Fear of the known

I don’t think it really hit me until my plane took off from the Luoyang airport. I have made that trip from Luoyang to Beijing several times, always returning a few days later. As I looked out the window it hit me that I wasn’t coming back in a few days.

I’ve been anticipating and preparing for my trip back for months. But I don’t think the weight of it hit me until just a few days ago. Needless to say, I am excited and I can’t wait to be back…but to be completely honest, I am also very afraid. Parts of me feel like I just left last week, other parts feel like I have been gone for years.

A few months ago, during one of the Show Hope trips, I sat in on the last night’s devotion led by Katie. It was focusing on re-entry. Katie led it and since she lived in China for years before returning to the States, she speaks from great experience. The purpose of the devotion was to encourage the group to be prepared to share all that they had experienced during their time at MBHOH, but also not to be disheartened when people just didn’t understand. It got me thinking, “If they need to be prepared for this after only a week, how much more do I need to be ready to experience these same feelings and emotions upon re-entry?”

I am not quite sure that I can pin-point any one particular fear, but rather snippets of anxiety have been rearing their heads as I prepare to come back. There is the obvious fear of sadness and missing our babies, missing Mikey, missing the Martins, missing the nurses and staff…all people who have become close parts of my life. As crazy as life in China is, I know that I will miss the things that have become my “normal” (spitting, split pants, no concept of lines, horns honking….I could go on). I know that there are many things I will miss by being away.

But then, there is the fear of things I will encounter here. When people ask what is something I miss the most about America, my answer is often “convenience.” I can’t wait to get in my car and drive 5 minutes to the store (and be able to drive myself!), to have everyone around me speaking English and being able to understand every word that people speak to me. To be able to go to the bank, or the post office, or anywhere really without needing help. I miss the convenience. But on that same token, I fear becoming complacent in my comforts.  And I fear it will only take days before I do, if I am not careful.

I fear not being understood. Not because people don’t want to understand, but because they can’t, and I cannot expect them to. I am grateful that I have had so many friends come visit and that so many have kept up through emails, blogs, facebook, etc. I feel as though many have gotten a glimpse. But these babies, their lives, their stories, I just want to make them so real to others. I want the words I share with others to portray the reality of what our children face; their struggles, their pains, the reality that they live in as orphaned children, but in that I also want others to see the amazing grace, love, and care that our Father has lavished on them, on me, on all of us through our experiences with each of our children. And I am afraid that words will not be enough.

As our plane descended into Chicago’s O’Hare airport, the view of the sunrise was amazing. A clear blue sky, clouds that looked as though you could simply glide along them; and I was reminded that this is a good thing. I need this time. I need to be away, to rest, to refresh, to see my family, to get coffee with my friends, to drive to Target (to drive anywhere for that matter), to see the leaves change…I could go on and on. I also need to trust that life will go on in China without me, and that although there’s no way to predict what things will be like when I return, that it will be okay.

 

As I walked into immigration, as silly as it sounds my heart was lightened when I was able to walk to the “resident” line (I’ve gotten so used to being a “visitor”). Then I remembered that I could order a white chocolate mocha at Starbucks, and it made me smile. Little by little, I am reminded that this is good.

Yesterday, I was a bit overwhelmed by a trip to Wal-Mart. Basically anything I needed or wanted (food-wise) was right at my fingertips; all for the buying, all for the consuming. But as I went down a few aisles, I realized that I had survived perfectly well over the past year without all of this. And truth is I want to continue learning to live without it, because I really don’t need it.

Then I treated myself to a peach iced tea from Sonic.

I feel as though my emotions are in a constant state of change and I suppose it’s normal. Please pray as I wade through the emotions, that I would be able to find a balance. That I would realize that these things that I know and love are not bad, but also that I would not fall back into a place where I feel as though I need them or deserve them. God has graciously provided for me beyond anything I could need or want, and I want to remember that. Regardless of how I may feel from one minute to the next, I know that I am not the same person I was before I left. I can't be the same person I was before I left...

I think this blog post is very reflective of my thoughts right now...all over the place. So if we talk, whether in person or on the phone, please don't be surprised if my thoughts and my words don't seem cohesive. There's a lot going on in there right now and I'm trying to know how to best communicate it. Please be patient as I gather my many thoughts together into something that makes sense. And if I just start to cry, it's okay, it's not that I'm not happy to be here, I really am...there is just a life that I feel a bit diconnected from and people on the other side of the world, including many sweet little faces, that I miss terribly.

 

 

Goodbye, for now

(This was written nearly a week ago, I've just slacked a bit on posting!)

This morning the first thought that entered my mind when I woke up was “today is my last day…” and immediately I started to think of the things I wanted to make sure to do. Knowing that I’ll be returning in a month has been one of the main things that has helped me rationally think through how to best spend my last few days. There is still sadness in the goodbyes, but hope that we will once again be together.

But knowing that I am returning does not ensure that things will be the same when I return. In fact, I know they won’t be. Kids will have left, new kids will have come. Because of this, I wanted to be intentional about spending my last day with this specific group of kids well, in case another chance does not come in a month, or rather because I know it will not come with this same group of children.

God was very gracious to give us a beautiful morning. My first class has recently dwindled to one child over the past week (the other two are on a floor that has been on isolation due to chicken pocks…as you can imagine, that can turn into a big problem in a house with 140 children!) I let her choose what we did, and of course she chose to go outside. Despite her red runny nose and chilled hands, she was perfectly content and joyful to swing for the entirety of our class time.

The following class, although no special activity planned, was just a very sweet time. I love to watch this group of kids interact with each other. They are constantly conversing with me and each other, and I love to watch how they graciously care for and help one another.

Our last class was spent outside, blowing bubbles and drawing with sidewalk chalk. It’s amazing what a simple bottle of bubbles can do. I love this age so much; the newness, the excitement, the expressiveness at being able to not only learn and form new words, but learning that they have the ability to use those words as well. Before class was over, we enjoyed a bit of time of the playground.

 

I had some work I needed to get done in the afternoon, which turned out to be a blessing. I was visited by what I've come to dub my "lolipop gang"...a group of sweet kiddos from our 4th floor who make their way to our office each day and know exactly where I keep my Dum-Dums stashed...

Who could resist this face?
Needless to say, not me

 

I needed to get some pictures of a few kids and it gave me a reason to go in and visit with new kids, which as I have mentioned in previous posts, I have been a bit hesitant to do. It really turned out to be such a sweet time and a reminder of something I love so much...

 

 

Sweet reminders of what's to look forward to...

 

New mercies each morning

Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this:

The faithful love of the LORD never ends!

His mercies never cease.

Great is his faithfulness;

his mercies begin afresh each morning.

Lamentations 3:21-23

 

This morning I was reminded of his mercy beginning afresh each day when, after writing last night's post about being fearful to love because of my fear of loss, I read the following:

 

My child, today is a gift of My love. Your very life is a gift of My love for you. I want you to live as a child of love. I want you to reflect that love in your relations with others. Since I am the Source and Giver of life, there is no shortage of supply. Only if you interpose your self-driven life in these relationships will the flow of My life be impeded. Make the day brighter around you by denying your darkness and letting My light shine through you. Today is a gift of My love. Live as a child of My love.         -Echoes of Eternity, October 21st

 

I am not always aware of His mercies; I don't consciously wake up each morning wondering what "new mercies" are in store (as if waking up to another day isn't mercy enough...) but this morning it was blatanly obvious and there was no way to miss what He wanted my heart to hear and know in response to my fear. To love. Regardless of...just love.

 



Friday night laundry returns...on Saturday

So I was gearing myself up for a "Friday night laundry" post and it took me a few hours before I realized it's not Friday! Oh well...

It is hard to believe that a little over a year ago I wrote my first "Friday night laundry"post. I went back and read the first one and it seems like it was just last night that I was writing it. Those feelings and emotions are still so fresh in my mind.

Along with three of my little Jungle Book friends, we have started a little tradition. From time to time (and usually if I am not in a hurry) I will pull them from their nursery to come "help" me do laundry. I sort and fill the machines and they toss all the clothes in. They take their work very seriously :)

I still love to go in and look at the baby clothes hanging on the lines. I am still reminded of the faces that come to mind when I look at them. A year later, different faces come to mind, as some kids have left us and those clothes are now being worn by different children. I grieve for the one that is no longer here, but am thankful for the needed care they've received and that more children are entering our doors to receive the medical care and attention they need.

I was sharing with a medical intern we have that when kids that you've grown close to leave, it is often difficult to start over with new kids, knowing that they too at some point will go. I have been discouraged with myself and my inability emotionally to initiate those new bonds lately. It seemed so easy twelve months ago...

So much of our work here comes with a combination of sorrow and joy; it is often difficult to separate the two. We rejoice when a child is matched to a forever family, but our hearts are heavy when we have to say goodbye. We deeply grieve the loss of a child's life, but God is gracious to give us peace in knowing that they are no longer in pain. We are anxious when a child is going to have life-saving surgery, but are thankful that they are being given a chance for healing.

Yet despite these things, I still want to relish each moment, find joy in these times that I may never get to replicate, with children that I have come to love so dearly. I don't want to miss an opportunity.
I don't want to be afraid to love because I am afraid of loss.

It would be much easier and faster to just do the laundry by myself. But I want to choose the memory, I want to choose to spend those precious moments with them and trust that in some way they matter, both to them, and to me. In that same way, it would be easier to keep my heart to myself at times, but I want to choose relationship, I want to choose to love, and I want to choose to trust that it matters, both to them, and to me.

At a loss for words

Lately, I feel like I keep getting inspired to write, but when I try to put my thoughts to words, the words won't come. Or if they come, they don't quite do justice to what I am trying to express. Not fully, at least.

I feel as though living in a house with 140 precious babies should always afford something to write about. And it often does; whether it's a story about one of them, or something God is teaching me through being with them. But again, sometimes words cannot fully express the feelings that are surging inside. Whether they are feelings of love, adoration, fear, pain, joy, excitement. Or all of them simultaneously.

I read this quote last night, written in a friend's blog:

"Sometimes seeds have to grow a while before you can harvest them. This is also true of thoughts and words. We live in such an instantaneous age. Everyone is slinging content around, trying to be louder, righter, insightfuler...I am trying to think about where my roots are right now and not be so concerned about my branches." -Jamie Laslo

I think I feel a responsiblity to write. I have been shown overwhelming support during my time here, and with that I feel comes a responsibilty to share what is happening. And I want to share.

I have wrestled much lately with the thought that "this is not the way it is supposed to be"...yes, I love that I get to be here, I love that our children are loved, cared for, and receive wonderful medical care. But this is not the way it is supposed to be. They should be with their mommies and daddies. Yes, we are here, and we love them dearly; but we cannot keep them forever, as a family should. At some point we have to let them go and trust that they will continue to be cared for. And sometimes, there are no words to describe those feelings. It's not that they aren't present, they most definitely are, but it's really difficult to find the words to express those feelings, because they run so deep.

A picture I took a few days ago does a good job of illustrating this..

 



 



This is the view from a 6th floor window in our building. On a clear day, we have an amazing view of the city skyline. But on many days, this is all we can see. Even though I cannot see the city, I know it's there, because I've seen it before. The buildings are there, I just can't focus through the fog enough to grasp a glimpse.

And so it is with these feelings and trying to fit them with words. They are undoubtebly there, but often it's difficult to grasp them, to really paint the picture of what you want to see before you in writing, what you want others to see.

But I also know that the fog won't be there forever and that possibly tomorrow, possibly next week, I will see those buildings again. And so it will be with these words. Possibly tomorrow, possibly next week, possibly next month, the words will come once more.

But for now, as Jamie said, I will try to "think about where my roots are right now and not be so concerned about my branches."