me

In case I've never posted this here before....this is what it's like to be a TCK:

"If you came back, you wanted to leave again. If you went away, you longed to come back. Wherever you were, you could hear the call of the homeland, like the note of a herdsman's horn far away in the hills. You had one home out there and one over here, and yet you were an alien in both places. Your true abiding place was the vision of something very far off, and your soul like the waves, always restless and forever in motion."

--Johan Bojer
"The Immigrants"


The good news: I know what my true abiding place is. It's more than a vision. It is a reality. It is The Reality. And someday, I will go there, and no longer live restless in the Shadowlands.

why being a TCK/expatriate is so weird

I've been reading "The Art of Coming Home" by Craig Storti. What follows are resulting ruminations.

Being a TCK means being a paradox that walks around on two legs and talks (sometimes sensibly, and sometimes not so sensibly). Here are a few illustrations:

I can travel around all of Europe, sleeping on trains, carrying nothing but a backpack, and enjoy it.
I can stand up to irate cleaning ladies in train station bathrooms and sling back as good as they're dishing out to me.
I can converse in three languages and order from menus in six.
I started traveling across the world by myself via airplane when I was 15. (And I've crossed the Atlantic more than fifty times.)
I have more than passing acquaintance with the cultures of four different countries.

BUT:

I don't know how to use an ATM.
I don't know how to open a bank account.
Highway systems mystify me.
I wouldn't have a clue how to operate a gas oven.
I don't know how to buy a car.
I don't know how to buy a house.
I have a lot of trouble boiling eggs.
Until a few days ago, I'd never had a library card or checked out a library book on my own.
I don't know who the mayor of my city of residence is.
And a plethora of other things.

As a TCK, I have a storehouse of experiences and skills that enable me to function on a global scale. But when it comes down to some of the practical details of everyday life, I am often operating solely on guesswork.

I'm not bemoaning this; it is who I am. I don't feel any sort of desperation to "fix" the things on that second list. I am definitely interested in self-improvement, but most of those things, I figure, I'll learn in the course of life. I just thought I'd offer these two lists as an example of the TCK paradox--because unlike Tigger, I am not the only one. ;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.

in which i don't know whether or not locusts and cicadas are the same thing

I intended to write about this weeks ago but forgot.

A few weeks ago, on a warm spring evening (as opposed to the hot spring evening we are currently experiencing--25 degrees Celsius at 22:00!), Ed and I were sitting in the office with the windows open, doing the kind of nothing that people do in their offices at home on warm spring evenings.

(An aside: I just now sneezed and hit my head on the edge of my laptop. Ow.)

As we sat there, doing nothing, I gradually became aware of a noise. I'd been hearing it for quite some time but hadn't consciously taken note of it. When I finally did begin paying attention to it, I knew immediately what it was: a locust!

Some people find them creepy. Some find them annoying. I find locusts completely fascinating, both in appearance and in lifestyle. ("Lifestyles of the Green and Bug-Eyed!")
As I told Ed on that do-nothing evening of a few weeks ago, the sound of locusts takes me back to childhood summers in Oklahoma, lying awake at night, sweltering in the heat, listening to the locusts as they sang me to sleep.

I've been a lot of places and heard a lot of things, but so far, for me, the sound of locust song is unique to Oklahoma. There's just no other sound like it. And because I associate it with the wonderful, boisterous, adventurous summers of my childhood, it's a sound that is very dear to me. I love walking out into a warm, humid summer evening in Oklahoma and hearing the locusts as they "sing" so loudly, they're almost deafening. Every time I hear them, there's a split second when I'm a kid again.

"Reeeeeeeeeeeeee!" said Ed, imitating the locust. "How would you like it," he asked me, "if your whole purpose in life were to crawl out of the ground in the spring, stretch, look around, and then start making that noise?!"

I laughed.

Oh, and speaking of humid, tonight is definitely the night for that! Earlier, I walked outside, and I could smell the heat and moisture rolling through the air. Like the locust song, this smell is unique to this place. No other place I've been smells quite like this. Germany has its share of humid summers, but they smell different: woodsier somehow, scented with tree mold and green, deep and dark and growing.

Oklahoma humidity smells like earth and rain and wind. It's a wild smell, scented with power barely restrained, occasionally threatening with a hint of ozone. This, too, takes me back to childhood, when storms meant running out into the rain for the sheer joy of getting drenched and seeing the lighting; when climbing water towers didn't seem foolish; when simply everything was possible.

one of the reasons i like living on the north american continent

Ed and I now live within easy driving distance of both sets of parents.

This means that the six of us can get together. Tonight, we did just that, as Ed's folks are in town for the weekend. I know I've mentioned before how much I am enjoying being around family...

...but have I mentioned before how much I am enjoying being around family? ;o)

It's just neat to sit in my parents' living room, look around, and see my parents and his parents, chatting together, laughing together, and getting to know each other better. They've been a part of each other's lives for ten years. I feel all cozy and pleased to think that they're finally able to spend time together, and Ed and I can be part of that and get to know our parents as they relate to each other.

My grandparents never really had that. My grandmas corresponded with each other for forty years, but the four of them never got together simply for the pleasure of getting to know one another. I'm very thankful that in this next generation, my parents and Ed's are taking a different path--and a more heart-oriented one, I believe.

Culture shock and missing Germany aside...this is nice.

echoes from the randomness

A Brief History of the Life and Times of the Winsome Wench in Her Weirdness...

I wouldn't say that Ed and I were desperate up until Monday morning. Yes, we were very, very busy, and yes, we had no downtime, and yes, we were rather concerned that we wouldn't have time to get it all done...... But all things considered, I don't think we were desperate. I'd say we weren't even frantic. We were just very, very busy. And tired. Did I mention tired?

But when you compare International Moving Adventure 2007 with International Moving Adventure 2001, the 2007 version is going much more smoothly. In 2001, when we moved to Chemnitz, we had no clue what we were doing. The night before the movers came, we stayed up working in the apartment until 3 a.m. This time, we were in bed at midnight the night before the movers came. Some might think that a 3 hour difference does not great progress show (thank you, Yoda)... But in 2001, we also had an entire room marked "Do Not Enter" while the movers were working, a large room full of stuff that we had to get rid of after they left. This time, in 2007, we had only about half of a medium-sized room of leftovers. Plus, this time, there's our general feeling of preparedness resulting from having started this process 8 months before the move instead of 6 weeks before. ;o)

Anyway....Monday morning, the movers arrived, brought their packing materials upstairs, built some cardboard boxes, and started packing. And suddenly, Ed and I had nothing to do. We weren't allowed to help them pack, because the insurance only covers our belongings if the movers are the ones who packed the boxes. There was nothing more to organize, nothing more to sort, nothing more to throw out. All we could do was sit and watch as these five strangers entered our space, went through our things, put all our things in boxes, and took them away.

I was tired. I was relieved that I didn't have to pack it all myself. I was excited. I was sad. I was amused by the banter of the men as they worked. I was nervous when one dude started packing up my oil paintings. I hovered and made him nervous, so I forced myself to go sit in the living room and let the poor man do his job. I was glad that we were finally getting this step of the process out of the way. I was numb from the back-and-forth motion of this emotional roller coaster.

Tuesday afternoon, when they started taking the last of the boxes downstairs and packing them into the 20-foot container, I thought I was going to cry. We finished up paperwork, tipped the guys, and watched as they drove away. They honked and waved, and we laughed. Then we went back upstairs. I looked around the emptiness of our apartment, and all I wanted to do was get out of there. It didn't feel like home anymore. Later that evening, when we were coming home from Tuesday night Bible study, I started to cry because we couldn't go home and I felt homesick, and all I wanted to do was go home.

Have I mentioned the emotional roller coaster?

The last few days have been more of the same, but much less intense. In Germany, renters are required to paint the apartment before they move out, so we've been working on getting that started. Today was the first real work day, and thanks to multiple helping hands, the stairwell is clean, and three rooms are completely finished. Three down, three to go. The best part is that our landlady intends to have all the carpets but one ripped out, so we only have to worry about protecting the one. We can smear paint all over the rest, which speeds up our work considerably. Yay for practicality.

Since Monday, we've been living over at Karen's (aka KarenCamp). It feels funny to "come home" over here now instead of to our own apartment. Pippin seems to be adjusting well, although she's having difficulty with the Stay Off the Table Rule. She's really enjoying the ground-floor windows. For her sake, it would be nice if we could find a ground-floor place in Oklahoma City. But that's another story for a future time.

I think I've rambled on enough for now. In short, we're busy, we're tired, we're of very mixed emotions, we're enjoying the "last times" we're spending with various people. All of this, of course, is reinforcing in me the knowledge and the sense that I am truly at home nowhere on this earth. My citizenship, my allegiance, my home is heaven. Perhaps God has led me to this rootless, often-moving, TCK life because he knows that I need it; perhaps I need it so that I will know where my true refuge and sanctuary and comfort is.

Check out 2. Corinthians 4:18 and Philippians 3:20. God says it better than I can.

bloomin' plants!

My aloe aristata are blooming!
I didn't even notice those nifty stalks growing until, suddenly (it seemed to me), there were these nifty bloomy thingies at the top.

Why is this event blog-worthy, you might ask? Well, because I, Faithful Readers, was once in possession of a rather black thumb.

Over the years, I've had steadily more and more success in keeping plants alive. But flowering plants have always been the bane of my existence. Especially succulents (of which the aloe is one). I also have a jade, which I nearly killed; and the aloe barely scraped by when I first got it. (It started life as a single plant and eventually grew into seven.)




I've known for a long time that the aloe were propsering (the growth from one plant into seven was a pretty good clue), but I had no idea they were doing well enough to bloom. I didn't even know that these plants could bloom!

So, I'm excited. It's official: I am no longer a bane to the plant world. I don't kill plants anymore. I have a green thumb! Yay me.







Yay for my aloe aristata! Aren't they beautiful!

my parents are leaving europe

So, the Big Move is finally taking place. Last week, the military sent movers to my parents' house in Mörfelden. They arrived on Monday, packed for two days, and took the containers away on Wednesday. Mama and Daddy stayed in the house a few more days; then, the owner told them that he would like them to leave *now* in exchange for not having to clean and paint the entire house over the course of the next week. So, though this initially caused them quite a bit of extra stress, they went earlier than planned to the home of a friend in the Wiesbaden church. They will stay there until this coming Monday, when they plan to travel to Chemnitz and live with us for the next month, minus a 10-day trip to Greece.

I have to say, I don't think the magnitude of it all has hit me yet. Since I didn't see the move take place, my brain is still telling me that the Mörfelden house is still as full of their possessions as it has been for the last ten years. I feel like I usually do at this time of year: My parents will go to Oklahoma for the summer and then come back to Germany to start the new school year / opera season. I feel this, even as I know it's not true. Possibly, my feelings won't catch up to my knowledge until fall rolls around and my parents are *still* in Oklahoma, without return tickets.

Hence, I haven't really started to be sad yet about their move. A little, but the rest of the mourners are still waiting in the wings, I suspect.

Mama and Daddy have lived in Germany for 27 1/2 years. Originally, they only intended to stay for five! Recently, as I hadn't heard this story yet, I asked Mama how they made the decision to stay past the 5-year mark. She told told me the following, to me highly amusing, anecdote:

When we had lived in Germany about 3 years (so this was sometime in 1983), the three of us were at the Woog, a small lake in Darmstadt. Mama and Daddy were watching me play, when Daddy suddenly turned to Mama and asked, "If we were to leave Germany now, what would you miss the most?"

Mama thought for a minute and then answered, "The Autobahn."

Daddy nodded and said, "I'd miss that, too."

And until retirement came around, that's the last time they ever talked about moving. ;oD

On a more serious note, I'm concerned about how they'll adjust once they're back in Oklahoma past the "vacation-period" time span. Twenty-seven years is a long time. Germany is their home. They are not "coming home" to Oklahoma; they are moving to a foreign country. (The same applies to Ed and me regarding our move in November, but that's another post and shall be blogged another time.) Mama used the right word when she described leaving Germany and leaving their jobs as "bittersweet." I imagine that their arrival in and adjustment to Oklahoma will be much the same.

to talk or not to talk--and i usually forget the "not"

Here's something I found online last year. It's been knocking around in the drafts section of my blog for too long, so I decided to post it today. Sorry if the link doesn't work anymore.

The Talkative Woman
by Sandy Fiedler

Chatter chatter chatter.

Trivial statements lacking significance. Chatter chatter some more. I stare straight ahead at the two-lane Texas highway hemmed in on both sides by sky-scraping pines. Three hours there and three hours back from our day trip. I want to think my private thoughts. I am tired. If I stay politely subdued, maybe she'll take the hint, I thought. But it was not to be. The quieter I grew, the more she talked. Then it hit me like a blow to the head - this is exactly what I do to my husband. How many times have he and I driven along with today's roles reversed? Oh, Lord, he's been sitting there annoyed, wishing I would shut up. I wish I had shut up! The Holy Spirit convicted me. I repent, Lord, of selfishness and insensitivity with my words, and I want You to change me.

"Set a guard over my mouth, O Lord; keep watch over the door of my lips." (Psalm 141: 3 NIV)
Every drive, however, with my husband isn't that miserable; many times we have stimulating, profound discussions sparked by a topic introduced from somewhere, something he has just read, we have heard on the news, or discovered about life.

What are some differences between men and women in the area of talking?

Women like to talk. It is a sociological fact that American women have an emotional, mental, even physical NEED to speak several more thousand words per day than men do. Why God made us that way, I don't know. Toward the end of a perfectly good day of conversationless solitude, I will spontaneously begin talking aloud to myself and I didn't even know I was about to speak until the sound of my own voice startled me. Women, more verbal than men, use both sides of their brain for most activities and can process many subjects at once - dinner plans, the child's poison ivy, the car making a funny noise, the latest scandal in government, those suffering religious persecution in China, the success (or usually failure) of the latest diet, the pressure to perform at work, the need to reapply moisturizer to her lips, and on and on, all at once.

Men are not so. They most often use only their left brain, the logical half, approaching subjects one at a time. How novel! How boring! And have you ever noticed that men speak to each other in numbers? The hard drive has 5 million gigs. The deck posts are 4 by 4s. The airplane he used to fly was a 172 or a 182. My husband is a '49 Ford sedan, slow, steady, reliable, who will get from Point A to Point B, while I am like a hummingbird that darts so fast from flower to flower that you don't know it is there until it hums away.

What men don't like:
Too many words
A know-it-all wife or being overtly taught by a woman
Bad timing; e.g., hit with a list of problems as soon as he comes home after work
Excessive questioning, nagging, belittling, mothering
References to what another man does or thinks

What men do like:
Good timing. Of course, you often must bring up the business of living when it occurs, but sometimes you can make an appointment to discuss an important topic when you both can fully tune in.
Peace and quiet
Stimulating, intelligent discussion; a woman with mystery
Interest in and understanding of him and what concerns him
Respect, admiration, and love

How can a wife use her nature to complement and edify her husband?
First of all, generously spend some of those thousands of necessary words on other women.
If you listen to women in a office setting, what do they talk about?
Diets, recipes, relationships, husbands, kids, health, shopping, feelings. Do you ever hear men talking in the office or on the phone about the minute details of making refrigerator strawberry pie? Women in a group feed on these subjects both because of their need to talk about them and because they instinctively know that their husbands don't really want to listen to them. Because I do not have biological sisters, through the stages of my life, I have sought and been blessed with women friends. When my three children were babies, I NEEDED to talk with women about the unfolding mothering topics I was experiencing from breast-feeding to balancing housework with family's demands.

One friend and I talk about spiritual matters, current events, history, business. In fact, we jot down little notes to ourselves about topics we need to mention when we get together. Once the topics are addressed, with a sense of relief we toss the scribbled notes away like the used grocery list.

Another friend and I talk about a mutual work situation. When my 20-year-old daughter and I get together, we both spew out many happy words like sparks from a fireworks display. We have a blast.

Be willing to keep quiet. It is so hard sometimes, like an alcoholic trying to keep from grabbing that drink. I am a morning chatterer and I have to make myself get busy doing something to prevent my mouth from starting up on a long soliloquy to my husband.

1 Peter 3 1(b) reads, "if any do not obey the Word [of God], they may be won over not by discussions but by the [godly] lives of their wives."
(Amplified) This clearly says that conduct is more effective than words in presenting Christianity to a husband.

...Read your husband like a book - his face, his body language, between the lines of his sentences. He is fascinating subject matter. Pray for an open door to a topic that you want to discuss. Like Esther (Esther 4:16), difficult issues may require that we fast, pray, and prepare a time to meet our husband-king.

These guidelines work well, you might remark, if the husband is a godly man, but what if the husband doesn't give God preeminence in his life? Even so, from past experience (years ago my life shipwrecked in divorce and God has blessed me now with a godly husband), I can counter that question with this challenge: name a place besides Esther's position of prayerful humility that can be safer and yield results more pleasing to God. Where else can God work out a woman's true liberty and fulfillment?

After the eye-opening car ride with my chatty friend, I decided that my next long drive with my husband would be special. I would be pleasant, attentive, and, above all, quiet. After about fifteen minutes of quiet, he had settled in and gathered his thoughts. He said, "You know the book I am reading about the scripture in Matthew?" And thus began a satisfying, deep discussion that melted us together even more in mind and spirit. In the right atmosphere, a man's wisdom, character, personality, and thoughts naturally drift out. The woman must help create that atmosphere. And when she speaks in turn, her words will find a welcome lodging in her husband.

"In like manner you married women, be submissive to your own husbands - subordinate yourselves as being secondary to and dependent on them, and adapt yourselves to them. So that even if any do not obey the Word [of God], they may be won over not by discussion but by the [godly] lives of their wives,
When they observe the pure and modest way in which you conduct yourselves, together with your reverence [for your husband. That is, you are to feel for him all that reverence includes] - to respect, defer to, revere him; [revere means] to honor, esteem (appreciate, prize), and [in the human sense] adore him; [and adore means] to admire, praise, be devoted to, deeply love and enjoy [your husband]." I Peter 3:1-2 The Amplified Bible

difficult announcement

 
Well, we've told the church in Chemnitz, and we included the news in our update letter yesterday, so I guess I might as well share it here, too. Although, I think most people who read this blog are either in the Chemnitz church or recipients of the update letter! Oh well, please forgive me for repeating myself. 

Anyway, the item of news is this: Ed and I have decided that if God makes it possible, we're going to move back to Oklahoma in October 2007. There are several reasons, of course--there always are for such things--but one of the main ones is his dad's health. If God wills it, Ed would just really like to be able to spend time with his dad before that isn't possible anymore. It's strange to think that we're old enough now that we've begun to think of our parents' mortality as a reality. But it's a fact, and one that we can deny only to our own detriment. So we choose to face it for what it is and react accordingly. Burying our heads in the sand and pretending......that just isn't an option. 

Making this decision was so difficult. Honestly, it just tears my heart out. I feel terribly wounded, even though I know that this is the right decision at this time. Telling our Chemnitz family that we're leaving.....it's one of the hardest things Ed and I have ever had to do. We both hated to do it. Because the Chemnitz church and our friends here....these relationships go beyond friendship. These people are our family. This is home. And I don't want to leave. 

I'm going to stop writing now, because if I don't, I'm going to start crying, and that won't help the sinus infection. 

Here's what helps me, though, and it's something we tell everyone when we announce that we're moving: Just because we're leaving Chemnitz now doesn't mean we won't be back! Life with God is a neverending adventure, and we'll always go where he leads us. Who knows where that might be in the future!