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Monday, November 28, 2011

identity

A little while ago, I was watching a program about soldiers coming back home from the battlefield and suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Many of them spoke of how nearly impossible it was to them to just switch gears from being on high alert 24 hours a day... to just being good ole' dad playing legos with the boys. How when they were soldiers, they knew who they were and what was expected of them. Back in the US, they felt out of place. Different, yet the same. Feeling like strangers in their own homes and families.

And I cried. Because, I got it. I got that whole "who am I now?" question. Since coming back to the US, I've been haggling with that question. Who I was had been summed up in "missionary"-- and now that we are in a somewhat in-between state, what is my answer?

I suppose, looking at things from where I am now, I can see that perhaps I set myself up for this identity question. Throughout most of my life, my identities were chosen for me: Daughter. Homeschooled. Christian family. #3 of 10 children. Even the course I studied was, in large part, not what I wanted to study but what I was directed to study. Where I worked was, at the beginning, chosen for me.

Of course, as I grew older--I chose how I would behave. I chose my character inside of those identities... but, again: they were chosen for me.

Then, I chose my identity: I chose to marry Rey. Within about a month, I married my man, became pregnant with Noah and moved to Mexico. If you weren't counting: that was 3 new "identities" in one month. Wife, momma and American-living-abroad.

These being some of the first decisions I'd made on my own, I wanted to excel. I wanted to be the best wife, momma and foreigner there'd ever been. But, I wasn't. Being a wife involved a lot more growing than I'd anticipated. I was sick during most of Noah's pregnancy and then struggled in knowing how to raise him. I constantly mis-interpreted cultural signals and became weary with it all. I found myself often just putting one foot in front of the other--feeling as though I was failing on all fronts.

But, at least. At least I was a missionary, which in itself is an identity. People knew what a missionary was (or at least their understanding) and supported us in amazing and tear-jerking ways. At least on those days I didn't get supper made for Rey because Noah had had a bad day and the annoying neighbors had been over--I was still a missionary.

And then. Then we came back to the States. Yes, our heart is still to return to missions--but we don't know exactly how or when that will be. Yes, I am still a mom--but now I am a mom in the US, which I've never done, and am trying to keep up. Yes, I am still a wife--but, for a while there, I was a working wife. And, now a wife to a foreigner (as opposed to being the foreigner).

Around the time that I saw that program about the returning soldiers, we were experiencing a lot of conflict and stress in our home. My work schedule was colliding with Rey's, and we were constantly passing responsibilities back and forth between each other as we tried to keep things going. I had actually been coming to find a new sense of identity in my job as I was beginning training to be a manager and was frustrated with trying to keep up with that and home.

There is a saying that I am not going to remember correctly--but it has to do with the fact that without conflict, there is no change. That we have to learn to view conflict as a good thing, because without it... we stop growing. So, during this high-pressure time--I felt God's voice saying that same thing to me. That this pressure was coming from a deeper area in me, an issue I had not ever really settled. That I shouldn't get caught up in the personal aspect of this conflict, but dig deeper and take the time to ask some questions. And wait for God's answer.

And I heard this verse: "Your life is hidden in Christ." (Col. 3:3) And, my eyes began to be opened. Ok, folks. Don't be rolling your eyes about the fact that this "identity in Christ" message is one taught in Bible class 101... cuz I am just really getting it. So, bear with me.

You see. I felt like I was this person who needed to be somewhat like a chameleon. The same, but drastically different. Somehow being always culturally relevant and in style while balancing that with pouring myself into the lives of my kids and balancing that with being a romantic wife while balancing that with being a servant to this world that needs Jesus. So, it was like me manually trying to change these gears in my mind--without making any waves.

But, what God is teaching me is this: My identity is Jesus. What that means to me is this: I am successful only when I am doing all I do to please God. When I am moving in obedience to Him and allowing Him to cover me and take care of the rest.

What that translates into in daily living is FREEDOM. Shall I go on? Here's the facts, my dear readers: Life will change you. You will gain weight or loose weight with pregnancies. Your body will take on a completely different shape. Fashion will loose priority in your life as you delve into ways to raise your babies in a healthy and Godly way. You will have little to no time or money to spend on yourself--because your investment is now in the lives of many. You will be "the unsanitary mom" to one person, and you will be the "overly protective mom" to the next person. You won't be able to have as many carefree adventures, travel at whim, stay out as late or go out as often. But, you know what? It's ok! Because your identity isn't that. Your identity is Jesus.

Do you know how much weight you'll take off of your loved ones once you stop trying to get your identity from them or from things? The wife that knows her identity is in Jesus won't be making her husband sweat as he thinks of the correct answer to, "You think I'm fatter now, don't you?" The friend that knows her identity is in Christ won't be over-burdening her friends with her complaining about what she doesn't have. The momma who knows Jesus has her back, can drive her kids to the playground with her head held high (even though she hasn't showered or remembered to wipe the banana off her shirt) because she says, "Lord, you know how this looks. But, you also know how I spent my morning on the floor with my kids. Pouring time and love into them. And, I know you are so happy about that."

Because, the truth is. Everyone out there, and their neighbor, has an opinion. And they're all different. So, if we take our identity from what we hear about ourselves--or what we should be--we will be constanly loosing sight of who we are. Like I was.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

glorious morn--encouraged by growth...

Morning shadows are long shadows. They are shadows that stretch out long behind you as you march toward the sun, or shadows that lean out in front as you walk away. Morning sun is a bright sun, a sun new and full of energy and promise. Crisp mornings are meant to be spent outside, beneath that newly awakened star--making those stretchy shadows. Cool mornings call us out, beg us to breathe in their reviving essence and allow our eyes to twinkle from the light falling dappled through the tree branches. There is something grounding about being outside on a morning such as this. About walking through a wooded park, listening to the birds' cheerful twitters and seeing the flutters and swoops of bird and butterfly in the fields. The breeze tickles our memories of childhood campouts, playing with friends. The earthy smell of leaves and moist ground arises and awakens thoughts and ideas that would have never lifted their groggy heads had they been kept indoors. Having my two precious gifts out with me on a morning like this could only make this experience better. Especially when accompanied by my new BFF, the double stroller. We rolled and crunched our way down winding roads, exclaiming over the wonders of nature that stretched out before us every way we looked. And I marveled most over the wonder of what was just inches from my finger tips. I looked amazed at my babies now not so small. I wondered at their sturdy bodies, ever growing, now sitting calm in the pure joy of being out. I smiled as I realized that even if most days it may not feel like it's true--these children are learning. And growing, And maturing. They are learning to love and respect each other. They are learning to be at peace. They are learning to stand in awe of God's creation. Lord, on hard days--let me remember the happy moments. Such as these

And, P.S Lord? Let them remember the cool mornings, too.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

the story of us, chapter 14.


Ok, so if I was more technological, I am sure I would know a better way of doing this. And, I can think of other ways--but they involve way more time than I want to invest. So, here's my next best idea: Go to this video and click "play". This was the song I entered the wedding to... Now you can feel like you were there! ;) 





At our rehearsal dinner:


Rehearsal:

The big day!


Programs:


Ceremony:







Vows...

"I now pronounce you man & wife"!!



Just so happy to finally be together... forever!













Reception:



August 25, 2007



Thank you to all of you who made this journey down memory lane even more fun
by taking it with me. It means a lot to me!

the story of us. chapter 13

While my mom and I were enroute, Rey had found a nice, colonial hotel built around a quaint plaza with a fountain in its center. It was late, and our following day was to start early--so, we weren't afforded many moments together before saying goodbye until the next morning.

The system at the consulate was rather confusing. Rey had an appointment for 2 in the afternoon, but he had been warned that it was a first-come-first-served operation and that the line could start forming as early as 5:30 am (even though the consulate opened at 8). So, Rey and I arrived to the consulate promptly at 6 while my mom slept in. Sure enough, there were probably around 50 people already in line when we took our place. Soon the line snaked out behind us, down the sidewalk and around the block. Strangely enough, the 2 hour wait went by really quickly. Wink, wink.

When we finely made our way to the entrance gate of the consulate, the guard would not let me in. He said witnesses were not allowed in unless summoned. He told me I could wait outside. Which I did. I waited right outside the gate for about an hour. I was all dressed up in nice clothes and heels. Dressed to impress. That and the direct sunlight were not helping make the wait a comfortable one. There was not one place nearby to sit. After a couple hours in front of the consulate, I decided to move across the street. To the shady side.

I was in a group of probably around 80 people who were also waiting on people inside the consulate. We all shifted around as the day went on and the sun moved positions. All friends for a little shade. But, at noon, there was no shade and we just sweltered. We hunkered down near the side of some buses parked there on the side of the road. Several busloads had come over 12 hours for their interview. With babies and small children. And now we were a small community. Camped out on the street and waiting.

By around 2, I was hoping Rey was getting interviewed and really regretting my decision to wear heels. Have you ever tried to squat in a little section of shade in a gutter next to a bus...in heels? Bad, I tell you. Bad.

People started coming out of the consulate across the street. Each time the gate would open, I'd crane my neck to see if it was Rey. Nope. An elderly woman came out with a walker, escorted by a granddaughter who was waving a visa. Grandma was approved. A young man came out, dejected. Sobbing when he told his family that the work visa was a no go. A family of 5 came out--beaming. "America, here we come!" And so it went.

4 o'clock came and went. I'd now been sitting on a curb for 8 hours. I tried to distract myself by people-watching and chatting... but, my distractions were leaving by the second. Was Rey the last to be interviewed or what?

And then, around 5 pm, Rey came out of that swinging gate. I jumped to my feet anxiously. He didn't make eye contact with me as he waited for a break in the traffic so that he could cross the street. My heart was thumping. What would I do if he was denied again? We'd already been through somewhere around five denials, and I didn't know what I'd do if this one had been turned down too. Rey came over to me, his face grim.

I got myself ready to be okay with a no. We'd gotten through it before. We could do it again.

And then, he pulled something out of the folder of paperwork that he'd taken in with him. His visa!!!! Excited isn't quite the word to describe how we felt--but it is a pretty close relative.

We zipped to the hotel as fast as we could to tell my mom the exciting news. Being crazy, as we were, we decided to just drive back to Illinois in our rental car that very night! Why not? Save us a hotel rental! So, off we went.

I remember the trip going down in a haze of glory--even though we were all completely exhausted.

We arrived back in Peoria on July 27, 2007... almost exactly 3 years after Rey had left. And, a little less than a month before our wedding!

As you can imagine, those weeks were a flurry of last minute planning, parties and preperation. About a week and a half before the wedding, Rey and I suddenly realized we hadn't bought wedding rings yet! Oops! So, we ran over to the mall and compared prices between the stores there. We ended buying them from a kiosk out in the middle of the mall from an Indian woman with a low, heavily-accented voice. She assured us we were getting, "16-carat gold for 14-carat gold price. Ver-dee, ver-dee gude price." We believed her.

There was also a fiasco with my wedding dress that I was having made. A week before the wedding, the seamstress showed me the finished product--it was all I could do to keep from crying. I took it home--and 3 days later, my sister-in-law lent me her wedding dress to use, which was absolutely beautiful.

Friends lent me all kinds of gorgeous things to decorate the wedding place with. Friends pitched in and all brought different elements of the wedding meal. Friends put on parties for the groom and bride. Friends paid for our rehersal dinner. A friend did the photography. Friends sang. These two young kids with no money were able to have the most beautiful wedding of all time--thanks to those who loved us!

Prepare yourselves--wedding pictures next time! :)

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

the story of us, chapter 12.

So, we were engaged! A fine evening, the 6 of April, 2007, had changed my life forever. The bus we took went through the night and got us to Rey's hometown around 9 am. We waited in the rain at the bus stop for Rey's brother to come pick us up. After running him back home, we turned around to go back to church. It was Easter weekend, and we wanted to catch the service.

We brushed our teeth out in the front parking lot, spitting into the gravel. We smoothed down our hair in the window, re-adjusted our travel-rumpled clothes and went into church. Of course, the church was packed, and the only seats open were all the way in the front...

Upon returning to Rey's house, we found his mom was very ill. She suffers from osteoporosis and it seems that perhaps the weather made her sick with horrible body aches. We ran her to the Red Cross in town and sat in the office for a couple hours. After getting her back home and making sure she was ok, Rey took me over to the deaf school so I could shower before the evening church service. Problem was, the shower didn't work. So, we boiled some huge pots of water on the cafeteria stoves and I took a tepid bucket bath.

Outside the deaf school: Post bucket bath, pre church


From the church service, Rey took me to the bus station. And here it was--goodbye again. One of the last, we hoped. I got onto a Greyhound bus departing around 9pm, hoping things would go better than on the way down. I was completly exhausted from all the travel and excitement of the last few days and fell asleep in probably 20 minutes.

I was awakened by a flashlight shining in my eyes, and a burly man shouting at me in Spanish. My groggy mind was not translating fast enough--and I realized I was in an empty bus. "Get out!" the man shouting, gesturing the way to the door with his flashlight. I looked out the window and saw a line of people snaking from the bus to a terminal. Oh! We were on the bridge. We had to get off for customs. I stumbled out and managed to find my suitcase to haul it through inspections.

It felt so cruel to have just slipped into blissful sleep and then be tossed back into line in a brightly lit office. After about 30 minutes, we were back on the bus and getting settled back in. I kept hoping that I would continue to experience good fortune and have an empty seat next to me. The luxury!

As I was just being lulled to sleep again by the rocking of the bus, we pulled into another blindingly bright terminal. A man jumped aboard and walked through the bus, counting empty seats. Uh-oh, I groaned.

Completing his count, he returned to the front of the bus and grabbed the microphone: "Ok, people. This bus is going to fill completely. Clear all the seats and make room." I wasn't the only one groaning.

The man stepped off, giving entrance to a seeming mob of people all rushing for spots. And then I saw her. My soon-to-be seatmate. She was large, very large. I kept my eyes on the ground, hoping she would see a seat far more suitable than the one next to me. She didn't. She kind of hefted herself into my row and sank down into her chair. And mine. I am not exaggerating. She literally took half of my seat and was taking up much of the aisle to her right.

I can easily get claustrophobic, and when guy in front of me reclined his seat--I was near panic. I was sitting on half of a seat, a backpack on my legs, squished under a reclined seat and against a window. The woman next to me ripped open a bag of chips and commenced crunching. I leaned my head down against the crack at the bottom of the window, taking in whatever cold air was coming in there... and prayed that the woman would get off at the next stop. Or the next. I felt horrible. I knew Mother Teresa would never have entertained the thoughts I was entertaining, but I was exhausted. That excuses all, right?

But, since this trip was one to remember, the woman stayed on the bus. All the way back to Houston. About 8 hours.

I was so glad--although I don't know if that word is emphatic enough--to unfurl my crunched up body and clamber off the bus around 6 am the next morning. I called a cab from the bus station. I started getting nervous that I was going to miss my flight when the taxi didn't show up.. but then it did. And I made my flight. Just barely.

We now had to get the paperwork together for Rey to be able to come up for the wedding. It's always nice for the groom to be there. ;)

God was smiling on us, because the process went along at a good speed and Rey was called in for his interview at the end of July. This was good, since we'd tentively set up the wedding for August 25. Thinking that I may be needed as testimony for Rey's petition for a Fiancee Visa, my mom and I flew down.

Hmm. Should I tell you that we actually missed our original flight out of Bloomington because someone missread the itinerary? Cough. I had read what was our arrival time as our departure time. We ended up waiting for another flight. Good thing there was an IHOP nearby, and that the following flights pretty much worked themselves out--although it did require some speedy connection runs through the terminals.

We flew into El Paso, Tx and then took a rental car across the border into Juarez where Rey was to be interviewed. Thank goodness that Juarez was not quite as dangerous as it is now--although it has long been a city where one needs to know where he is and not be out after dark.

When we saw Rey walking along the sidewalk just across the bridge--it was so surreal to pull up next to the curb and yell out the window. "Hey, good-looking! Need a ride?" And to think it had only been about 3 1/2 months since we'd seen each other last!