Perceptions

Many apologies for disappearing from the realm of cyber-space these past couple weeks!  Life has gone from hard to impossible to unbelievably insane...I have been severely overwhelmed, and frankly, blogging hasn't even crossed my mind.  But, to fill the void until I'm back on my feet, here's a post I wrote while in Jordan but somehow failed to publish before we returned:

Over our time in Jordan I have developed several perceptions of Jordanian life & culture...I don't say "observations" because that might indicate that these things are unbiasedly true, which they may be, but I only am aware of my own perceptions.

So, without further ado, here is Jordan through my eyes:

• They love to add their two cents to your parenting...even the men.  Every time I go out, the security guard or trash man or shop owners or random ladies have to comment that the kids aren't dressed warm enough or need their hat on or shouldn't be sitting a certain way in the grocery cart, etc.  They usually tell me these things in Arabic with a few Enlish words sprinkled in, so I just smile and pretend they're saying something nice and move on.  They aren't being not nice, just nosy.
• They have no concept of respecting your personal "viewable" space...Not sure how else to phrase that, but the point is: People will stare at you unashamedly and continue staring even after you've spotted them staring, and will not look away.  If you try to stare them down into the submission of averting their eyes, you will end up having a staring contest--and you will lose.  This issue is always a bit disconcerting to me; it makes me uncomfortable.  It's very un-Western.
• Gas prices are uniform at every gas station across the country, and prices do not fluctuate.  They have been the same now for six months, and counting.
• Hair salons are called "saloons," and are for men.  I know that they have salons for women, but I have not yet seen one...Probably because they have to be private so that the general public is not exposed to the letting down of a woman's hair?  Men's saloons are everywhere, however. 
• Stores have the funniest names...What would you anticipate is sold at a store called "Baby and Lady"?  To me, I would expect it to be a baby clothing and maternity store; but nope, it's shoes and bags!  There also is the "Whatever Outlet," "Needs Supermarket," the store advertising "Open 8 days a week!" (where are they finding an extra day each week??!!), etc.  There's also the "Ladies Fat Breaking Gym."  The "True Value Home & Garden" store, with the same font/logo as in the States, surprisingly is a toy store, with a sprinkling of camping and blow-up pool supplies.  I know this is juvenile, but our favorite store name is "Haboob."  
• They still have real, old-school tailors and shoe smiths, working out of hole-in-the-wall shops packed with supplies.  I feel like I've traveled backward in time every time I see one, and I love it!
• They don't seemed concerned with quality or presentation, but simply do things for adequate functionality.  I say this as a generality, and does not apply to every situation.  To their credit, they can rip up, grade, and pave a huge section of road in less than a day (where the same section in the States might take a week), and build a massive apartment building in a matter of weeks. 
• People are extremely hospitable.  A taxi driver invited us to his house for dinner after meeting us for 5 minutes.  Sweet shops always hand out free cookies.  When shopping in the souk, almost every shop keeper offers tea, coffee, soda, water, etc.  
• They seem to attach no gender value to colors.  I will consistently be asked if Safita is a boy or girl, even when she's wearing a pink outfit.  I also have noticed little boys dressed in purple, etc.
• There are lots of Asian/Polynesian/Philippino nannies and housekeepers about that accompany their employing families out and about.  I've been told that Jordanians will not do this type of work and so they hire people of other ethnicity for the jobs

I'm sure there are things that I missed, but that gives a fun sampling of the colorful beauty of culture!  I am so glad that God did not make us all alike.

Hope

Hope is such a powerful thing...I think, it really makes or breaks a person, what kind of hope they have.

Of course, our greatest hope should always be in the Lord, who will never fail and always exceed.

And it is He who gives us the "life" hopes, the things that inspire us and ignite a passion and get us excited to wake to face another day.  The hopes, be they little or big, that fill life with meaning and purpose.  Hope really does lift one's soul like a balloon rising on the wind, away from bondage and care.

Tonight, I am feeling hopeful.  It is a hope that is securely attached to hard, difficult work, but also reality--as in, my dreams can be realized, if I remain disciplined.  Here's my resolve: to grab hold of that balloon of hope and see to what heights the wind might blow!

Silver Lining

This business of coming home has proven to be a bit of a turbulent landing.  We are struggling to find our feet and steady ourselves, but seem to just keep stumbling and bumbling.  I feel the wear acutely, and this past week it's been noticeably hard on the kids as well.  Very, very noticeably.  The struggle and insecurity of re-acclimating to a culture while being homeless and fatherless/husbandless and not knowing where you belong or what's going to happen or having a place and no means of support...it's so hard on me, I can only imagine for them!

The good news is, we have finally secured a place to live!  And it has a pool, which is thrilling Jack to no end.  We can move in on the 23rd of the month, which is still 10 days away, but sooner than what we'd originally expected.  This item accomplished provides huge relief!...so that now my mind can wander to the hundred other stressful cares needing immediate attention. 

Most days, we feel (and act?) like we are falling to pieces, and my goal each day is to find some solace of normalcy.  But it occurred to me tonight--a nugget of wisdom gleaned from preparing the evening meal--if we're falling apart, at least it means we're tender.  We pray the tenderness will be productive and soon give way to satisfied souls. 

Debriefing

Many have been asking lately, "How does it feel to be home?"

Good question.  I'm not sure yet myself.  And I'm still trying to figure out, "Where IS home?"

It's good to be back in America for:

• an endless supply of any foods I crave, including garden-fresh produce
• a whole country full of people who speak the same language I do
• shopping where I know how to find deals
• having our own stuff, and not having to fear "accumulation"
• boat rides on the lake and walks in the field
• quaint yarn shops with community knitting and crafting super-stores with endless inspiration
• of course, being near family and friends
• little conveniences that we take for granted & don't realize till they're missing

It's also hard being back, and some of the reasons are strange:

• The landscape is very lush and green...it's beautiful, but strangely hard to get used to.  I'm kind of pining for southern California just for the familiarity in landscape.  It's crazy how the harshness endears itself to you...struggle creates the closest bonds.
• Humidity...suffocating.
• Driving is boring because people actually drive in lanes and obey traffic laws...having a hard time being okay with that.  I mean, I really shouldn't have to wait for cars to pass to pull out onto the road--fluid traffic, people!
• I miss being mobbed with people coming up to pinch my babies' cheeks or steal them away to show their friends.  I miss perfect strangers treating me like a long-lost friend.
• (disclaimer: this point is in no way intended to be directed at the people or places where I am currently located, it is merely a feeling): I feel enclosed and bound by small thoughts and small ambitions and single-paned ideas and safe actions...when I'm kind of ready to take on the world.
• Homelessness is really, really hard.  It's been enormously hard coming home husbandless with 2 small children and a load of stuff, and just kind of float in limbo with no place to belong.  We can't unpack, we can't find things we need, we can't begin the process of feeling normal, we just kind of exist haphazardly.  And those of you who faithfully read my blog (many thanks!) know how important a place and belonging is to my emotional health...so here's praying God answers soon!

Well, that's all I can think of for now!

On Wings of Prayer

A huge, heartfelt Thank You to all of you who were praying us home!  It was a hard trip, but I could tell that God was carrying us the whole way.  I'll give a little summary:

We put the kids to bed at their usual time, then woke them at 10:25pm for our scheduled 10:30 drive to the airport.  Jack woke excited, and Safita happy.  Owen was going to drive us (me, the kids, and my brother Sam) in our rental car with all the luggage, but the luggage kind of took over the car.  One of the other fellows from ACOR--James--turned out to be on our same flight to Paris, and offered to let us ride with him in his taxi, which was our first lifesaver.  The taxi driver wasn't terribly reliable, however, and showed up half an hour late, then proceeded to take the busiest roads out of the city and also drive between 10-20 km under the speed limit (which is extra crazy in Amman) the entire way to the airport.  We were seriously concerned we were going to miss our flight.  He kept trying to have us promise to call him when we come back to Jordan, but I was like, "Yeah right!  As far as I can help it, I will never use you again!"

Owen helped us inside with the bags; it was sad to say goodbye.  We went through the usual chaos of unpacking & undressing then repacking & redressing for security, and got to check-in to meet Sam there who informed me (somewhat frantically, since we were so late) that I needed to repack all my bags because they were overweight.  He had checked in with a different person, however, and much praise to the Lord, the lady who checked me in let the extra kilo or two pass with no fee (and no repacking of bags!).  I think people are kinder when they see you laden with children.

Immigration provided more excitement, when we discovered that our visas had only been extended through August 25th instead of the 30th.  I'm not sure who was responsible for that, but there was a fine and they only accepted Jordanian Dinar cash...which I didn't have, because I left it all with Owen.  If I'd had to find an ATM to get the money, we would've missed our flight.  But, exactly at the right moment, our friend James had seen me at the cashier's counter and came to see if everything was okay, and without even being asked whipped out some cash to save us.

We went through another line of security and made it to our gate just in time to board.

The first flight to Paris was about 5 hours...Safita fell asleep right away, but Jack was too excited and waited halfway through the flight to sleep.  I had to wake him to get off the plane.  Both of them were exceptional. 

We arrived in Paris at 5:15am to face a long 8-hour layover...in a very uncomfortable airport.  People had warned us that the airport was cold and there was no food.  We found this to be true, with one exception: there was food, but it was so overpriced who could pay for it?  A small bottle of water for 5 EUR (a little over $7 USD), a small slice of pizza for 6 EUR, a small piece of lasagna for 10 EUR, etc.  Also, going through security, a businessman wasn't watching and tripped over Jack, and instead of apologizing for nearly hurting my small child, looked at me angrily like "how dare your child get in my way" and started chastising the security personnel in French.  Oh, French people.  This incident was my first culture shock episode...so different than children-loving Jordanians.  The kids did not sleep at all during the layover but were in surprisingly happy spirits, for being tired and having no food.  Jack occupied himself by playing with his toy airplane and climbing on the furniture, and Safita just hung out contentedly.  They made themselves giggle every so often.  The time, fortunately, did not drag on endlessly as it sometimes can under those circumstances.

For the Paris-Detroit flight, the boarding line was ridiculously long, but to my delight I was waved to the front of the line.  Flight attendants on the plane swarmed me to help me get settled...which actually was a bit overwhelming at the time and caused the kids to become stressed out and both were wailing uncontrollably.  Jack also disappeared  shortly after we got to our seats, and we discovered him across the aisle making himself comfortable at a nice window seat.  He was heartbroken that he wasn't allowed to stay.  Sam did not have a seat next to us on this flight, but it worked out okay as the people next to us (in the 4-seat middle section of the plane) were a sweet, young, Indian couple who proactively helped me with the kids the entire flight.  The girl was the sweetest thing, even Safita went to her and stayed with her while I changed Jack's diaper in the bathroom, and never cried.  They even advocated for me with the flight attendants to find me a space where I could spread out with the kids instead of being cramped there, but to no avail.

On this flight, after we'd gotten settled, Jack curled up in his seat and fell asleep before the plane even took off.  Safita fought it a little bit longer, but was asleep shortly after takeoff.  Both slept for a solid 4 hours, and then were happy and good for the remaining 4.  The flight attendants were so helpful, as well--one of them even took the time while serving a meal to open all of the sealed coverings on the food for me, because she saw that I had no free hands.  At one point in the flight, I was feeling so moved and grateful for God's goodness that I couldn't help but weep.  Upon landing, everyone around us gushed with compliments about the children, how beautiful, how good, how happy...and someone also said their mother was a saint, ha ha, which was kind and nice to hear. 

We got through customs fine, and a porter was there to help us with the bags; one bag was missing, but we're hopeful for it's quick return.  We got some dinner, then the kids and I fell right to sleep for the 5 hour drive to my parent's home.  Amazingly, the kids also slept normally through the night and seem to not be struggling with jet lag at all.

Truly, God has blessed our trip.

Last Hurrah!

If I haven't mentioned previously, my "little" bigger brother Sam has been here the past 10 days or so, which is why I've been mostly absent online.  We've had fun showing him around Jordan, and it's served as a good time for the kids and I to say "farewell, Second Home!" and get a bunch of cultural cravings out of our system one last time.  Harried traveling is always a great way to rid oneself of those pesty nostalgic feelings that make it hard to move on. 

So today, we made a last dash to the Dead Sea for a little float time.  The weather was perfect, the sea was warm and buoyant, the shore trashed (as one would only expect, by now!) but the water crystal turquoise and beautiful.  The air smelled of sulfur, but it was very pleasant.  We all bobbed up and down in the creature-less water (which makes it extra relaxing, if you don't have to worry about hungry sea creatures sneaking up on you).  I kept wondering to myself if it was a regrettable mistake to bring the kids in on the experience, but I'm happy to report that--other than a mouthful of sea water for Safita and of course some sand and rocks--everyone came out unscathed and delightfully crusty with minerals!  I was worried about the kids rubbing their eyes with their hands, or something of that nature, but they did well. 

Safita, tasting the dirt; Jack, checking out her reaction before digging in himself

the swirls of all the minerals

salt/mineral formations on rocks on the sea bottom

On A Personal Note

It's one of those seasons of life, for me, when the path is lonely and leads always, unyieldingly uphill.  The path is so narrow it seems to impose itself upon me, offering no choice of direction.  And when I think I've reached the steepest part, I struggle over, to find yet one more summit steeper still.  Sometimes, the way just seems impossible.  Sometimes, I just feel stuck.  But I know that God still leads, and I know that these are times of strengthening.  I've been told, quite often, that I am strong, but truth be told, I am tired of striving to be strong.  Sometimes, I just want to rest. 

God is good, and somehow, we'll make it through.