transition

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.

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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.

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Becoming More Real

Did you know that in Orlando there are toll gates every 50 feet? OK, that might be an exaggeration, but there are a lot of them and they aren’t cheap. Most I’ve seen range from 50c-$1. Yesterday on the way to check out a school for the kids that required a 15 minute drive on the highway I had to spend $3.25. That’s a pile o’ change folks because they don’t take dollars. If you’re wondering where all the coins in America are, look to Florida.

Well all this coin tossing (literally, you throw the coins in a funnel. Freaks me out every time) is impractical in the long run so we needed to get a Sun Pass, which allows you to drive automatically through the tolls without paying, or so it feels. And this is one of many little ways that life in America is becoming more real.

Why would I need a Sun Pass if I were just passing through? When the woman at Walgreens asked if I wanted a store card, I realized I probably did. The Minute Clinic at CVS now has all my local information (and I discovered that my insurance card is actually useful in America. Apparently Asia was outside my PPO). Erik is going to get our license tags this morning for our Honda Fit, which my Asia friends will be happy to know is orange like our previous Hover. At dinner the other night a new acquaintance told me about a weekend market for home furnishings and said, “I’ll take you there.”

Oh and did I mention there’s an empty house to which we have keys? I fully expected there to be a homeless man squatting there, at least some snakes and cockroaches to have taken up residence, but it’s just waiting for us to fill it with our stuff.

A house. Two cars. Getting connected to local businesses. Making plans with new people. Yep, it kind of sounds like we’re going to live here.

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The Familiar

People might guess that our 13 years overseas in various locations means I’m a girl who loves adventure, but this would be an erroneous thought. I like familiarity. I like routine. I like consistency. I eat the same thing every day for breakfast, almost without fail. That’s how I roll.

One of our last weeks in Asia, I was driving a new friend around town, and she said, “I can’t wait until I know this city like you do. You just seem to know how to get anywhere.” Indeed, it was very familiar to me.

So here we are in Orlando this week, our future home, and I find myself longing for that kind of knowledge. I want to sense, as I’m driving down the 417, how much further it is to our exit. I want to have a need for a certain store and know instinctively how far it is from where I am. I want to be able to drive on mental auto-pilot to other parts of town. I want to know this place.

As I was pondering this yesterday, God reminded me that I do already have something constant, something familiar, and it is Him. In every new place, He is there. He is the same here as He was in Asia. His character and His ways toward me are steady and unchanging.

This is where I need to put my focus, my faith. My city view may change, but He remains the same.

Someday I will know my way around this place.

Continue ReadingThe Familiar

Reverse Culture Shock

Every good expat has heard of the dreaded Reverse Culture Shock. That’s where you go back to your home country and think, “This is weird! I don’t get it! I feel like an idiot!” and other unpleasant things like that.

I came back to the States fully expecting that at some point we would have this. I’ve had it before – those moments where I was paralyzed in the bread/toothpaste/deodorant aisle incapable of making a decision because there were so many choices. The awkward times when I hand the clerk my credit card and then am informed that I can (and should) do it myself. I still forget that, and for the record, I don’t like it.

This time I feel like all those potentially odd things that are different from Asia, to this point, don’t strike me as anything but quite pleasant. I like that there are lots of choices. I like that driving doesn’t feel like a test of my survival skills. I like that there is no one else on the streets in the morning when I exercise. I could get used to all these things.

But yesterday I hit my biggest moment of reverse culture shock. I went to IKEA.

I have never been to IKEA in America, only in Asia. So I was quite frankly weirded out by seeing prices in US dollars. It felt eerily empty. At no point did I feel like I was swimming against traffic. There wasn’t a single Asian person anywhere. I kept thinking, “Look at this – it’s all the same stuff. They brought it all from China.” (Yes, I realize this is not true). Actually, it felt like I was still in China and just happened to go to IKEA on Foreigner Day.

Megan’s cluing in to the reverse culture shock as well. In the bathroom the other day she said, “Mom, this toilet is really small. The toilets at Nonna and Babba’s are really small too. Wait – maybe ALL the toilets in America are small compared to China!” and continued on in this vein for awhile, supposing that people would think she was weird because she’s been using big toilets.

So we realize things are different, but so far we’re generally of the opinion that they’re good. I just don’t think I’ll go back to IKEA yet. That was weird.

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Looking with Eyes of Faith

Looking with Eyes of Faith
Photo by chuttersnap on Unsplash

 

Prior to moving back to America, I read the story of Moses sending the spies ahead into Canaan.

All but two of them came back with a report that, although the land was flowing with milk and honey, the people there were strong and the cities fortified and large. These latter things were unappealing to them.

But then Caleb stepped up and said, basically, “We can do this.”

Joshua seconded that with, “If the Lord delights in us, he will bring us into this land and give it to us . . . the Lord is with us.”

Looking Ahead to Our New Season

I read this story around the time when our son seemed to be struggling the most with our future life in America. He’s a realist, like me (it sounds so much better than pessimist), and he was seeing the difficulties of transitioning to new friends, new places.

So I shared that story with him. When I read it, I felt clearly that God was saying, “Who will you be like Gina?

“Will you look ahead and only see the obstacles, or will you look ahead with faith and hope because you believe that I am leading you to this place?”

We might see the same situation, but we could look with eyes of fear or eyes of faith. Which will we do? As we look through the lens of God’s delight in us, we can move ahead with confidence. He goes before us. He goes with us. We can do this.

It’s hard to go into an unknown place after one you’ve loved so well. But this morning as I sat on the deck, warm sun on my face, I was encouraged by recalling this story. I’m not saying Orlando is the promised land. But it is the place to which He is leading us. We will trust in His goodness as we anticipate life there.

 

Related posts:

Plan to Stay Where God Calls You

Doubting in the Darkness

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If They Only Knew

This morning I was just another runner in a race on a typical Minnesota fall day.

I was just another mom watching her kid play soccer.

In both, I felt a little like the secret weirdo.

I mean I was the only person who didn’t blink an eye when I saw that the three stalls in the women’s bathroom didn’t have doors. I was probably the only one who was breathing a lot easier during that 5K, or noticed that people were cheering in English.

During the game, I have to say I was pretty proud of Megan, who despite her only experience in soccer being bi-lingual coaching from a Swiss German with dredlocks alongside a gang of Chinese boys, seems to be one of the most skilled on her team. If not, then at least the fiercest and most determined. I didn’t feel like explaining all that to any of the other moms.

Let them all think this is as normal for me as it is for them. They don’t need to know how many times I’ve used bathrooms in the full presence of strangers, how I’m used to people staring at me like I’m insane when I run. They don’t know that we’ve never seen this many American kids playing soccer in the same place before, or that Megan’s not used to her teammates calling her name.

If they only knew.

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Ready, set, go

I really didn’t want to run this morning.

Usually, the night before, I am looking forward to a run. I envision myself running farther and faster, people staring in awe as I fly by (actually that last part would never happen, but that’s ok). Come morning, I am a little less enthusiastic.

This time, I wasn’t even excited last night, so I didn’t have a great deal of hope for the morning. It was only the fact that I am running a 5K on Saturday and don’t want to fail miserably that I forced myself out the door.

To my surprise, it was a good run. It helps to have a gorgeous route and cool temps. At the turnaround point I was tempted to go further, but decided not to push it. Good thing too because I always forget how long and steep is the final quarter mile back to the house.

Why am I telling you all this? Well because it perfectly illustrates how I am feeling today about homeschool. In all the craziness of packing to leave 13 years of life behind, this “having to teach to the kids” thing kind of snuck up on me.

I really don’t want to homeschool this morning.

Yesterday I was a madhouse of planning, preparing, and buying last minute materials. I am hoping to ease into it this week but with the amount that we are going to be disturbed in our schedule this year I know we can’t afford to not dive in head first next week. I don’t want to say goodbye to all my free time and hello to being a teacher again, but we can’t have feral, uneducated young’uns running around.

But who knows? It could be good. It has been before. Yes, it’s tough, and there are steep hills to climb, but I think we’ll get into a groove soon enough.

So here we are. Ready, set, go.

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