Happy Birthday, Big Guy

Dear Parker,

As I type this post, I am looking at the photo of the four of you kids taken before Caleb could even crawl.  You are lined up on your bellies, staring at the camera.  Caleb is drooling, Jack is grinning, Maddie is cupping both cheeks with her hands like an angel, and you?  You look as you always do, as if the the wheels in your head are turning, but your lips are sealed.  You are always thinking, considering and considerate.

In the 11 years you've been on this earth, much has changed in your life, but much about you has remained consistent.  You are so brave, son.  I think of the way you jumped right into baseball this season.  It may not seem like a big deal to some, but it really is.  You might have played tee ball once when we lived in Texas years ago.  We didn't play in Singapore because the only league was just too far north (where most Americans lived).  When we got back here and you expressed an interest, your dad and I were on the fence.  We didn't want to quash your dreams, but let's face it, most kids your age have been playing for nearly a decade, and it's a pretty technical sport.  We talked to you and each other and God, finally deciding to let you play.  I was more nervous than you.  Kids can be cruel.  Would they make fun of you?  Would they be put out by the kid on the team who might not even hit the ball?

You went to the evaluations and were placed on a team.  After the first few practices, the coach talked to us about placing you with a younger age group due to your skill level.  The league decided to evaluate you again.  The coach, league leaders, and dad were all there.  They were all so impressed with your coachability.  [Yes, I know that's not a word, but it's my blog, and it should be.]   It's one of the things I love most about you.  It is a skill most do not possess.  I certainly don't.  You have this ability to really listen to others when receiving feedback, positive or negative.  You absorb the information, process it, and make changes.  Son, seriously, this skill is going to help carry you through some rough stuff and leave you all the better for it.

The way you've handled yourself in baseball is just one of the many ways you've amazed me during this year of transitioning back to the U.S.  It has been tough.  You have missed your friends and the familiarity of Singapore.  The differences between east and west are still great even in our very connected world.  I know it's been challenging for you to assimilate all the aspects of your life, and sweetie, I'm so proud of you and how you've handled it.  You are an amazing kid.

You are humble, quick to admit your weaknesses.  You are bold, always willing to try new things.  You are inclusive, never wanting others to feel left out.  You are multifaceted, are able to juggle your varied hobbies and roles (athlete, fantasy battler, video gamer, outdoorsman, friend, brother).   Best of all, you are mine.

Parker, dear, I thank God all the time for making you my son.  I love you, sweet boy.  Happy, happy, happiest 11th birthday.

Love,
Momma

Lost...and Found

Early Saturday morning I decided to visit Goodwill where I'd dropped off donations the day my bag went missing.  Though I had called them on Friday, and they had not seen it, I thought perhaps if I looked in person, it might turn up.  The employees informed me donations are processed the same day they arrive; books would go directly on the shelves.

While searching for my book (I was hoping they just chucked the old journal), I came across another book: I Think I'm Happier Than I Think I Am.  I was intrigued by the title.  When I saw it was written by a pastor, I flipped through a few pages and landed on this passage: "I believe that we humans cannot make real progress toward maturity without letting go of something significant."  Seriously?  I mean, come on.  It's like the Holy Spirit just took the book and slapped me in the face.  $1.50 later, I was carrying it to the car.

I pondered those words all day.  Old verses came to mind:

Consider it pure joy...

Thy will be done...

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord...

Was I really going to let a missing bag and journal undo a lovely Mother's Day weekend?  Whenever I began to feel anxiety about the journal, I reminded myself of the verses.  I reminded myself that God's plans are bigger than mine.  I imagined someone who didn't know God reading my prayers.  Would they write me off as a crazy person,  wondering why I wasted so much ink writing to an imaginary being?  Or would they consider that maybe, just maybe, there was something sacred there?  Would they see the pattern of the chaotic ranting and raw emotion at the beginning of an entry followed by God's assurances and a thankful heart at the end?  God knows I didn't really want anyone to find it, but I hoped if they did, it would at least be put to good use.  

By the end of the day, I was feeling a little more peaceful.  Maddie and I went to a bookstore to buy more Mother's Day cards (since the ones in my purse were gone) and some gifts for the grandmothers.  On the way home, we were passing by the coffee shop I'd visited Friday morning.  "Do you mind if we just pop in and ask about my purse, honey?"  She agreed, and we pulled in minutes before closing time.

"I know I already called, and you guys said no one turned it in, but I was in here yesterday, and I lost my blue bag.  It has elephants on it..."

The employee's brows drew together.  Her lips puckered into a frown as she looked under the counter.  "No, sorry...Oh wait.  Is this it?"

Cue the crazy lady:  "WOO HOO!!!  Thank You [eyes raised to heaven]!  Thank you [to wide-eyed employee]!  Come on around here!  I need to give you a hug!  Can I give you a hug?"  I ran to the end of the counter, and the poor, uncomfortable looking young woman gingerly accepted my bear hug.  [Ugh, boundaries, Jessie, boundaries!]  Oh well, it's not like I'll be going back there after my crazy display.

I have learned a few lessons from this whole experience:

1. Never take a personal journal out of the home.  I've now written in the front of my journals instructions for their disposal when I die.  Morbid, right?  Maybe I'll just burn them when they're full.

2.  Write in code, especially when praying for friends.  No more first names.  My friends trust me, as I trust them, to pray for very private matters.  Not for public consumption.

3.  Trust God.  Even if my bag and book and journal had never been recovered, God knew where they were at all times.  He know everything and has a perfect plan.  I'm just so very grateful our plans aligned this time!    

Lost

I lost my purse today.  I'm not sure if it's lost or stolen.  Regardless, it's gone.  I've turned the house and car upside down.  No luck.

Well, that's not really true.  There are some lucky things.  I have my wallet, car keys, and phone.  Now how, you might wonder, could someone lose a purse but keep all those important items?  Let's just call it God's mercy.

The reason I can't sleep tonight is because of what WAS in there.  There were school registration forms, thankfully still blank.  There was a sheet about Parker's upcoming musical performance at school, bearing his grade, and first and last name.  There was my new favorite book, A Simplified Life.  (Oh, the irony.)  Some cards - Mother's day, thank you, thinking of you, etc.  But most importantly...drum roll please...MY JOURNAL.

That is what has me sweating bullets.  I think and write some crazy stuff, y'all.  In the midst of my repatriation blues, I was recording thoughts that could have me locked away.  I'm not even kidding.  It's where I pray, where I sob, where I praise, where I am completely uncensored.

I used to think I was an open book.  I think I was more open when the kids were teeny tiny.  Then we moved abroad.  Besides being on sensory and emotional overload, freedom of speech was a thing of the past.  I knew that anything I wrote could be monitored.  I knew of a blogger hiding out in the U.S. to avoid prosecution in his country because he had said some pretty unflattering things about the government.  I decided, better safe than sorry.  I stopped blogging almost entirely, save for some travel posts and the kids' birthday posts.

When my online reflections ended, two things happened: I stopped reflecting as much, and when I did, I utilized my journal.  The problem with a journal is that it is completely uncensored.  There is no storyline, no narrative.  Blogging forced me to pause and ponder.  It made me want to articulate my thoughts, feelings, and experiences into something that made sense.  I missed it, and I looked forward to returning to States, to opening up again.

But that didn't really happen.  I came back, yes, but I came back changed.  Someone once described the expatriation experience like play dough.  You come from a country where everyone thinks "red play dough."  You move to a country where everyone thinks "yellow play dough."  Eventually, you think "orange play dough," and there is absolutely no way to separate them again.  Your world view has changed.

I have wanted to write about repatriation and why it feels so hard, but I also don't want to.  I don't want to be misunderstood.  I don't want people to think I don't love the States.  I do.  I just see the world a little [ok, a lot] differently now.  I still don't think I can adequately explain it, and I'm not ready to try.

The only place I felt secure writing about my feelings was in the dang missing journal.  It is raw and oh-so-personal.  I am praying tonight that whoever finds my purse will be utterly bored with the contents and chuck the whole bag!  Meanwhile, I will try to see the silver lining.  Maybe God is reminding me that a journal is not my security.  He is.

You are my hiding place! You protect me from trouble, and you put songs in my heart because you have saved me. 
Psalm 32:7