I am different

I know many, many amazing ladies who are great moms, wives, friends, and followers of Jesus.

I would like to think that—at least sometimes—I fall into those categories, too.

And yet, I am different.

Maybe it’s just the people I know here, but it seems even my Facebook friends have similar traits. I can’t really say clearly how I am different from my closest friends, since two of them aren’t married, and the third is married but is not a mother yet.

How am I different?

• I have no plans to homeschool my kids. In fact, I like the idea of handing them off to someone else for a few hours each day.
• I don’t cloth-diaper. I love the earth, but I also love disposable diapers. Woot.
• I eat processed food. Sure, we eat lots of fruit, but we also eat mac & cheese, bologna, and Hamburger Helper without any guilt. And I really, really like fast food.
• I really hate football. Period.
• I honestly cannot tell the difference between Pepsi and Coke, but I’m a sucker for diet cola in whatever form it takes.
• I have no interest in competitive running. Thanks, but I am exercising to be fit and healthy, not to be fast. Even that is a huge struggle.
• I am not on Pinterest and have very little desire to get pulled into that. Facebook is a big enough time-waster, and I’m afraid Pinterest would only underscore all the amazing and wonderful things I’m not doing!
• I am a huge supporter of allopathic medicine. Huge. While I understand medical doctors cannot treat everything, modern medicine is amazing and has not only increased life expectancy but also—more importantly in my opinion—increased quality of life for so many people. If you don’t believe me, spend a summer in an African clinic.
• I immunize my kids without any qualms. None whatsoever. I’m only sad that it makes them cry.
• I have not taught my 4-year-old to read. I figure he will learn when he’s ready to learn… Or his teachers will eventually teach him. Either way, he’ll learn to read.
• I believe in speed limits. No, really. I do.
• I have never wanted to live within the European Union. It sounds really neat, but it does not sound like a place I’d ever fit in. Take me instead to Ethiopia or Zambia.
• I don’t drive a minivan and never plan to. I don’t need all that space because
• I am very happy to only have two kids. They are plenty for me, and I will be delighted if we never have another baby! (Granted, I will be equally delighted if we do, but as far as it is my choice, two is good!)
• I don’t have a smart phone or a Kindle. I’m sure I will at some point, but not yet.
• I don’t cook if I can avoid it. I just don’t have ideas for enough things that my picky kids will enjoy. Eat, yes. Enjoy, no. I do make sure they are getting enough of the right foods, just not in cooked meals as such.
• I am going to be a working mom. Not sure what that will look like yet, but it’s going to happen. It’s just a matter of time and circumstance.
• I am a liberal who thinks that life begins at conception and thus abortion is generally wrong, and that homosexuality is unbiblical. Or maybe I am a conservative who believes in gun control and federal assistance for the poor, including health care reform. Who can say? But I definitely ride the fence, and that makes me different.

Are these differences good? bad? neutral? Of course it all depends on your point of view. But while I feel lonely and out-of-touch sometimes, I am glad at least that my personality remains intact—as much as that is possible since it is continually developing and changing. When I don’t feel isolated, I am happy being different. Maybe in our next living situation, I will find someone who is different like me.

Summer rains

One of my favorite and most vivid memories of rainy season is from the summer of 1995. All of my friends had gone back to the States for the summer, so I was going through social detox. There must have been some sort of prescription drug shortage in our town that summer because I remember my dad often driving hither and yon to large pharmacies to pick up meds for the hospital where he worked. I would often ride with him and take a book. I’d sit in the car while he went in to see if the pharmacy had the meds he needed. We had a big blue van that year, the kind with the high roof. I would sit in the way back seat and watch the rain or read my book.

Now, our town in Nigeria is allegedly one of the most lightning-prone places in the world, so I’ve seen a lot of lightning in my lifetime. But as far as I know, lightning there is not a sign of coming tornadoes or hurricanes, or even necessarily high winds. So while I have a healthy fear of lightning in and of itself, I’m used to it. I know to unplug important appliances. and stay away from windows. But it doesn’t scare me as long as I’m being careful.

That’s today. That summer I was 13. One particular day, as I was sitting in the car, the lightning was just a little too close for comfort. I leapt out of the car and ran into the warehouse to join my dad and sit out the worst of the storm. Only later was I informed that a car is one of the safest places to be in a lightning storm. (Is this really true, Dad?)

But one of my favorite things was to sit in the way back on the drive home and put my arm (or my face if we weren’t on the main road) out the window into the streaming rain. The windows were the kind that manually slide open horizontally, so I could open it just enough to put my arm or my head out. There was nothing more exhilarating to me that summer than letting the wind and rain lash my face and hair as we drove along. Of course, once we reached the main road I’d have to bring my drenched head back into the van and be satisfied with sticking my hand out. But it was always fun while it lasted.

Thanks, Dad, for letting me tag along in those summer rains.

(Photo courtesy of Gary Payne: http://thepaynes.wordpress.com/page/10/#)

Modesty

I grew up in a reasonably conservative family. When my dad was a teenager, he was one of the first to be allowed to play guitar in his church. For us as kids, Halloween was about dressing up as fun, wholesome characters such as Laura Ingalls Wilder or a jelly bean jar. No skeletons, witches, ghosts, period. While we heard about Santa Claus from other kids, we didn’t do Santa at home, and we certainly never did anything with the Easter Bunny. Easter was a time for family and remembering the Resurrection.

Clothing was similar. I don’t remember ever wanting to wear clothes with skulls, but it certainly would not have been allowed. My sister and I were expected to wear our Sunday best to church, and that meant no trousers or skorts, even nice ones. Lacy collars were a definite bonus. I don’t remember really arguing about the guidelines or feeling restricted.

When we moved to Nigeria when I was nine years old, we had to adapt our clothing somewhat. We were coming from Los Angeles, where we could wear shorts and tank tops most of the year. While we were allowed to wear shorts at our Christian school in Nigeria, they had to be long, and tank top sleeves had to be several inches wide. Outside of school, if we went walking in the community or to market, we had to wear long skirts. And in Nigerian church, we had to cover our heads with scarves. I’d say we both adapted pretty well. My mom might have a more accurate memory, but I don’t remember complaining too much. I learned to want to dress modestly. At our Christian school we heard a lot about modesty and how women should not dress provocatively to cause men to stumble. Made sense. No argument there.

After I graduated from high school, I spent the summer camping with my aunt and uncle and wore my cousin’s hand-me-downs, mostly stylish and shorter shorts than I was used to.  My aunt had to buy me my first pair of “real jeans,” since the only ones I’d had in high school had an elastic waist. By the time I got to college in the Chicago area, though, there were only a few weeks left of weather warm enough for shorts and bare arms. For the next four years, I dressed perhaps more modestly than ever. I fell in love with jeans, turtlenecks, and sweaters. I was all about comfort and had almost zero interest in style. Whatever I could get free at our college’s clothes swap was awesome. I was probably one of very few who wore only skirts and dresses to church, even in the winter. One summer, two friends got me a spaghetti-strap shirt as a gag gift because they knew I’d never wear it. I did end up wearing it when I drove long-distance but always put a shirt on over it when I got out of the car. It made me feel so exposed when I was around other people, but it was super comfortable for summer driving on my own.

Now, eight years later, I wear spaghetti straps and shorts that are above the knee. I even have some skirts that are above the knee. And I have a couple pairs of flowy dress trousers that I wear to church. What happened?? Do I dress provocatively? Hardly. On the other hand, I am hardly ever around men besides my husband, so if I feel comfortable without sleeves, why not wear what I want to? Will I ever wear a bikini? Not likely. Will I ever wear a halter top or show my tummy? I don’t think so. Will I ever wear something with a plunge neckline? Um, no thanks. But I am curious what has changed about my worldview that has caused such a visual change in clothes. Mostly I still wear longish shorts and t-shirts in the summer, and 3/4-sleeve sweaters and jeans in the winter. I still dress mostly for comfort and low cost. But my boundaries have moved back a bit. Why?

Two roads diverged

This fall, we will be taking one of two paths, which means that I personally will be taking one of two paths. They may eventually lead to the same place professionally, but for now, they are quite different.

If X happens, I will need to work full-time. I’ve been looking at jobs and applying for several weeks now. I’ve even read bits and pieces of some of the books recommended by friends, family, and the helpful librarians. (I’m afraid I haven’t gotten through all of any one book yet.) Mostly I’m applying for administrative-type office jobs. There are lots of these types of jobs out there, but no employers yet who want me in particular. Granted, the last time I did administrative work in an office was going on eight years ago. Not entirely recent, but I still remember how to do everything.

So this has been a challenging and stressful time for me. I quit my part-time job at Ashford that I have been doing on and off (but mostly on) since March 2009. Changes were happening there that I just didn’t gel with. Now I can focus on job hunting and researching day cares near where we might live, as well as a pre-K for Timothy. I read in a book that the average time it takes a full-time job seeker to find a job (as of 2010) is 33 weeks. I’m starting a little late to begin a new job in November at the latest, but at least I’m trying.

On the other hand, if Y happens, I will not be working full-time. Instead, I’ll be going to school full-time… and we’ll be moving to a different state… again. And by “going to school,” I don’t mean getting my MFA in Creative Writing or an MAT. I’m talking about getting a second bachelor’s degree or doing some program that’s very—er—vocational. While I might be able to find a job as an entry-level editorial assistant in New York, Boston, or Chicago if I were willing to try one of those cities for 33 weeks, we wouldn’t want to raise our family there, so publishing has to take a back burner. I’m exploring lots of options, including Accounting, Engineering, Social Work, and Nursing, but my top two choices so far are Engineering and Practical Nursing (LPN). Either one would be a rather huge leap out of my comfort zone, but that is probably good for me.

For now, in any case, I have to keep all my options option as much as possible. Neither X nor Y has happened yet, and we’re not sure exactly when to expect either event. Either way we will be leaving this little tiny town and moving to the city. (Note that “city” means different things in different regions. Consider, for example, that Savannah is barely larger than Visalia, CA, but is rather more—ahem—citified.) Sometime between October and January, we’ll be loading up the moving truck and hitting the road again. While I have enjoyed some fun times here and have liked getting to know a handful of people, I’m more than ready for a new adventure. So bring it on.

I Go Back

There are two country songs I keep hearing on the radio that I love if only because I can identify with the sentiment. Both songs (Kenny Chesney’s “I Go Back” and Eric Church’s “Springsteen”) refer to the vivid memories recalled by certain songs. You know what I  mean. Some songs you like just because. Other songs remind you of a period of your life. But then there are those songs that take you back to a specific day, a specific place, that one moment you will always associate with the song.

I have lots of those, being someone who loves music and typically pays attention to it. And they remind me of both the good times and the bad times throughout my life. For example, I can never hear the songs “Sold” and “Cotton Eye Joe” without thinking of the Hillcrest Carnival when I was in middle school and my best friend Laura’s brother was the DJ. That was a good, fun day with Laura and the other girls.

On the other hand, “Heal the World” makes me cry because I remember the intense loneliness I felt on our 7th grade campout, the night Tammy came to sit with me by the lake and rename the stars. Everyone else had learned the song in choir while I’d been in the U.S. on furlough, and they all sang it together around the campfire, leaving me out completely. And the song “When I Fall in Love” takes me back to a very painfully ended relationship in college. I’d thought it was dumb the first time I’d heard it. After all, who falls in love only once?

“Empty Chairs at Empty Tables” makes me think of Michael Kingsley, who sang it for a sort of recital when I went to hear my roommate Megan sing. And when I hear “On My Own,” I think of one night studying in the Fischer 3S hallway with Elisabeth LaVigne our freshman year, when she told me she’d sung it for a talent show in high school (or something like that). Even though I never heard her sing it, i still think of that night. And the song “Blessed Be Your Name” reminds me of chapel sometime in 2006 or 2007. Our missionary friend Ken had returned to Nigeria to pack up his family’s belongings. They had left Nigeria several months earlier after their pre-school son had died in a tragic drowning accident. I knew Ken was at that chapel service, though I couldn’t see him from where I sat, and I just couldn’t imagine being able to sing those words, “You give and take away. You give and take away. My heart will choose to say, ‘Lord blessed be your name.’” I cried.

And finally, here are two of my most vivid song memories. When I was just finishing 9th grade and returning to the States for furlough, we were in Kano, getting ready to fly out (back in the days when you flew out of Kano instead of Abuja). We were with the youth pastor, Patrick, who was picking up some summer short-termers. It was evening, as we had a night flight, and we were gathered around the van. He had already that year introduced us to the song “Stress” (which we all loved) as well as sketches and songs from Monty Python. This evening, he played David Wilcox’s “Johnny’s Camaro” for us in the van. I could never remember the words after that—after all, the song is over 15 minutes long—but I carried the message with me. I so wanted to be that girl Laura in the song, returning to the States after being in Africa… That scene stands out so clearly to me.

The last one that really stands out—and honestly, I could write a book just on the memories I relate to songs—is the song “Coventry Carol.” While it’s associated with Christmas, it is actually a song about the Massacre of the Innocents. The song has a lovely but haunting melody, and I’ve always liked it for its musicality. But not until I heard Cal Horlings play it on the trumpet with piano accompaniment did it really come alive for me. It was Christmas Eve 2007, and Cal’s trumpeting so vividly depicted the mood transitions in the song. Haunting indeed. I’ll never forget it.

So those are some of my song memories. What about you? What are some of yours?

Will

I don’t honestly remember first meeting Will, although he might. When we were freshmen at Wheaton, he lived on the men’s floor adjacent to my floor; we called them brother-sister floors (or just “bro-sis”) and were encouraged to bond with members of our sister and brother floors. Since we had one brother floor to two sister floors at the time, there were never enough guys to go around. When the RAs planned bro-sis activities, I usually went because we were supposed to, but I always sat in a corner, usually with a book.

While some guys occasionally might say hi throughout the year during these activities, Will was the only one who actually came to talk to me. None of this flirty 18-year-old stuff, either, or awkwardness. I could tell from the beginning that he was brighter than most of the other guys and read  a lot—not just C.S. Lewis and John Piper like every guy at Wheaton but other intense and varied authors. He knew Nigeria was in Africa, and—wow!—that Africa was huge and not one country. He knew about history and politics and literature. Eventually, I only went to bro-sis functions at all because I might get to talk to Will. He must have just been able to tell how awkward I felt at those darned events. While he wasn’t exclusive in his attention to me, he definitely made an effort to include me, for which I was extremely grateful. Not that I liked Will. I just recognized that he was extraordinary, not like the other guys I kept meeting.

Eventually, Will got his foot through the door into our little group of missionary kids (MKs). Again, he probably remembers how it happened better than I, but there it is. He became an honorary MK and hung out with those of us from France, Haiti, Nigeria, Jordan, Austria, Mexico, and other exciting places.

And then there was Pooh Corner, one of my two favorite things about my years at Wheaton. Every Tuesday night at 10pm, about a dozen of us got together to read children’s chapter books aloud. We read Lloyd Alexander’s /Prydain Chronicles, Susan Cooper’s The Dark is Rising Sequence, and a few Harry Potter books during the summers, among many others. We were a tight-knit group, all geeks who loved reading. And Will almost always read the part of the bad guy, if there was one. He loved to play the sinister roles. That’s just Will.

And somewhere in there, in the midst of those four years of college, we became real friends. Once I got a car my junior year, I gave Will rides places, and I started going to the Anglican church he attended. (Not just because he went there, but because his whole gaggle of friends went there, and then because I loved it.) I wanted so desperately to be part of his little group of older friends, the ones who loved Star Trek and followed geeky comics and played Settlers of Catan. I never fit into the group, but I was friends with Will, and that was enough. We still had Pooh Corner, and on Sunday nights our junior & senior years, we often hung out at Tom’s house to listen to Doctor Demento sketches or watch Babylon 5.

Oh, and did I mention that Will was my supervisor at one point? Oh yes. When I worked for the college newspaper my senior year, Will was one of the editors. Now that was exciting.

Along the way, I went through the inevitable crises we all deal with: bad relationships, bad grades, homesickness, the works. And Will was a rock through it all. He and my friend Brad helped me pass my Christian Thought class, which I would have flunked otherwise. I’m not kidding.

Will: “Is Jesus God?”

Me: “Yes!”

Will: “Is Mary the mother of Jesus?”

Me: “Yes!”

Will: “Then Mary is the mother of God.”

Me: “NO!”

That was how it went. Will is extremely annoying and irritating and super-rational! Every day he drove me crazy. He teased me mercilessly, and we argued about everything. But it was all in fun, and at the end of the day, I knew I could count on Will to be honest with me and to remain my friend no matter what.

And now we’ve lived in different towns for seven years.—sometimes in different states, sometimes in different countries. And today, Will turns 30. I have no doubt whatsoever that he will be utterly humiliated by this post and will turn a deep shade of purple. I only wish I were there to see it and to wish him a happy birthday in person. Will, I know you’re reading this, and I wanted to say thank you for being one of the best friends I’ve ever had (or ever will have), and I hope you’ve had a fantabulous birthday!

Two cents’ worth

A student recently wrote in his paper that he was worried if he did not provide well for all his new bride’s material and financial needs and wants, he might ruin their relationship.

Wow.

Is this what marriage has become in the U.S.? Meeting the material needs and wants of your spouse? Is that why so many marriages fail? Because women want to be able to spend $150 on a purse and can’t abide a husband who disagrees? Because the husband spends $450 a month on a brand-new car but can’t afford to pay the bills on time?

I remember our premarital counselor—as much as we ever had one—telling us that finances are one of the biggest problems in marriage. Another friend told me that it is one of the five things that couples most often fight about.

This has me completely floored. As an American, I am definitely materialistic. There is no sense in pretending I’m less worldly than those around me. I used to stand on a pedestal in my mind, when I first came to the U.S. in 2000. I thought I was better than my fellow college students because I didn’t “need” so many things, because I could do without. Who was I trying to fool?

Yes, I have lived in financial constraint for most of my life. Yes, I grew up with conservative (and poor) parents who spent their money wisely and saved it even more wisely. My mom was a penny-pincher, plain and simple. She learned it from her mom, who was also a missionary, back when that meant something different than it does today, back when missionaries were very poor, when they didn’t get to furlough every other year or go on retreats to Switzerland.

I grew up learning to do without, wearing hand-me-downs and thrift store clothing, eating generic brand cereal, and riding around in a not-quite-so-new station wagon. Of course, living in Nigeria was another world altogether, where we had a million times more materially than those around us. And yet I still managed to feel like we were in want. We didn’t get to take vacations to Europe or other countries in Africa. We still wore many thrift store clothes.

So I’ve always had this mentality that I can survive without stuff. Now that I’m grown up and live in the U.S., of course I want stuff. It accumulates. Much of it I get on sale or free, but it’s still just stuff. And yet I can’t think of a single time I’ve felt that a lack of stuff would ruin my marriage.

While I do of course think it is vital for a family to be able to survive on their income(s), it is survival that matters. Everything else is just frosting on the cake. If I want a $150 purse, I will find a way to work and make that money myself! As long as we are fed, clothed, and sheltered, what else truly matters? My heart aches for a young man who thinks his family might fall apart because he can’t provide for his wife’s whims. Even in the midst of unemployment when even needs are barely being met, when food is scarce or credit card debt is mounting, it seems like that should be a time of unity, a time of solidarity. Being poor is so much easier to tolerate when you’re not doing it alone!

So, Mr. Newlywed out there, if your wife would leave you because you can’t afford that $150 purse, you’ve got serious issues you need to work through. I truly hope she is a keeper and someone who will shake it off and love you even more for being money wise.

There, that’s my two cents’ worth.

Update (mostly for you non-Facebookers)

Well, we have now lived in southeast Georgia for 16 months. This is the longest we’ve lived anywhere in the U.S. (our next longest being eight months in Visalia, California). Sometimes it feels like home. Other times, not so much. I finally hung up some pictures in photo frames and some of Timothy’s artwork—even a poster. After we’d lived here a year, I found myself wanting something for the kids’ room so got those peel-and-stick wall stickers. Now it feels a little more homey. But not really. Still, what does a home need besides a family inside it? And that I’ve got.

Timothy turned 4 in November with a Mickey Mouse cake, a Cars pinata, and Toy Story invitations that never got mailed. :/ My cousin Alyssa was a huge help in putting the party together, and I think everyone had fun. In January, we were playing in an indoor playground, and Timothy had a run-in with a slide, knocking out a tooth and breaking two more, which had to be extracted a week later. So he’s got a different smile—just as adorable. :)

Timothy also went through minor surgery at the end of January to correct his umbilical hernia, so now his “belly button is better and smaller.” He is learning his letters at his own pace. So many of my acquaintances are “home-schooling” their three- and four-year-olds. Well, I’m not. Timothy knows his alphabet and can write his name. He can also count to 50 if he tries—leaving out 13 and 15—and told me today that he knows that ants love crumbs and will eat leftovers at a picnic if you leave them out. (He learned that from Babar, he says.) He loves to use big words, even though he doesn’t know what they mean, and he’s mostly a fun and agreeable little guy. We’ve had rotten luck this year getting him into organized sports (partly due to timing and partly due to sharing a car with Daddy), but we’re thinking of maybe doing gymnastics again starting in April. He’ll be ready for Pre-K in the fall!

Anna turned one in December, but I was a lazy bum and didn’t do anything at all except hug her a little more tightly. I think we’ll go for an 18-month celebration in June so she can enjoy some cake. Both kids are super active. Anna started walking in November and now runs as often as she walks. She loves being chased and giving “kisses.” Her first distinguishable word was “Mommy,” which of course warms my heart. :) On top of that, she’s added “baby" and “no,” as well as “ca,” which usually means either “cup” or “car,” “wa” for “water.” and “tee” for “TV.” (Yes, I suppose that tells you something of our household.) She adores her big brother, and Timothy just dotes on her. Right now we’re struggling with sleep issues, but I keep trying to convince myself it’s only a matter of time before she finally gets the hang of sleeping through the night in her own crib. Maybe not until she stops nursing, though. I can wait! Naps are my friends!

I’ve been enjoying my MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) groups and a nearby women’s Bible study, in which we’re studying the New Testament. We’re part of a Presbyterian church here, but it is tiny, and while I have religiously attended services and weekday activities, I still feel disconnected, possibly because I have no peers in the church. This has caused me to branch out, so Timothy goes to AWANA at another church, I attend MOPS & monthly ladies’ craft nights at a third church, and my Bible study is at a fourth church. (I was attending a second MOPS group until recently, which was at yet another church.) I’m really hoping that the next place we live, we can really fit into a community without having to sprawl out quite so much. And I’d dearly love to get Timothy into a children’s choir!

But even with all the activities in which I’m involved, I still feel disconnected generally. I don’t mean to complain; there are some wonderful and amazing ladies I consider good friends. They have helped me through challenging times and have given encouragement and support, and I thank God for them. At the same time, each of them has other close friends, so I wouldn’t really say I have found a “best friend.” I know it’s not likely ever to happen again, now that I’ve entered this stage of life, but I keep hoping, everywhere we move. I have made lifelong friends here, but I do miss the deep friendships I made in grade school and occasionally in college. Maybe someday… I’ve been super blessed to be able to see my best friend since 1991, Laura, half a dozen times in the past couple years since we moved away from California. She is a med student in the Navy and such an example to me of determination and Christ-centeredness. I want to be like her someday!

We’re likely to be here until the end of the year, and then, who knows? God has plans for us and will guide us in His time. I make myself sound so trusting and at peace, but in reality, I agonize about it more than I ought. While I have the foundation of a family and a loving God, I still feel restless and aimless. I want to make something of my life, and not just as a wife and mother. I’ve discovered that being a stay-at-home mom has made me lazy and selfish. I need to get out of myself, and at this point in my life, I am really struggling with where God is leading me in that sense. Is there a great job out there waiting for me? I would love to part of a non-profit organization, even if the pay weren’t great. Or should I return to school? If so, in what field? Once upon a time, I thought of medicine. Is that even realistic anymore? What about nursing? I’ve taken hardly any of the prerequisites so would have to pretty much start from scratch, even though I have a BA already. Or should I get a second Bachelor’s degree in something more practical such as engineering? That would be awfully expensive, since I wouldn’t qualify for any financial aid except loans. Then again, perhaps grad school is a better fit, learning to be a writing instructor to teach at a community college or online. I know my professional strengths, and they’re strong, but they don’t seem to be marketable right now. So in which direction should I look for something more marketable? These are some of the questions with which I struggle, and so far I’ve not gotten any answers. I suppose I will eventually.

So that’s our little recap. I am not promising to keep this blog up regularly, but I do promise to write when I get the urge.