ich denk an euch

Hallo ihr Lieben!

Ich hatte dies eigentlich gestern Abend geschrieben, aber Gesichtsbuch hat's irgendwie von alleine gelöscht. Naja, mal sehen ob' diesmal klappt....und ausserdem trifft's heute genauso zu wie gestern! ;o)

Ich sitze hier und geniesse den schönen Anblick unserer Weihnachtsdeko. Ed und ich haben gestern schon gescmückt, aber soeben hat er den letzten Schwibbogen aufgestellt. "We have hübsche Lichter!" sagte ich. ;o) In einem gestrigen "status update" hab ich erzählt, dass wir unsere Weihnachtsdeko das letzte Mal vor zwei Jahren sehen durften--denn letztes Jahr blieb alles eingepackt vom Umzug. Ich denke daran, dass wir diese schönen Sachen--und das meiste stammt aus'm Erzgebirge!--das letzte Mal zusammen mit euch geniessen durften.

Ich wollte euch also nur mitteilen, dass ich an euch denke. Ich weiss, ich hab im letzten Jahr schrecklich wenig von mir hören lassen. Aber trotzdem denke ich täglich an euch, vermisse euch, und habe euch alle sehr, sehr lieb!

Eure Courtney :o)

transitional ruminations

I feel as though I'm overdue in penning some words about the cultural transition that Ed and I have been going through. To begin, I'd like to grace you with a top ten list that illustrates one of the frustrations that goes along with transitioning, namely, the fact that people often don't know what to say to us. (Please note that I am not angry over these utterances, but frustrated.)

Top Ten Things NOT To Say To Cultural Transitioners And Why
(in random order, though I have a particular dislike for #s 5 and 7)

1. How was your trip?
It wasn't a trip. It wasn't a vacation. It was my life. Please to be noticing the difference, thank you. ;o)

2. We've been praying for you to come back.
I think I know what you mean when you say that, and you might think that's a lovely sentiment. But when you say that, what I hear is that you've been praying for me to be separated from people and places I love. That's neither helpful nor encouraging.

3. You've got a lot of time on your hands now! You could (fill in blank with an activity or a job for which I have expressed no interest).
I didn't come back here with no plan of what I want to do with my life. This was not a spontaneous, frivolous decision. Much thought and prayer and planning went into it. Please don't assume I'm sitting around, bored, with nothing to do, just waiting for you to come rescue me with ideas that would make *you* happy.

4. Oh, you were in XLand? I was in XLand back in the '70s....XLanders are so (fill in the blank with a prejudice you developed while you were over there for two years 30 years ago).
Please don't assume your experiences were my experiences. Also, please refrain from telling me, based on your few months' experience, what the people of my homeland are like. Not to be snotty, but I do believe I know them better than you do.

5. Adjusting? Oh, give it a couple of months, you'll be fine.
I see. And the last time you went through cross-cultural reentry was...? Oh, you've never left your home state? Ah.

6. It's so good to have you back. I don't know why anyone would want to leave here in the first place.
(Okay, so nobody has said these words to me directly....but the implication is all over the place.) Well, probably because God created a whole, huge, interesting planet that I want to know about, not just a single continent.

7. I bet you're proud to be back.
I'm sorry, but I don't even know what that statement means.

8. It's good to have you back.
Why? You've never had more than two or three conversations with me. You don't know me. How could my presence possibly signify in your life one way or the other?
(Note: This truly applies only to those who haven't made an effort to get to know the returnee. If you do know me, and if you have made the effort, it is definitely heart-warming to hear you say that you're thankful for my being here!)

9. Aren't you glad to be back?
Yes. No. Maybe. Sometimes, the answer changes from one hour to the next. If you're not prepared to listen to an answer you don't really want to hear, please don't ask.

10. We're so glad to have you home.
This isn't my home. For one thing, I didn't grow up here. From that perspective, I haven't lived in my "home" for 12 years. For another, I spent the last 6 years building relationships and planting roots somewhere far removed from here. This isn't my home. This is your home. On this earth, I don't have a home. And actually, I'd like it to stay that way.

11. Unspecified.
Open to anyone who wants to share some of their own experiences of being on the receiving end of remarks of this sort, as well as dealing graciously with them. I don't always. Especially when it's stuff like #s 5 and 7. ;o)


Looking over the last 8 months (we have been here over 8 months--that is so weird), I can see a lot of lows, a lot of highs, a few plateaus, and some banged-up knees and elbows as we've tripped and fallen and sprawled flat on our faces and gotten back up again. I say "we" because Ed and I both have dealt with our share of spiritual and emotional scrapes and bruises...but really, I'm talking about my own transition here. Cross-cultural reentry is an intensely personal experience (which is what makes it so difficult to describe to anyone who has never experienced it), so each person's is different.

My lowest point so far was Earlyapril through mid-May. The bathtub incidents kind of set off the depression--but if it hadn't been the bathtub, it would've been something else. But I've had help. Help from a wonderful, loving God, who has sent wonderful, loving people into my life and placed me in loving, wonderful communion with them. I've had help through open, honest, in-depth conversation. I've had help through "The Artist's Way" (by Julia Cameron--THANK YOU, GAIL!!!), which is opening my eyes more and more to what it truly is that God created me to be. I've had help through a loving, wonderful, commiserating husband, who has actively grown with me even as he deals with his own transition issues.

I feel very blessed. I not only feel it, I *am* it, and I live it. I hesitate to say that I am learning to be content, since that is such a huge concept....but I think I am beginning to learn it. I am beginning to know why I am here, I am beginning to know what the next step could look like, and it's an unknown shape, but I'm excited about it instead of terrified. I feel as though I am unpacking my mind here, instead of merely unpacking cardboard boxes. I am beginning to travel light again, instead of schlepping around the misery of not knowing who I am. I am beginning to feel/see/hear reference points, reorient my inner compass, tune my inner self to the resonance of God's universe.

No matter what happens, I always know that eventually, I'll be at peace. Moving over here, finding myself in a low spot of sadness and depression, I knew that eventually I'd be at peace.

It's nice that at-peace is starting to happen again.

my transition meltdown. let me show you it.

I ought to be getting in bed right now. I've actually not been doing half bad about keeping to a regular sleep schedule lately. I'd hate to mess it up just because of a little case of RRRCS. Reverse Reverse Reverse Culture Shock. But as I was about to shut down the taplop, I realized I simply didn't want to go to sleep without blogging about this first.

Don't let the sun go down on your culture shock. Isn't that how the scripture goes?

Anyway...

I've been feeling edgy the last few days. Partially because of hormones--I'll spare you those details. But even if it is hormone-related, that doesn't make the emotions any less valid.

So. Edginess. Still, okay. Then came a couple of phone calls yesterday. Well-meant, and ordinarily not something I'd react to adversely. But I came away from them feeling inadequate, untrustworthy, weak, and foolish (notably, not by the callers' doing). I don't need to say that this did nothing to take the edge off the edge. So I won't say it.

Today, I got an email from our dear friend Elsa, reporting on the latest ETM class that took place last week. And there was a photo, too. Not only that, but there was a meeting over the past weekend for *all* the ETM participants *ever*.

I took one look at that photo, read the first line of Elsa's email, and promptly started bawling.

I should have been there, was what I was thinking. I wanted to be there. Desperately. But I couldn't be there. And I suddenly felt like I was wholly and irrevocably in the wrong place.

Shortly thereafter, I called my parents to talk about something totally unrelated, ended up misunderstanding something Daddy said and getting upset all over again, and then bawling to both him and Mama. Later, Jennifer came for coffee, and I bawled to her. Then Isaac arrived, and I bawled to him, too.

By the time Ed got home, I was all cried out. Besides, just seeing him made me feel better. Later, Jennifer and I went for a walk and a talk, and that helped a lot, too.

I don't *really* think I'm in the wrong place. I'm not *truly* dissatisfied with where I am in life and why and whatnot. That might be how I feel right now, but I know it's not so. The feelings are valid, but they aren't a reflection of reality. They're simply part of the transition process.

So eventually, I'll be okay. Today was just a rough day. I've known for awhile it was coming. But, like the day I cried in Buy-for-Less, I didn't expect it on a particular day. It's impossible to predict what will trigger it.

Tomorrow evening, I'm supposed to substitute teach a Ladies' Class. On personal evangelism. You know, that thing I did fulltime in Chemnitz. That thing I believe is part of the definition of "Christian." I hope I can get through the class. With God's help, I know I can. But only if I let him take care of the transition-emotions. And I'm not sure I'm ready to let go of them and let him, yet.

Blech.

I don't like this.

I think I might do some painting this week.

That's all. I feel better now. :o)

tonight i cried at buy for less

Tonight, I had my first intense moment of homesickness since we arrived here three weeks ago.

Ed and I went grocery shopping at Buy For Less after eating dinner at Zorba's. Zorba's is Greek fast food, and the homesicknessfeeling started while we were there, because I started thinking of Palas Athen, our favorite Greek place in Chemnitz, where we've spent so many wonderful hours and had so many great laughs (not to mention spectacular food!!!) with great friends and with the jovial owner. Zorba's, with its hectic atmosphere and high-decibel noise level, didn't exactly measure up to what we're used to. (The food was good, but their idea of gyros isn't what we've gotten to know at Palas Athen, either. However, we're remaining open enough to give Zorba's another chance. We'll just have to put our minds in a different gear beforehand. Or would that be 'beforefood'? ;o)

Anyway, by the time we got to Buy For Less, I was already feeling somewhat melancholy from missing Palas Athen and the fun times we've had there--and especially the people we had those times with (you know who you are). Then, at Buy For Less, Ed ducked into the bathroom for a few minutes, and I found myself in the foreign/specialty foods aisle.

And suddenly, I saw it: German food.

Buy For Less has Klöße. And Rotkraut. And Sauerkraut. And Rittersport and Lindt! And Spätzle! And Semmelknödel! And Bratkartoffeln! And Gurken pickled in Thüringen! And Buy For Less even has pickled herring, which I absolutely despise, but it's a staple of Saxon kitchens, and it all reminded me so much of home that I suddenly found myself standing in the middle of Buy For Less, crying and thinking that I probably looked absolutely ridiculous but not caring whether or not I looked ridiculous, and then Ed came back and just hugged me, and I took him to see the German food, and slowly I started to feel okay again.

Oh, and Ed and I also spent the evening speaking German with each other, and that probably added to the sudden burst of homesickfeelingyness as well.

I think what helps is that I knew this was coming. It had to happen at some point, and I'm kind of relieved that it happened. It needs to happen--and it will happen again and again for awhile--so that I can acknowledge my feelings, accept them, and move on.

Coolly enough, Buy For Less also has Twinings (Erin!) and PG Tips (Ed!) and Branston Pickle (Boynses!). And Turkish Delight, which I don't eat, but I still think it's keen that they have it!

*sigh* I probably don't sound like it, but I do feel better now. :o)

brief thoughts before starting a new chapter

Yes, I am awake, even though I have to get up in three hours and so should be sleeping right now. I had intended to put down just a few thoughts before this new adventure begins, but now that I sit down to write, I find that I can't. I'm too tired, I can't think, I'm anticipating tomorrow (with sadness and with excitement), and I can't be coherent right now.

But still, I wanted to write something, so I guess this is the something. My note to my future self is this: God has a plan for everything, his plan is always right, and his plan is always what works best.

Even if it hurts at the time. Sometimes, *especially* if it hurts.

In the book of my life are many finished chapters. Tomorrow, I am beginning a new one. Someday, it too will be finished. Right now, in spite of my sadness and -other-emotions-too-complex-to-describe-right-now, I am eager to put the period on the last sentence of the chapter I have just finished, and I am eager to begin the next chapter. But I do acknowledge and respect the fact that this next new chapter will end someday; it too is temporary, fleeting.

I find permanence only in God. He has put my name in a book that will never, ever end.

moving is bad for your fingernails...

...I know this, because all my fingernails have broken off over the last few days.

Moving is also bad for sinus health, because one stirs up a lot of dust that one's sinuses are not reacting to in a particularly pleasant way.

It's not just the dust, though. I've cried a lot.

I'm not as scared as I was, though. I think I'm trusting God more, which is a very hopeful, encouraging thing. I'm just sad. I feel like I'm already starting to say goodbye, and I walk around on the edge of weeping a lot of the time now.

On a good note, though, the moving company said they can't come till the 22nd. This means that Ed and I get to go to Jim's funeral on Friday. Personally, I don't have the need of going to funerals in order to experience closure; I prefer to remember people as I last saw them, instead of as a grave site or, worse, a shell in a coffin. But I go to funerals in order to be there for the people who are left. It's something I can do to show respect for the deceased and to share the grief of others. And since shared pain is lessened...

Elsa was really happy to hear that we could come to the funeral. She has asked us to sing, along with Larry and the Springers' daughter Karin. We feel very honored that she asked us. I don't know if we'll physically be able to sing (through tears), but we agreed to do it, and we will at least try.

After talking to Elsa yesterday, I am even more in awe of her faith and of Jim's. And I am thinking more and more about how the death of a Christian is a thing to be celebrated more than mourned. As Elsa put it, Jim is now exactly where he is supposed to be, and he is now doing exactly what he is supposed to be doing. I'm sad that we no longer have his physical presence to brighten up our lives and encourage us in faith...but at the same time, I know that the special essence that makes him Jim is not snuffed out or even diminished. That which makes him Jim is still intact.

As someone else said to Elsa: We have not lost Jim. We know exactly where he is.

God is faithful

Well, only a few minutes, and I am already posting something non-moving-related. But for good reason.

Ed and I just got a call that Jim Springer, our dear friend and Christian brother, died just a few minutes ago. We knew this was coming, but it's still a terrible blow. "A terrible blow"--what a terrific understatement. I don't have the right words to describe what's going through my mind and heart right now. But "a terrible blow" is the very least of it.

Jim has been Ed's mentor for 11 years and mine for about 4. In a way, Jim and his wife Elsa have been another set of parents for the two of us. We just saw him in July, when we took part in another of the Springers' ETM classes. God works in amazing ways, because to me, this was the most helpful, challenging, and valuable ETM class I've been in. I feel so privileged and encouraged to have benefited from Jim's teaching one last time.

Early September was the first hint that anything was wrong. Jim was diagnosed with cancer about three weeks ago.

I think maybe that is why this is such a huge shock. Nobody saw this coming. And yet, this is how reality is: None of us have a guarantee of tomorrow. Jim's situation was not unique; that could have been any one of our spouses; it could be any one of us. What a strong reminder this is that each of us needs to be prepared.

Jim was prepared. In her last email, Elsa said he was happy to be going home. He was excited about the next step he would take. Now he has taken it, and in my heart, sadness is accompanied by thanksgiving. For over a week now, since the German churches learned how serious Jim's condition was, we have all been praying that Jim would not suffer. God has answered our prayers in the grandest way possible, by sparing Jim the suffering and by taking him to a perfect place.

Death isn't the worst thing that can happen. We humans usually believe that, but it is a lie. The worst thing that can happen is for a human's life to end before that human has entered into a covenant relationship with God. Jim had that covenant relationship, and now he's home. Even in our grief, we certainly don't begrudge him that.

If you're the kind of person who prays, pray for Elsa. Pray for Jim's daughters, sons-in-law, and grandchildren. Pray for the family and friends who are still here. Pray for the German churches, who have been blessed through Jim for more than 30 years. Pray for us, because we miss him.