Let Me Explain

In two days, we will have lived in Mexico for 6 months. Technically, this means that 25% of our two-year commitment has been completed; un-technically it means we are still adjusting and learning. I hope to write more, just to communicate what life is like here, because many times what we think we know about someone's life, isn't really the whole story. And I'm a big fan of whole stories. I suppose we are technically “missionaries” (though I don’t refer to myself as such very often), and I had lots of ideas and thoughts about missionaries before becoming one. Here are a few:

1. They love adventure and new places

2. They are so busy they probably hardly think about their friends

3. How easy—they get to live on other peoples’ money!

4. They are satisfied and have peace because they are making huge sacrifices to help others

Now, let me explain.

1.  I don’t hate adventure or new places, but I wouldn’t say I love them either. I’m what you might call a low-risk-taker. I was in Costa Rica, several years ago, in the jungle with the purpose of zip lining through it. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, I’m sure, but I declined with a polite “no gracias.” Instead, I sat in the tree house and painted my nails, because that’s about as risky as I get. But in my defense, one time, not too long before this, I gave in to the lure of “it’s-a-once-in-a-life-time-opportunity” and I inadvertently ended up mostly naked in some crystal-clear ocean of Brazil in front of a lot of people and one giant starfish. I may not be great at taking risks, but I’m really good at learning lessons. Lesson. Learned.

I don’t love adventure or new places—I tend to love comfort and security more. I like knowing what to expect and how to do things. Living abroad provides neither of those comforts. It is a constant learning process, which is tiring. I think of other people, maybe people I’ve seen on the Travel channel or just people I’ve imagined, and they enjoy, even embrace all the differences of new cultures. I see their smiling, excited faces as they taste new, unfamiliar, possibly laden with hepatitis cuisine. I see them, without reservation, butchering the language and being so proud of themselves just for trying. They move through this new land with the awe and wonder of a child. This is not what I look like. I look more like the dejected teenager in high school who can’t open her locker, has broccoli in her teeth, and thinks everyone is laughing at her. Living abroad, for me, is definitely a huge serving of Humble Pie.

2.  I am busy, that much is true. I am busy learning how life works in Mexico; I am busy taking care of my family; I am busy watching American TV because it feels like home. It’s also true that we have an amazing group of friends here and we are making new friends every week. All of this truth, though, doesn’t mean that I don’t miss all my friends from home more than I can adequately communicate. Being known by someone is the ultimate gift; being understood, even when saying all the wrong things, is invaluable; and being loved for everything that I am and am not, is a true picture of grace. I don’t know why I get to have people like this in my life, but I am so thankful for them. These are not friendships that can be duplicated or replaced and so I cherish them. I am never too busy to miss you.

3. Living on other peoples’ money is simultaneously humbling and slightly stressful. We do not ever take lightly the fact that we are here because we have people supporting us monthly. We understand that every check that is written is a sacrifice. We try to continually express our thanks to everyone who supports us in any way because we are so thankful. Like filled-to-the-brim thankful. It is nothing short of a miracle, in our eyes, that we are here. We also know that life happens, finances change, people forget to write checks. And so I live in between thankfulness and worry. And yet each month, it all works out, and I’m learning to worry less. Living on support is also part of the Humble Pie that I was eating in point number 1. It’s this reminder of how small I am and how it takes so many of us, working together, to create beauty in broken places. None of us can do it alone.

4.  I’ve been having a slight faith crisis for several years now. Sometimes major things and sometimes not. Something that has nagged me forever, it seems, is never being enough or doing enough. In my mind, I can always do more and be better. The concept of being content can be foreign to me at times because I confuse it with apathy and apathy is unproductive. What I really long for is that settled feeling in my heart that says, “you are enough”. Most days, I don’t have it. I have a feeling though, that no matter what I do or where I go, it will never feel like enough. Part of this journey of living here has involved stripping away everything that once gave me value—my education, my language skills, my friends, etc—and realizing that I have value with or without those things. I am extravagantly loved by God, not because I have a college degree or can tell amusing stories, but because I am worthy of love. My name literally means “worthy of love” and yet it’s so hard for me to believe, that without accomplishments, that is true. But I need to believe it because right now I have almost nothing to offer, except for embarrassing stories.

The good news is, I’m not rocking and crying in a corner, figuring out how to get out of here. No matter how hard it is, it’s not impossible. No matter how frustrating the language barrier can be, we can communicate. No matter how lonely it can feel at times, we have technology that let’s us connect with our far-away-friends. And we have funny cat videos on YouTube. Seriously, who doesn’t love watching a cat trying to jump over a baby gate and not clear it?!

I think it’s fair to paint a realistic picture of life for others while I think it’s unfair to whine about life. So, we are happy. We are tired. We are thankful. We are worried. We are figuring it out. We are eating Humble Pie daily. We are here. We are living in the tension of all of the above, and we wouldn’t change it. Really, we wouldn’t. Sometimes, the hardest things we do are the most rewarding and fulfilling. This is one of those things. Along with raising children and being married. And living in a college dorm room with a stranger. Nope, that was just hard. Not rewarding. Or fulfilling.

I Laugh to Keep from Crying

Living in another culture has been…funny? frustrating? lonely? enriching? All of the above?

Sometimes I can start feeling sorry for myself about how hard it is to order a taco or how I don’t feel safe to venture out by myself, thus I am stuck indoors all day, etc. But then I remember how incredible this journey is, how lucky (if you need to insert “blessed” here to sleep better tonight, please do. I always wondered at what age I would start incorporating words like “blessed” into my vocabulary with ease. So far, it’s not been in the first 30 years of my life. I’ll keep you posted.) I am to get to experience another culture, and how humbling it is to believe my life is not my own.

I wish I had a camera following us around some days so that we can watch the footage later and be amused by our sad little Spanish skills, our amazing charade skills, and our ability to survive each day.  Sometimes I just have to laugh to keep from crying. But sometimes I do both at the same time and that scares the children. If this blog were a camera, here is the footage:

*I found out today that all this time I’ve been asking people if they love me rather than asking if they want me to do something for them, which was my intended question. Oops. It explains a lot of the weird responses I’ve gotten.

*Alan was trying to order hamburgers the other day, over the phone, and even warned them that his Spanish was not great. Not even halfway through the order, they hung up on him because he kept asking them to repeat the question because he didn’t understand. We really wanted burgers, so we took our order down to the guard at our apartment complex and asked if he could do it for us. You hit a low point when you can’t successfully order a hamburger.

*Speaking of the guard, Alan and he like to teach each other vocabulary in their respective languages. He teaches Alan Spanish words and Alan teaches him English words. Alan was trying to teach him to say ‘peanuts’ but did not emphasize how important the ‘t’ is. So our guard was saying, loudly, “pee-nus. Pee-nus? Pee-nus!!!” I wonder how many times our mispronunciations result in us talking about inappropriate things.

*The girls often have projects due for school that seem pretty advanced. This last project they had to give a presentation on a certain subject, accompanied by a visual aid such as power point, a diorama, etc. This is not my strength, so when we created two play-dough sharks with a few fish and even some seaweed and glued them onto a piece of cardboard (probably 6in. x 8in.) covered in blue tissue paper I found crumpled up in an old gift bag, I felt really proud. Overly proud. We even gave the Great White Shark rice teeth so they looked sharp. At the end of the week (the project was due Monday), the teacher sent the projects home with all the students’ parents. As I stood in the schoolyard with my little six-inch diorama (and I say mine because I basically made the whole thing) parents were streaming by me with these big, ornate projects. One included a whale, leaping out of the airbrushed ocean surrounded by dozens of fish that were NOT created with play-dough. And it was probably 2ft. x 2ft. I just started laughing because if this is what happens in preschool, then we are in TROUBLE. The worst part is, I was thinking I could just chalk it up as a fail and put the little sharks in a drawer somewhere, but no. They want to display all the children’s projects next month, so we need to bring them back. After the diorama spent a week in a classroom with 3 year olds, the poor shark looks like it’s from West Virginia, with only 4 teeth.

*Oh, did I tell you about that time I punched a nanny in the mouth? THAT was embarrassing. I was opening up my arms real wide for a hug from Clementine after school, but what I didn’t realize was that a really short lady was standing behind me and her mouth was exactly the same height as my flailing arms and BAM! I whacked her in the face. We had only been here a few weeks and I didn’t even know how to correctly say “I’m so sorry. I feel really bad. Are you okay?” I just kept repeating “lo siento, lo siento” which was the best I could do at the time. And since she nannies for a family in our complex I knew I’d see her again, so I quick Googled how to say more to her to let her know I’m not a violent American who thinks I can punch people in the mouth. Thank God for Google.

*I don’t really have one specific instance, but many really, of awkward greetings/departures. It is pretty normal to “kiss” on the cheek when saying hello and goodbye to people you know. That information would’ve been helpful in the first month when I thought you just kissed EVERYONE you met. Hahaha, I was giving people cheek kisses that I didn’t know. I’m still trying to figure out the rhythm of the cheek-kiss/hug greeting vs. just the hug vs. just the cheek-kiss. I pretty much mess it up every time and it feels like an awkward first date. And sometimes it gets real touch-and-go when two foreigners are trying to greet each other and we mess it up pretty badly and almost kiss on the lips.

I’m pretty certain I have yet to say one whole sentence correctly in Spanish, unless it’s a sentence a baby could say. But if it involves an indirect object in the subjunctive tense, count me out. It can feel pretty frustrating that I don’t even know how to say “do you want me to do that for you?” correctly, but believe it or not, I’ve come a long way. I can totally apologize to someone now when I punch them in the face.

- M

Nothing new about grace

It’s been awhile since I’ve written. Not because of a lack of things to write about, but quite the contrary. I have so much that is always marinating in my brain and in my heart that it’s hard to sort it out and communicate it in a way that makes sense. And sometimes, it’s in the very beginning stages and if I were to write about my thoughts, it would not be wise.

Writing a blog, speaking publicly, or posting a status for that matter is a privilege that can be, and is, abused sometimes. It’s a one-sided “conversation” that allows us (me) to vent, complain, brag, etc. without the courtesy of really hearing another side. And as a reader, it can leave us (me) feeling frustrated or angry, because how rare it is to communicate so succinctly in a written piece, an oral presentation, or a status that the reader has no questions and knows exactly where the person is coming from. That, my friends, requires a serious amount of grace on both sides. Grace for the writer to understand that her story is just one of millions and it will be read through millions of different lenses; and grace for the reader to understand that the writer is human and may not communicate everything exactly as she means. Grace is noble and necessary and often forgotten. Therefore, each time I think about writing something or even saying something, I am learning to ask myself a few things beforehand: what is my motive? Am I trying to stir peoples’ hearts or just stir the pot to create divisiveness?  Am I writing from a standpoint of grace or am I just venting and unloading on unsuspecting readers? Am I open to differing opinions or will anger and defensiveness creep in if someone dare offer an opposing view? And am I being honest?

How can I have grace for another? I think it’s a virtue that develops through discipline. I train my brain to choose to see beyond the immediate circumstance and believe the best about the other person. I train my brain to choose to put myself in the other person’s shoes. I train my brain to choose to think about why someone may be doing or saying certain things. I give them grace each time I choose this way of thinking.

I can certainly assume the worst of my neighbor, friend, family member. I can assume that everything is personal and they were leaving me out on purpose, or they didn’t pay me back for lunch because they are cheap, or they haven’t talked to me in months because they are selfish and don’t care about me. OR, I can choose to brainstorm best case scenarios: maybe they didn’t invite me because they didn’t think I had time in my schedule or because maybe I’m not their only friend and they just wanted to spend time with someone else; maybe they didn’t pay me back because they simply forgot or because money is tight right now; maybe they haven’t called me because their life got busy or they lost my number or they hate talking on the phone or they just got some bad news and their life is turned upside down right now and they really can’t think of anyone else at the moment. In every interaction, I have a choice.

Approximately 100% of the time, I am wrong in my first impressions of people and in my first interpretation of a situation. My worldview is so so so so small. My story is unique to me; everyone has a story. A valuable story. People are complex. Situations are complex. They can be looked at through offensive lenses, or they can be looked at through lenses of grace. I want to wear those glasses—the ones with grace.

We all know people who are easily offended. Where I have to pay a price if I wrong that person. Like the lady at market whose foot I accidentally ran over with my stroller. She howled for several seconds and gave me a look of death. I said sorry over and over but she just kept howling. A grown woman, howling in Central Market. It was an accident. All I could say was sorry. But she needed to let me know just how badly I hurt her. I needed to know so that somehow I could pay for her pain.

That is obviously a minor example of a lack of grace, but it’s in these everyday occurrences that I have the opportunity to extend grace, kindness, self-control, gentleness, love, and peace to my neighbor (i.e. anyone and everyone). A few weeks ago, I asked my friend, who happens to be a monk, if he, or any of his monk friends get angry. Peace is their anthem, so I was just curious. His response was that it’s all about perspective. He can view someone as an annoyance or villain or enemy, or he can view them as his greatest teacher. If someone is annoying him, it’s his chance to practice patience; if someone offends him, it’s his opportunity to practice grace, and so on. I’ve been thinking of this for weeks. It’s usually in the moments when someone is annoying me or doing me wrong that I justify why I can act like a turd. But that’s not healthy, nor is it all like Jesus. He didn’t throw a tantrum on the cross or tell his murderers how wrong they were; he begged for God to pardon them and he extended them grace, in the midst of the worst offense.

Developing grace requires me to recognize how much of it I’ve been given. And I’ve been given much of it. I used to shake my head and utter phrases like “I’m glad I’m not married to someone like that” when I’d witness a spouse being difficult. Then one day, it dawned on me that I am the difficult spouse! That wasn’t super fun. Once I could take an honest look at myself, though, I realized just how much grace I’ve been shown by Alan, and in return, I’m compelled to show it to him.

Grace, kindness, gentleness, love—all of these work together to create peace. In a world that is incredibly broken right now, we all want peace. And yes, we can pray for it to come, but the hard truth is, it’s going to come through you and me. We are the peacemakers. Peace isn’t going to come as long as we (grown adults) are getting into arguments on facebook (or in real life) that are laden with pride. Peace isn’t going to come as long as we are name calling our political leaders. Peace isn’t going to come as long as we are assuming the worst about people and requiring that each person who wrongs us pay some price. Peace will come when we forgive. Peace will come when we listen. Peace will come when look beyond ourselves and realize that everyone is valuable and everyone deserves kindness. Peace will come when we take up our cross and follow Him.

Let’s be a breath of fresh air to those around us. Let our words be salve to those who are hurting. Let’s bring life and light into a room—not harshness and criticism. Let’s pay it forward, the grace we’ve been given by our Savior, to those around us. 

- M

Getting Therapized

Week two has come and gone! This post goes from light to heavy in a few short paragraphs. That’s how I do.

The girls started school on Monday at a lovely bilingual school that is literally behind our apartment. The teachers and administration have been so kind to us. Our girls had a rough start, crying hysterically some days. But someone was always there to take their hand and calm them down. Olive informed me that she likes going with Miss Pam because she gets band-aids or candy. Clementine’s teacher commented on how well Clementine speaks and how she talks much more than Mexican children typically do at this age. This could be similar to saying one’s child is “lively” (translation: hyper) or “curious” (translation: disobedient). I’m picturing Clementine walking around just narrating the whole day and throwing in things like, “Miss Ruth. This is a choking hazard” in her little squeaky, punctuated voice. Miss Ruth did say that she is excited to learn more English from Clementine. :)

On Wednesday we attended our second meeting with the core team of Vereda (the church). BTW, I’m just calling it The Church because no matter how many times I practice saying Vereda, no one understands. Anyway, we prayed at the end and someone was praying for our girls, that they would transition well, etc. I was of course crying because it’s been quite the emotional week, but I was also thinking “I really need to talk to Karen afterwards about coming over soon.” (Karen is here volunteering with The Well for a few months. She is an Art Therapist, which puts me in a unique position—I love therapy but I loathe art. Oh the drama.) Immediately after the prayer Karen looked at me and said “Can I come over today?” Seriously amazing. It was just what I needed. During our informal session at our dining room table, our first “project” was to draw a bridge. No problem. Two lines with some water underneath and BAM!

Masterpiece. (Karen had LOTS of questions about this. I’m not sure why…). On the opposite side of the table, this is what Alan was creating. 

It’s okay. We talked about our bridges for a while and got therapized (this is not necessarily a clinical word, but it’s what happens). Our next task was to draw a door and then draw what is behind the door. Alan and I drew the same door (our old door at 444 N. Water St.) but I left mine blank inside and Alan did not. Through many tears we talked about how moving here has been similar to how life was after Olive was born. Let me explain.

I never once thought I’d struggle with being a mom. I babysat all the time, I’m decently intelligent, and I have a teaching degree. All of that says that I’d make the perfect mom! When Olive was born, my world was rocked for several weeks. And when I’m not sleeping, several weeks seemed like an eternity. I didn’t “fall in love” with her right away, I didn’t look into her eyes in the middle of the night during the third feeding in 6 hours and think of how lucky I was. Many people would say things like “Isn’t this the best stage?” “How sweet that this baby is so dependent on you” and “I bet you’re loving being a mom!” The answer was no, you can’t be serious, and no, respectively. I tried confiding in someone once but they looked at me with a really confused look and that’s when Shame crept in.

It was the first time in my life I ever felt paralyzed by fear. I would sit on the couch all day, not eat, cry because I loved her so much, then cry because I wasn’t sure if I loved her enough. I was so afraid to mess up—mess HER up—that I just couldn’t move. I was longing for someone to understand.

One day, I got an email from a friend of a friend who I had met once or twice. I was sitting in the parking lot of Panera reading her email with tears streaming down my face. How did she know that this was exactly what I needed? Her email said lots of things, but the gist was, “Hey, you could be Superwoman and be doing fine with Olive. But in case you’re not Superwoman, I want you to know that you’re not alone and you’re okay.” This was the beginning of becoming un-paralyzed. That day, when I felt so alone, so much shame, and was wondering where God was, I found out He was right there. In the form of a not-yet-friend, someone who was bold enough to put herself out there, with the possibility of me rejecting her help, He was there. I am so thankful she was brave because now she is one of my dearest friends and truly was an answer to prayer.

Fast forward to now. This new change, new life, new routine has left me feeling a bit paralyzed. So afraid of messing up, I’ve been still. I recognized it this time, though, and knew that it felt familiar. I knew that the longer I sat still (mentally and physically) the worse it would get. So I’ve forced myself to move, which has been good. But, even still, I was longing for someone to understand, and wondering where God was. And in the form of a just-met friend, someone who followed the inclination inside to invite herself over so we could chat, with the possibility of being rejected, He was right here all along. Grateful is an understatement.

The truth is, He is always right here—right there, with you—it’s just a matter of recognizing it. His ways are mysterious, His love is unending, and His grace is overwhelming. He is there. He is here. He has not left you or me. Ever. And sometimes, you are that answer to prayer that reminds someone that God is here.

- M

Bienvenidos a Mexico!

After almost 18 months of planning and preparing, we are here! Alan has been here for just about two weeks; the girls and I have been here for one. We flew down last Friday, and in all, traveled about 14 hours by the time we got to our new home. Olive and Clementine each only slept for 5 minutes that entire time—seriously. They did so well traveling to the airport, on the plane, during our layover, in the immigration line, waiting for baggage, in the customs line, and on the hour drive home.

The girls shared a room for the first few days because we had some extra people staying with us, and bedtime was a nightmare! Every night it took at least an hour for them to finally stay in the room and go to sleep; some nights we had thunderstorms, which kept them awake even longer. Now, they are each in their own room and bedtime is just like it used to be—peaceful.

Clementine keeps asking to “go home” and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t mean our new one. Olive prays that we’ll have a good flight home—she might think we’re on vacation. Mostly, though, they are adjusting really well. They will start school on Monday, which will provide them with a routine and some normalcy. Olive has been asking everyday since we’ve gotten here if it’s time for her to go to school yet. She has been super excited…until she found out about the uniforms. For anyone that knows her, you know not to mess with her fashion sense. Her uniform is a white polo, jeans, and black (close-toed) shoes. Could it be any more opposite of what she loves to wear?! Flip flops, tiny shorts, and tank tops. This may be the most severe culture shock she’ll experience!

Alan found an apartment back in August when he was here with the young adult team, and it is perfect! It’s on a quiet street, it is relatively spacious, and it’s near one of the best taco places around :) We’ve spent most of our week hanging out in our apartment, waiting for things to be delivered or for people to come to repair things. Today should mark the last day of all the waiting—the Internet has been hooked up!

Though many things are still the same, life can be really different at times. There’s the language thing, for starters. We know enough Spanish to communicate, but not enough to sound intelligent. I’ve had several encounters where I understand what is being said, but I just can’t form the words to respond. Super frustrating. However, everyday I learn something new and that’s progress I suppose.

Another difference is feeling accomplished. With the daily schedule, the traffic, and the long (at least 2 hours) lunches, we were told to feel good if we get one thing done each day. THAT has been tough. Normally our calendar had multiple things on one day—appointments, meetings, dinners, small group, etc. So far, our day will have one thing—Washer/Dryer delivered between 12 and 8pm, for example.

Food shopping has also proved to be challenging. We’ve eaten so.many. quesadillas because that is one thing I know for sure that I can make! It takes more time and more travelling to several stores/markets to find foods that I know how to cook. And, our stove didn’t work for the first few days, so whatever could be made in a toaster oven was our meal.

It’s been strange, too, relying on Alan to take us places, since I have not braved driving yet. If I need something, I can’t just hop in the car and get it. Well, I guess I could, but I haven’t gotten there yet. Babysteps. Alan has done SO well driving. I’m completely confident in his abilities to get us to and fro.

What’s ahead, you ask? We will be joining the leadership team of Vereda right away and I’m sure in a week or two Alan will be helping with the music for the weekend service. Our language classes begin in two weeks or so and will take up our mornings. Since we’ve committed to being here at least 2 years, we feel that we can and should take our time in transitioning. We don’t want to overfill our plates, survive on the little language skills we have, or neglect our girls.

If you’re praying for us—thank you. It means so much to us! If you think of it, please pray for the transition to continue to go smoothly, especially for the girls at school.

- M

Unconditional Love

I'm not sure I know the first thing about it. I don't get it. It's so easy for me to miss loving others because I'm so worried about my self. It's easy for me to see the speck in a friend's eye and completely miss the log in my own eye. It is easy for me to love my friends and almost impossible to love my enemies (those who have hurt me, those I don't understand, those I'm jealous of, those who get under my skin, those people I just don' t like). Have you ever tried to sincerely pray for your enemies? Not a prayer of damnation, either, a prayer of blessing and peace. Not easy.

Living a life like Jesus goes against all of my gut reactions. Every single one of them. I read the following sentence in an article a few weeks ago and it has literally changed me. The irony is that it was an article posted by a friend that was meant to point out how wrong an entire group of people were, and instead it pointed out how wrong I am. For once I saw the log in my own eye instead of the speck in another's. Sort of a miracle. "...the central tenet of Christianity as it has come down to us is that we are to reach out when our instinct is to pull inward; to give when we want to take; to love when we are inclined to hate; to include when are tempted to exclude." (Mark Osler) In short, we are to choose love every time, and it will cost us. It will cost us our comfort, maybe our "rights", it will take time, it will make us think.

It doesn't fit within our culture to respond this way. As an American, I have rights. There is justice for when I am wronged. I am encouraged to be happy, and remove any unhappiness from my life, even if it's a family member or spouse. I am told that forgiving someone over and over again is being an enabler. It's recommended that I carry a weapon, or mace at the least, so I can hurt anyone who tries to hurt me. I'm told to be careful when helping people--they'll just want to take advantage of me and could possibly put me in a bad position. Being independent and self-sufficient is seen as smart and successful; living in community and relying on others is seen as socialism. I see the value in a lot of these statements, but I also see how they contradict the teachings of Jesus.

When I read the Bible, specifically the parts when Jesus was here on the earth, I'm dumbfounded by his unconditional love for all people. The example that has been in my head for weeks now is The Last Supper. The symbolism of giving thanks, breaking the bread, and drinking the wine is sacred. It is a holy act of remembrance and reverence for the Savior to All. And at that supper, Jesus graciously invites everyone to partake. EVERYONE. Even Peter, who would deny him three times. That's betrayal, friends. Ever been betrayed? Ever been let down by someone? Jesus knew about this already and yet he broke the bread and drank the wine with him, and most importantly, invited him to do so. 

EVERYONE. Even Judas, who helped murder him. Could you forgive someone who was an accomplice in murdering you or a loved one? Could you invite them into your home, sit at the table with them, and break bread with one another? Could you do all that with love in your heart? I couldn't. I can't even hang out with someone who doesn't recycle let alone with someone who is helping others kill me! (That was a joke about the recycling. Sort of.)But isn't that what the love of Christ is supposed to do to us? Make us go huh?? It should be baffling and overwhelming. It should have us scratching our heads. The love of Christ should make those who don't know it, curious, not angered.

I think of the response of the Amish families to the Nickel Mines shootings--their sincere forgiveness had the world and the media baffled; I think of the response of the man who was mugged in a Subway station by a teenager--when his wallet was taken he offered his coat, too. And then dinner. (more here) This was an unexpected response. In a world where our rights and  freedoms seem to trump many teachings from scripture, it's hard to imagine what unconditional love looks like.

I don't know how to love like this, but I want to. I want to give grace to others; I want to believe the best and not assume the worst; I want to listen more than I speak (THIS is laughable to those who know me!); I want to love, with no strings attached. I have a long way to go on all of these. Everyday I can make a choice to remember the love and grace and forgiveness I have received and to extend it to others. Everyday I can make progress, baby step progress. But only by the grace of God. And that grace truly is amazing.

- M

Donde Esta My Brain???

Every year I buy a planner--this year's was the planner the for Moms Who Do It All--and I have such high hopes of using it. Needing it. January-February are usually filled up; March-May have a smattering of entries. By June--nothing. I so badly want to need a planner--kind of like when I was younger and wanted braces so bad that I regularly unbent a paper clip and delicately laid it across my teeth, spending several minutes contouring it to the shape of my mouth, and then leaving it there while I talked to everyone. I was pretty sure that it looked real. And by "pretty sure" I mean I was 100% convinced it fooled everyone. I don't know if I want to feel important or just feel like a grown-up (in my mind a planner=adult) or just admire my handwriting, but in the incorrect word of a former boss, irregardless, I would just like to depend on a planner. It's just that I don't forget appointments. I remember dates and numbers--kind of in a creepy way. I can rattle off birthdays, addresses, and other-information-I-shouldn't-know-about-you. So I just don't have a need to write it down.

Until this week. I overlooked THREE scheduled things this week. This is unprecedented. This doesn't happen. That makes me wonder: where is my brain?!

It could be that between getting too much sun last week on vacation and trying to decide how to fit our life into 10 pieces of luggage that will fly to Mexico in less than 3 weeks, I just don't have room for anything else! Maybe my wish will come true--I may actually need to start writing things down! A Christmas miracle in July!

Really, though, the task of packing up our house--the house we've spent almost 8 years in; the house we brought our babies home to; the house where ice used to form on the inside of the windows because we had to keep our heat so low; the house where we haven't had a working downstairs bathroom for 2 1/2 years (God bless Alan!); the house that at some point or another contained the following rogue animals: a bat, a bird, several mice, thousands of ants, dozens of oriental roaches, and 2 opossums in the backyard (R.I.P, buddies)--is overwhelming at times. 

At first the excitement of moving outweighed the sadness of leaving. Now, as our moving day approaches (we settle Sept. 7), sadness is creeping in. It's sad to take down all our pictures and pack them away. It's hard sifting through kitchen equipment and deciding what I can live without for now. It's sad knowing someone else will get to enjoy this house and make their own memories here. 

This move isn't a "trip"; it really is a new season of our lives. Even if we only stay in Mexico the two years we've committed to, we won't be moving back to the same house. We won't have the same jobs. Our kids won't play with the same toys they are playing with now. It will all be different--we will hopefully be different. And so much of that is good! 

Though change is good, for me, it has required some "grieving." The same kind of grieving that happened when we had Olive. Not because there was something wrong with her or I didn't like her, but because being a mommy was brand new for me and completely overwhelming. It represented a new season of life, which required saying goodbye to the previous one. I went through a time when I grieved my former life (read: the life where I felt confident and capable and rested) in order to thrive in my new, totally unfamiliar role (read: the role in which I felt the opposite of all the adjectives listed in those other parentheses). Once I accepted that life would be different, I felt like I was finally able to be present. And when I was present, I was able to learn and grow and become confident in being a mom to my firstborn. And most importantly, I was able to find new joys about this season of life and not just focus on all the things I missed. And it turns out, I can't even remember much about life pre-kids, because life is just that good now. Had I never properly said goodbye to my independent, kid-free life, I fear I would be discontent and maybe even a little resentful and miss out on the beauty of life. Kind of like those people who always refer to the "good 'ol days"...

I don't want to be in the good 'ol days--I want to be here, in the present. I want to live today.  I want to savor these last two months of living in farm country, getting together with friends and family, and making memories with my girls. I am remembering to appreciate the fact that I am considered competent here in the U.S., because in a few months I will be utilizing my toddler-sized-Spanish-vocabulary along with lots of hand motions and I'm pretty sure I won't be taken too seriously. I don't want to shove the sadness inside, but I don't want to wallow in it either. When moments of sadness come in this process, I want to acknowledge them and cherish what I have now. Because the life I have now is pretty amazing.

And just like I found my way as a mommy, I'll find my way in this season too. Hopefully with a lot less poop and pee and a lot more delicious tacos.

- M