We came back to the States one year ago today. A good, long, hard, fun, stressful, chaotic, slow, fast, happy, sad, fulfilling, frustrating, fruitful kind-of-a-year. But other than that...

On not freaking out... maybe

I'm finding myself in a not-so-unfamiliar place. The passage of time - the flipping of calendar pages towards a question mark date, destination and future - faster than I would like it to be. This is the place where I typically find myself freaking out.

But I'm not.

I'm not sure this is right. Is this peace? Is this trust? I don't know. I've never really been to this place, this not freaking out place, before. I don't recognize the peace part. I recognize all the other bits - the fluid plans, the what ifs, the ambiguity, the underlying tension of uncertainty - but I don't recognize the scenery, the slow-mo walk to the library, the prayers throughout the day that end in smiles instead of tears.

It's slightly unnerving. Shouldn't I be freaking out? Come June 1st our family of five will be without a vehicle. August 1st is the original deadline to move away again, which we prayerfully decided on over a year ago. In the fall our children will be starting school, but on which continent? And there's a substantial amount of financial support we need between now and the question mark then, that may or may not come later rather than sooner. Shouldn't I be a bit freaked wondering how it'll all come together? Shouldn't I be banging down God's door asking for the times and places and know-hows?

In a couple of months, my life will change substantially. Or maybe it won't. I might still sit and write at this dining room table we found on clearance three years ago and couldn't wait to sit at again. Still waiting some more and trusting some more. Or I might sit at someone else's table, in another country, in another rented house with someone else's furniture, having sold this table and that chair and those dishes we picked out for here but might not need for there. Still trusting and thankful and off on the next adventure.

But really, I don't know. I don't know at all. I have no idea where we'll be and when. If I think about it too much the anxiety does again start to raise, the pain in the chest becomes a little more acute. Or I can get up and fold the laundry, hug the kiddos and kiss the booboos. I can write the thank you notes and stamp the envelopes. I can order the prayer cards and meet the people.

I can pray the prayers, the prayers of "Yes, God. I know you, God. I trust that you've got this figured out, even when I don't have a clue. I'll wait on you, God." For the time and the place and the know-hows and the whys and the next thing and the next thing...

I'll wait on Him.

An update, in case my worried parental units are reading this

Hey ya'll. I'm feeling snarky and upbeat tonight, so thought I should post a wee update on all things ambiguous.

[note: if you would like to make this really fun, every time I mention the word 'ambiguous', please take a drink of your preference: coke, water, beer, formula, whatever]

So...... we've had a few meetings. Good, though slightly uncomfortable meetings, but the end result is positive, so I'll go with it. We've got the official invite back, which is a nice response to one ambiguous area of my life. While on home assignment we will have actual assignments, which will be good and fun and hopefully encouraging and confirming and all that jazz. Also hopeful that they will in fact, finally, turn me into a better person. Well, we'll see on that one.

Anyway, one big ambiguous issue solved for the time being. Now, onto the next one! Packing! Any takers? I am so not a good packer. Actually, as I'm sure you've guessed, I'm not a good transitioner. I'm really, really bad at it. It seems like we've packed (or gotten rid of) loads of stuff already, but the house is still chaos! Of course, this could be because we've removed everything from drawers, shelves, and cupboards. Craziness still reigns and the path home is now oh so short. In all fairness, this issue really isn't all that ambiguous. Our leave date - 7 June - is fixed on the calendar. It's just surviving it all in between now and then. But I think we'll make it. At least tonight, I think we'll make it.

And now, a picture of the girl and I. Our alter-egos.




Can you tell I've had a lot of caffeine today?!?!

Freak Out, the sequel

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

That's what's going on in my head right now as I sit paralyzed in this black chair, immobile due to complete distraction, indecision, and ambiguity.

What's the cause of this freak out, this time? We're awaiting some decisions... some decisions that aren't ours, that we thought were already decided, and yet they aren't really. There's this whole "invitation back" thing we're waiting on. It's a thing supposedly everyone has to go through when they leave from full-time work here, back to America, and then hopefully back again. But apparently it's a process that has never really technically been followed through on before. And so, being that there's a first time for everything, we are the first time.

This wouldn't really be such a big deal, except that we've been asking this question, this "Are we invited back?" question for several months. This question has always been met with a nod, an "I don't see why not," an "I'm sure it won't be a problem" type of answer in the past. But in the last few weeks, this question has been met with a "Let's wait and see," or a "We'll discuss it at the meeting," or an "I wouldn't worry about that right now" type of answer.

So can you see the freak out?

Reasonably, logically, I think it's good. They should take their time. And so should we. Let's really discuss things and see how things have worked and come together and make a joint decision affirming the future. Paranoid me sees things slightly differently. I mean, there was affirmation, and then there wasn't and then there was silence. I mean, we're packing up our life here! We're saying goodbye without being able to tell people when/if we'll get back. We have to actually share with our children what our plans are beyond next week. But instead, I'm having to claim this ambiguity once again as my silent partner in crime.

Oh Ambiguity, won't you ever leave?

So today I sit in a slightly chaotic household, a child crying upstairs due to some teething and sleep-deprivation issues. I'm looking at toys and wondering where I should put them: in storage, in a suitcase, in a plastic bag to take to the charity shop. The girl, who has never taken well to change, I worry a bit for. I hate to see the sad, crying child return, who would just roam from packed room to packed room whimpering during our last move. I'm trying to be stable for her, keep things as normal as possible, when inside I feel the anxiety rising in my chest and causing me actual physical pain.

Do we have any alcohol in the house? Or maybe an inhaler?

I need a chance to breath and believe it'll all be OK.

Ok, back to reason and logic. Looking back at this blog over the year(s) or so, I see many freak outs and unanswered questions that, in due time, God answered and calmed and provided and settled. He's there in it somewhere, waiting for the freak out to end and faith to begin. Perhaps I'm just not learning this lesson yet. Perhaps there isn't even a lesson. Just the next step in belief.

The wee one still cries. Perhaps he too senses my paralyzed state of ambiguity and anxiety. Can probably taste it in the breast milk or feel it in my biceps when I carry him around the house. The girl, though, for now, appears oblivious. Guessing I should just sit still then, and wait, and relax... nothing has to be packed or done just yet.

6 weeks till D-Day.

Anyone want a used bandage?

It's happening again. That feeling I get as we edge closer to another move. Panic mixed with sadness, fear, exhaustion and worry. Another house to organize, pack up, clean, and leave. Clothes and toys and furniture to store, sell, or give away. Plane tickets to be bought. Lodging to be secured. Vehicle to be found. Schools to be left or enrolled. I'm not happy about it. I hate this part. The constant tearing off the bandage only to open new wounds, let them heal over, and then rip off the bandage again.

This time, we think we're coming back. We hope we're coming back. We don't know for sure. No one seems to know for sure. But the plan is, currently, to come back, though that doesn't even take into account the support we need to even get back. That will be a miracle in itself. But if or when we do come back, the plan is to stay longer than two years. The uprooting-our-family-every-24-months routine is getting old.

But before then, the leaving. The house is a hodgepodge of junk, ours and the landlord's. Move our stuff out, his stuff back in, and try to undo the damage Ella has done to every wall in the place, prepping for new people. A house that was never ours.

The task of sorting and throwing out is about to get brutal and ruthless. I gotta grab this move by the horns and tell it whose boss.