Life Overseas

Smells

~ eternalwaitofglory ~ Leave a comment

I made the mistake of parking next to our trash dump. I’d pulled in late and all my regular spaces were taken. The dump spaces stood vacant and for a very good reason. Years of half-rotted trash juice fermented into fully rotted trash juice. The stench fills nose, inches its way to the tear ducts before it reaches down the throat and grasps the gag reflex. Merely squeezing your nose does no good. The brief walk from the car stuck to my shoes. They smelled for days.

Smell holds the strongest memories. We learned this at our last debrief. Be aware that you might be brought to emotional tears during transition based purely on a familiar smell they told us. I don’t really like to be brought to tears without some preparation so this bit of information lodged in my brain. My heart whispered, “this is true.” Each child I’ve associated with the smell of the particular lotion I used around the time of their birth. My second child is pink grapefruit. Every time I smell pink grapefruit I’m transported to a small house with a blue swivel chair and late night feedings. Every time.

It really irks me that when I put on perfume my brain blocks it from my senses within five minutes. Everyone else smells it but me, and I really like my perfume! Sometimes I wonder what my personal odor is to others. And, before you make a funny, I’m talking about those fragrance verses in the Bible! Did that joke I thought so funny poke a tender spot? Does that expression on my face, the one I must wear a lot because a deep groove between my eyebrows says so, what does that say about me? About my worries, cares, concerns? What did my, ahem, loud voice tell my children the other day?

I guess my question is this, am I living out Christ’s love such that I’m turning hearts to notice His fragrance or my not so great one? Ironically, whether I’m reflecting Him or not, I’ll still smell like death to someone. My desire to please people doesn’t like this truth. I don’t want to smell like death…ever! But the death that leads to life is worth the turned heads and the comments…and maybe the jokes.

Clay Cannons

~ eternalwaitofglory ~ 2 Comments

I read an article about an old man who took to throwing bricks at cars that sped through a cross walk.   After the brick hit their cars, the drivers slowed but then sped on without stopping.  The police arrested the old man and then released him without charging him.  The people rejoiced.  The old man served justice in the form of a clay cannon.

I followed the story and remember that the man tried to take legal measures to bring safety to his neighborhood and failed.  He took justice into his own hands.  Confucian respect for old age and the government’s fear of a mob shrouded the old man in a strong layer of protection.  So, breaking the law achieved justice and everyone knew it.

Living in a country where breaking the law is a way to justice blows my mind.  The absurdity of it all!  Growing up in a country where the symbol of the court is a blindfolded woman holding a scale means that I am ill-equipped to deal with how unfair life is in Asia.  I desire almost daily to take justice into my own hands because it’s just not happening like it should.

And, it’s not.  I still don’t know what to do with all the injustice I see every day.  I get angry, I grieve, I feel powerless.  I have it good.  I really don’t experience my fair share of it.  I’m usually treated with kid gloves being a respected foreigner.

I long for that day, though, I long for that day when justice will prevail.  I long for that day when old men need not launch clay cannons at cars to keep their grandkids safe.

Where We Lay Our Heads

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Home.  The longing struck again last week as I lay on my bed staring at our huge wardrobe.  I wondered how we would move it again and I answered simultaneously – the same way we did the last time.  Our 3 year contract ends in 9 months and our landlord will move in and enjoy all the improvements we’ve made.  In 9 months we will be living somewhere else…again.

As much as I like to cling to the mantra that “home is where we lay our heads” my heart often does not subscribe.  Sometimes I am at peace to live on such an impossibly high plain of existence, such rest in the present and hope for the future.  Usually after a hard fought hissy fit, I finally discover…again…that nowhere else satisfies.

On the road to that place I struggle.  I want permanence!  I want to know my head will be inside these 4 walls 5 years from now!  I want to mark the door with the children’s heights because I’ll know we’ll be there until they stop growing!  I want!

I think I want that.  My friends that have “settled down” remind me that they still feel the longings to be overseas.  Moments of clarity and perspective reveal that no one really knows these things.  How many fires, floods, job losses, medical catastrophes, deaths, and divorces do I have to witness to learn?  We make our plans, God guides our steps.  So, my heart will long for home until I’m home?

So, in 9 months we move.  In 8 months we roll up the nicely painted growth chart posters and pack our boxes.  In 6 months we start looking for the impossible (we like to ask for the impossible).  In the meantime I pray, shut my mouth, and set my heart to relish the memories we still have time to make between these 4 walls…and to decide the colors of my next 4 walls.