Seeing things...

I know that people always say the body and the mind are really great at self protecting, allowing themselves only to see and process what they can handle... I believed that theory, based on what others had told me, but now I can say I believe that theory, based on my own experience.

We've been back a little over a year now... and I'm officially seeing things. No, not in a creepy Sixth Sense way, but in a sweet memories flooding back in way... This past week I've walked up to the ticket counter of the Cine Center and bought an entrada... I've ridden the escalator upstairs (or walked the stairs if the escalator was, as it more than not, out of order :) and ordered popcorn, mitad salada, mitad dulce.

I've bought a 6 pack of 2 liter water bottles to keep in the pantry as a back-up for emergencies from my favorite corner store. They've asked me why I don't have the boys with me, and how they're doing. I tell them crazy as ever and together we laugh :)

I've walked across the street and bought eggs from Patricia and stayed for half an hour as we talked about the boys, their schools, and our families far away, her's in Chile, mine in the states.

I've walked El Prado to the Conexion Cristiana and hugged Gabi's neck (our amazing team secretary) and distracted her for far too long as we talked about prayers needed, prayers answered and everything in between.

I've walked the market, smelling the fresh fruits and vegetables... buying kilos of this and that, carrying them home by the bag fulls to wash, clean, cook and enjoy.

I've walked around the corner for a scoop of pistachio ice cream from my favorite heladeria.

I've sat at the counter of a dear friend, over a cup of coffee made with love. We talked of the struggles of living life as missionaries, far from "home". We talk of new things we've found around town, new things going on with our children, new things going on in ministry, and we share a moment between friends who know the blessing of friendship that God places in our lives' for a beautiful season, to teach us and show us His loving kindness!

I've sat in the fellowship of those that I love, looking around me at the faces, those I've known for years now, and knowing there are new ones I pray one day I'll meet. I heard the gospel in a language that once was difficult to follow, but that now my heart misses feeling on my tongue. We sang the songs that at first were so hard and frustrating to me in a different language, but that now I use as lullabies for my babies, letting their lyrics and music transport me to their bedroom in our home on Calle Venezuela. It's been a bittersweet week...

And I know that had this week come a year ago, six months ago, or even six weeks ago I wouldn't have been ready. My heart, my mind, and my God knew that I just wasn't there, not ready to go back, even in my imaginary world. But apparently it's time to continue on this journey of letting go of one "home" to re-enter the old one...

I miss the feel of Cochabamba streets under my feet, the sound of the city, the kisses on the cheek and the way the hours passed with friends with no one rushing around. This week reminded me that it's ok to miss those things... only means that they really happened, really captured my heart, and really still live there for me to draw on when my heart is lonely for Bolivia. Cochabamba, Until I can walk your streets in person, I'll keep walking them in my heart...

Letting Go...

Tomorrow I will put my first born on a bus.

It will be early morning... we will have rushed around trying to make it from Brownwood to Brady... I will be sipping coffee trying to clear the morning fog from my brain... he will be ecstatic with the promise of a field trip with his friends to a pumpkin patch (he's been counting down the days)... I hope that on the outside I will be cool as a cucumber because I know that on the inside I will be freaking out...

In my head I know that the bus driver is licensed, safe and will take good care of my Nathan... that his teacher will be there every step of the way to make sure he is well cared for. I know it all in my head, but my heart keeps having flashbacks... the memories of two years ago, the international phone call, the news of a tragic bus crash, the loss of three precious and beautiful lives', the mourning, the tears, the lives' cut short, and all the knowledge in my head can't keep my heart from free falling into panic...

Buses crash, people die, and hearts are broken... I'm praying with every fiber of my being that the God who saw us through those dark dark days, will watch over my son, the firstborn of my body and my heart, and that he will step off that bus tomorrow afternoon filled with excitement over new experiences, the promise of watching God's creation and the amazing way that He grows things in this world. But most of all that he will step off that bus... safe... and... sound...

Lord, I know that he's your's first, that he's only mine for a short time... watch over him, place your hand of protection on him, bring him home safely, and please Lord, give me your peace and comfort as I wait...

What color are you?

I remember sitting in the conference in Brazil. It seems like so so so long ago, and yet not even a year has passed. I was missing my boys and Gary who were miles away, but having wonderful fellowship with other missionary women, and trying to get a handle on all the changes that were coming our way with our move back to the states.

I remember hearing someone describe perfectly what I felt as a missionary wife. So many people have asked how we are, how we feel, how we're "settling in"... this is the best way I know to answer that question... Close your eyes and imagine yourself colored blue. I think some people see a little cartoon person, a paper doll cut out type, but for some reason I see a dot person. Kind of a cross between the M&M man and the dot people from the Ranger's games dot races :) don't ask, who knows why my imagination goes the direction it goes, but I digress...

So you're blue, and you board a plane bound for yellow land. You get to yellow land, you feel like you stick out kind of like a sore thumb oh wait, you do... you're blue. But even though you stick out, you grow to love yellow land. Parts of yellow land even rub off on you and you begin to look... yep, you've got it, green. So in yellow land, you don't stick out quite as badly as you used to. Green does at least carry an element of yellow in it.

But then the time comes for you to go back to blue land. It's been awhile, and it's time, it is after all where you're from. But as you're getting off the plane in blue land, you realize there's enough yellow that's rubbed off on you that even in your "home" land you don't look blue anymore. You're still that bright shade of green.

And Green is good. Green carries an element of BOTH blue and yellow within it, but it's still green... it's NOT blue, and it's NOT yellow. And in that moment, you realize you don't fit, anywhere anymore. You might go through resentment, moments of regret that you let the yellow rub off on you, moments where you wonder what life would have been like if you never left blue land... and then in the very next thought, moment, or breath you realize how grateful you are for every shade of yellow that you now proudly carry. You're grateful for the ways it has changed your perspective, your life, your family, your children, your marriage, and changed you for the better, forever... but no matter how you look at it, no matter how hard it was to leave blue land in the first place, or how hard it was to adapt to yellow land, how hard it was to leave yellow land after the roots you put down there, or how hard it was to come "home", or how grateful you are for all that your experience in yellow land has added to your life and heart, the truth remains the same... you're GREEN and you don't seem to fit anywhere...

Where to begin...

It's been one of those days... one of those, Seriously, can anything else go crazy today? kind of days... one of those I forgot Joshua's diaper bag at home and had to make a full round trip back to the house to get it days... one of those I ran around Wal-Mart like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get groceries for family we have coming into town kind of days... one of those I raised my voice WAY TOO MANY TIMES kind of days... one of those Joshua pooped in the bathtub kind of days... one of those I miss a life that has forward motion kind of days... yep, it's been one of those days... and at the end days like this all I want is a safe place to go... which makes me miss this woman right here... oh alright... I miss them both :)
Let me introduce you to my sweet mom, and her mom, my Grannie...

My mom... well, there just aren't enough words to tell you about this wonderful woman and the sacrificial love she carries in her heart for her family and those she loves. She's living this love out daily in caring for my Grannie who has been diagnosed with Parkinson's and all the myriad of physical ailments that come along with it. The example she is daily in the time, energy and love she pours out on her mother is amazing. And on days like today I miss my mommy (there I said it) and there's no particular reason... I just do.

But it's the integrity she has that makes me miss her (selfishly, there... I said it) because of the time that it takes to care for my Grannie. So today rather than focus on the time I miss out on with my mom... I took the time to remember how much I love my Grannie, and how I miss her too...

Parkinson's is a heart breaking disease. There is no other way to say it. It has robbed me of the woman I used to know and stolen so many of the things I love about her. When stressful days like today happened in college, I had somewhere to run to... my Grannie and Papa's house. I always knew that I could pick up the phone and come running (ok, driving 45 minutes up highway 67 if you want to be literal :) to the house that I knew from my birth. The house that had the garden out back full of fresh tomatoes and green beans, that showed me how disciplined and hard working my grandparents were. The kitchen that gave me so many hours with my Grannie, so many wonderful memories. The way she peeled potatoes, the way she always washed her wooden handled knives by hand to keep them looking beautiful :) the pinch of brown sugar that she added to her green beans, the first time she passed me a grapefruit spoon (I thought she was the coolest :) and the freezer full of peaches and pie crusts just waiting for her granddaughter to request a peach cobbler. We stood upon that floor for hours, bumping hips as we stood side by side cooking, laughing, and making memories. The living room that we sat in to watch grandparent shows like Wheel of Fortune, Iron Chef, and basically any other cooking show my Papa could find to watch :) The bedroom that was always made up and ready for me if I needed to spend the night.

When they sold that house it was so hard for me because every memory I have of them was wrapped up in those walls. And today, as my Grannie is in ICU (recovering well from pulmonary complications from PD) it hit me so hard how much I miss that sweet woman... her laugh... her ways.

When we lived in Bolivia it was hard because we were so far away, so removed... and now it's so hard because we're so close, and it's so real. I will miss her even more when God calls her home, but the missing has already started as the woman that I loved, and still love, is not the same at all...

So Grannie, know that I love you, know that I am so grateful for all that you taught me about the love of cooking and preparing meals for your family and those you love, for the art of a fun craft, for the way that you were faithful to Papa for all the years we were blessed to have him with us, and for the hugs that I usually forced on you :) but that you got used to over time, and eventually came to love (at least I've convinced myself you did :) God bless you sweet woman... and thank you for your biggest blessing in my life, your daughter, my mom :)

Triggers...

Well, we did it... we placed membership at a precious church just around the corner from our house. After much angst from this completely indecisive woman, the decision has been made and we're grateful for a place to call home, a place to start putting down some roots. Last Sunday as I made my way across the foyer trying to herd three little boys into worship I saw a sign-up table... the words "Ladies Day" were written beautifully across the top of a clipboard on a beautifully decorated table. My heart skipped a beat in anticipation and excitement, a chance to meet new friends, form new relationships and have some wonderfully needed fellowship. There was not a moment of nervousness (largely in part to the fact that our new church family puts me at ease), not a moment of anxiety or doubt over whether I should go... it was done, my name signed on the dotted line and my children counted in the number for childcare. "Ladies Day" was promptly written on the family calendar after our arrival from church and the week was passed looking forward to this morning...

And this morning arrived with boys sleeping late, breakfast eaten, diaper bags packed and everyone making it to the car somehow unscathed (ok, almost unscathed... there was a "raised voice" episode with Nathan for not having his shoes on when it was time to go... not my finest moment of the day!). We drove the 3 minutes, and I do mean three minutes (how awesome is that?) to the church building and unloaded ready for fun and fellowship. I dropped the boys at the nursery where they didn't shed a tear and I headed in. The first stop, the nametag table. But as I signed in, all I could think of was our Ladies tea nametag table in Cochabamba... the nametags that were made with such love and preparation for the special day... I picked out my nametag, tried to keep from crying over sweet memories and scrawled my name across the blank space. I entered the fellowship hall ready, or so I thought...

As I walked in a woman came along side me and asked, Are you looking for someone? Because apparently the "I don't know many people here and am just looking for an empty seat to warm" look is all to recognizable :) I said, No, I'm just new here so I'm looking for an empty seat. To which this sweet soul said, Oh where are you from? And with those simple words, making up a simple quesion, the trigger was pulled...

Re-entry triggers are the worst! You never know when they will strike. You may have the luxury of being alone in the privacy of your own home, or you maybe in the middle of super Wal-Mart surrounded by so many shampoo options that you're brought to tears. Maybe it strikes over a cup of coffee with a dear friend, or maybe when a sweet unsuspecting woman asks you where you're from... and so it was today! Bless her heart, she had no intention of bringing on the waterworks, no idea that with one question she could turn my emotional world upside down.

So I politely excused myself... made a tearful beeline to the back of the church and sought refuge in the safety of what every woman has used at one point or another... the bathroom stall :) But I knew I couldn't hide standing next to a toilet for the whole morning and so I ventured out into the hallway... but the tears would not stop. I found myself sitting in a preschool sized chair, five sizes too small for my mommy booty, bawling my eyes out, wishing I had a bag like Hermione to tuck entire boxes of Kleenex down inside.

It came out of nowhere, that trigger... it caught me off guard. I had been so excited to meet new people, have a morning with the ladies of our new church family... but now that I was there, all I wanted was to be with my church family in Cochabamba. In anticipation of our new life here I had looked forward to attending church activities as a spectator (not as the coordinator which had been my role with our teammates for so long now), and now, the anonymity of it all was more than I could handle. I wanted to look forward, pull myself up by my bootstraps and dive into our new life, but all I could do was look back and mourn the one lost.

Triggers are good because they push me to unleash some of the emotions from the experience of re-entry. They push my buttons just enough, forcing me to process things I would otherwise avoid. But dadgum... if they could just save their moments so that the emotional meltdowns happen in the privacy of my own home, I'd be much abliged!

(Epilogue... just in case you worried that I spent the entire morning crying... I had my meltdown, my I'm going to cry off all my mascara moment with some precious women who, even though they've never lived this journey I'm walking, came alongside me and held me, loved on me, and gave me a safe space to just have a good cry. And then after the tears had stopped, we had a marvelous time together, worshipping, being silly girls, and enjoying each other's company. Thank goodness for the family of God!)