past an actual “Welcome to Orlando” sign. Why thank you.

It’s encouraging to see signs we know well – Target, Panera Bread, Walgreens. And signs for things we have heard exist – Chick-fil-a, Del Taco. None of these signs were in China. I like seeing them.

Then there are the signs that show we are heading away from the crowded parts to our little neck of the swamp – signs with words like “oak” and “pine” in them that tell us we are heading into the woods. Our woods.

And there’s the one small sign, just 5 numbers hung above our garage door, that will signify home.

Those are the signs in view.

Continue ReadingOur Future in Signs

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