When Thankfulness Went Sailing Away

Marshall, Liberia

I came home at lunch today looking forward to sharing a meal with a friend. The house was quiet and as I headed into the kitchen I realized that I had the date wrong on my calendar. A bit of disappointment clouded my heart but regardless, it was nice to leave my desk, stretch my legs, and get away for lunch. Moving from the kitchen to the table I suddenly found myself laying on my back in a lake of water. Slowly I stood up, droplets falling from my skirt and plunking in the lake around my feet. Stunned, I looked around. Water everywhere. I think a little sailboat floated by through the dining room, the family room, the entrance and out the front door. I sloshed down the hall and into my bedroom. As a little girl I used to pretend that my bed was a ship sailing in a sea of blue carpet. This is not what I had in mind, I thought, as I gazed at my island bed floating in the middle of the room. I could feel tears adding to the wet mess I was in. Of course this sort of thing is bound to happen while the doc is working - in another country. Thankfulness was not anywhere close to my heart or my mind. I think it sailed out the front door with that little boat. Sometimes it doesn't take much for thankfulness to leave my heart and unhappiness and entitlement to fill the space. 

There has been a wave of "thankfulness" efforts going through the Christian community. This is not a bad thing! Thanks to Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts, the challenge of living thankfully each day before the house floods is ever present in my mind. Of course I think back to the old hymn I grew up with, Count Your Blessings, and I realize that this idea has been instilled in my mind since I was a child. 

The opposite of thankfulness is a hard thing to live with. Think of that person who stops by your office each day with a nagging complaint, or the neighbor who sees the world through gloomy lenses. It's hard to live in a constant environment of unhappiness and negativity, but what if that person is you? What if you've seen all the negative in your life and the world and you can't find anything to be thankful for? How heavy that is to carry around day in and day out. It continues to drag you and those around you further and further down. Eventually all you can see is a negative answer to even the most mundane situation.

When your heart has gotten worn out and you can't see beyond the negative, you have to do something to change. You have to make a very conscientious effort to change the way your mind thinks. And this is what Voskamp is challenging you to do by listing one thousand things you are thankful for in a year. It starts small with one thankful moment at a time, written down so that you can go back and remember.

So after figuring out where the water was coming from and turning off the water line, changing my clothes and making a few phone calls for help, I made lunch. Inside I wanted to start sweeping the water out of the house, but I knew that if I did that I would twist myself into a knot of anger. So I made a sandwich, pulled out a chair which sent waves of water through the room, and I sat there in the middle of the lake, quietly eating my food. After eating a bit and letting the situation sink in, I looked around. I noticed that the water was clean. Thankfulness item number one! Then I began to ponder how if I hadn't written the wrong date on my work calendar, I wouldn't have come home for lunch at all and the water would have run and run and run. Thankfulness item number two!

After 3 or 4 hours the water was gone, carpets were removed, furniture was tipped on its side to dry and the cause of the flood was discovered. From what I understand, an old pipe for the sink had corroded and water was flowing from the wall.  It was a yucky situation to be in, but by this time my thankful list had grown quite long and joy bubbled out of me when I thanked the workers for helping me. I felt gratitude for the work everyone had put in to come to my aid that would have been clouded by frustration if I hadn't found so many things to be thankful for.

So make a choice to find things to be thankful for in the mundane days. I promise you that soon a not so mundane day will come your way and without having practiced how to be thankful, you will find yourself swept away with negativity.

In everything give thanks:

for this is the will of God

in Christ Jesus concerning you.

1 Thessalonians 5:18

When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Lemonade

Why do I think it's going to work out getting my hair done by someone who doesn't speak English?  I do this to myself all the time!  Why do I tempt fate?  When will I learn?  I typically take a picture into a salon and then sit there while they do their thing to my hair, fiddling my thumbs and worrying about what's happening.  Typically I walk out a bit disappointed, but able to deal with the cut and color.  The next time I try a different salon.  Yeah, I ask around and try other places that people like but I'm never completely happy with the results.  It takes me at least a year in a country to half-heartedly settle on a place.  Why can't I just bring my stylist from Hudsonville with me?  I've never left her chair unhappy!

My hair has been past the point of needing freshening up for awhile now.  With no trip home in sight to get a proper job done, I made an appointment at a nearby salon I knew others had used.  I walked in with a photo of the color I wanted.  I even picked a famous person thinking maybe a little background in this celebrity's hair history would be helpful.  The stylist glanced at the photo and began mixing chemicals.  I immediately got an uneasy feeling.  How could she know what I wanted with a simple glance?  Wasn't she going to attempt to verify what I wanted?  Two people worked on my hair, folding foil in place and brushing on white goop.  More solution was put on my scalp than I've every had before.  I shifted uncomfortably as the assistant continued to dab at my part with her dripping brush.  The stylist opened a foil, stared for a moment then ran into the backroom.  She returned with her phone in hand and a triumphant smile on her face, and showed me a picture of a color that was silvery white.  You know, the color where all color has been removed then a silvery grey has been added?  It might be fine for the runway, but not for my everyday, mundane life.  Through gasps of astonishment I told here that there was not any dark in the photo and I need dark - like the photo I had shown her.  I felt a mess settling on my head.  She called over another stylist who spoke better English.  No questions asked, he just told me that if I wanted brown in my hair, it would have to be the next time I made an appointment with them.  In other words, my crowing glory was past the point of no return.

The stylist continued to work on my head with a smile on her face.  She kept exclaiming how beautiful this color was, how this was exactly what she had envisioned.  Wait!  What happened to the picture I showed her?  She didn't have to walk around town and go to the grocery store and work and church with this head of hair!  I did!  What about me and what I want?  I don't have the personality or wardrobe to pull off this urban look!

She began to pull the foils off.  It was all I could do to keep breathing as I stared in the mirror at my light bulb of a head.  She was over the top happy - I was not.  I held it together as she started snipping away.  I have to give her credit here - she did a fabulous trim, not too short and something I could manage.  My hair got lighter in color as she blew it dry.

When she asked me how I liked it, I was honest and told her  I didn't.  This is a big cultural faux pas.  You lie to save face here in Taiwan.  You don't hurt any one's feelings.  This may be why when I told her it wasn't dark enough earlier, she didn't believe me.  She finally relented and told me I could return and she would add some dark for free.  She made it very clear that if I wanted my hair washed, I would have to pay for it.  Customer service is a bit different here.  Rather than make an appointment right away, I decided to wait and get a bit of feedback.  Honestly, I wouldn't know how to tell her to fix it and I really don't trust her judgment at this point.

I made it home, had a good cry and began considering how I could get this to work.  Was there anyway this could be fun and doable for a few months?  My hair was so dried out that I didn't need to wash it for a few days which gave me a bit of time to mull this problem over and get some input from friends.  Vintage kept coming to mind.  I love how the victory rolls from the 40's have made a bit of an appearance in hair fashion.  Someone also mentioned to check out Gwen Stefani's hairstyles.  I found that she did an amazing victory roll and contrasted her bleached hair with bright lipstick.

I began playing around and each day I'm trying a new style.  I'm mixing up my wardrobe and have changed my makeup a bit.  It's fun!  Things were really getting in a rut and this certainly has shaken them up!  When I left that shop, I thought I had a disaster on my hands - lemons.  It turns out, I've been enjoying stretching myself - lemonade!

A Little Bit of Michigan

I've been in Michigan for a few weeks, an unexpected trip to be with my family during an important time.  It was a busy summer of work and kids and heat and life.  I hadn't realized how much I needed to get away.  My head needed space to think and process all the things our first year in Taiwan brought.  My body needed a break from the heat.

My first day back, I sat on my parent's porch and breathed in the mown grass, fresh and green.  Their backyard is an adventure in wildlife with squirrels running up and down the trees and birds fighting over seed in the feeder.  I felt a sense of aliveness that had become dormant living in an apartment in the midst of cement and steel.  I had forgotten how much I missed all things Michigan.  

The town I grew up in has a weekly farmer's market where farmers and bakers fill tables to overflowing with vegetables and fruits.  Piles of tomatoes in red, yellow and orange.  Fresh peaches and melon.  We came home with bread from the Russian woman, cinnamon rolls from the Amish and sweet corn on the cob from the man who goes to our church.  

Over the weeks, the trees have begun to change from green to red.  There's been a shift in the air, a cooling down, a crispness.  A mug of coffee with a fresh apple cider donut takes the chill off the morning air.  Mums and bundles of corns stalks appear on front porches, pumpkins sit on steps.  Fall is coming, a season I love.  

But I am finding my heart is turning towards home.  I'm missing bubble tea and bonsai.  I want to get back to the Doc. and enjoy my daughter's senior year.  I want to walk through a market to pick out a an ornamental fish for my husband's terrarium.  

A few more days and I will be on a plane.  I've been so blessed that I could come back to be together.  I will miss fall and football and family, but it's time.

The Other Side of the Table

I've never sat on this side of the table before.  The side where you ask the questions, letting a tense silence hang in the air.  The side that makes the decision that opens or closes doors in a person's life.   

I usually sit on the other side where nervous tension prevails.  My brain and all memory depart and just a shell of the person I am sits there sputtering responses that make no sense.

Today, I was the interviewer.  My colleague and I had reviewed a pile of applications and selected the best.  That part was easy - simple black facts on white paper.  There were no faces or personalities to go with a name.  The candidates took an English test which weeded out over half our selection.  The remaining five pieces of paper became five names with faces and personalities and quirks and stories. It absolutely killed me that I had to choose one of those people.

Every story was unique.  Each person had a life they would return to.  A wife would ask how the interview went.  They would second guess if they had answered well.  They will agonize over the unknown for several days because they were all honest - they want the job.

I know how they feel.  I have been there often.  I know how it feels to not be chosen and I know how it feels to be chosen, and it never makes sense.  Now I understand a bit of why - because it doesn't make sense.  There are too many factors to consider to make a perfect choice when you are on the choosing side of the table.

For now, I would be happy to not have to go to the table.  I have two more years here before I have to face that again.

The Round Table Discussion

Thailand

I found myself in a very interesting place today.  My normal work day was interrupted with a "round table discussion."  The notices started coming to my inbox a few weeks ago.  I only took a glance and didn't consider attending because, I'm just a spouse, working in housing, not really doing anything of great importance.  Then my husband messaged and told me he needed to go and I thought "Why not?  I'll listen to the discussion and it will push me to think and challenge and stretch me."

I was surprised to see the room full, at least 30 people in attendance, all the heads of sections were there.  Remember, this is a small post, so getting 5 people at a presentation is often a good thing.  Then again, considering the amount of emails I received about this event, high attendance wasn't too much of a surprise.

Our speaker was Randy W. Berry, the State Department's Special Envoy for the Human Rights of LGBT Persons.  I didn't know our government had a position that sent a diplomat around the world, discussing the fair treatment of LGBT persons.  It may have been big news a year ago when this position was created, but I missed it.  I'm now wondering if they have a position for women's rights, handicapped people's rights and people of various color's rights.  These are all issues where people are discriminated against around the world as well as in our own country.  And, if we're talking about human rights issues, is there an envoy for child prostitution, girl's eduction, forced labor, refugees and poverty, just to name a few?  Possibly there are.  I know that different sections at the embassy deal with different issues and are working on them continuously.  I've just never been invited to a round table discussion about these issues and I've never been aware of a diplomat visiting to discuss one of these specific issues with a host country.

I know I was a minority at that meeting.  Mr. Berry did a good job.  He explained the purpose of his job, to advance the efforts to move towards a world free from violence and discrimination against LGBT persons.  I listened.  I watched the room.  Heads nodded, hands scribbled notes on spiral bound notebooks.  The more I listened, the more I realized what a tangled web this topic is.  I know I'm not going to change the way our government and our world is moving, so I began thinking about how I should act as a Christian.

Something that was very clear, in that room, at that moment, is that I am alone in a sea headed in a direction away from God.  I'm sure this is how some of our great Biblical heroes felt when they were thrown into governments that didn't follow the ways of God.  Look at Joseph, Daniel and Esther.  They were Jews who lived day in and day out in the most powerful, secular governments in place at their times.  We see integrity in their lives as they moved with flow until it was time for them to stand up and take a position, regardless of the consequences. I have a feeling that when that time came, it was not a whishy-washy moment.  I think that God made His presence know to them and gave them the power to stand alone.  I see these heroes consistently making decisions to follow the law that God had given them.  Most the time this didn't impact their job or life, in fact, there may be scores of silent heroes  who lived at the same time, who faithfully followed the laws of God, lived and died.  They weren't given the opportunity to stand alone, yet daily they followed God.  They were the average person.  Like me.

I asked myself, what is God wanting me to do with this issue?  I'm not a grand scale person and this isn't my battle to fight.  But I do have friends who are homosexual and I believe that God is very clear about how I am to treat them - with love. God does not want me to be prejudice.  He does not want me to be condescending.  Honestly, this started out awkward for me, but the more I have learned to look past the label, to the person, the easier it has become.

The question was presented, "Is it possible to have freedom of belief and promote civil rights?"  I believe it is.  I think that it is possible for me to have a strong belief in the right or wrongness of an issue and still work towards those very people being able to live a safe and free life.

I think we all have our issue that it's easy to be prejudice against.  We know the hot topics out there, color, religion, homosexuality...  But what about some of the other areas where prejudice can creep in?  Intellectual level, job, neighborhood, weight, status in the church?  I know exactly where my battle lies.  (I didn't even list it here, but it screams out at me when I'm faced with confronting it head on.)  It really is a battle too.  I want to talk bad about that group of people.  I want to put them down and criticize them.    I want to throw rocks at them (figuratively speaking).  And I know how very wrong my attitude is.

I guess I got what I wanted today.  I thought, I examined myself and I came up with things that I need to work on.  My agenda was different than the speakers, but I know where my heart needs to change.

She's All Grown Up

I dropped my little girl off at college today.  I heard several parents moan, "Where did the time go?"  I know where the time went, I've been with her every step of the way–from potty training to driver's training.  I've celebrated the victories in life with her and comforted her through the defeats.

Today is the biggest step she's taken yet.  A clear line has been drawn, dividing her life into two parts.  Yesterday she was a child with mom there to help walk her through processes.  Today she's an adult, having to figure these things out on her own.  I'm still there, only 12 time zones away, cheering her on.  She's ready to do it.  I'm excited to see where she will go and what she will do.

The small, Christian college she's attending has a warm, friendly feeling about it.  Everywhere she turned, it felt like family was welcoming her.  As I sat through meeting after meeting, I became more and more impressed with not only the atmosphere at the school, but the academics as well.  While sitting in a meeting, my mind began to wander to my son's education.  He is begining his jr. year at a Big Ten university.  There is no comparrison between the two schools.  They are night and day apart, two completely different experiences.  I began to notice the feelings of discontent creep into my heart.  Why didn't we know about this school three years ago?  A verse popped onto the screen and spoke to my heart.

Your eyes saw my unformed body;

all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

Psalm 139:16

There is no mistake in where my son is attending school and there is no mistake where my daughter is attending school.  God  has chosen the best place for each of them.  They are two different, unique human beings and God knows what is best for each.  I was immediately commforted knowing that God is bringing it all together.  He is taking care of the details so much better than I ever could.

The Art of Being Homeless

Over the years I have noticed a saying decorating many of my friends' houses.  "Home is Where the Heart Is."  It may have been lovingly cross stitched by a Grandma, or purchased at Hobby Lobby to fill a space on a wall.  I used to think of that little quip in a fond way as well.  In my pre-expat mind, it wouldn't matter where I traveled or where the journey of life took me.  Home wouldn't matter because my heart could create a place of belonging.

The thing is, the only places I have seen that quote is in a home, where people live for years and put down roots and build a lives for themselves.  I have never seen it boldly placed on the wall of one of my expat friends' homes--ever.

The last few weeks have found me homeless.  This happens every two or three years, when we finish our assignment in one country and prepare our lives for the next.  It's a time of transition, a mandatory five weeks off.  It's a time when we don't belong anywhere.  This may sound very liberating, freeing, and even relaxing.  It's not.  With no place to call home, we have to live someplace and drive something and get all the doctor and dentist appointments done.  We have family to see and friends to reconnect with.  And we do all that with no sense of belonging.

For me this is a miserable time of life.  I dread it for three months leading up to it and spend my first three months in a new country recovering from it.

I think I would actually enjoy a month at home, doing all the things I need to do, if I already had my home in the new country set.  My spirit would have a sense of stableness to it, knowing that my things are in order.  I would certainly feel I was able to pack much better.  I packed for this summer squeezing everything into my suitcases to finish the season in one country, live the summer in another and move to a third climate.  Then, I added a few work outfits for my new job.  Throw in a few gifts, the important papers that need to be hand carried from post to post and my suitcase was too full.  I managed to make it home, but not with anything that actually matches or is appropriate for any of the weather I have encountered.  Thankfully, I am home in the land of good shopping.

About a week into our mandatory vacation, I was so unsettled in my spirit,  that I went on facebook and changed my status to "homeless."  A friend replied back, "Sounds so pitiful."  All I could do is nod my head and say "I feel so pitiful."  So far I have made my home at my parents' house, in various hotels, a bed and breakfast and a camper.  I have slept on mattresses, air mattresses, foam, couches and even made a pile of towels on the floor my bed for the night.  It's wearying to the soul.

So, is there a way to endure this period with becoming damaged and even to embrace it and find rest?  I think there is, but it takes some understanding and flexibility on the part of my friends and family to handle my odd situation with grace.

I found this post unpublished and incomplete.  I decided to go ahead and publish it so that it could be read as part of my journey. 

Dealing with a Bit of Culture Shock

Golden Ring Cities - Russia

I've been back in America for 18 hours now.  It was a bit more comforting going through customs when I didn't get the mandatory Russian stare down.  The guard asked Chad what his job was in Moscow.  His answer of "diplomat" was a bit obvious since it's printed in bold letters on the front of our passports.  He looked at us and said "What do you do?"  He was simply engaging us in polite conversation, but our minds immediately went into interrogation mode.  "What information is he trying to get from us?"  After a moment of clear panic and discomfort, Chad finally answered, "I'm the doc."  And the guard simply struck up a kind conversation.  We walked away and I was honestly a bit rattled.  I'm just not used to kindness anymore.

Next stop was to wrestle our bags off the luggage belt.  We stood in front of the digital display, waiting for our flight to appear.  It never did.  Suddenly someone exclaimed "belt four" and everyone ran that way.  Sure enough, luggage was coming out.  The belt filled and the machine stopped.  Other conveyor belts were running with no luggage, but ours, filled with suitcases ready to slide down the chute, was dead.  For a half hour the entire plane stood there waiting.  I was surprised that no one climbed up and grabbed their suitcase from line waiting to slid onto the belt.  Finally a supervisor came over, called some workers over and eventually got it all running again.  Living overseas, I constantly hear ex-pats complain about how poorly things work in their host country.  The moaning and groaning wears on my nerves.  You know what?  Things don't always work that great in America either.

On the taxi drive to the hotel we enjoyed the green scenery out our window.  Chad commented how pretty some Black Eyed Susans were, growing in the median.  I missed them, it made me feel sad.  I began thinking of the perennial garden I had in Hudsonville.  It's been five summers since I've sunk my hands into dirt, pulling out weeds, splitting plants and cutting the flowers to grace my table.  I miss it.  I'm not a great gardener and I really don't want to work someone else's garden.  I just missed my own for a little while.  That's how it is.  I have all these bits and pieces of life that I miss.  I want to take a jog along the ocean in New Zealand and work the flower garden in Michigan and shop the fresh fruit market in Colombia and listen to church bells while I walk in Russia.  I just can't have it all at once.  There will be something unique that I fall in love with in the next destination.  I'll love it and appreciate it, then miss it.  

I felt melancholy as we walked from the hotel to find some lunch and do a bit of shopping.  Jet lag and hormones were not helping.  We are staying in Roselyn and it was so quiet.  A Saturday afternoon and occasionally a car would drive down the main road or a person would walk by.  I almost couldn't handle the stillness.  Moscow was a constant blare of noise.  Ten lanes of traffic will do that.  I got used to the underlying noise of 15 million people.  I feel vulnerable.  Give me a day or two and I will be treasuring the quiet!

Lunch was yummy.  A bed of fresh spinach leaves with a light dressing, blue cheese, bacon and black berries.  Good greens were hard to find in Russia.  But it was a bit difficult to enjoy my meal when the woman at a nearby table was shoving deviled eggs in her mouth, talking with her mouth full and bits of yolk squeezing out the side.  It was just gross.  She sat on her chair like a drunk man and sounded equally as obnoxious.  Welcome home. 

While Chad scanned the books in Barnes and Noble, I decided to sit outside and enjoy the fresh air.  My real goal was to do a bit of people watching and figure out what the current clothing trends are.  Back in Moscow, I would see a skirt or dress and think how cute it was.  How much I liked these styles.  Then other times I would see outfits and wonder if that is really what the current trends are.  Is that popular or is it Russia popular?  I feel like my sense of fashion is really messed up right now and I wanted to get a little clarity on the issue.  Women walked by with their guts hanging out of their shorts.  Some were clearly mismatched.  On a 88F day, jeans are in, capri pants, long shorts, short shorts, long skirts, short skirts or dresses.  Anything goes.  But this is what I noticed.  Americans are slobs.  That's a trend that I really don't want to fall into.  People know how to look nice in Europe.  They take pride in their appearance.

On our way back to the hotel we stopped at a CVS to pick up a few things.  I just wanted a shampoo and conditioner that were better than the hotel option.  I was tired and cranky by this point and looking at an aisle of 100 different options about brought me to tears.  I didn't feel like reading every label to find something and was tempted to start squirting them into my palm to see how the smelled.  Thank goodness something stopped me.  I picked the pretties bottles, paid at the cash register then quickly headed home.  I needed a good night's sleep.

So it's going to take me a bit of time to readjust my expectations.  I'm dealing with culture shock when I thought I was above it.  People often talk about culture shock in respect to poverty vrs. wealth.  But culture shock covers everything that is different from what you just left.

Thoughts on Ruth 1:22

Golden Ring City - Russia

"I went away full, but the Lord has brought me back empty."

Ruth, my favorite book in the Bible.  It speaks to me every time I read it.  Ruth, the woman, inspires me.  She gives me passion and desire to seek God with all my heart.  But right now I am in a dry time.  A very dark and dry time.  A few weeks ago I felt the need to sit down and reconnect with Ruth, but nothing.  I read it and just felt dead.  

This morning Chad and I got up at 5:45 took quick showers, and ran around the apartment like crazy, stuffing last minute things into suitcases and running the last errands to friends quiet doorsteps, dropping off bags of unused food.  The van pulled up to the front door precisely at 6:30, we loaded everything in and slowly drove out of the embassy.  One last look back at the row of apartments with potted geraniums trying desperately to brighten the worn buildings.  Despite the dead feeling of the facades, all I could think of were my precious friends tucked inside, just beginning to stir for the day.  It hurts so much to say goodbye.  The van turned the corner around the marine house and everything disappeared from sight.  I felt numb as we waited for the first gate to roll open.  We pulled into the check area as the gate slid closed behind us.  The sound of the metal locking tight made me feel like a sad lion in a zoo, trapped behind bars holding him captive.  All the life sucked out, he has nothing left to give.  A moment later the front gate began to roll open, the wheels squeaking out a sigh of relief.  We pulled forward.  One last time to catch the Russian guards giving us a hard stare.  The Seven Sisters building that I looked at every morning and evening for two years still stood tall and proud, unmovable as she will be for centuries to come.  We drove on the quiet streets of Moscow, past the mint green train station trimmed in white.  Chad pulled out his phone to take one last photo.  We were both struck by its stately beauty.  I will miss it so much.  The graceful neoclassic buildings in the center of town began to morph into Stalin monstrosities as we drove towards the airport.

And now I find myself on a plane, streaming though the sky to Washington D.C.  I've spent most the time with my forehead resting against the window, staring down.  The large city of Moscow quickly became a small spot in the distance then disappeared into nothing.  The mountains of Sweden were covered in snow.  The air was so clear I could count the blade on windmills as we passed over at 30,000 feet.  The bareness of Iceland felt like my friend.  Icebergs floated in the water off the northern coast of Canada and now the plane is wrapped in a blanket of clouds.

I watched a sad movie.  A little feeling crept into my soul and a tear slipped down my cheek.  I heard a voice say "Read Ruth."  Why not?  I have hours to go and maybe this time I'll find a little speck to cling to.  Today Naomi is my friend.  I want to sit with her in the barren land and mourn together.   In my ten hour flight I feel the numbness and aloneness that she must have felt on that long walk from Moab to Bethlehem.  She went to Moab years earlier with a family, full of hope and purpose and she returned with everything drained from her.  She had given all she had to the land and her family and now she had nothing left to give.  

My situation is not exactly the same as Naomi's, but I feel some parallels.  When we move to Taipei in a few weeks, we will leave one more child behind to attend college.  She is so ready.  She has grown into this beautiful and competent young lady who is ready to define her own life.  This is what I raised her to be.  It is right and it is good, yet a part of me wants to keep her by my side forever.  Loneliness and loss.

I get the feeling that Naomi built a good life for herself in the land of Moab.  I don't think that she was drained and empty from day one, but as situations happened, they sucked the life out of her.  So when she returned to Bethlehem, she came back wounded and empty.  No ability to be a life giver to those around her as she had in the past.  I loved my time in Moscow.  I loved the city, the museums, the onion domes and the church bells.  I loved my friends, eating together, exercising together, working together and simply living together on a compound.  But the first year held many, many difficulties, from the move itself and all the mold it presented, to the stress of the Olympics and the Ukraine tension and finally the death of an embassy member whom my husband took care of until the moment she passed.  The year wiped us out and we never quiet regained our momentum.  Enough little puffs of wind came our way that in our weariness we blew over like a house made of cards.  You would think great traumas happened, they didn't.  We just weren't able to handle the small things that did happen.  So this second year we have been functioning more like robots, trying to enjoy life with full engagement, but simply unable to.

So that's where I am.  I feel like the Lord is bringing me back empty.  It's not a summer where I will be running around, visiting everyone and filling my time with happy reunions.  I'm looking forward to seeing people, sharing meals and enjoying nature, but they will be quieter moments with those I trust greatly.   I hope this will be a summer of rest.  A time I can restore, like Naomi eventually did.

Birthday Blues to Birthday Blessings

It's that time of year again, my birthday.  I remember as a little girl I would run into my parent's bedroom, full of anticipation for my special day.  I would crawl up on the bed, waking them up in my excitement.  Gifts wrapped in colorful paper were stacked on the kitchen table begging to be opened by little hands eager for a new toy.  When my girls asked me today what flavor cake I wanted I replied "Bill Knapps chocolate."  We always went there for our birthdays.  A free meal was not only a treat for me but for my mom as well.  I've grown up and am more sophisticated now, but I still love a grilled cheese sandwich made with two slices of American cheese grilled a soft golden brown.

Then there were the junior and senior high years of school--awkward and uncomfortable, never knowing quiet how I fit in with my group of peers.  My birthday always fell on homecoming week, in fact there were a few years when my birthday was actually on homecoming day.  I remember one birthday in junior high.  It was a year when I didn't make the cheerleading team.  In a small school where everyone is able to be on every team and try every activity under the sun, it was rather devastating to be the one girl who did not make the team.  It meant all my best friends were on the team.  Game after game I sat on the sidelines, aching inside while my friends had their memories to create and share that didn't include me.  So when homecoming came around it tended to be a double whammy.  Many years I dragged my feet to the games going only out of an obligation and because it felt even worse to be completely absent rather than present but not included.  But this particular year a friend had invited me to sleep over after the game.  With my pillow and sleeping bag in tow, her mom drove us to her house.  We dragged our stuff down to the basement and when she turned on the light all my friends jumped up and screamed "happy birthday!"  I felt included that year and my birthday didn't feel so out of place.  

When I began a family, birthdays began to mean quiet dinners shared with our little cluster of five or if extended family was around then little nieces and nephews and parents all joined together to create a festive atmosphere.  I loved those years with my family joining in and celebrating together.  

With the birth of facebook came this feeling of obligation to post a greeting on everyones timeline.  I hated that feeling of reading my birthday wishes knowing I had missed my friend's birthday because I wasn't online or couldn't figure out how to see when the birthdays were.  I created a great deal of unnecessary stress around a day that I hadn't figured out how to share with other people.

Now I'm to the point where age actually means something negative rather than positive.  Gone are the days of getting a driver's license or being able to vote.  Now I'm plucking out the grey hairs and wondering how my kids grew old enough to be attending college.  Comments of "your 29 this year, right?" really do wear thin.  

The expat life adds another layer to the birthday dilemma.  We move every two years.  That's barely enough time to make a friend before announcing your birthday.  It's slightly awkward so my strategy has been to avoid mentioning it.  We work hard to make it special within our family.  Go out to dinner, make a special cake, love on one another.  

I've been feeling the itch lately to have an excuse for a girls night out.  I could tell several of my friends were feeling that itch too, it's been cold and dark and cloudy.  Spring feels very distant and we need something to celebrate now.  I decided to take a risk, invite them to go out to dinner and used my birthday as an excuse.  It felt vulnerable.  I didn't want gifts or even well wishes, I just wanted to go out and laugh and be lighthearted.  I made a list and sent out an invitation.  Then I sat there for a few days watching all the rejections fill my inbox.  Everyone had an excellent excuse, we live busy lives and an expats second job is to travel, but I still began to feel crummy inside.  Then I heard a quiet voice whisper to my soul.  "Kris, you have a beautiful group of women to invite to share dinner with you.  You are blessed."  I am blessed.  In eighteen months I have built deep relationships with women who fill the void of family.  As I sat around the restaurant table and looked around at the women who joined with me to celebrate I saw how God brought each woman into my life to fill a very specific place.  We ate and talked and laughed.  We need one another when we are so very far from home.  I must not forget to find reasons to celebrate, then take the hands of those around me and invite them to join with me.  

A Difficult Memorial Day

It is the end of Memorial Day for me here in Moscow.  On this day we are supposed to reflect on the lives given by men and women in service to our country.  With the American flag fluttering in the breeze in front of my apartment I had a constant reminder of the country that our family is serving.  We tend to remember people who died in war on Memorial Day, but today I am thinking of someone different.
Thursday morning there was an explosion in an apartment of one of our fellow State Department employees here.  It was an accident, it could have happened anywhere.  Gas was leaking so she stayed home from work to wait for a service man to arrive.  I would have done the same.  She was taken to the hospital where my husband met her.  He was gone all day and into the night.  When my husband came home he slept an hour then got up to get her on an air ambulance where she was taken to another country.  My husband returned home only to pack so he could join her there.
My phone has not left my side for the past five days as I await word on how she is doing and how he is handling it.  I find myself in a chair praying to God or walking aimlessly crying out to my Lord.  I believe my husband is the best person to be there with the patient and family.  He is excellent at his job, God has given him instinct in medicine that I don't always understand.  But above all, he is a man of compassion.  I see God's love in his eyes when he helps someone who is hurting.  He is patient in explaining a medical diagnosis.  I know that my husband has only survived the past 5 days through God's grace and strength.
This morning I looked at the American flag flying at half-staff in front of the embassy.  I thought of the many men and women who have given their lives for our country.  I thought of the parents who have lost their children so that we can be free.  I looked down at the text coming in.  The patient had passed away.
With a heart full of pain, I want to thank these parents for giving up their daughter so she could serve her country.  

When Did She Grow Up?

Just like every mom in the universe, I looked at my daughter ready for her first prom and wondered "When did my little girl grow up?".   I thought of her blue eyes, twinkling with excitement while we waited for her date to arrive.  Those eyes used to look up at me in wonder as we snuggled together on the couch reading her favorite book.  Eyes that would question me about the little chicks running around the yard or in trust me as she grabbed my finger and we ran across the street.  Her eyes expressed so much when I left her on that first day of school, not knowing who she would be friends with or what her teacher would be like.  Lately those eyes have been looking towards the future.  I see her own dreams and desires beginning to be fulfilled as she researches, plans and prepares.  But tonight I see a twinkle of joy and happiness.  A night to put thoughts of homework, the ACT and college applications aside and enjoy a night she will remember forever. 

The Gift

One of my favorite movie lines is "An unexpected gift at an unexpected time." from Finding Forrester.  

It seems like we must have gone through an ordering streak recently because almost every day I've gotten an email saying there is a package at the post office on compound.  Somedays it's large and heavy.  I have to drag the package full of dog food or cat litter (oh what I do for the love of the pets in this family) loaded onto a dolley through the embassy, into the elevator and on the street to my apartment where I lug it up the steps and through the front door.  Then I have to turn around, retrace my steps and return the cart.  Considering the whole process of getting the package and returning the cart - if I don't run into anyone I know - only takes 15 minutes, I shouldn't complain.  Other times I simply have a handful of small padded envelopes with simple little necessity inside.

But today was one of those rare days when I didn't recognize the box.  After a puzzling moment the return address clicked and a lazy smile spread across my face.  A surprise package from a friend, just because she thought of us.  I could have set the box on the table and looked at it all week, enjoying the warmth of being remebered.  It didn't really matter what was inside because the gesture spoke of genuine love.  I didn't wait a week, I didn't even wait for the rest of the family to get home.  I ripped that baby open.  Inside were special treats for all of us.  But what struck me was the simple thoughtfulness of a few catalogues thrown in and a hand note scribbled,"I thought you might enjoy these."  Instantly I longed to curl up on the couch with a cup of coffee and one of the magazines and forget I was not in Hudsonville anymore.  I wanted to think that at any moment my old neighbor could pop through the door with that catalogue in had to ask what I though of a wall decoration or new pillow.  Simple unexpected gestures bridge the gap between there and here.  

Thank you friend.

A Bit of a Catch-Up

I have completely blown-off blogging for the last few months.  It's not that I haven't been out and about doing things, rather life just seems to have flown by in a "busy with the daily routine" fashion.  So now I am feeling it's time to do a bit of catching-up because I do want to remember my days here in Moscow.

A few things have slown down the creative thinking for me.  First would be winter, or the absence of it here in Moscow this year.  We came prepared to be buried in snow and frozen by the cold.  Yet all the snowpants, thermal layers, hats and gloves still look new with little use.  It's been an unusually warm winter here.  I have followed the news stories of history breaking storms in Michigan and find myself green with envy.  You see, I love snow.  I love a good cold winter where the snow lingers and I can enjoy cross country skiing and ice skating.  We even bought the girls these awsome Sochi Olympics cross country skiis that only got used one time.  The ice skates paid for themselves with four or five uses.  So the weather has simply been uninspiring.  Fingers crossed for next winter, right now I'm moving on.

The Olympics and Sochi drained all energy from the employees here at the embassy.  Months of meetings, stress and preparation of "worse case scenario" occupied certain employees, my husband included.  As the Olympics began a whirlwind of essential meetings occupied all free time.  I am so thankful the main event is over.  I am thankful that there were no incidents.  I am thankful we have our lives back.

I've been looking for a job.  We don't have the freedom to work on the economy and I don't have any language skills anyway.  I've been interviewing with the embassy for a year now.  There simply aren't many jobs for spouces and I've pretty much blown the interviews I've had.  The first two were via skype.  Complete disasters.  The next one went quiet well, but I later learned I was dressed wrong.  Apparently a straight skirt, sweater and tall boots are not proper State Department attire.  In the fourth interview I was immediately told by the interviewer that I needed to start at the lowest job possible after being a mom for 20 years because that is what his wife had to do.  So I was doomed from the begining of that one.  I recently iterviewed for another position.  I changed my tactic this time.  Sat down with a friend and redid my resume.  Another friend went over wardrobe with me.  I now own a rather boring, grey suit.  At least the shoes displayed a bit of pizazz.  I googled interview questions, I practiced out loud.  I wrote answers down that I brought with me in a borrowed leather portfolio.  I think it went pretty well.  And now I wait.  I was told I would be given an answer a week later.  That day came and went.  So now two and a half weeks after the interview I sit here waiting, and wondering.  I have realized that waiting with hope drains one of all energy.  I can't concentrate on anything beyond the mundane.  A verse in the Bible comes to mind.  Proverbs 13:12  "Hope deferred makes the heart sick,  but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life."  At this point I simply want an answer.  

So life has been dragging on a bit, but today I saw bulbs popping through the soil.  The sun is shining and I'm going to grab my camera and head down to St. Basil's and the Kremlin because although I've visited several times, I've never wandered around that area playing with my camera.

What I Learned in Middle School Today

Saint Petersburg

Today was my first day substitute teaching - ever.  I was assigned an 8th grade classroom.  I have not been in a Jr. High classroom in over 25 years.  I had no idea what to expect.

When I was in school I lugged around a pile of books throughout the day.  They were all stacked nicely in my locker and between classes I would switch out books.  This morning all the kids walked in with light backpacks and pulled out shiny laptops.  75% were Macs.  I immediately texted my husband thinking about our kids who only have ipads.  Did I miss the memo?  

When I was in school I did all my research for papers in the library.  I mades stacks and stacks of notecards with quotes, numbers, references.  Today the kids surf google - during class.  They cut and paste into their papers.

When I was in school we wrote notes on little scraps of paper and secretly passed them up and down the aisle to a friend.  Today kids message each other during class.

When I was in school the boys made spit wads and flicked them at friends - often I was in the line of friendly fire.  Today the boys "poke" the girls on facebook while in class.

When I was in school we sat in desks arranged in rows.  We worked quietly on our assignments.  Today as many kids as possible squeezed onto the couch with laptops propped on their knees.  At the moment it's six boys on the couch.  The rest of the class is sprawled on the floor or working at tables.  Not a desk in sight.

When I was in school we met in the gym for an assembly and sat on chairs we set up in the center.  The presenter held a microphone which screeched if pointed in the wrong direction.  A portable movie screen was set up teetering on its three legs.  We viewed notes typed on clear plastic transparencies and a fancy presenter would use four primary colors of markers to write explanations or draw pictures.  If we were lucky the slide projector would come out and we would look at pictures of other places in the world - until it jammed.  Today we sat in plush seats in an auditorium and gazed at what seemed like an imax size screen.  A power presentation smoothly flashed before my eyes.  The speaker began by asking the middle school students who had facebook, instagram, twitter, snapchat and several other social media platforms I have never heard of.  Hands went up all over the theater for each type.  None of these had even been thought of when I was a student.  He talked about the power of instant communication each individual has on a global scale.  He showed a video of instant communication going in and out of Thailand - texting, FB - when the tsunami hit.  It was amazing.  Within moments the world knew of this great tragedy because of social media.  He asked us to take out our cell phones (yes, mine was in my pocket) and google ourselves.  What came up?  Apparently we are supposed to be checking every month.  I'll "add" that to my to-do list.  He asked about our google profiles.  Apparently this is an essential tool I am not using to create a virtual profile.  What is that?

I am so out of touch.      

But somethings really haven't changed.

Uniforms or not, boys are still slobs and the girls look like they spent hours in front of the mirror this morning.

 The girls are diligently working on their assignments and the boys are distracted every few minutes and distracting everyone else.

As the day progresses the air quality in the room digresses.  

I'm glad I'm not a student because I don't think I could handle middle school these days.

Hair Woes

It's very difficult to find a hairstylist who understands my hair.  I think we all have that problem.  When too much is cut off or I can't replicate the style when I get home I get frustrated.  Too much muss and fuss in a do is a no, no for me.  At home I had one person who did an amazing job on my hair.  The color was always perfect and the styles just worked.

In New Zealand, my first long-term overseas experience, was tough.  I finally ended up driving an hour and a half just to get a trim.  The ladies in our small town only knew how to cut the thick, brown Maori hair which is nothing like my fine, blonde American hair.

Colombia was always an expensive disaster ending in tears.  I have finally given up anything complicated and gone for the long, straight style with no highlights.  Just plain and nautral.  Not too hard to mess up and in worst case senario I can always have one of my daughters trim it for me.

Now I am in Russia where the whole task of finding a stylist seems a bit daunting so I've just put it off.  On this vacation to Helsinki my husband commented that I should have it cut here.  There are tons of little hair boutiques along the road and everyone seems to speak some level of English.  I took his advice and walked around yesterday popping in shops only to find that they were full for the day.  

I finally found one shop where the gentleman could do me right away.  Should this have been a sign?  He didn't speak English.  Fortunately I had found a few pictures of the look I was interested in and flashed my ipad in front of him to be sure he understood.  One thing I've got to say about the guy is that he didn't over-do-it by hacking off too much.  Very tediously he combed them trimmed minute amounts off.  Basically he just trimmed the bottom as I would have had one of my girls do.  

Next came style time.  He blew it out with a roller brush and overall it really wasn't looking that bad.  Just when I though he was done he decided that it wasn't poofy enough so he scruffily rubbed his fingers on my scalp - I walked out looking like I had a rat's nest on my head.  Honestly I was a bit discouraged that this experience cost me $75.00.

This morning with a good night's sleep I decided to play a bit with the new do.  I plugged my straightner into the travel converter and began working away at my hair - and then I began to smell it.  The stench grew stronger and stronger until I looked inside the straightern to find a thick wad of my hair no longer attached to my head sizzling away.  I instantly knew how Meg felt when Jo burned her hair in "Little Women".  As I sit here hours later, I can still smell the stench coming from the frizzled ends along my temple.  It will be another 6 months before I dare finding someone who can fix this mess, but hopefully by then something will have grown in to work with.

Peace at Last

Finally after everything falling in around us, we moved.  It was an exhausting weekend of walking stuff from one apartment to the next but we knew we just needed to get it done and settled into the new place.  I couldn't have done it without the help of some friends who showed up with a laundry basket in hand.  I will be eternally grateful to them because sometimes you just can't do it alone.  

Saturday morning when we were trying to finish up, but felt there was no end in site, our new neighbor came out and pitched in.  That last bit of  encouragement, having someone walking beside us carrying part of our load spoke volumes.  Within an hour we were completely moved.  

Over the next two days I settled in and "nested".  I was so tired of living in chaos that I put every little thing away.  Every picture got hung on a wall.  We have all noticed an atmosphere of peace that never existed  in the last apartment.

I am so thankful for the new apartment, for the feeling of peace in our home.  I am even more thankful for the friends who showed me love and grace.

I want to encourage you, if you see someone out there who you think is struggling a bit, reach out a helping hand.  A little bit of love will speak volumes to their soul.

The Decision to Move

Trinity Church

Just when you think relief is around the corner, something happens to blow that theory out of the water.  Such was my day on Sunday.  Backing-up a bit we were offered the option to move into a different apartment on Friday.  In all honesty moving is about the last thing I want to do despite the condition of the aparment we are currently in.  But we went and looked at it and by Saturday night my husband had made the decision - for the sanity of us all - to move.

Sunday morning I woke up feeling 100% peace about this decision.  I really had to battle myself to get to this point- going through feelings of anger, exhaustion and mourning.  I really like the people I live by now and who knows what the new place will bring.  This place is two steps into the embassy and the new place is like ten steps.  I might acutally have to put a coat on in the winter to get from my apartment into the embassy.  I know, these are really strong reasons to stress over and deep down, the idea of taking my crap out of cupboards and drawers and walking it over to a new apartment really puts me over the edge.  But none-the-less, we are moving.  

So we got up with plenty of time to get to church with no nagging (yeah, Sunday mornings really are the most stressful getting out the door!), nice and relaxed.  About 30 minutes before we were to leave my husband turned on the kitchen sink only to have water bubble up.  In case you don't know, that is the wrong direction for water to flow.  In my world, water is supposed to go down the drain and disappear someplace.  He messed with the pipes, checked the little "u" shaped trap but all was clear.  Our neighbor stopped in but he had no more luck stating we would need the plumber as the blockage was too far into the mysterious piping system.  This pretty much solidified the decision to move.  We left the clogged sink and headed to church.

After several songs and a prayer the pastor asked us to sit down.  A bit exhausted I plopped my butt down in the nice red velvet theater seat.  I kid you not, the chair broke.  I landed on the floor in a tangled mess humiliated out of my mind.  Red faced I crawed on all fours past my husband to an empty chair.  Daugher numer two was sitting next to me and found this completely hilarious.  Later she told me that the pastor just stopped and stared at me.  There are times when things become so over the top in life that you actually begin to believe that everything is amied at you.  This could have happend to anyone in that theater but for some reason I was the one sprawled on the floor due to faulty Russian seating.  

Ok, so within 10 minutes I was able to giggle about that little episode, but at this point we are washing our dishes in a bowl in the sink and dumping the dirty water into the toilet.  We found the dishwasher was backed-up as well so the full load ready to go needed to be washed - by hand.  I am actually begining to believe that when my husband tells housing tomorrow morning that we have decided to flee this apartment they are going to look at him and say "Psyke!  We changed our minds."

Raining on the Inside

One of the "Seven Sisters" buildings

When I had a bad day in high school, I would go into my room, pull out my orange and blue record player and lay on the floor propped up on my elbows staring at the vinyl turning around and around.  Amy Grant's song "Raining on the Inside" was my favorite to listen to on those days.  She smiled sweetly from the cover of her "Age to Age" album with long, dark wavy hair cascading down her back.  

Today I was having a good day.  I did a final purging of mold from the house, exercised and took a nice, long, hot shower before putting on clean, nice looking clothes.  I wanted to shed the hours and weariness of dealing with the move and feel like a human being once more.  I made a mocha with a shot of hazelnut and sat down at the computer to write my mom a note.  

I heard a trickling of water which soon turned into a thundering waterfall and ran to the kitchen.  Water was pouring from the vent in the ceiling and the light fixtures.  A quick check upstairs alerted me that they were cleaning out the clogged bathroom pipes.  The workman came down and began pointing at the ceiling muttering "we will have to rip that out and that out...." My mind was about dead at this point.  I have no idea what the fixing of this problem will entail.  If anything becomes moldy because of this excess water in the ceiling and walls I swear I will scream.  He left and I sat down and cried.   It was raining on the inside of my apartment and all I could think of were the words to this song.  

I'm raining on the inside;

My heart wells up with tears that start to pour.

I'm raining on the inside,

But then your cries of love break through,

And I fall in love with you once more.

Threes

Old Believer's Church of the Intercession

They say things come in "threes".  Oddly, as I've gone through life, this does seem to be true.  So my "threes" for this move were mold.  1.  Moldy luggage after sitting for 8 days in customs. 2.  Moldy air-freight.  There was one box that noticeably wet from the outside and thus the things (mainly clothes and bags) were moldy.  3.  Our HHE (household goods) shipment arrived moldy and mildewy.  Five crates.  Box after box after box - moldy.  Two crates were unpacked on day one along with a crate from VA that was fine.  The items were my dishes, appliances and some furniture.  So by the time I went to bed I had everything wiped down and put in its place.  I was a bit discouraged with the mildew I had found, but I had no idea what was coming on day two.  

The next day found me running from room to room with my camera in hand as the movers shouted "photo, photo" while unpacking.  Soft, downy, white mold that webbed its way around one of the girls knick-knacks or fine powdery yellow mold that found a way between the glass and canvas in a piece of art or Chad's shoes and boots that were covered in a green slimy mold - every box opened had a distinct smell, and the contents were damp to the touch.  I don't know how I made it though that day.  

The next week was a blur of waking up, starting the washing machine and sitting at the bathtub with a bottle of bleach and scrub brush.  I worked until I went to bed then started the process again the next morning trying to save stuff.  Amazingly, most things cleaned up real well.  I've decided I'll wear a coat or a sweater unless someone comments on the musty smell then I'll get rid of it.  

I got a few emails from friends over the week that said "I don't know why I'm thinking about you right now, but I'm praying for you."  Friend, you may not know, but God sure did.  He could see inside my exhausted and discouraged heart and through your prayers he brought me the strength to continue on.  I wish I could say I had this wonderful peace that He promises, but I didn't.  I was discouraged.  What I did have was an amazing lack of bitterness or anger.  To me that is a miracle.  I could not have had anything but anger and bitterness about how things have gone in every step of this move without God working in me.  

Today, a week later, I am 90% settled in and things are cleaned up.  I hired a maid to help me get past the mound of ironing and final cleaning.  There are times when the pile is too high and we just need that little bit of help.  A week from now this will be a distant memory as we relax in our home with our things around us and candles burning!