2013 - Page 9 of 10 - Gina Brenna Butz

Weird

Post author:Gina B
Post published:February 24, 2013
Post category:transition

I’ve said it before – I feel weird.

I don’t mean to be weird, but I find that when I try to participate in conversation with new people, I am now “the girl who tells strange, foreign, potentially exaggerated stories.” My stories usually start with “In (fill in the blank of a foreign country)” and involve statements like, “and the bathroom just had boards over a trough in the ground . . . ” or “so I was cleaning out the inside of the chicken . . . ”

Bringing these stories up in conversation with new people feels like the social equivalent of dragging the needle across the record at a party, or jumping on a couch and yelling, “Boing!” It puts me in the category of “weird.”

I don’t mean to throw conversational curve balls, but I’m just sharing what I know. I’m reminded of an interpersonal communication class I took in college, where we were taught that each person in a conversation has a circle of experience from which they speak. Where our circles overlap with others, that’s where we find common ground from which to interact and understand one another. When we try to share part of our circle that doesn’t overlap with another’s, it can be as though we are speaking another language. In living 13 years overseas, my circle has shifted away from others. I have shifted.

After awhile, I’m tempted just to not speak at all. At times it feels like the easier, safer option. I might not be able to participate in the group, but at least I don’t feel like an outsider.

Then Friday morning and again last night I went to places populated with people who have also landed themselves in the “weird” category. And I heard phrases like, “In China . . .” and “the guy glued my Birkenstocks back together for $2!” and best of all, I heard, “I know exactly how you feel.”

I guess that’s all I need. I know I’ll always be a little weird here. I’m ok with that, as long as once in awhile someone comes along and reminds me that I’m not alone in my weirdness, and that they are a little weird too.

See, my stories involve things like this. I just don’t get this kind of stuff in America.

How do we live content?

Post author:Gina B
Post published:February 24, 2013
Post category:word of the year

In 2013, I chose the word, “Content” as my word of the year.

A friend advised me in choosing a word to choose what I thought I needed. In that case, “chocolate” felt like a good word. It felt like it would carry me through a lot.

But I was in the throes of transition, and my needs were great. Greater than chocolate. God’s invitation was, “What if, by the end of the year, those needs aren’t met? Will you still be content?” So content it was.

Nearly two months into the year, I wondered if “chocolate” was a better word. I would have done it well. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t, though, because then my word for the year in 2014 would have been “detox” which doesn’t look very pretty embroidered on a pillow.

No, my word was “content.” By definition, it means, “in a state of peaceful happiness; satisfied with a certain level of achievement, good fortune, etc. and not wishing for more; to accept as adequate despite wanting more or better.”

Many words jump to mind as synonyms for “content” after reading this definition: satisfied, accepting, peaceful, patience, submission, enough.

It’s a lack of striving, of trying to make life a certain way. Receiving with gratitude and a quiet heart. Freedom from being in control. Taking a deep breath and saying, “This is ok.”

In other words, the antithesis of my mode of operation. Maybe yours too.

Most of the first two months of 2013 revealed where I was NOT content and why (“the first step is admitting you have a problem”). I saw discontentment in who I was, what I had, and what I did.

And so began a choice: where will I focus my attention?

I chose not to watch the red carpet for the Oscars because it bred discontentment with my body and my lack of fame.

My Pinterest time dwindled because after I looked there, I felt unsettled and uneasy about the lack of awesome DIY projects that could make my house look like a magazine ad.

Facebook and Instagram I took in smaller doses.

I learned to ask questions like, “When you look at your own body, will you choose to be content? Will you say yes to what God has given you?”

or, “When you look at the mess of things undone, can you smile and say, ‘It’s ok’?”

and maybe hardest of all, “Will you be content to let God choose His own way of working your life and not demand your own ways?”

So am I more content now? I don’t know about that. I would say I’m more and more convinced that it is the key for me to live well here right now.

How to Be an American

Post author:Gina B
Post published:February 13, 2013
Post category:transition

Just when I thought I was pretty good at being an American . . .

For our kids to be in this school, we need to have them up to date on their immunizations. The first obstacle in this endeavor is finding and compiling their immunization records from two different countries in the midst of all those unorganized files in our office. Lord help us.

The other part I thought would be easy – call a pediatrician and make an appointment. The last time they saw a doctor was in Singapore, where we just walked across the street to the corner clinic, took a number, and waited about an hour to see her. If we had to see a specialist, we might have to wait until the next day.

So I naively thought I could call yesterday and get an appointment for later this week. I think the receptionist snickered a little when I asked if that were possible. I was informed that the next available well check up time for our kids would be March 6th. This is problematic, given that I am supposed to turn in their records by February 22nd.

It’s moments like this when I am reminded that I don’t know how things work here. It’s humbling. A little embarrassing. I’m tempted to try to explain myself, but the second I throw out something about living overseas, most people hear, “I have two heads!” and can’t compute what I’m saying.

So I soldier on, putting another note in my “how to be an American” file.

The Good Life

Post author:Gina B
Post published:February 8, 2013
Post category:faith

The world would have us think that a good life is a “significant” one. It is one in which you have bigger, better, more; you have some combination of fame and fortune.

I believe God would differ.

And I agree with Him, especially after reflecting on the life of my grandmother.

The night before her funeral last Saturday, we sat around before the wake and shared stories of my grandma, what she was like.

What emerged was a picture of a woman of integrity, a woman driven by her values and faith, who knew hard work, resourcefulness, and discipline, and intentionally passed them down to her children. She accepted what God gave her. She poured herself out for those around her. She took joy in little things.

My grandparents lived a small life in the eyes of the world. They lived their whole lives in a farming community so tiny it doesn’t even have its own grocery store. Not many knew them, not many outside our family will remember them.

But they lived in a way that I wish more people would imitate – humbly, faithfully, honestly. I am humbled when I look at the way they lived, and I hope to live like they did. As I think about my word of the year – content – they are a model for me.

That’s how you live a good life.

All Things for Good

Post author:Gina B
Post published:February 4, 2013
Post category:faith

I wasn’t supposed to see my grandma that Thanksgiving.

We had plans to drive to Wisconsin, but because our shipment from overseas finally arrived, my husband flew to Orlando to receive it. My parents were going to visit my grandma at the nursing home. I decided to go with them because it might be the last time I saw her.

It was.

Upon reflection, we see that decisions we make, or things that happen to us beyond our control, were the work of God.

My grandmother passed away several months later. Her funeral was scheduled for a Wednesday. Due to some family issues, they changed it to Saturday. Wednesday did not work for me because my husband arrived home that day from a trip. I found frequent flyer tickets. Erik had a couple days off of work to stay back with the kids. All those things added up to me being present for my first family funeral since 1999.

He works all things for good. I look back on my life and there are some events – our son’s birth, our move to Singapore, two years of illness, our move back to America – where, on paper, it didn’t look the way I planned it. Circumstances I did not choose, seemingly ordinary decisions, plus God’s impeccable timing – they all interwove to create something better than I imagined.

I might not have said it at the time, but afterward I can look back and see a God who is tender hearted, who cares about the details, who does indeed work all things for good.

If I can see it so clearly in these circumstances, how many other times did He work on my behalf and I just didn’t recognize it? And how many more will there yet be?

Acquainted with grief

Post author:Gina B
Post published:January 28, 2013
Post category:grief

This past year, through a variety of means, I have become more acquainted with grief.

A song on the radio brings me to tears. A gracious comment from a friend chokes me up. Conversing with a loved one is so precious I get emotional. Pondering all that we have been through this year raises emotion.

This reminds me of a couple things: first, of Much Afraid from Hind’s Feet on High Places. Her two companions are Sorrow and Suffering. When I first read that book, I was in college and I can’t say I was much acquainted with sorrow or suffering. I really don’t know them now either. I would say I am coming to know them.

That’s what “acquainted” means, after all. It’s from the Latin, “to come to know.”

Most of us want to avoid sorrow and suffering. We believe that as Christians we should avoid them, not experience them, and that if we do we are somehow lacking faith. Me, I just want to avoid them because they aren’t much fun.

But my other thought about coming to know grief is this: Jesus did too.

In Isaiah 53:3, it says he was “a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.”

Of all that we are told about Him, we know that. I don’t doubt that Jesus was a man who exuded joy, who threw His head back and laughed. But it says specifically that He was no stranger to sorrow and grief. Why?

To tell us, “It’s ok. This is part of the journey.”

It’s hard to wrap my mind around this knowledge completely, beyond, “This is a good thing.” If Jesus knew it, He knows what it is like for me. He knows it is working something necessary and good in my heart.

Most of the time, when I rub up against grief I am grateful (although I confess when it comes in the presence of others it throws me. I’m still not particularly comfortable with falling apart unexpectedly).

I am grateful because I know my heart is being opened by this. It’s growing in me a greater capacity to enter into the grief of others and to say, “I am coming to know this too.”

Better Things Ahead

Post author:Gina B
Post published:January 25, 2013
Post category:faith grief

This week has left me a little speechless. On top of the emotional roller coaster of starting our kids in school and Erik being gone, death came twice: a dear family friend, and my sweet grandma. The first was wholly unexpected, the kind of death where you say, “But I just saw him . . . but he just . . .” It’s stunning.

The second was a long time coming. My grandma was nearing 100 years old, and in recent years has been in a slow decline physically and mentally. This last week she’d stopped eating and wasn’t responding much to people. She’s finally free.

All this brings into sharp focus the frailty of life, the fact that at any moment things could change. So I find myself delighting more in things I could easily miss – the sound of my son’s voice from the back seat of the car, the new blossoms on our lemon tree, the sun rising through hues of pink, breath in my lungs.

But it also makes me realize how far we are from Eden, how this world is nothing compared to the next. I think of our friend, who had a beautiful voice, and I imagine him singing praises to his God in a way he never has before. I think of my grandma whole, restored, full of joy. I think about how all that we enjoy and love here is but a poor substitute for what is to come.

So let’s love well and be people of gratitude and wonder for the gifts we are given, but let us put our hope in eternity where all will be made new.

“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.” C.S. Lewis

Week One of Transition

Post author:Gina B
Post published:January 24, 2013
Post category:grief parenting transition

It’s been a week. I haven’t even been sure what to write. The kids started school, which I hope will be the last major hurdle of “adjusting to life back in the U.S.” I’m not saying there will be no more hurdles, just hopefully none so high as this one that threatens to pull some muscles.

Pull it has. Monday was our first at home day, and since we were jumping in to the middle of things, we didn’t have quite as much as the other kids. We wrestled with feelings of anxiety throughout the day. I was trying to keep a positive outlook, but when we put the kids’ books into their fresh new backpacks right before bedtime and they didn’t all fit, all the wind got knocked out of my sails. Unfortunately, the kids were sailing in my boat, so we all sank a little bit.

By the morning, after a quick online order to L.L. Bean for larger backpacks, we were back on track. We were ready 1/2 hour early, God be praised! I am expected to help in each of their classrooms 2-3 times per semester and the only open day for Megan’s class was Tuesday. No, I don’t sit by the side of the pool and acclamate. I jump in!

It turned out to be just what Megan needed to calm her nerves. I sat in the corner and graded papers while her teachers amazed me. I saw Ethan at lunch and he was happily sitting with his best friend and some other 7th graders. All seemed well.

And then Wednesday happened, when they had to face the reality of what days at home entail, except we got to throw in things like “daddy’s gone” and “we’re still in major transition” to make it more interesting. Lets just say there were a lot of tears and a mom who needed a bath and a stiff drink by the end of the day. Not pretty people, not pretty.

Today was another school day, and they loved it. I dropped them off, ran some errands, came home and thought, “Wow. Now what?” then proceeded to do a little work and a little fun (hello OPI Samoan Sand on my finger and toenails). The kids came home and decided they love school and hate the work they have to do at home. I hope that evens out a little as time goes on.

Stretching emotional muscles. So often this week I just had to sit and cry with the kids and say, “Yeah, I get it. This is really hard. I think it’s going to get easier. Let’s remember that we’re in process here ok?” But there were plenty of times I wanted to say, “I can’t do this any more. I have my own mess. I don’t know that I have anything to give you in yours.”

Even as I type that I am reminded that His compassions are new every morning. That’s what I need to remind us each day – that He sees us in our process, He cares for our hearts, He will carry us through.

Our Traffic Sign Coffee Table

Post author:Gina B
Post published:January 17, 2013
Post category:DIY

In China, the concept of color is a little different, particularly when dealing with household items. I spent half an hour arguing with the men who delivered carpet to our first apartment because we had ordered tan and what they brought was gray. They insisted it was the same color. Later, we ordered dark forest green couches and they came a lovely bright grass green. Again, we were told essentially, “same same.” The worst was when I chose chocolate brown curtains and what arrived at my house was, well, what would you call the color of what comes out of a baby the first few weeks? Yeah, that. And I was told, “sometimes the color is a little bit different.”

So I shouldn’t have been surprised when I asked for a coffee table to be made to match this lovely antique piece:

And what I got was this traffic sign yellow table:

I was warned that it wouldn’t look totally like the top piece because it wasn’t actually going to be antique, but this really wasn’t what I had in mind. With it laying on its side, you can’t fully appreciate how incredibly bright yellow it is.

But honestly, this seemed like a fun challenge to me and truth be told I’m kind of bored these days so I went to work sanding off the brightness. I did it once already, but it was still pretty bright, so here’s attempt #2:

You can see that on the legs they did make the effort to antique it up a little, and I was able to keep the look of it there. The top I’ve just managed to tone down.

I’m not sure if I’m quite done (well, I haven’t sealed it so I know I’m not) or if I might try to even out the color on top, but at least it isn’t stopping traffic anymore. Now useless note to self: be more specific when describing colors to Chinese workers.

Known, Needed, Have a Future

Post author:Gina B
Post published:January 16, 2013
Post category:transition

Known. Needed. Have a future.

These are three things that we talk about in our organization that we hope our staff are experiencing. In transition, these things go AWOL easily. As I look back on the major transitions of my life, I can see how most of the stress and other yuck I felt was because I didn’t feel one or more of these things.

So because this isn’t my first rodeo, I have been trying to be aware of my need for these things as we’ve moved to Florida. The problem is that awareness doesn’t bring satisfaction. It just gives you an answer to the question, “Why do I feel like curling up in a ball today?” But sometimes that’s enough.

Happily, I can feel these things creeping into my life in small ways: Going to a party where I actually know people and can have meaningful conversations and where I am invited to a small group. A nearby neighbor asks if her son can spend the night while she and her husband get away for some time to make a major decision. We visit our kids’ school for an interview and I talk to people about when I’ll be there helping this semester. Our neighbor invites us over to meet another family who has a daughter Megan’s age and since we all work at Cru we have common ground.

Place where I feel known. Needed. I have a future. These are good moments.