It's been a while since I posted. Five months, specifically. I haven't forgotten about the blog but somehow, while we were stateside, I quickly lost motivation to post anything to the blog. The blog was mainly to keep family and friends informed in our lives but we were there experiencing life alongside family and friends. No need to report anything to them. Now, we're back overseas and reports should continue.
I'm tired a lot these days. I'm not sure if Blaize is in some sort of sleep regression or his reflux medicine has stopped working or what but he's been waking often at night. And it's okay. I don't mind feeding him and he always goes directly back to sleep. Those nights of interrupted sleep have started to have an cumulative effect. It can kill your motivation, energy, and your ability to complete or even make a coherent thought. So that's why I really don't have anything to post because my brain is zapped besides being unmotivated. I know that will eventually come to an end but only to a degree. My mind will always be running 100 miles an hour keeping track of thousands little details concerning the children while multitasking - how much processed food has Ava eaten in the last few -- wait, I just saw a marker in Darcy's hand. No, Darcy, no markers. Pick that up, Ava. Oh, there's a spill - now where did I put that rag to clean up the spill - WHAT is that unidentifiable puddle? Uh-oh, what time is the baby's supposed to go down for a nap -- oh, he's drenched in his own spit-up. I need an outfit for him -- hey, there's the tube of ointment I've been looking for. What was I doing again? That's right, getting an outfit for....who? I forget. The baby needs a nap, oh man, he's drenched....wait, that's who I was getting an outfit for -- hey, Ava put Darcy on the potty for me! And it goes on.
So, I feel uninteresting because not much else occupies my mind. I'm just tired. I haven't forgotten the blog. I haven't forgotten you. I'll write as soon as some of my brainpower has been released to think about other things besides the management of my children and home.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Processing
It's been two months since we arrived in the States. I arrived weary and nearly burned out. I was emotionally and spiritually dry. In the last month, all the stress that I was carrying gushed away from me like huge, roaring waterfall. Finally, true rest. I'm no longer at rock bottom but I'm not out of the valley either. I'm no longer very stressed but I'm not completely replenished. It's only been two months. It looks like it will take more time to rest and heal.
The resting and healing requires me to process, analyze, and understand what was happening during our three years overseas. I have a strong tendency to analyze so I look at the whole term and see that it was challenging, made us grow, and we had good times, too. It was the third year was the hardest, the darker of the term. I can pinpoint exactly when things started going downhill and I can also point to a few things that contributed to it but it's really one big, hazy blur. I don't really want to explain or describe it right now because I am still figuring it all out.
A book that I am reading is helping me to think this through. It has been an eye opener. It's called Expectations and Burnout for women who work and live overseas. It validates my experience and what I am feeling. I am not alone in this. One helpful part of the book is that it describes the symptoms of exhaustion and burnout, the difference between exhaustion and burnout. I was shocked when I realized I was experiencing those symptoms and was very close to burnout if not already burned out. I understood my sudden insomnia in that third year, the lack of interest in food and very slow weight gain in pregnancy, why the vacations we took to try and recover didn't help, my obsessive need to escape from stress into TV shows on Netflix to the point of idolatry (which I repented of and cut subscription to Netflix), and many other symptoms. I came to the point that I had no emotional energy to invest in relationships, was dreading interaction, didn't want to see anyone, etc. I was just too empty. Hopefully now that I understand the symptoms, I can wisely watch out for them next time.
Right now, with prayer, Scriptures, and this book's help, I'm hope to understand what was and still is happening. I have questions that I need answered. One thing I am being reminded of is that none of it was a waste. All the suffering, stress, struggling was not meaningless, no matter whether it was brought on by myself, by my company, or by God. 2 Corinthians 4:7-10 and 16-17, "But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies...so we do not lose heart...for this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison..."
This is light and momentary. There is an eternal weight of glory being prepared that we cannot even begin to imagine. And so we do not lose heart, we do not lose hope.
All in all, I hope to return to our next term with realistic expectations (as the book will help me adjust), knowing my limits and how to function within my limits while leaning on God, and refreshed in the Lord to the point of overflowing. That's my hope and prayer.
In the meantime, I'm resting without feeling guilty about it. We're all resting. I can sit on the couch and rest without feeling the self-condemnation and relentless drive to be productive. We stay busy but it's a nice sort of busy. We're enjoying stress-free time with the girls and anticipating the baby boy's arrival. We are doing fun things, enjoying America. We enjoy the house that we are in - the creaky, quirky, lovely 1950s farmhouse nestled between a couple of ancient, giant oak trees. The yard around the house is spacious and a tire swing entertains the girls. We like to sit on a couple of rocking chairs on the porch. We are being well taken care of by the sweet church that is hosting us. They are directly across the street and they also have a preschool that they've graciously allow Darcy to attend for free three mornings a week. She loves it. We attend their 8:30 service on Sunday mornings and will now start regularly going to the second service at our home church, just 25 minutes away. Our home church gave us a joyful, glad welcome when we first visited which was a balm to our hearts. How we love our church. It's so nice to worship there without feeling odd as if we didn't belong. We are reconnecting with old friends and they encourage us so much with their conversation naturally seasoned and overflowing with spiritual truths, reminding us once again who God is.
Here we are. God is good.
The resting and healing requires me to process, analyze, and understand what was happening during our three years overseas. I have a strong tendency to analyze so I look at the whole term and see that it was challenging, made us grow, and we had good times, too. It was the third year was the hardest, the darker of the term. I can pinpoint exactly when things started going downhill and I can also point to a few things that contributed to it but it's really one big, hazy blur. I don't really want to explain or describe it right now because I am still figuring it all out.
A book that I am reading is helping me to think this through. It has been an eye opener. It's called Expectations and Burnout for women who work and live overseas. It validates my experience and what I am feeling. I am not alone in this. One helpful part of the book is that it describes the symptoms of exhaustion and burnout, the difference between exhaustion and burnout. I was shocked when I realized I was experiencing those symptoms and was very close to burnout if not already burned out. I understood my sudden insomnia in that third year, the lack of interest in food and very slow weight gain in pregnancy, why the vacations we took to try and recover didn't help, my obsessive need to escape from stress into TV shows on Netflix to the point of idolatry (which I repented of and cut subscription to Netflix), and many other symptoms. I came to the point that I had no emotional energy to invest in relationships, was dreading interaction, didn't want to see anyone, etc. I was just too empty. Hopefully now that I understand the symptoms, I can wisely watch out for them next time.
Right now, with prayer, Scriptures, and this book's help, I'm hope to understand what was and still is happening. I have questions that I need answered. One thing I am being reminded of is that none of it was a waste. All the suffering, stress, struggling was not meaningless, no matter whether it was brought on by myself, by my company, or by God. 2 Corinthians 4:7-10 and 16-17, "But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies...so we do not lose heart...for this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison..."
This is light and momentary. There is an eternal weight of glory being prepared that we cannot even begin to imagine. And so we do not lose heart, we do not lose hope.
All in all, I hope to return to our next term with realistic expectations (as the book will help me adjust), knowing my limits and how to function within my limits while leaning on God, and refreshed in the Lord to the point of overflowing. That's my hope and prayer.
In the meantime, I'm resting without feeling guilty about it. We're all resting. I can sit on the couch and rest without feeling the self-condemnation and relentless drive to be productive. We stay busy but it's a nice sort of busy. We're enjoying stress-free time with the girls and anticipating the baby boy's arrival. We are doing fun things, enjoying America. We enjoy the house that we are in - the creaky, quirky, lovely 1950s farmhouse nestled between a couple of ancient, giant oak trees. The yard around the house is spacious and a tire swing entertains the girls. We like to sit on a couple of rocking chairs on the porch. We are being well taken care of by the sweet church that is hosting us. They are directly across the street and they also have a preschool that they've graciously allow Darcy to attend for free three mornings a week. She loves it. We attend their 8:30 service on Sunday mornings and will now start regularly going to the second service at our home church, just 25 minutes away. Our home church gave us a joyful, glad welcome when we first visited which was a balm to our hearts. How we love our church. It's so nice to worship there without feeling odd as if we didn't belong. We are reconnecting with old friends and they encourage us so much with their conversation naturally seasoned and overflowing with spiritual truths, reminding us once again who God is.
Here we are. God is good.
Friday, July 18, 2014
Countdown
Everyone keeps asking us if we're counting down, ready to go to America. I keep thinking what is it that they think that I am so ready for? Do they think I'm so sick of living in another country? I'm not. It's definitely challenging living overseas but you get used to it, it gets easier, and the place becomes home. I love living overseas. I love my city in spite of the smog, crowds, dreadful traffic, kamikaze jaywalkers, dreary winters. I recently saw an angry man haul the driver off the bus I was riding and beat him (#ramadanproblems). That still didn't diminish my love for this place.
Do they think I'm so homesick, longing for America, preferring it over every other country? America is a great country but you get used to not living there. You always miss your family and friends but that's not what America means to me. When I think of America, I think of the great variety in cuisine, orderly traffic, SuperTarget, and the familiarity of knowing what to do in English with ease (go to the doctor, buy a mattress, get your driver's license, etc). My family and some of my friends happen to live there. I miss them but I don't necessarily miss America. So, yes, I am ready to go see them.
At the moment, what I am really ready for is to be out of this transition phase. I began disengaging from work, culture, people about a month ago. It's a normal process of leaving one country and going to another. It's like hanging in limbo and I think that specifically is what I'm ready to be done with. I'm ready to reengage in another country.
So, yes, we are counting down. We have lots to do in the next 7 days. The house is fairly messy and while it's under control, we're putting off cleaning the messes so we can do it all in one fell swoop a couple of days before we leave. We've been washing walls and windows. It's amazing how dirty the walls get here. It's grimy at the 3-foot level because of the kids but entire walls are covered with dirt. I guess it's from living with open windows every summer and breezes bring in the city dirt. We're tying up all sorts of loose ends, completing our medical check-up requirements (I'm in perfect health except for low B12!), sharing iftar (sundown meal to break the fast during Ramadan) with friends and saying all our goodbyes, all the while keeping routine for the girls. Today or tomorrow, I will start packing for the girls and myself. I have a sewing project to finish before taking my machine to a friend for her to babysit and use. I have been sleeping and eating optimally so I'm feeling really amazing.
Speaking of all the things that we need to do, I better get to work. I will be seeing most of you soon.
Do they think I'm so homesick, longing for America, preferring it over every other country? America is a great country but you get used to not living there. You always miss your family and friends but that's not what America means to me. When I think of America, I think of the great variety in cuisine, orderly traffic, SuperTarget, and the familiarity of knowing what to do in English with ease (go to the doctor, buy a mattress, get your driver's license, etc). My family and some of my friends happen to live there. I miss them but I don't necessarily miss America. So, yes, I am ready to go see them.
At the moment, what I am really ready for is to be out of this transition phase. I began disengaging from work, culture, people about a month ago. It's a normal process of leaving one country and going to another. It's like hanging in limbo and I think that specifically is what I'm ready to be done with. I'm ready to reengage in another country.
So, yes, we are counting down. We have lots to do in the next 7 days. The house is fairly messy and while it's under control, we're putting off cleaning the messes so we can do it all in one fell swoop a couple of days before we leave. We've been washing walls and windows. It's amazing how dirty the walls get here. It's grimy at the 3-foot level because of the kids but entire walls are covered with dirt. I guess it's from living with open windows every summer and breezes bring in the city dirt. We're tying up all sorts of loose ends, completing our medical check-up requirements (I'm in perfect health except for low B12!), sharing iftar (sundown meal to break the fast during Ramadan) with friends and saying all our goodbyes, all the while keeping routine for the girls. Today or tomorrow, I will start packing for the girls and myself. I have a sewing project to finish before taking my machine to a friend for her to babysit and use. I have been sleeping and eating optimally so I'm feeling really amazing.
Speaking of all the things that we need to do, I better get to work. I will be seeing most of you soon.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Personal Touch
One of the things in this culture that I grappled with off and on is the amount of affection and attention lavished on kids, specifically my girls. It's wonderful how much the people here love kids. They really do. Shop owners will give a little treat (piece of fruit, candy, trinket, etc) to a small child. My girls have gotten their fair share. That's not the only sign of affection they display. They will often touch the child, hug him, pinch cheeks, kiss him on the cheeks. And these are perfect strangers on the street, in a store, at the doctor's office, in a restaurant, on a bus. Sometimes they are people in my apartment building, the owners of shops we frequent, people we were familiar with so that's only slightly okay. Physical affection from trusted friends is more acceptable.
I was really uncomfortable with all that when we first moved here because I was unused to it. I especially uncomfortable when the physical affection came from men. If men stopped to talk to Ava on the street, I frequently ushered her on our way discreetly before they could touch her. I don't doubt their intentions are innocent because their display of affection completely acceptable here but I'm super watchful. Then I got used to it well enough but still watchful. There wasn't much of an issue with Ava accepting the signs of affection, whether physical or a gift, until she began to reject and run away from people touching her, men or women, when she turned four. Clearly, she was getting uncomfortable.
I don't mind that she wants to avoid affection from people - whether they be strangers, friends, or relatives. In fact, I've told her that she never has to accept it if she doesn't like it. I refuse to bow to people pleasing and the cultural pressure. I'm unapologetic about it. I don't admonish her for turning down hugs and kisses and I rarely force her to accept them. I don't even apologize for her behavior and if I find people literally chasing her and insisting on giving her a hug or kiss, I step in and shake my head, "No." She does have to speak to them politely when spoken to and she can shake their hands.
The reason I do this is because I never want my girls to lose their sense of comfort with personal touch. I want them to have boundaries for themselves, whether naturally from themselves or we've set for them. I've talked with Ava about people touching her, what parts of her body are not allowed, and who can and cannot touch her (for example, doctors while mom and dad are present but not strangers). My thought is that if I force my girls to accept touch when they are uncomfortable (their discomfort is their warning system of danger), then they are not going to know when the touch is inappropriate and when they can reject it freely. I don't want them to be molested and think they have to tolerate it because they have to accept hugs and kisses from strangers, especially men.
It will be easier for Ava as she grows older. I notice the nationals here don't really grab, hug, and kiss older kids. The attention definitely waned as Ava grew. I know babies and chubby toddlers are hard to resist and kids stop being cute around the age of four (admit it, it's true!). Darcy is in the cute, cuddly, chubby stage and she is even more shy than Ava was at that age. I'm not sure how much her age plays into it and how much of it is personality but she cries if a stranger gets close to her. She screams through check ups at the doctor. Once, a 12-year-old son of our American friends approached her open car window to talk to us while she was strapped in her car seat and she began to look afraid and started reaching for me. She needs a long time to warm up to people. I suspect the cultural norm of lavishing affection on children will be harder for her.
So, a big part of living overseas is integrating into the culture and obeying the cultural rules. There are some things about the culture that I don't like accommodating (such as dressing my kids more warmly than needed because that's what they all do and we get fussed at) but the physical attention aspect is something I don't bend on. It's not worth endangering my children's sense of personal space, personal safety, and personal comfort. They need to obey their sense of danger and urge to flee -- it would probably save their lives.
Once we're in the States, this will probably become an non-issue. Compared to Turkey, America doesn't like kids, especially when you read articles about businesses considering banning kids (such as airlines and restaurants) because of complaints from patrons about rowdy, loud kids. So, for now, we can breathe a sigh of relief while we're on furlough.
I was really uncomfortable with all that when we first moved here because I was unused to it. I especially uncomfortable when the physical affection came from men. If men stopped to talk to Ava on the street, I frequently ushered her on our way discreetly before they could touch her. I don't doubt their intentions are innocent because their display of affection completely acceptable here but I'm super watchful. Then I got used to it well enough but still watchful. There wasn't much of an issue with Ava accepting the signs of affection, whether physical or a gift, until she began to reject and run away from people touching her, men or women, when she turned four. Clearly, she was getting uncomfortable.
I don't mind that she wants to avoid affection from people - whether they be strangers, friends, or relatives. In fact, I've told her that she never has to accept it if she doesn't like it. I refuse to bow to people pleasing and the cultural pressure. I'm unapologetic about it. I don't admonish her for turning down hugs and kisses and I rarely force her to accept them. I don't even apologize for her behavior and if I find people literally chasing her and insisting on giving her a hug or kiss, I step in and shake my head, "No." She does have to speak to them politely when spoken to and she can shake their hands.
The reason I do this is because I never want my girls to lose their sense of comfort with personal touch. I want them to have boundaries for themselves, whether naturally from themselves or we've set for them. I've talked with Ava about people touching her, what parts of her body are not allowed, and who can and cannot touch her (for example, doctors while mom and dad are present but not strangers). My thought is that if I force my girls to accept touch when they are uncomfortable (their discomfort is their warning system of danger), then they are not going to know when the touch is inappropriate and when they can reject it freely. I don't want them to be molested and think they have to tolerate it because they have to accept hugs and kisses from strangers, especially men.
It will be easier for Ava as she grows older. I notice the nationals here don't really grab, hug, and kiss older kids. The attention definitely waned as Ava grew. I know babies and chubby toddlers are hard to resist and kids stop being cute around the age of four (admit it, it's true!). Darcy is in the cute, cuddly, chubby stage and she is even more shy than Ava was at that age. I'm not sure how much her age plays into it and how much of it is personality but she cries if a stranger gets close to her. She screams through check ups at the doctor. Once, a 12-year-old son of our American friends approached her open car window to talk to us while she was strapped in her car seat and she began to look afraid and started reaching for me. She needs a long time to warm up to people. I suspect the cultural norm of lavishing affection on children will be harder for her.
So, a big part of living overseas is integrating into the culture and obeying the cultural rules. There are some things about the culture that I don't like accommodating (such as dressing my kids more warmly than needed because that's what they all do and we get fussed at) but the physical attention aspect is something I don't bend on. It's not worth endangering my children's sense of personal space, personal safety, and personal comfort. They need to obey their sense of danger and urge to flee -- it would probably save their lives.
Once we're in the States, this will probably become an non-issue. Compared to Turkey, America doesn't like kids, especially when you read articles about businesses considering banning kids (such as airlines and restaurants) because of complaints from patrons about rowdy, loud kids. So, for now, we can breathe a sigh of relief while we're on furlough.
Sunday, June 22, 2014
Vacation
Back in April, soon after Ava's 5th birthday, we lit out of the city and headed for southern climes. We took a 9-hr road trip to Kusadasi, an area close to the ruins of Ephesus, where we booked a reservation at an all-inclusive resort at the last minute with a low off-season price. We were desperate for a break from work and from the city itself. Life never seemed to slow down and I think we were coming off some busy, chaotic weeks before we went on vacation.
The road trip was nice as opposed to flying. It was a 9-hr trip but we were accustomed to long trips in the US anyway so 9 hours is similar to 11 or 12 going to Florida from North Carolina. It was a leisurely drive on a scenic route. It was all green hills and mountains with flocks of sheep, horse farms, and olive groves.
There were even produce stands selling oranges on the side of the highway....just like Florida!
We stayed in an apartment that had everything. There were two bedrooms, two baths (one was a full bath and the other was a shower), a salon and dining area, a kitchen completely stocked with kitchenware and nice, modern appliances that put my ancient kitchen appliances to shame. Everything was tastefully done with current decorating fashion.
The resort (golf and spa) is perched on top of a mountain (read: windy) that overlooks a valley on one side and the sea in the distance on the other side. The views are breathtaking. All we did were look at the views and never went sightseeing. The two pictures below are from our balcony:
I mentioned that the resort is a golf and spa resort. Nice arrangement for couples - the husband plays golf all day while the wife pampers herself in the spa. I didn't use the spa since I was pregnant and it was at additional cost. The golf course was beautiful and pretty difficult to play according to reviews. The resort was barely half full as it was off season but it is an enormous property with many pools throughout. It's a time-share resort, all condominiums, with an all-inclusive service that makes you feel like you're at a hotel at the same time. It caters mostly to Europeans and Europeans were all we saw. It's always interesting to vacation with a cosmopolitan body of guests.
The all-inclusive aspect is always nice but in this case, the food left a lot to be desired. We ate to sustain ourselves, not to enjoy the food. That's all I'll say about it. We stocked up on snacks when we went into town so we did enjoy some treats. The neat thing about this resort is that you can stay there without the all-inclusive option (it'd be a bit cheaper) but that meant you were going into town to eat (the town doesn't have much to speak of) or you were cooking in the condo (I'm not cooking on vacation, people!).
The weather was gorgeous, sunny with the temps in the high 60s -- warm enough for those northern Europeans to swim. Not warm enough for me, born and bred in Florida. There was a single "heated" outdoors pool that the guests swam in. I put that in quotation marks because it was still cold - it was simply warmer than the thousand other pools in the vicinity. Greg said it was bearable on sunny days when you stayed submerged but when you got out and were exposed to the winds (unavoidable when you're on a mountaintop), you froze. That was the case with Ava and it was hard to get her warmed up unless we got her into a hot bath inside. She really enjoyed swimming with the older kids, though. Darcy was content to sit with her feet dangling in the water and run around the area. Greg got in a couple of times. I was happy to lie in the sun with a book.
Other than that, all we did was a lot of nothing. We did this:
I forgot that we did play at a playground set onsite. There were basketball courts, tennis courts, and a outdoor chess board with pieces nearly as big as Darcy, which I've never seen before. Greg and I would've had fun playing chess like this if we didn't have two kids to chase after. He'd beat me because he was in the chess club in school -- nerd ;-) -- and I'm terribly rusty.
I also forgot that we did manage a day of sightseeing on the way back to the city. We stopped off in Ephesus since it was on the way and it'd be a terrible oversight not to go there. We spent a few hours there and it was pretty hot. I don't think we managed to see the entire ruins before we got tired and headed back down to the car to continue on our way home. I was still in my first trimester, easy to wear out, and I carried Darcy in the Ergo on my back so that sapped my energy quickly. I won't post pictures because there are easily millions of pictures of the ruins on the internet, mostly better than mine, with a great deal of descriptions of the ruins in modern day, what it must've looked like historically, the culture of that day, the significance of it in the Bible, etc. Too much to put on this blog. I will leave you to browse pictures and read about Ephesus on the internet at your leisure but I will tell you that visiting a place like that in person is much better than reading about it. It's just really cool.
Well, that was our vacation. It was only 4 nights. We did feel much better afterward. We were energized enough to chug along in our work and complete it. So much happened after vacation (the scare with the bleeding, the up and down about whether we were going stateside this summer, etc) so that last-minute vacation before all that was a good timing.
Now, our next vacation will be stateside at the emerald waters of Destin. Can't wait!
PS: If you are still reading the girls' blog, I posted three different posts in a row. Take a look and get caught up. I still need one or two more posts there so keep an eye out.
The road trip was nice as opposed to flying. It was a 9-hr trip but we were accustomed to long trips in the US anyway so 9 hours is similar to 11 or 12 going to Florida from North Carolina. It was a leisurely drive on a scenic route. It was all green hills and mountains with flocks of sheep, horse farms, and olive groves.
 |
| Sheep |
We stayed in an apartment that had everything. There were two bedrooms, two baths (one was a full bath and the other was a shower), a salon and dining area, a kitchen completely stocked with kitchenware and nice, modern appliances that put my ancient kitchen appliances to shame. Everything was tastefully done with current decorating fashion.
The resort (golf and spa) is perched on top of a mountain (read: windy) that overlooks a valley on one side and the sea in the distance on the other side. The views are breathtaking. All we did were look at the views and never went sightseeing. The two pictures below are from our balcony:
 |
| All that golden light was from the sunset, slightly to the right. I did no editing to the colors, only added a halo around the picture which is pretty indiscernible anyway. |
 |
| Same view during day - I edited this picture to sharpen the colors and added contrast to bring the clouds into definition |
I mentioned that the resort is a golf and spa resort. Nice arrangement for couples - the husband plays golf all day while the wife pampers herself in the spa. I didn't use the spa since I was pregnant and it was at additional cost. The golf course was beautiful and pretty difficult to play according to reviews. The resort was barely half full as it was off season but it is an enormous property with many pools throughout. It's a time-share resort, all condominiums, with an all-inclusive service that makes you feel like you're at a hotel at the same time. It caters mostly to Europeans and Europeans were all we saw. It's always interesting to vacation with a cosmopolitan body of guests.
The all-inclusive aspect is always nice but in this case, the food left a lot to be desired. We ate to sustain ourselves, not to enjoy the food. That's all I'll say about it. We stocked up on snacks when we went into town so we did enjoy some treats. The neat thing about this resort is that you can stay there without the all-inclusive option (it'd be a bit cheaper) but that meant you were going into town to eat (the town doesn't have much to speak of) or you were cooking in the condo (I'm not cooking on vacation, people!).
The weather was gorgeous, sunny with the temps in the high 60s -- warm enough for those northern Europeans to swim. Not warm enough for me, born and bred in Florida. There was a single "heated" outdoors pool that the guests swam in. I put that in quotation marks because it was still cold - it was simply warmer than the thousand other pools in the vicinity. Greg said it was bearable on sunny days when you stayed submerged but when you got out and were exposed to the winds (unavoidable when you're on a mountaintop), you froze. That was the case with Ava and it was hard to get her warmed up unless we got her into a hot bath inside. She really enjoyed swimming with the older kids, though. Darcy was content to sit with her feet dangling in the water and run around the area. Greg got in a couple of times. I was happy to lie in the sun with a book.
Other than that, all we did was a lot of nothing. We did this:
 |
| The girls watched too much TV while we read books copiously |
 |
| We napped a lot |
 |
| I think the queen and king were nearly as tall as Darcy. |
Well, that was our vacation. It was only 4 nights. We did feel much better afterward. We were energized enough to chug along in our work and complete it. So much happened after vacation (the scare with the bleeding, the up and down about whether we were going stateside this summer, etc) so that last-minute vacation before all that was a good timing.
Now, our next vacation will be stateside at the emerald waters of Destin. Can't wait!
PS: If you are still reading the girls' blog, I posted three different posts in a row. Take a look and get caught up. I still need one or two more posts there so keep an eye out.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
One Month To Go
As I write this, it's 72 degrees out on a sunny June day, after two or three days of thunderstorms that caused the temperatures to plummet from 80 degrees to 65 degrees. Such strange weather for June. Ava is currently painting three pictures with watercolors while Darcy naps in her dark, cool room under a spinning ceiling fan, and Greg crashed from exhaustion on our bed three hours ago and is still sleeping. It's 2pm and I am savoring the quiet and semi-solitude. Ava just braided my hair, a new skill I taught her recently, and covered my lips neon pink (!) lip gloss that our babysitter gave her.
We just came off a busy two weeks of training two leaders from another country. They were long days, starting around 9:30 and ending around 6pm except one of us ran home around 4:30 to pick up Ava from preschool and to relieve the babysitter, rushing to cook dinner, bathe the girls, and put them to bed. Most days, it was me and I felt like a single mother with a 9-to-5 job, shifting from work mode to home/family mode. I also had to cram in a quick trip to the grocery store nearly everyday to replenish supplies for the baby-sitter and the girls' lunches and snacks, not to mention picking up ingredients for dinner that night. Somehow, laundry got done. It was a blur. Poor Greg did a lot of running to-and-fro for two weeks and that was what made him crash on the bed this afternoon.
It was a great and productive training so we hope that we will be able to see fruit from their efforts as they apply the new "tools" that we gave them. We won't see the leaders that we trained until next spring but hope to Skype with them often until then, to provide support and answers. Technology is a great boon.
Just before training started, we finally finished language study. Finally. We went straight from wrapping it up to training and training just finished yesterday so the fact that we finished language study hasn't sunken in yet.
We have one more month left until we go stateside. I'm so glad that all of our work is done and we can focus on preparations for our trip stateside. A lot of the preparations have to do with getting medical clearance, readying the apartment for a short-term student who will house-sit and work with our co-workers, preparing presentations for stateside, packing, and tying up any loose ends. Hopefully, it will be a relaxing month, instead of fraught with stress and urgency.
As our three-year term drew to a close, I reflected on our term off and on. These three years were full of new experiences, challenges, struggles, frustrations, joys, and tremendous personal/spiritual growth. I think that sums up our term nicely without me waxing long and eloquent about specifics which would surely bore you.
Now, I look ahead to resting stateside for 5-6 months. I'm a bit apprehensive because I remember what it was like to return to the States after 2 years of being away. I remember the struggle to adapt and get used to America again. It was more difficult than I'd expected but I think this time around, I won't be as surprised and may have an easier time of it. I mostly worry about the girls, what the transition will look like for them. Ava doesn't remember the U.S. and Darcy is completely unfamiliar with it.
On a more positive note, I'm looking forward to seeing family and friends, spending time with them, experiencing favorite things and places again. I look forward to fresh Florida seafood, Florida beaches, pork BBQ, shopping for several things in one store (hello, Target!), traffic that is logical and orderly, things that make sense, and some of the conveniences of America. I look forward to enjoying my kids without the pressure of work.
Most of all, I look forward to being spiritually renewed. I hope and pray for that. As we rest, I hope to remember the Father's call on our lives, to remember our vision, to be encouraged and energized. We are weary, not of living overseas, but weary in spirit. We have fed ourselves for so long and I look forward to being fed for a change.
See you all soon.
We just came off a busy two weeks of training two leaders from another country. They were long days, starting around 9:30 and ending around 6pm except one of us ran home around 4:30 to pick up Ava from preschool and to relieve the babysitter, rushing to cook dinner, bathe the girls, and put them to bed. Most days, it was me and I felt like a single mother with a 9-to-5 job, shifting from work mode to home/family mode. I also had to cram in a quick trip to the grocery store nearly everyday to replenish supplies for the baby-sitter and the girls' lunches and snacks, not to mention picking up ingredients for dinner that night. Somehow, laundry got done. It was a blur. Poor Greg did a lot of running to-and-fro for two weeks and that was what made him crash on the bed this afternoon.
It was a great and productive training so we hope that we will be able to see fruit from their efforts as they apply the new "tools" that we gave them. We won't see the leaders that we trained until next spring but hope to Skype with them often until then, to provide support and answers. Technology is a great boon.
Just before training started, we finally finished language study. Finally. We went straight from wrapping it up to training and training just finished yesterday so the fact that we finished language study hasn't sunken in yet.
We have one more month left until we go stateside. I'm so glad that all of our work is done and we can focus on preparations for our trip stateside. A lot of the preparations have to do with getting medical clearance, readying the apartment for a short-term student who will house-sit and work with our co-workers, preparing presentations for stateside, packing, and tying up any loose ends. Hopefully, it will be a relaxing month, instead of fraught with stress and urgency.
As our three-year term drew to a close, I reflected on our term off and on. These three years were full of new experiences, challenges, struggles, frustrations, joys, and tremendous personal/spiritual growth. I think that sums up our term nicely without me waxing long and eloquent about specifics which would surely bore you.
Now, I look ahead to resting stateside for 5-6 months. I'm a bit apprehensive because I remember what it was like to return to the States after 2 years of being away. I remember the struggle to adapt and get used to America again. It was more difficult than I'd expected but I think this time around, I won't be as surprised and may have an easier time of it. I mostly worry about the girls, what the transition will look like for them. Ava doesn't remember the U.S. and Darcy is completely unfamiliar with it.
On a more positive note, I'm looking forward to seeing family and friends, spending time with them, experiencing favorite things and places again. I look forward to fresh Florida seafood, Florida beaches, pork BBQ, shopping for several things in one store (hello, Target!), traffic that is logical and orderly, things that make sense, and some of the conveniences of America. I look forward to enjoying my kids without the pressure of work.
Most of all, I look forward to being spiritually renewed. I hope and pray for that. As we rest, I hope to remember the Father's call on our lives, to remember our vision, to be encouraged and energized. We are weary, not of living overseas, but weary in spirit. We have fed ourselves for so long and I look forward to being fed for a change.
See you all soon.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Spring
Ava and I were baking cookies in the kitchen when I looked out the window into the cloudless, brilliantly blue sky. Then my eyes drifted down and I saw two seagulls on the roof of a building and two little brown, fluffy things. I thought they were pigeons until their small sizes registered...baby seagulls! So cute! I have never seen baby seagulls growing up in Florida and here I am, living in a city, looking at baby seagulls.
You can see one baby seagull in the shadow of the chimney and the other baby seagull waddling away underneath the satellites. I assume the adult seagull is their mommy or daddy because the babies keep close to him/her. It fills my heart with gladness at the sight of renewal, birth, and hope.
We had a long spell of cold, rainy days recently that made it look like spring had retreated but now, the days are bright and wonderfully warm in the sun and cool in the wind. These are the beautiful days before the heat comes so we're hoping to take every advantage of it.
Last week, I returned to my OB (Greg and the girls came to see the baby on the ultrasound) for a follow up and she found that I actually have a hematoma, not placenta previa. She had originally thought it was a hematoma but couldn't find it two weeks ago. Since she couldn't find the hematoma, all other signs were pointing to placenta previa although she told me later that bleeding from placenta previa doesn't happen that early in pregnancy so she was perplexed when she settled on the placenta previa diagnosis. My OB was happy to find the hematoma, which is a blood clot, directly opposite of the placenta so the hematoma is no danger to the baby. We were glad to see the baby kicking away, twisting around, turning his head, wriggling his arms. And he's still a boy :-)
I asked my OB what caused hematomas and she said no one really knows. She said her best guess, and there's no possible way to confirm this, was that I was beginning to have a miscarriage and for some reason, it abruptly stopped. The hematoma was the result of a trauma, the miscarriage itself. Greg and I wondered over it afterward. What stopped the miscarriage in its tracks, if it were indeed a miscarriage in the process? Or should we say Who?
It seems the danger is less with this hematoma (despite its 6cm size) in its harmless location than when it was thought that I had placenta previa. My placenta is still pretty close to my cervix but it's definitely moving up and away. A good sign. The baby is strong and healthy. Another good sign. There is no reason not to expect a normal pregnancy and birth. I'm still on bed rest, albeit a light one. I still can't go running, can't exercise (no yoga or Pilates, not that I do them anyway), can't lift heavy things, heavy chores, etc. I can do my normal chores like picking up, cooking, sweeping, etc. They don't require much exertion. Air travel with a hematoma is still a question, though.
We have about 9 weeks until we're supposed to go stateside for a few months. Hopefully, we will be able to go. I have to admit that I'm mentally checking out, especially being on bed rest and having to stay close to home and the hospital. I'm doing less so I have more time to think and often, my thoughts turn to the future, wondering if we will go home in July or not. I don't think I really care when we go home, as long as the baby is safe, but I would rather know now than to keep wondering. I will be disappointed if we're advised to stay here but we are consulting with other medical professionals with my company so we will see.
Life is good. It's spring and turning into summer. I love my city best during the spring and summer. The baby is safe. My girls are healthy. I have a good husband. We will see family and friends stateside soon. God is on his throne.
For now, the days slip by "like golden beads on the necklace of the year." I'm thankful.
You can see one baby seagull in the shadow of the chimney and the other baby seagull waddling away underneath the satellites. I assume the adult seagull is their mommy or daddy because the babies keep close to him/her. It fills my heart with gladness at the sight of renewal, birth, and hope.
We had a long spell of cold, rainy days recently that made it look like spring had retreated but now, the days are bright and wonderfully warm in the sun and cool in the wind. These are the beautiful days before the heat comes so we're hoping to take every advantage of it.
Last week, I returned to my OB (Greg and the girls came to see the baby on the ultrasound) for a follow up and she found that I actually have a hematoma, not placenta previa. She had originally thought it was a hematoma but couldn't find it two weeks ago. Since she couldn't find the hematoma, all other signs were pointing to placenta previa although she told me later that bleeding from placenta previa doesn't happen that early in pregnancy so she was perplexed when she settled on the placenta previa diagnosis. My OB was happy to find the hematoma, which is a blood clot, directly opposite of the placenta so the hematoma is no danger to the baby. We were glad to see the baby kicking away, twisting around, turning his head, wriggling his arms. And he's still a boy :-)
I asked my OB what caused hematomas and she said no one really knows. She said her best guess, and there's no possible way to confirm this, was that I was beginning to have a miscarriage and for some reason, it abruptly stopped. The hematoma was the result of a trauma, the miscarriage itself. Greg and I wondered over it afterward. What stopped the miscarriage in its tracks, if it were indeed a miscarriage in the process? Or should we say Who?
It seems the danger is less with this hematoma (despite its 6cm size) in its harmless location than when it was thought that I had placenta previa. My placenta is still pretty close to my cervix but it's definitely moving up and away. A good sign. The baby is strong and healthy. Another good sign. There is no reason not to expect a normal pregnancy and birth. I'm still on bed rest, albeit a light one. I still can't go running, can't exercise (no yoga or Pilates, not that I do them anyway), can't lift heavy things, heavy chores, etc. I can do my normal chores like picking up, cooking, sweeping, etc. They don't require much exertion. Air travel with a hematoma is still a question, though.
We have about 9 weeks until we're supposed to go stateside for a few months. Hopefully, we will be able to go. I have to admit that I'm mentally checking out, especially being on bed rest and having to stay close to home and the hospital. I'm doing less so I have more time to think and often, my thoughts turn to the future, wondering if we will go home in July or not. I don't think I really care when we go home, as long as the baby is safe, but I would rather know now than to keep wondering. I will be disappointed if we're advised to stay here but we are consulting with other medical professionals with my company so we will see.
Life is good. It's spring and turning into summer. I love my city best during the spring and summer. The baby is safe. My girls are healthy. I have a good husband. We will see family and friends stateside soon. God is on his throne.
For now, the days slip by "like golden beads on the necklace of the year." I'm thankful.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Happy Mother's Day
It's been so long since I posted last, nearly two months, and I don't want to write a catch-up post but write down my thoughts and reflections.
Soon as I posted last time, we found out we were expecting. It was a surprise and I have to admit, I was very surprised. While I know the mechanics of how I got pregnant (rolling eyes), I still couldn't figure out how it happened. I looked at the calendar and counted, over and over. There was just no way. I finally just decided that God had simply made it happen. We're fine with that.
I have to admit that I was a bit discouraged at first because we were in the thick of completing the endless tasks of language learning, translating Bible stories, memorizing the stories, taping and editing, and uploading for evaluation while under a looming deadline. The thought of battling nausea and fatigue on top of all the responsibilities and deadline was overwhelming. The timing didn't seem that great to me in my finite mind but I was always able to remind myself that His timing is always perfect.
Incredibly, God was very good. I was completing my work on schedule without getting behind. I took naps on the couch at the office when I needed to. I ate a heavy lunch of chicken and veggies to quell the nausea. The nausea was significantly much better this time around than with the girls. I was really only slightly nauseous for 3-4 weeks out of the entire first trimester. I thought maybe it was because I was learning to manage it better but it turned out that we're having a BOY. That would explain a lot. It has definitely been a different pregnancy so far with a boy than with my girls.
I pulled out of the first trimester feeling great only to have a scary experience. A little over a week ago, I walked the half mile to preschool to pick Ava up and walked her home. Half an hour later, I began bleeding heavily and suddenly. I texted my OB while I tried to cope, sending the girls out of the bathroom (as they are wont to follow me into the bathroom where I have an audience while doing my business) when Ava realized what was happening and became alarmed. Greg whisked the girls away. My OB said to come to her office immediately and so we did.
I thought I was having another miscarriage. I teared up and grabbed a hold of myself while readying to go to her office and while riding to the office, tears began rolling down again. This baby was a surprise gift to us. While I knew that God would comfort us perfectly and faithfully, I was just sad at the thought of the baby's chance at life being taken away. But then I began to have hope. I just didn't have a sense of finality. What if the source of the bleeding was something else, something wrong with ME, not the baby? A clot? A cyst?
The ultrasound revealed a beating heart and wriggling baby. I have never once in my life cried in happiness until then. I think maybe it was more from relief. Never has the sight of a baby on ultrasound been more precious than that day. The source of bleeding was found to be placenta previa - or rather, as my OB explained, like placenta previa. She said it's not an official diagnosis before 20 weeks (I was about 14 weeks or soon to be). I was then put on full bed rest for the weekend and then light bed rest for as long as I have placenta previa.
When I think about the ride to the OB's office, I realized that I didn't have that deep conviction that something was wrong. When I had the miscarriage, the first sign was the sudden cessation of nausea and fatigue. I knew deep down that something was wrong. I had no other sign of miscarriage yet. I decided to ignore this (it was my first pregnancy, I had no idea what was it was supposed to be like) and carry on. For a couple of days afterwards, I ignored the niggling feeling while I was having my daily quiet time. I sensed a question being asked of me: what if the baby died? It was a persistent nudge to my spirit to address it so I finally obeyed. I then answered the Lord, "If the baby dies, I will still love you."
After being told that our dear baby had died in utero, I grappled with a huge range of intense emotions. I remembered asking why. Greg once said to me that my asking why was a sign of anger at God and which I swiftly and vehemently told him he was wrong. Asking why is simply humans nature. We always want to know the purpose of things, especially unexpected tragedies and death. We think that knowing the purpose would help us to bear the sorrow. Knowing or not knowing doesn't help; it helps to trust that in everything that God does, He is always good. God was not being malicious calling that sweet baby home.
Comparing the two experiences (bleeding in one pregnancy was a death knell, bleeding in another was simply a symptom), I wonder how much the Holy Spirit informs us what is happening before we have the facts. I knew with the first miscarriage something was wrong but this time around, I had hope. Maybe some would call this mother's instinct but then, who was it that gave us mother's instinct? It makes me think of all the times I'd felt it was a girl or boy and I'd been right every time but I digress.
Since having the diagnosis of placenta previa (I am so thankful to have that instead of a miscarriage!), God has been enveloping my heart and mind with peace. What a different response and outcome in this pregnancy. I can only marvel at the goodness of God in good times and sad times.
Today's Mother's Day. I think of how we could have lost this little one and this day would have been a sad day indeed. It made me think of I spent my first Mother's Day with empty arms. Some may argue that you're not a mother unless you have a living child but, having lost one and having three living ones, I can definitely say that you're a mother the minute you become pregnant because you're bonded to the baby regardless of the outcome. Try disagreeing with me and you will probably not get a gracious response from me but a punch to the nose. I'm just saying.
My heart is full. I have an awesome husband who is good to me and good for me. I have two lovely girls and a little boy on the way. I am thankful for the one in heaven, too. I definitely have an abundant life. I am thinking of others who have lost their babies or struggle with infertility.
Happy Mother's Day.
Soon as I posted last time, we found out we were expecting. It was a surprise and I have to admit, I was very surprised. While I know the mechanics of how I got pregnant (rolling eyes), I still couldn't figure out how it happened. I looked at the calendar and counted, over and over. There was just no way. I finally just decided that God had simply made it happen. We're fine with that.
I have to admit that I was a bit discouraged at first because we were in the thick of completing the endless tasks of language learning, translating Bible stories, memorizing the stories, taping and editing, and uploading for evaluation while under a looming deadline. The thought of battling nausea and fatigue on top of all the responsibilities and deadline was overwhelming. The timing didn't seem that great to me in my finite mind but I was always able to remind myself that His timing is always perfect.
Incredibly, God was very good. I was completing my work on schedule without getting behind. I took naps on the couch at the office when I needed to. I ate a heavy lunch of chicken and veggies to quell the nausea. The nausea was significantly much better this time around than with the girls. I was really only slightly nauseous for 3-4 weeks out of the entire first trimester. I thought maybe it was because I was learning to manage it better but it turned out that we're having a BOY. That would explain a lot. It has definitely been a different pregnancy so far with a boy than with my girls.
I pulled out of the first trimester feeling great only to have a scary experience. A little over a week ago, I walked the half mile to preschool to pick Ava up and walked her home. Half an hour later, I began bleeding heavily and suddenly. I texted my OB while I tried to cope, sending the girls out of the bathroom (as they are wont to follow me into the bathroom where I have an audience while doing my business) when Ava realized what was happening and became alarmed. Greg whisked the girls away. My OB said to come to her office immediately and so we did.
I thought I was having another miscarriage. I teared up and grabbed a hold of myself while readying to go to her office and while riding to the office, tears began rolling down again. This baby was a surprise gift to us. While I knew that God would comfort us perfectly and faithfully, I was just sad at the thought of the baby's chance at life being taken away. But then I began to have hope. I just didn't have a sense of finality. What if the source of the bleeding was something else, something wrong with ME, not the baby? A clot? A cyst?
The ultrasound revealed a beating heart and wriggling baby. I have never once in my life cried in happiness until then. I think maybe it was more from relief. Never has the sight of a baby on ultrasound been more precious than that day. The source of bleeding was found to be placenta previa - or rather, as my OB explained, like placenta previa. She said it's not an official diagnosis before 20 weeks (I was about 14 weeks or soon to be). I was then put on full bed rest for the weekend and then light bed rest for as long as I have placenta previa.
When I think about the ride to the OB's office, I realized that I didn't have that deep conviction that something was wrong. When I had the miscarriage, the first sign was the sudden cessation of nausea and fatigue. I knew deep down that something was wrong. I had no other sign of miscarriage yet. I decided to ignore this (it was my first pregnancy, I had no idea what was it was supposed to be like) and carry on. For a couple of days afterwards, I ignored the niggling feeling while I was having my daily quiet time. I sensed a question being asked of me: what if the baby died? It was a persistent nudge to my spirit to address it so I finally obeyed. I then answered the Lord, "If the baby dies, I will still love you."
After being told that our dear baby had died in utero, I grappled with a huge range of intense emotions. I remembered asking why. Greg once said to me that my asking why was a sign of anger at God and which I swiftly and vehemently told him he was wrong. Asking why is simply humans nature. We always want to know the purpose of things, especially unexpected tragedies and death. We think that knowing the purpose would help us to bear the sorrow. Knowing or not knowing doesn't help; it helps to trust that in everything that God does, He is always good. God was not being malicious calling that sweet baby home.
Comparing the two experiences (bleeding in one pregnancy was a death knell, bleeding in another was simply a symptom), I wonder how much the Holy Spirit informs us what is happening before we have the facts. I knew with the first miscarriage something was wrong but this time around, I had hope. Maybe some would call this mother's instinct but then, who was it that gave us mother's instinct? It makes me think of all the times I'd felt it was a girl or boy and I'd been right every time but I digress.
Since having the diagnosis of placenta previa (I am so thankful to have that instead of a miscarriage!), God has been enveloping my heart and mind with peace. What a different response and outcome in this pregnancy. I can only marvel at the goodness of God in good times and sad times.
Today's Mother's Day. I think of how we could have lost this little one and this day would have been a sad day indeed. It made me think of I spent my first Mother's Day with empty arms. Some may argue that you're not a mother unless you have a living child but, having lost one and having three living ones, I can definitely say that you're a mother the minute you become pregnant because you're bonded to the baby regardless of the outcome. Try disagreeing with me and you will probably not get a gracious response from me but a punch to the nose. I'm just saying.
My heart is full. I have an awesome husband who is good to me and good for me. I have two lovely girls and a little boy on the way. I am thankful for the one in heaven, too. I definitely have an abundant life. I am thinking of others who have lost their babies or struggle with infertility.
Happy Mother's Day.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
A Glimmer Of an Answer
I spoke about the last 8 months of spiritual decline in my last post and have continued to think about it as I am not totally out of the woods yet. What I didn't mention in that post was that prior to our escape to the Black Sea, I was gripped with a terrible desire to escape it all for a weekend away... alone. I started to plan a trip, a spiritual retreat in solitude while G watched the girls and then G would get his turn.
It was my wise friend that I mentioned in my last post who dissuaded me against it. Her reasoning: when you and G married, you became one flesh. You are suffering together in one flesh; therefore, you need to retreat and pray together as one flesh. Go together. She was right. We took her advice for G and I to retreat together for a day. It was seriously the best thing for G and I do it together. It made all the difference in the world and solidified our marriage even more.
With comments from different people here and there, I recently came to the realization that I was simply stressed and that the desire to escape was a symptom of chronic stress for the last 8 months. I began to piece together what started it and why it has continued. It was the cause of the spiritual malaise I suffered. I had blamed myself for the spiritual dryness, searching for sin, trying to repent, struggling against pessimism and complaining. It was stress that had driven me into the spiritual dryness, I am ashamed to admit. Maybe it doesn't happen to other people but it has happened and continue to happen to me.
The stress was caused by the language study workload combined with the end of our term looming nearer and nearer. We cannot go home until we have completed our language requirements. I won't go into detail about it all because I would essentially be complaining. Workload + deadline = stress. That's simple enough. Compound that with the relentless day in and day out of parenting, chores, and living in a foreign culture...and the lack of a real church fellowship.
There's a light at the end of the tunnel because we're nearly finished. I hope to finish by the end of May, by God's mercy and grace. Maybe then, I will pull out of the spiritual dryness. I look forward to going stateside, to be with friends and people who speak truth and shine with Jesus' light, to worship with a church.
God is faithful, though, in the meantime. I feel like my faith has withered down to a spark and that my view of him have grown dim and cloudy. I asked for a better vision of him and recently through a conversation with someone about spiritual warfare, chapter 10 of the book of Daniel popped into my head (by the Holy Spirit, no doubt) about the angel who was detained by spiritual warfare for three weeks before coming to Daniel. I looked it up and was struck by what I read. What I forgot about Daniel 10 was that he had a terrifying vision of the pre-incarnate Jesus:
I was standing on the bank of the great river (that is, Tigris) I lifted up my eyes and looked, and behold, a man clothed in linen, with a belt of fine gold from Uphaz around his waist. His body was like beryl, his face like the appearance of lightning, his eyes like flaming torches, his arms and legs lil the gleam of burnished bronze, and the sound of his words like the sound of a multitude. And I, Daniel, alone saw the vision... and no strength was left in me. My radiant appearance was fearfully changed and I retained no strength. Then I heard the sound of his words, and as I heard the sound of his words, I fell on my face in deep sleep with my face to the ground.
Daniel went into a dead faint at the sight and sound of the terrifying pre-incarnate Jesus. Glory! John Gill, one of my favorite biblical scholars, expanded this description of the pre-incarnate Jesus as terrifying, majestic, awful, full of strength, whose brilliance denotes knowledge and truth, peace, joy, grace and glory, his eyes of fire showing omniscience, and so forth. The expanded description only served to further fan the flames of glory. He is the "Prince of angels, the first of chief princes, the Head of all principality and power, superior to angels in nature, nature, office, wisdom, and strength, the General and Lord of hosts of heaven and earth." This is the Commander of the Lord's hosts -- imagine the hosts of angels, hundreds upon thousands, military might. He wages battle even now as his enemies have not yet been put under his feet. Jesus is mighty, strength itself. He is glorious and terrifying.
Jesus is not the mild homeboy, your buddy who pats your back in sympathy when you're struggling. He is Lord and the demons fear him. He fights in power and glory. This is the vision of Jesus that I am treasuring in my heart right now. It strengthens me, bolsters me, propels me onward.
And it takes my eyes of myself and my woes onto my glorious Jesus. That's how it ought to be.
It was my wise friend that I mentioned in my last post who dissuaded me against it. Her reasoning: when you and G married, you became one flesh. You are suffering together in one flesh; therefore, you need to retreat and pray together as one flesh. Go together. She was right. We took her advice for G and I to retreat together for a day. It was seriously the best thing for G and I do it together. It made all the difference in the world and solidified our marriage even more.
With comments from different people here and there, I recently came to the realization that I was simply stressed and that the desire to escape was a symptom of chronic stress for the last 8 months. I began to piece together what started it and why it has continued. It was the cause of the spiritual malaise I suffered. I had blamed myself for the spiritual dryness, searching for sin, trying to repent, struggling against pessimism and complaining. It was stress that had driven me into the spiritual dryness, I am ashamed to admit. Maybe it doesn't happen to other people but it has happened and continue to happen to me.
The stress was caused by the language study workload combined with the end of our term looming nearer and nearer. We cannot go home until we have completed our language requirements. I won't go into detail about it all because I would essentially be complaining. Workload + deadline = stress. That's simple enough. Compound that with the relentless day in and day out of parenting, chores, and living in a foreign culture...and the lack of a real church fellowship.
There's a light at the end of the tunnel because we're nearly finished. I hope to finish by the end of May, by God's mercy and grace. Maybe then, I will pull out of the spiritual dryness. I look forward to going stateside, to be with friends and people who speak truth and shine with Jesus' light, to worship with a church.
God is faithful, though, in the meantime. I feel like my faith has withered down to a spark and that my view of him have grown dim and cloudy. I asked for a better vision of him and recently through a conversation with someone about spiritual warfare, chapter 10 of the book of Daniel popped into my head (by the Holy Spirit, no doubt) about the angel who was detained by spiritual warfare for three weeks before coming to Daniel. I looked it up and was struck by what I read. What I forgot about Daniel 10 was that he had a terrifying vision of the pre-incarnate Jesus:
I was standing on the bank of the great river (that is, Tigris) I lifted up my eyes and looked, and behold, a man clothed in linen, with a belt of fine gold from Uphaz around his waist. His body was like beryl, his face like the appearance of lightning, his eyes like flaming torches, his arms and legs lil the gleam of burnished bronze, and the sound of his words like the sound of a multitude. And I, Daniel, alone saw the vision... and no strength was left in me. My radiant appearance was fearfully changed and I retained no strength. Then I heard the sound of his words, and as I heard the sound of his words, I fell on my face in deep sleep with my face to the ground.
Daniel went into a dead faint at the sight and sound of the terrifying pre-incarnate Jesus. Glory! John Gill, one of my favorite biblical scholars, expanded this description of the pre-incarnate Jesus as terrifying, majestic, awful, full of strength, whose brilliance denotes knowledge and truth, peace, joy, grace and glory, his eyes of fire showing omniscience, and so forth. The expanded description only served to further fan the flames of glory. He is the "Prince of angels, the first of chief princes, the Head of all principality and power, superior to angels in nature, nature, office, wisdom, and strength, the General and Lord of hosts of heaven and earth." This is the Commander of the Lord's hosts -- imagine the hosts of angels, hundreds upon thousands, military might. He wages battle even now as his enemies have not yet been put under his feet. Jesus is mighty, strength itself. He is glorious and terrifying.
Jesus is not the mild homeboy, your buddy who pats your back in sympathy when you're struggling. He is Lord and the demons fear him. He fights in power and glory. This is the vision of Jesus that I am treasuring in my heart right now. It strengthens me, bolsters me, propels me onward.
And it takes my eyes of myself and my woes onto my glorious Jesus. That's how it ought to be.
Monday, February 24, 2014
I Have No Answers
Things have been hard the last 8 months. Last week, I was in tears talking to my friend at a busy Starbucks, sitting and shivering outside in the cold at a wrought-iron patio table. She was sipping hot tea and I told her, "I feel as if God is relentlessly smashing and crushing me and all I can do in response is hold out my arms and say, 'hold me, hold me.'" The last 8 months had led me to this rock bottom confession to my friend.
I don't know how to describe it. I was just....declining spiritually. Struggling. Even my friend noticed this over the last several months. I was in a constant state of being overwhelmed and stressed. I felt as if I was stumbling, trying to keep up with everything that was happening, the worries I was harboring in my heart, burning with resentment against my organization who I felt had put a millstone around my neck and thrown me out to sea to drown (which is not true), frustrated with being quick to sin, in a constant storm of pessimism and complaining. The last 8 months pushed me relentlessly to the point where I was reaching the very end of me and I was quivering at the sight of beyond.
I know I have this pattern of rubbing a genie lamp, trying to earn rewards from God. I have a habit of forgetting what grace means. When G lost his job, I kept feeling that if we were super diligent in honoring God with our money, God would be pleased and give G a new job. As a friend reminded me, that's not what grace is. I keep trying hard to be perfect with my quiet time, being in prayer and in the Word, thinking that God will give me relief from this mounting pressure inside of me. I knew I could not control my circumstances but I could at least control the state of my spirit by clinging to God. I tried to think of what sin could've caused me to fall into such a spiritual malaise and tried to repent, not sure what the sin was. I got rid of possible idols in my life (cutting out TV, movies, etc) that could be filling me up with happiness before I go to God. I had periods of time, as long as a few weeks, when I didn't have my quiet time, didn't pray or read. I had periods of time when I was regular with it. I recently had days when I couldn't even read the Word. It was as if the Bible was in another language. I had no comprehension. My prayers were rambling and jumbled, half-hearted. I couldn't see anything clearly. I couldn't remember anything about who God was. I was losing sight of everything.
I'm not so sure that all this effort (or works?) to earn relief or joy or peace is the response God wants. If God changes my circumstances to give me relief, it's grace. If He supplies strength, it's grace. If He chooses to bring me out of this spiritual dryness, it's grace. I think, more than anything, God wants me to believe Him and continue to believe in spite of all the discouragement, despair, and setbacks. More than anything, He wants my faith.
When I choked back my tears of despair at Starbucks, my friend looked at me. She made me an offer that G and I could not refuse. She and her family would watch our girls so we could get away from the city to meet God at the Black Sea. It didn't sound so great because I was shivering in the cold when she made the offer and the thought of spending the day at the windy Black Sea wasn't appealing.
"I don't need to get away from the city. It's not bothering me," I said. "It bothers you more than you think. You won't know until you get away," my wise friend countered.
So, G and I went. It was a lovely, dark, wintry afternoon...a moody day that reminded me of a Charlotte Bronte novel. We sat on the bluff above the beach, bundled up in blankets, and watched the roaring waves roll in and out, constant and dependable, as they have always done for ages past. The simplicity of the tree-covered bluffs, the wide beach, the waves crashing far out from shore, the dark gray clouds over the dark gray water, some birds flying by periodically presented a picture of peace. We were not bombarded with stimulus of the city, kids, computers, phones, guests, chores. Stress rolled away. We finally began to pray together and met God in a sweet way, with confession and supplication. Contentment filled us and we fell strangely silent, His Spirit confirming in our spirits that He had heard and we need say no more but to rest in Him while we gazed on His beautiful, wild creation. Nature is definitely meant to be soothing to our souls, as necessary as breath is to the body.
Maybe one day, I can better articulate why I think believing is more important than doing in your spiritual dryness and hard times. For now, I'm getting through one day at a time, waiting for God.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Thailand 2
A new blog post is definitely due. It's been a while. For some reason, I thought I'd already posted about Thanksgiving. I'll do a catch-up and then tell about our vacation in more detail.
Well, I really did not get into the holiday spirit at all. When fall rolled around, I forced myself to go and buy a pumpkin. I usually love pumpkin but I had to make myself carve the pumpkin open and roast it in the oven. I don't think I baked anything with pumpkin at all but I did make a delicious curried pumpkin soup with coconut milk. Man, I slurped on that all day long. Otherwise, there is still frozen pumpkin in my freezer and I'm tempted to toss it out.
Then Thanksgiving rolled around. I was less enthused. It was a good celebration with fellow American expats (36 total, 11 of that number were children). I did not have a spirit of thanksgiving.
The day after Thanksgiving, I looked at my calendar and realized I would be at home only 13 days out of the whole month of December. I became even less enthused about Christmas. I made myself drag out the footlocker of Christmas decorations and I put up some decorations in the living room. I didn't plan on putting up a tree. That's right, folks, no tree. I was not excited about anything. G and I agreed not to exchange gifts since we were taking a solo vacation later on in the month and I bought three gifts for each girl in one shopping trip.
Just a few days into December, I went on a trip out to the eastern part of the country, leaving G behind with the girls who were sick. I spent time with my sisters there, encouraging them and sharing stories from the Word. I had so much fun with them, discussing some deep things, wrestling over challenging issues, and doing ordinary things like hanging out at the mall watching ice skaters on the ice rink. The ladies there encouraged me tremendously and it helped me to remember why we came overseas at all. While I was gone, G put up the tree with the lights, strings of silver balls streaming around the tree, and some red ball ornaments. Nothing else. It was a nice surprise.
Soon after returning from the trip, I was knocked down with a horrific cold accompanied by fever and chills, just days before leaving for our vacation. G and I agreed that he would take care of everything while I hunkered down in bed and slept for 4 days so I could get well quicker before vacation. It worked. I was able to pack the day before we flew out and all that lingered from the cold was a bit of a runny nose that was slowly drying up.
We got bumped from our flight to Thailand to visit G's parents. Bumped. The flight had been overbooked. It was a 8pm flight and we would have landed in Bangkok the follow morning and be in Chiangmai by lunchtime. Would've been easy peasy, but no...no, we were bumped. The next flight was at 1 am. I won't go into all the gory details because it's a long story but let me tell you what "stand by" means here in Turkey. It means you have your tickets booked for the next flight but you can go to the gate of the flight from which you were bumped. They load everyone on the plane and if they see an empty seat (say someone has missed his connecting flight), you might get it. It doesn't work like in America when airliners ask passengers to volunteer and give up their seats and receive vouchers. Anyway, of course the flight was full and we watched the plane take off. We were compensated very well: a big wad of cash that is going to pay for a new pair of hearing aids, free pass to the VIP lounge where we could eat for free and rest in comfort (I got both girls to sleep on the couches), and they took care of our connecting flight in Bangkok to Chiangmai, which we insisted on, because obviously, we missed our original connecting flight.
Anyway, we arrived in Chiagmai at 11pm the next night, tired but happy. It was so wonderful to see G's parents. We got over jet lag and did some fun things like going to an elephant camp one day and a zoo called Night Safari the next. The girls had a blast.
An elephant performed a trick by putting a hat on my head (as they did to John, too).
We saw a group of baby elephants walking by and the trainers called us over and had A sit on one elephant's knee. I was surprised that she was willing to do it. Then one elephant started sucking on G's face with his trunk and he acted unfazed by it, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world. The trainers called me over to stand with them and I said no at first and then relented. John was taking a picture and a trainer snuck his elephant's trunk to my face and surprised me. I began laughing hysterically out of nervousness.
I was surprised by the the elephant's skin. I knew it would be rough but it was also bristly with hair. They seem like sweet, gentle giants and they are well fed and taken care of. They do tricks during a show like paint pictures, kick a soccer ball while another guards the goal, pick up logs, throw darts at balloons, etc. It was a nice day, especially to help get over jet lag. Poor D was falling asleep at random times during the day while we went sightseeing and such.
Then we went to Night Safari. We did a walking tour of the zoo, looking at various animals. Then we had lunch next to a floor to ceiling glass wall through which we could watch zebras and giraffes eat their lunch. Then A fed some giraffes outside the restaurant, on a raised platform so we were level with their heads.
Actually, it was Christmas Day when we went to Night Safari. We really enjoyed a different Christmas day in warm sunshine, animals, and feeding a baby tiger. G's parents were so good to us, spoiling us and showing us around. Then they were especially good to us by letting us leave the girls with them and going on a shot trip, just the two of us.
Went to Phuket in southern Thailand where it was warm enough to swim. Phuket has a reputation of being a party town but we got a tip that Karon Beach had a more family atmosphere. We arrived at our hotel that afternoon and walked around, sightseeing and doing a bit of shopping. We bought a tour package to the Phi Phi Islands (sounds like Pee Pee Islands - A laughed at the name later when we told her where we were). Then the next day was nothing but relaxing on the beach and then out to eat at night. The day after was when we went to Phi Phi Islands.
We got on the a high-speed boat with a group of 30 people. The ride out to the islands was fast and very rough and pretty soon, we were all throughly drenched and dripping from the waves splashing over the boat. I was covered with gooseflesh by the time we arrived to the first island. And it was so gorgeous. Like Hollywood-movie-gorgeous.
We got off the boat to explore the island and saw some amazing views. Much to my regret, I left my phone on the boat and I wish I could've taken pictures of the island as we walked through it to the other side. The sand was white, the foliage beautiful, the cliffs rugged, and the water...you can see for yourself in the pictures. Just breathtakingly lovely. Apparently, the movie The Beach with Leonardo DiCaprio was filmed here. I have never seen the movie, though.
We left the first island and went to another island where there were monkeys. We didn't disembark and explore this one but we could see the monkeys hanging out on the beach. They were fat, presumably from tourists tossing treats onto the beach for them to eat.
It was getting close to lunchtime so we stopped close to the island where we would lunch and we went snorkeling on the coral reefs. It'd been a long time since I'd been on the reefs. This reef wasn't as colorful as others I have seen but the fish were. Everything underwater always appear closer and larger than it really is when you're snorkeling so it gave me the heebie jeebies when I saw an eel slithering in the reef. Too close for my comfort but it was probably far enough.
Lunch was a simple affair. It was a buffet. We ate and then relaxed on the sand for a few minutes before being shepherded onto the boat for the final island. It was a tiny island with a few huts selling ice cream and rental lounge chairs and umbrellas. We spent an hour and half there, dozing, and then headed back to Phuket.
It was a wonderful day.
And the day after the island tour, we just stayed on the beach all. day. long. We didn't even go in for lunch. Greg sketched, dozed, and relaxed. I started and finished Unbroken in one sitting. I can't remember the last time I did that. It was a great book, a true story about a courageous POW in the Pacific war theater of WWII.
In the picture above, there were mountains dropping into the sea to the right and left. For a girl who grew up going to the beaches in a state flat as a pancake, the view of tropical mountains rising out of the green-blue sea is absolutely breathtaking and exotic.
We did some things like get mani/pedi (in my case), fish spa (G, see pictures below), get Thai massages (those hurt!), eat a lot, and shop. We walked through a beautiful Swedish resort so large that you felt like you were on an island all by yourself. It looked terribly expensive and we got lost walking around in the dense tropical foliage, pools, low lighting, cabins, etc. We managed to get out of the resort and find our way back to our hotel.
We spent a couple more days back in Chiangmai with G's parents. We saw a Thai silk place where they grow silkworms and spin, weave, and dye their own silk. They had a shop attached where they sold yards of gorgeous Thai silk, various garments, beautiful scarves, household items (like bedding), etc. I could've spent hours in that store.
Then, sadly, it was the end of our stay. We thoroughly enjoyed the break from the Turkish culture, the warm and sunny climate, the laid-back Thai culture, the various food (lots of American-style food in Chiangmai and we picked up American treats that are unavailable in Turkey), G's parents' company and their help in caring and entertaining the girls. I became exceedingly lazy by the end of vacation.
We arrived at the Chiangmai airport at 5:30am (groan) on New Year's Day to catch our flight and picked up Starbucks mugs in the Bangkok airport. We don't collect Starbucks mugs from different countries but we had a gift card from G's parents so we decided to pick up a Chiangmai cup, Phuket cup, and Bangkok cup. We didn't spend any time in Bangkok this trip but I wanted the mug because I enjoyed my time in Bangkok the last trip. The Phuket mug is our favorite and we fight over who's going to drink coffee out of it each morning. We have really great memories and I'm sad that we may never go back there again.
That's it, folks. Sorry if you see typos, grammar mistakes, any sentences that may end abruptly, run-on sentences, etc. I did a perfunctory once-over to edit but no finessing. It's 10 pm and off to bed I go.
Well, I really did not get into the holiday spirit at all. When fall rolled around, I forced myself to go and buy a pumpkin. I usually love pumpkin but I had to make myself carve the pumpkin open and roast it in the oven. I don't think I baked anything with pumpkin at all but I did make a delicious curried pumpkin soup with coconut milk. Man, I slurped on that all day long. Otherwise, there is still frozen pumpkin in my freezer and I'm tempted to toss it out.
Then Thanksgiving rolled around. I was less enthused. It was a good celebration with fellow American expats (36 total, 11 of that number were children). I did not have a spirit of thanksgiving.
The day after Thanksgiving, I looked at my calendar and realized I would be at home only 13 days out of the whole month of December. I became even less enthused about Christmas. I made myself drag out the footlocker of Christmas decorations and I put up some decorations in the living room. I didn't plan on putting up a tree. That's right, folks, no tree. I was not excited about anything. G and I agreed not to exchange gifts since we were taking a solo vacation later on in the month and I bought three gifts for each girl in one shopping trip.
Just a few days into December, I went on a trip out to the eastern part of the country, leaving G behind with the girls who were sick. I spent time with my sisters there, encouraging them and sharing stories from the Word. I had so much fun with them, discussing some deep things, wrestling over challenging issues, and doing ordinary things like hanging out at the mall watching ice skaters on the ice rink. The ladies there encouraged me tremendously and it helped me to remember why we came overseas at all. While I was gone, G put up the tree with the lights, strings of silver balls streaming around the tree, and some red ball ornaments. Nothing else. It was a nice surprise.
Soon after returning from the trip, I was knocked down with a horrific cold accompanied by fever and chills, just days before leaving for our vacation. G and I agreed that he would take care of everything while I hunkered down in bed and slept for 4 days so I could get well quicker before vacation. It worked. I was able to pack the day before we flew out and all that lingered from the cold was a bit of a runny nose that was slowly drying up.
We got bumped from our flight to Thailand to visit G's parents. Bumped. The flight had been overbooked. It was a 8pm flight and we would have landed in Bangkok the follow morning and be in Chiangmai by lunchtime. Would've been easy peasy, but no...no, we were bumped. The next flight was at 1 am. I won't go into all the gory details because it's a long story but let me tell you what "stand by" means here in Turkey. It means you have your tickets booked for the next flight but you can go to the gate of the flight from which you were bumped. They load everyone on the plane and if they see an empty seat (say someone has missed his connecting flight), you might get it. It doesn't work like in America when airliners ask passengers to volunteer and give up their seats and receive vouchers. Anyway, of course the flight was full and we watched the plane take off. We were compensated very well: a big wad of cash that is going to pay for a new pair of hearing aids, free pass to the VIP lounge where we could eat for free and rest in comfort (I got both girls to sleep on the couches), and they took care of our connecting flight in Bangkok to Chiangmai, which we insisted on, because obviously, we missed our original connecting flight.
Anyway, we arrived in Chiagmai at 11pm the next night, tired but happy. It was so wonderful to see G's parents. We got over jet lag and did some fun things like going to an elephant camp one day and a zoo called Night Safari the next. The girls had a blast.
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| Nonna and the girls - you can't ever get the girls to BOTH look at the camera |
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| Day after arriving - so happy! |
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| Wide awake in the middle of the night from jet lag and playing |
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| Meeting a couple of elephants. I was laughing nervously. A had just fed an elephant. |
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| Cleaning service |
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| A was brave enough to sit on an elephant knee while I laughed hysterically as another "kissed" me. |
I was surprised by the the elephant's skin. I knew it would be rough but it was also bristly with hair. They seem like sweet, gentle giants and they are well fed and taken care of. They do tricks during a show like paint pictures, kick a soccer ball while another guards the goal, pick up logs, throw darts at balloons, etc. It was a nice day, especially to help get over jet lag. Poor D was falling asleep at random times during the day while we went sightseeing and such.
Then we went to Night Safari. We did a walking tour of the zoo, looking at various animals. Then we had lunch next to a floor to ceiling glass wall through which we could watch zebras and giraffes eat their lunch. Then A fed some giraffes outside the restaurant, on a raised platform so we were level with their heads.
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| Pop and D, after the safari ride around the zoo |
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| Baby giraffe at the restaurant |
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| On the safari ride around the zoo and animals came up to our train and ate from our hands or what we threw out |
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| D was so brave watching a huge giraffe come up and eat from her mommy's hand |
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| At the end our time at the zoo, we fed a baby tiger. Yeah, a baby tiger. Whoo. |
Went to Phuket in southern Thailand where it was warm enough to swim. Phuket has a reputation of being a party town but we got a tip that Karon Beach had a more family atmosphere. We arrived at our hotel that afternoon and walked around, sightseeing and doing a bit of shopping. We bought a tour package to the Phi Phi Islands (sounds like Pee Pee Islands - A laughed at the name later when we told her where we were). Then the next day was nothing but relaxing on the beach and then out to eat at night. The day after was when we went to Phi Phi Islands.
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| The harbor where we got on the boat to Phi Phi Island |
We got on the a high-speed boat with a group of 30 people. The ride out to the islands was fast and very rough and pretty soon, we were all throughly drenched and dripping from the waves splashing over the boat. I was covered with gooseflesh by the time we arrived to the first island. And it was so gorgeous. Like Hollywood-movie-gorgeous.
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| We arrived! Soaking wet but happy! |
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| Pictures don't do this justice - can you see the little boat? |
We got off the boat to explore the island and saw some amazing views. Much to my regret, I left my phone on the boat and I wish I could've taken pictures of the island as we walked through it to the other side. The sand was white, the foliage beautiful, the cliffs rugged, and the water...you can see for yourself in the pictures. Just breathtakingly lovely. Apparently, the movie The Beach with Leonardo DiCaprio was filmed here. I have never seen the movie, though.
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| A cave they said was used by pirates hundred years ago |
We left the first island and went to another island where there were monkeys. We didn't disembark and explore this one but we could see the monkeys hanging out on the beach. They were fat, presumably from tourists tossing treats onto the beach for them to eat.
It was getting close to lunchtime so we stopped close to the island where we would lunch and we went snorkeling on the coral reefs. It'd been a long time since I'd been on the reefs. This reef wasn't as colorful as others I have seen but the fish were. Everything underwater always appear closer and larger than it really is when you're snorkeling so it gave me the heebie jeebies when I saw an eel slithering in the reef. Too close for my comfort but it was probably far enough.
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| Think G would have married me if he'd met me like this the first time? |
Lunch was a simple affair. It was a buffet. We ate and then relaxed on the sand for a few minutes before being shepherded onto the boat for the final island. It was a tiny island with a few huts selling ice cream and rental lounge chairs and umbrellas. We spent an hour and half there, dozing, and then headed back to Phuket.
It was a wonderful day.
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| Island where we lunched and relaxed |
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| Panoramic of the above picture |
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| Tiniest crab I have ever seen, on that final island |
And the day after the island tour, we just stayed on the beach all. day. long. We didn't even go in for lunch. Greg sketched, dozed, and relaxed. I started and finished Unbroken in one sitting. I can't remember the last time I did that. It was a great book, a true story about a courageous POW in the Pacific war theater of WWII.
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| Vegging on the beach with a book. I could have stayed there for weeks and weeks and.... |
We did some things like get mani/pedi (in my case), fish spa (G, see pictures below), get Thai massages (those hurt!), eat a lot, and shop. We walked through a beautiful Swedish resort so large that you felt like you were on an island all by yourself. It looked terribly expensive and we got lost walking around in the dense tropical foliage, pools, low lighting, cabins, etc. We managed to get out of the resort and find our way back to our hotel.
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| Ick - I wasn't brave enough |
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| Supposedly eating dead skin off |
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| Thai silk |
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| Riding a luggage cart at the airport in Bangkok on the way back to Turkey |
That's it, folks. Sorry if you see typos, grammar mistakes, any sentences that may end abruptly, run-on sentences, etc. I did a perfunctory once-over to edit but no finessing. It's 10 pm and off to bed I go.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Race Or Joke?
A few posts back, I wrote that I'd started running again and planned to run a race this month, hoping a public announcement will keep me accountable. Well, I am here to say that I followed through with a 10k (6.2 miles).
The intercontinental race had been newly formulated to include a 10k, in addition to the 8k (5 miles), 15k (9 miles), and 42k (26 miles). The 8k is a fun run, not timed; in other words, it's a walk. The course starts on the Asian side, where we live, and continues over the bridge to the European side, the only race course in the world to span two continents. The suspension bridge with its spectacular view of the strait is the biggest draw of the 8k participants and the race is the only time of the year that people are allowed to walk on the bridge. About 80,000 people were in the 8k and 20,000 in the 10, 15, 42k. The 8k started half hour after the others.
Side note: In a previous post, I said I tried to sign up for the 10k originally but it was full so I signed up for the 8k instead. A friend told me that the race is so lax that I could run the 10k anyway. No one would be checking my racing bib (different colors for each race). Sure enough, she was right. No one was checking so I was able to run the 10k.
The day was sunny and about 50 degrees so I had on running tights and running jacket (which I took off later, even though I was alternated between hot and cold throughout the race) over a short-sleeve shirt, anticipating cold winds at the bridge. I arrived with four friends and got separated from them in the crush. It was chaotic, to the say the least. After searching high and low for them and dealing with the disappointment at the prospect of running without a friend, I lined up for the 10k, praying that I would find my friends along the race. The 15k and 42k participants were lined up ahead, closer to the bridge, while the 10k was higher up the hill so I could see down the hill and watched the huge mass spill over the starting line and up the bridge. After that group was mostly gone, we started 20 minutes later.
To say the race was enormous and therefore a madhouse is to make an understatement. While there were many competitive runners in the 10k, there were also a great deal of walkers. And bystanders. I dodged and weaved around the walkers leading up to the bridge but as soon as I arrived on the bridge, I began to see people at a standstill in groups....in the middle of the course. Like I said, people just wanted to be on the bridge. They were taking photos of themselves with the view behind them, chatting with one another. People were walking in all directions, even towards the starting line. I encountered people walking shoulder to shoulder in a line across the course with no way for anyone to run past. I spied a small opening and gently shoved a man aside so I could run past. It was just chaos and I was aghast. I was told to expect this but it still didn't stop the surprise and subsequent rise of irritation in me. I kept thinking, this race is a joke, I'll never do this again.
Once I got across the bridge, the chaos lessened and thinned out. People remained on the bridge and mostly runners now surrounded me, although many walked later on in the race so I continued to dodge and weave. I was happy to get off the bridge. I was expecting to enjoy running across the bridge but it wasn't exhilarating in itself. It didn't strike me as surreal to be crossing from one continent to another on foot. I was simply running a race, with some glimpses of the same view I've seen many times from the comfort of a car.
The course wound from the bridge, uphill on the highway, down an off-ramp and then up another hill. I ran halfway up this hill (the third, the steepest, on the course so I was already feeling the hills) and losing my breath, I stopped to walk for about a minute. I spied the top of the hill which inspired me to run the rest of the way up and as I did so, I approached a redheaded woman from behind who was walking, fatigued. I thought I recognized her but I ran a bit past her to see her face for confirmation, said hi, and began to drag her along. She's a friend of mine, also a co-worker who lives in another city, who had come to my city for the race. I didn't know this but she had a goal to finish the 10k in 1:15:00 and apparently, as she told me later, my dragging her along and running together helped her to achieve her goal. We ran together at the same pace (slow) and finished together in 1:13:00. Except for a one-minute walk up a hill, I was happy that I ran the entire race, even though I wanted to stop and walk so many times but having a running buddy kept me motivated. I was especially happy to have a buddy to run with - the Father had answered my prayers with this girl, not the friends that I arrived with.
Beside the bridge fiasco, I had fun running the race :-). Races are fun with the energy and excitement and crossing the finish line is exhilarating. No one was there to cheer me at the finishing line but maybe next time G and the girls can be there.
(pictures from the Internet):
I'm pretty sore right now. I'd fallen behind on my training schedule, sidelined with a stomach bug for a week and subsequent 2-mile rut with leaden legs for a week or two. I broke out of the rut by changing my route a week before the race and jumped from 2 miles to 4 miles, which was just two days prior to the race. The 2-mile jump to 6 miles on race day put a strain on my ITB (illiotibial band), my old nemesis, so I had some pain afterward. I've been working on my ITB so I don't think I have an injury. I guess the 4-mile increase in 1.5 week (from 2 to 6) is enough to bother a less experienced runner like me and I was probably unwise to run the 10k but I was stubborn :-)
Maybe next time, I can work on my speed and run a 10k in 60 minutes.
The intercontinental race had been newly formulated to include a 10k, in addition to the 8k (5 miles), 15k (9 miles), and 42k (26 miles). The 8k is a fun run, not timed; in other words, it's a walk. The course starts on the Asian side, where we live, and continues over the bridge to the European side, the only race course in the world to span two continents. The suspension bridge with its spectacular view of the strait is the biggest draw of the 8k participants and the race is the only time of the year that people are allowed to walk on the bridge. About 80,000 people were in the 8k and 20,000 in the 10, 15, 42k. The 8k started half hour after the others.
Side note: In a previous post, I said I tried to sign up for the 10k originally but it was full so I signed up for the 8k instead. A friend told me that the race is so lax that I could run the 10k anyway. No one would be checking my racing bib (different colors for each race). Sure enough, she was right. No one was checking so I was able to run the 10k.
The day was sunny and about 50 degrees so I had on running tights and running jacket (which I took off later, even though I was alternated between hot and cold throughout the race) over a short-sleeve shirt, anticipating cold winds at the bridge. I arrived with four friends and got separated from them in the crush. It was chaotic, to the say the least. After searching high and low for them and dealing with the disappointment at the prospect of running without a friend, I lined up for the 10k, praying that I would find my friends along the race. The 15k and 42k participants were lined up ahead, closer to the bridge, while the 10k was higher up the hill so I could see down the hill and watched the huge mass spill over the starting line and up the bridge. After that group was mostly gone, we started 20 minutes later.
To say the race was enormous and therefore a madhouse is to make an understatement. While there were many competitive runners in the 10k, there were also a great deal of walkers. And bystanders. I dodged and weaved around the walkers leading up to the bridge but as soon as I arrived on the bridge, I began to see people at a standstill in groups....in the middle of the course. Like I said, people just wanted to be on the bridge. They were taking photos of themselves with the view behind them, chatting with one another. People were walking in all directions, even towards the starting line. I encountered people walking shoulder to shoulder in a line across the course with no way for anyone to run past. I spied a small opening and gently shoved a man aside so I could run past. It was just chaos and I was aghast. I was told to expect this but it still didn't stop the surprise and subsequent rise of irritation in me. I kept thinking, this race is a joke, I'll never do this again.
Once I got across the bridge, the chaos lessened and thinned out. People remained on the bridge and mostly runners now surrounded me, although many walked later on in the race so I continued to dodge and weave. I was happy to get off the bridge. I was expecting to enjoy running across the bridge but it wasn't exhilarating in itself. It didn't strike me as surreal to be crossing from one continent to another on foot. I was simply running a race, with some glimpses of the same view I've seen many times from the comfort of a car.
The course wound from the bridge, uphill on the highway, down an off-ramp and then up another hill. I ran halfway up this hill (the third, the steepest, on the course so I was already feeling the hills) and losing my breath, I stopped to walk for about a minute. I spied the top of the hill which inspired me to run the rest of the way up and as I did so, I approached a redheaded woman from behind who was walking, fatigued. I thought I recognized her but I ran a bit past her to see her face for confirmation, said hi, and began to drag her along. She's a friend of mine, also a co-worker who lives in another city, who had come to my city for the race. I didn't know this but she had a goal to finish the 10k in 1:15:00 and apparently, as she told me later, my dragging her along and running together helped her to achieve her goal. We ran together at the same pace (slow) and finished together in 1:13:00. Except for a one-minute walk up a hill, I was happy that I ran the entire race, even though I wanted to stop and walk so many times but having a running buddy kept me motivated. I was especially happy to have a buddy to run with - the Father had answered my prayers with this girl, not the friends that I arrived with.
Beside the bridge fiasco, I had fun running the race :-). Races are fun with the energy and excitement and crossing the finish line is exhilarating. No one was there to cheer me at the finishing line but maybe next time G and the girls can be there.
(pictures from the Internet):
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| The 8k - thank goodness I wasn't running in that |
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| Bridge - facing European side |
I'm pretty sore right now. I'd fallen behind on my training schedule, sidelined with a stomach bug for a week and subsequent 2-mile rut with leaden legs for a week or two. I broke out of the rut by changing my route a week before the race and jumped from 2 miles to 4 miles, which was just two days prior to the race. The 2-mile jump to 6 miles on race day put a strain on my ITB (illiotibial band), my old nemesis, so I had some pain afterward. I've been working on my ITB so I don't think I have an injury. I guess the 4-mile increase in 1.5 week (from 2 to 6) is enough to bother a less experienced runner like me and I was probably unwise to run the 10k but I was stubborn :-)
Maybe next time, I can work on my speed and run a 10k in 60 minutes.
Monday, November 11, 2013
A Wedding
I have to say that we were surprised by how weddings are done here. Here's what happened:
First, we received an invitation. It had the usual information: who, what, where, and when. The location was a wedding salon as it is called here. When we arrived at the wedding salon, I was surprised to see several brides and grooms coming and going. It wasn't until we went through the ceremony that we realized why. The wedding salon is a government building devoted to weddings. This particular building has several salons so each bride and groom is assigned a salon by appointment. So, all the salons are being used at the same time -- in other words, there are several brides in the building at the same time, coming and going all day long. I said several because the civil ceremony itself is quite short, about 15 minutes long. So a salon is up and ready to go for the next couple when one ceremony is over and all the guests have filed out.
One part of me was fascinated because I got to see brides coming and going in their wedding splendor in a variety of styles. That's just fun! Another part of me was aghast because…well, I'm an American who grew up in a culture that the bride (and groom) is the center of attention for one day and for another bride to show up would be a horror. Here, it's normal for brides to see other brides on their wedding day and they don't have the sense of entitlement that they must be the only bride present and all attention must be on them alone.
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| Just arrived |
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| Before entering the building |
The bride and groom disappeared into the building and the guests went to the assigned salon (as indicated on the invitation) and sat in the stadium seats, facing a platform in the front. The bride and groom were announced and they appeared from the center of the platform and sat down at the table. In the picture below, you can see the entrance behind them which they appeared from.
Then the marriage official showed up (in red gown on the right), there was a bit of dialogue and laughter. Two witnesses were present at the table to the left, some friends of theirs, I guess. I think there were some vows said. The marriage certificate was handed to them and they signed. The witnesses signed. That was it. The wedding ceremony was done. From the time they sat down until they were pronounced married was probably only 15 minutes. Very civil, indeed.
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| Signing the marriage certificate |
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| Married! |
Their families couldn't afford much so no reception was given (if a reception is given, I believe they are similar to Western wedding receptions - food, music, dancing). The couple went out to dinner with some of their friends to celebrate at a restaurant. We went home. Short and simple, huh?
After having seen a civil ceremony, I was curious as to whether a religious ceremony is normally held. I wasn't expecting one with this couple who are pretty secular but I was wondering what a religious ceremony looked like. I couldn't find much on the Internet but it seems that when the Ottoman Empire disintegrated and the republic of TKY was founded in 1923, a law was passed that religious marriage ceremonies were not recognized by the government. The law immediately created millions of illegitimate children. People began to have civil marriages in order to protect themselves and their children and receive the benefits of the law (inheritance, etc). I think the religious ceremony fell to the wayside but as far as I can tell, the religious ceremony is not much different from ours in America - the bride and groom are present, an imam may have them repeat vows and maybe deliver a short sermon, and witnesses for both sides must be present.
As to any sort of cultural traditions in a ceremony, it probably varies from country to country. In America, we have the song, unity candle, bridesmaids, groomsmen, flower girl, ring bearer, etc. I'm not sure what they do here but the only thing I know is that in the rural areas, the wedding party hires a man to beat a drum and follow them about. I think that the groom's family show up at the bride's family home (while the drummer is outside continuing to beat away) to escort the bride to the groom's home where the religious ceremony is held and a feast after. When we were visiting out east (rural), we listened to a drum beat all day and all night. I watched a car full of dressed up people show up at our building and escort the bride out and go somewhere close because we could still hear the drum. It doesn't play a nice beat or anything; it's just a monotonous boom-boom-boom.
There you have it. I think the henna night is supposed to be the most important ritual (as explained in a previous post) and the marriage itself is just a social contract.