Since the last post on here left us in Guatemala, I think it's fair to let you know that we did actually arrive back home safe and sound in October. And for some odd reason, it bothers me that the blog was just left hanging in limbo. So I decided a few nights ago, while I was up in the middle of the night with our newborn son, that I have to transition the blog back to the States. If I never post again, at least the last blog post and our current life is in the same country.
I also decided in the middle of the night that I don't like the word transitions. Part of the dislike is due to a required class in nursing school called Transitions in Nursing. It was an awful class; incredibly boring but with required projects that involved public speaking. I don't enjoy public speaking. At all. The other part of the dislike of this word is probably related to this question:
"How has the transition been back to the States?"
My mind always blanks and I frantically wonder what I should say. I'll try to answer that here, because here I can sit and think and type and then backspace until I actually write what I feel about this transitioning period in our life. (I don't mind the word transitioning. Chalk it up to a weird quirk.)
Some wise people who visited us in Guatemala said this: "If you are simply aware that life will be different: you have changed, your family and friends have changed, your church has changed; life has moved on in your absence....the transition will be easier."
They were right.
So here are some of the thoughts that run through my brain quite rapidly when asked about transition.
Sometimes I still can't believe that our parents live only 15 minutes away. That we can drive over and spend the evening with them, enjoy a cup of coffee together. I remember fighting back tears when we first came home and would get together with our families. I was overjoyed to be with them again, and yet I wondered where I belonged. I remember being desperately ready to go home, to just be me and Josh, to be quiet. And I am thankful now for a gracious family who gave us space while surrounding us with love; and certainly we have found our niche again.
And quietness. Blessed, blissful quietness. I learned to appreciate that like never before in Guatemala. Since coming back to the States, I have really noticed our lack of quietness. I get very tired thinking of all the podcasts, sermons, radio this or that, blogs, books that I should listen to or read. And they are good things. I admit, I have this thing about things that everyone is listening to or reading or watching. Like reading Karen Kingsbury novels or watching Duck Dynasty or reading the book "Jesus Calling". I tend to shy away (thats probably putting it mildly; ask my women's group) from a thing, even if its good, if everyone and their neighbor is talking about it. And yes, I realize this says something about my heart. Probably something not nice. I suppose the rambling point I'm trying to make is that I still haven't figured out how to balance quietness, all the voices, and the good, good things God has laid on much, much wiser people's hearts to share with his Church.
I don't even know if that makes sense in my own head. gah.
I appreciate church like never before. Corporate worship. The Gospel in my own language. Quite frequently, my throat closes and my eyes swim at the overwhelming goodness of God in blessing us with church, with community. This is not to say that the overwhelming goodness of God is not present in services where my language is not spoken, because I have also experienced that. But Josh and I didn't regularly attend church in Guatemala, for various reasons; and it has been delightful and soul-feeding to be home and be a part of the church here.
Then there is the hardest one of all. The part that makes the screen blur in front of me even now.
The kids in Guatemala.
I miss them so much. Sometimes they made me want to pull my hair out and say bad words. But they are forever a part of my life. Some days it's worse. I can feel Josue's chubby cheeks and hear Isaac beller and see Jacob come running. I can hear the insanely ridiculous arguments about which cup belongs to who and who didn't empty the dishwasher and who left the toy truck outside and who found out and who it belongs to now. I want to pass out more hugs and tell them more how amazingly special and precious each one is.
And with the very recent arrival of our son, my heart aches even more for those babies and children who are uncelebrated, uncherished; and for those babies who never even have the chance to be born. It takes my breath away and I want to be a part of bringing God's love and mercy to these with no voice. I wonder how God will use us, our family in "setting the solitary in families." (Psalm 68:6)
So, how has the transition back to the States been?
Good, hard, and gracious.
And I've decided that transitioning will never end. It's a good thing. Hard, but good.
I want to gracefully embrace transitioning; allow it to constantly drive me to the Gospel, to the heart of God.
