So I realized after the influx of concerned emails that the last post might have been a bit of a downer. Reading over it, I choose to ignore the "gloomy" adjective and go straight for "suicidal". Never fear, my friends, things are looking up. A bit.
I think God knew that we would need a little more time this semester to get into the swing of things. I am always amazed at His infinite wisdom. For example, we were dreading a semester as busy as the last, but didn't know how to slow down without disappointing the kids who are used to coming to our house every week. Many of these kids have a HUGE English exam in less than two months that they're cramming for, so they can't come to our house regularly right now. We are truly enjoying a little bit of peace in an otherwise hectic schedule. While we do miss the students, we can see the benefits in Connor, who is given more attention and time than we've ever had before.
But it's not just the free time that has improved our outlook. It's the people here working their magic on us again.
The Chinese people are, as always, both a blessing and an annoyance. You can't help but love a people who are downright thrilled when you can string three words together in their language. They are friendly and kind, always smiling and excited to see you. Unfortunately, these are also the people who stare, point, whisper behind their hands, do their best to run you over in the street, and try to pick your kid up when he cries (even though you're attempting the same thing). Still, the blessings far outweigh the annoyances.
And then there's the kids we're teaching.
Our students are (mostly) amazing. There is nothing more encouraging than a student who sends you the message: "Teacher I miss you! I want to help if you need. Love you!" Or the students who are riding the same bus as you and offer to completely change their plans for the day if you need help with shopping or getting around the city. Or the students who actually speak up in class on a regular basis. Or the kids who get so excited at the prospect of dyeing Easter eggs with you as a reward for their hard work. Or the kids who try a brownie and pass out on a chocolate high.
Even when we're tired or missing home or irritated at the perpetual knocking on the door, it's worth it. Because of these people.
So, I have nothing specific to say except that you can stop worrying about us. God always has a silver lining behind every cloud. And right now, that lining is the endless throng of people we have come here to serve.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
The Muck
We have now been back in China for six days and have done, at last count, absolutely nothing. There are reasons for this, the first being jet-lag, the second being a rather nasty stomach bug that consumed all our vital organs and left us wrung out, sweat-drenched, and praying for death. Almost literally.
But, to be honest, I'm not feeling motivated, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because our thoughts are still in America, with the people we love so dearly and miss more than ever. We had a wonderful time visiting with family and friends, and for the first time, we're discussing the possibility of life when we return to America, several years down the road. Has that (along with the aforementioned circumstances) taken the wind out of our sails? Is it the prospect of another semester like the last, the kind that had us running off our feet every day from dawn until an hour too unseemly to mention? Is it the disappointments, like some difficult relationships we've encountered or the Seekers who have come so close only to choose against the Truth? Or is it the constant battle for balance, for creating a home in an un-home-ly place, for raising a child and educating him, for doing the best job teaching English as we possibly can, for learning one of the most difficult languages on earth, for trying to put each God-given talent in the most useful place? Or is it simply the Dreaded Culture Shock, catching up with us at last?
Most likely, it is all of these things, culminating in a big ole mental block. The kind that's more of an insurmountable mountain ringed with barbed wire than a simple little red-brick structure. Perhaps if we were feeling all the way better, or perhaps if we'd had a few more days before being thrown into the teaching ring again, or perhaps if the Seeker we were so hopeful for had found support in her family....
People who do the Work we do are often held up on pedestals, expected to overcome all obstacles known to man with a toothy smile firmly in place. I am taking a chance here by admitting less than perfection. We usually begin each semester with boundless enthusiasm, and instead, here we are, slogging through hip-deep mud.
So. We covet your prayers. We ask that you remember us and ask God to wash away the muck we're entrenched with so that we can clearly see His plan for us this semester.
But, to be honest, I'm not feeling motivated, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because our thoughts are still in America, with the people we love so dearly and miss more than ever. We had a wonderful time visiting with family and friends, and for the first time, we're discussing the possibility of life when we return to America, several years down the road. Has that (along with the aforementioned circumstances) taken the wind out of our sails? Is it the prospect of another semester like the last, the kind that had us running off our feet every day from dawn until an hour too unseemly to mention? Is it the disappointments, like some difficult relationships we've encountered or the Seekers who have come so close only to choose against the Truth? Or is it the constant battle for balance, for creating a home in an un-home-ly place, for raising a child and educating him, for doing the best job teaching English as we possibly can, for learning one of the most difficult languages on earth, for trying to put each God-given talent in the most useful place? Or is it simply the Dreaded Culture Shock, catching up with us at last?
Most likely, it is all of these things, culminating in a big ole mental block. The kind that's more of an insurmountable mountain ringed with barbed wire than a simple little red-brick structure. Perhaps if we were feeling all the way better, or perhaps if we'd had a few more days before being thrown into the teaching ring again, or perhaps if the Seeker we were so hopeful for had found support in her family....
People who do the Work we do are often held up on pedestals, expected to overcome all obstacles known to man with a toothy smile firmly in place. I am taking a chance here by admitting less than perfection. We usually begin each semester with boundless enthusiasm, and instead, here we are, slogging through hip-deep mud.
So. We covet your prayers. We ask that you remember us and ask God to wash away the muck we're entrenched with so that we can clearly see His plan for us this semester.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Are You Happy Now, Mama?
In the considerable stress of packing and preparing for return to China, I was busy the other day. Too busy for Connor. He trailed me around the house, asking questions about broken light bulbs and, when I failed to answer quickly enough, prompting me with, "Is it, Mama? Is it? Is it?"
I was frazzled. I was stressed. I was hauling 50-lb trunks from one end of the house to the other, doing laundry, deciding what should stay and what should go, and tripping over my parents' dog. I was in a generally grouchy mood. Finally, after several short answers with increasing irritation, I turned to Connor and said, "Honey. I am busy. I cannot talk to you right now. I have to get these things done. I have too much to do."
Connor thought about that for a second, his big brown eyes sober. He pursed his lips. "Are you unhappy, Mama?"
"Yes. I am a little unhappy right now. I'm busy."
"Oh."
I turned back to packing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Connor plop down by the bed, grab the corner of the quilt, and pull it over his face.
"Where's Connor?" he sang out. He popped out from under the blanket. "Here I am!" he said, beaming. "Are you happy now, Mama?"
Yes. I was.
I was frazzled. I was stressed. I was hauling 50-lb trunks from one end of the house to the other, doing laundry, deciding what should stay and what should go, and tripping over my parents' dog. I was in a generally grouchy mood. Finally, after several short answers with increasing irritation, I turned to Connor and said, "Honey. I am busy. I cannot talk to you right now. I have to get these things done. I have too much to do."
Connor thought about that for a second, his big brown eyes sober. He pursed his lips. "Are you unhappy, Mama?"
"Yes. I am a little unhappy right now. I'm busy."
"Oh."
I turned back to packing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Connor plop down by the bed, grab the corner of the quilt, and pull it over his face.
"Where's Connor?" he sang out. He popped out from under the blanket. "Here I am!" he said, beaming. "Are you happy now, Mama?"
Yes. I was.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Being Salty
I've been mulling over a thought for the past few weeks since we've been stateside. I'm not sure if it's quite gelled yet, but I'm growing dizzy from the circles it's spinning, so I'm going to try to get it down.
Life in China is easier than life in the States. In some respects.
Yes, we sacrifice quite a bit in order to do the Work. We sacrifice time with family, we sacrifice favorite foods, activities, and hobbies; we sacrifice money and security, we sacrifice convenience and often safety (watch some videos of traffic in China if you don't believe me). We do sacrifice.
But.
We seem to struggle spiritually more in America than China. I'm not sure how to explain this, except to say that we went to China with a purpose. That purpose was to spread the Good News, to shine and be as salty as possible, to allow God to work through us, to be what He says we should be. It is not easy, but it is easier to do that when you go somewhere with a purpose. When you change your life drastically, when you start fresh in a place where no one knows you, when your every day and every moment is dedicated to that.
In America, our lives are "normal". Normal pew-sitters, letting someone else do the work. Participants, but not leaders. No outreach, other than as much service as possible to the family kind enough to put us up in their homes. Maybe some encouragement to people who are interested in China. But we aren't Working. I strongly dislike this.
And maybe it's because we bounce around so much when we're visiting. Maybe it's because we're spending time with friends of friends, not our own forged friendships. Maybe it's because we're only temporarily here. But I don't think that's all of it. I clearly remember my relationship with God pre-China, and it's nothing like it is now, praise the Lord! He's working in me, and I'm so thankful. It took a move around the globe to get my butt off of a pew and into His service.
Here's what I think. I think that we should all be living with the sole focus of "shining." We should treat every day, whether it's in the same house you've been living in for ten years or the mold-covered apartment in China you've been in for ten minutes (and want to run screaming out of) as if our only job is to give Him glory. Tell others how amazing He is, how real and close and present He is. We should focus on His purpose. It's too easy to get caught up in our "normal lives" of kids and laundry and errands.
I know this is something you know. I know I'm not telling you anything new. But I'm struck, every time we come back here for a visit, by the fact that doing His Work is easier when I make that my specific purpose. I'm an English teacher, but really, I have a higher calling. We all do, all of us who bear His name and His blood, and if we don't live up to it... well. We put Him to shame, don't we.
So, as this has turned into a little sermonette (sorry), here's your challenge: Don't think of yourself as a manager/teacher/secretary/doctor/lawyer/Indian chief. Think of yourself as a missionary first. And then do that job. You'll be amazed at what God will do with you.
Life in China is easier than life in the States. In some respects.
Yes, we sacrifice quite a bit in order to do the Work. We sacrifice time with family, we sacrifice favorite foods, activities, and hobbies; we sacrifice money and security, we sacrifice convenience and often safety (watch some videos of traffic in China if you don't believe me). We do sacrifice.
But.
We seem to struggle spiritually more in America than China. I'm not sure how to explain this, except to say that we went to China with a purpose. That purpose was to spread the Good News, to shine and be as salty as possible, to allow God to work through us, to be what He says we should be. It is not easy, but it is easier to do that when you go somewhere with a purpose. When you change your life drastically, when you start fresh in a place where no one knows you, when your every day and every moment is dedicated to that.
In America, our lives are "normal". Normal pew-sitters, letting someone else do the work. Participants, but not leaders. No outreach, other than as much service as possible to the family kind enough to put us up in their homes. Maybe some encouragement to people who are interested in China. But we aren't Working. I strongly dislike this.
And maybe it's because we bounce around so much when we're visiting. Maybe it's because we're spending time with friends of friends, not our own forged friendships. Maybe it's because we're only temporarily here. But I don't think that's all of it. I clearly remember my relationship with God pre-China, and it's nothing like it is now, praise the Lord! He's working in me, and I'm so thankful. It took a move around the globe to get my butt off of a pew and into His service.
Here's what I think. I think that we should all be living with the sole focus of "shining." We should treat every day, whether it's in the same house you've been living in for ten years or the mold-covered apartment in China you've been in for ten minutes (and want to run screaming out of) as if our only job is to give Him glory. Tell others how amazing He is, how real and close and present He is. We should focus on His purpose. It's too easy to get caught up in our "normal lives" of kids and laundry and errands.
I know this is something you know. I know I'm not telling you anything new. But I'm struck, every time we come back here for a visit, by the fact that doing His Work is easier when I make that my specific purpose. I'm an English teacher, but really, I have a higher calling. We all do, all of us who bear His name and His blood, and if we don't live up to it... well. We put Him to shame, don't we.
So, as this has turned into a little sermonette (sorry), here's your challenge: Don't think of yourself as a manager/teacher/secretary/doctor/lawyer/Indian chief. Think of yourself as a missionary first. And then do that job. You'll be amazed at what God will do with you.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Late Night Ramblings
For some reason, I tend to wax philosophical at night. This drives my husband crazy, as it means that my let's-talk-about-this-in-depth moods come on at his it's-dark-outside-and-the-bed-is-so-comfy times. So, in an effort to preserve marital bliss, I'm blogging about my current obsession instead.
I do not use the term "obsession" lightly. I have a tendency, which has been known to be carried to a fault, to grasp hold of an idea and gnaw at it until I have resolved it in some fashion. This can be anything from what to make for dinner to whether or not we should move to China (you know how that one turned out).
Something I have been thinking about here lately is independence. And indulgence. For example, when we were called to China, we considered two things first.
1. Is this where God wants us.
2. Is this best for our family (meaning me, Justin, and Connor).
You note that this list is very short. There were people who were not happy about us moving around the world. People like family who, although they understand the Work we do, miss us. Obviously, we miss them too, but we basically had to say that's too bad. We had to satisfy the top two priorities first. For the first, we put out fleece and got an obvious YES. I'll have to tell you that story another time. For the second, it was an obvious yes also -- Justin's job at the time was very time-intensive and stressful, and we have a stronger family bond now because we are spending more time together.
Now, here's where it gets tricky. What should come after question number two? Should it go:
3. What makes me happy
or
3. How other people perceive this decision
????
Because, for me, this gets into a complicated issue. Is it more important to play on others' wants/desires/perceptions or your own? Is it right to indulge yourself or not? Say, for example, you've always wanted to play the harmonica for a living. Other people would think it odd. Perhaps your family disapproves. Is it wrong to want to do a harmless thing because it makes you happy, even if others dislike your decision? Say all your family and friends love to eat beef and you become a vegetarian. This could be a hassle for them when you eat together. Say all your family lives in Maryland and you're just itching to move to Oregon. This might upset some of them. Is it wrong to indulge yourself? To, in situations that are purely based on personal preference and not Scripture, do what you want?
In our culture, we say that we applaud the person who walks to the beat of their own drum, who thinks outside the box, who dreams big. Speaking as someone who is a tad offbeat, I would have to disagree. We are not so different from the Chinese, who expect everyone in their society to conform. I have made some decisions in my life thus far that are different from most people I know. Not bad (honestly, I really do think they aren't bad) just different. And I think that the normal reaction to something different is suspicion. Why did this person do that? What were they thinking? I don't want that; why would they?
We were created as individuals. We all have different joys in life. Justin, for example, wants to go skydiving someday. I am doing my best to postpone that day (told him only if I go with him - ha!). He would also enjoy white-water rafting. I have vivid images of being trapped in a watery grave. He would love to fly planes. I would kill everyone on board before we got off the ground.
I don't judge him for his joys. I support them, as long as they don't end with me as a widow. Video games, for example. So why is it that I feel guilty for indulging in mine? If it makes me happy to stand on a street corner with a big floppy red hat on my head and belt out show tunes, so what? Should I be so concerned with other people's perceptions that I let it stop me from doing something that gives me joy? Our automatic answer is, of course, no. As long as it's not un-Christ-like, go for it.
But if you saw me in my big red hat on the corner of Main Street belting "Don't Cry for Me Argentina", wouldn't you judge me?
Sigh. This is the danger of late-night blogging. Now I'm too fuzzy to be sure if I got my point across or not. I think that many of you who read this, because you are my friends, would hop out of your car and sing the harmony. I hope so. And I hope I would do that for you, too.
I do not use the term "obsession" lightly. I have a tendency, which has been known to be carried to a fault, to grasp hold of an idea and gnaw at it until I have resolved it in some fashion. This can be anything from what to make for dinner to whether or not we should move to China (you know how that one turned out).
Something I have been thinking about here lately is independence. And indulgence. For example, when we were called to China, we considered two things first.
1. Is this where God wants us.
2. Is this best for our family (meaning me, Justin, and Connor).
You note that this list is very short. There were people who were not happy about us moving around the world. People like family who, although they understand the Work we do, miss us. Obviously, we miss them too, but we basically had to say that's too bad. We had to satisfy the top two priorities first. For the first, we put out fleece and got an obvious YES. I'll have to tell you that story another time. For the second, it was an obvious yes also -- Justin's job at the time was very time-intensive and stressful, and we have a stronger family bond now because we are spending more time together.
Now, here's where it gets tricky. What should come after question number two? Should it go:
3. What makes me happy
or
3. How other people perceive this decision
????
Because, for me, this gets into a complicated issue. Is it more important to play on others' wants/desires/perceptions or your own? Is it right to indulge yourself or not? Say, for example, you've always wanted to play the harmonica for a living. Other people would think it odd. Perhaps your family disapproves. Is it wrong to want to do a harmless thing because it makes you happy, even if others dislike your decision? Say all your family and friends love to eat beef and you become a vegetarian. This could be a hassle for them when you eat together. Say all your family lives in Maryland and you're just itching to move to Oregon. This might upset some of them. Is it wrong to indulge yourself? To, in situations that are purely based on personal preference and not Scripture, do what you want?
In our culture, we say that we applaud the person who walks to the beat of their own drum, who thinks outside the box, who dreams big. Speaking as someone who is a tad offbeat, I would have to disagree. We are not so different from the Chinese, who expect everyone in their society to conform. I have made some decisions in my life thus far that are different from most people I know. Not bad (honestly, I really do think they aren't bad) just different. And I think that the normal reaction to something different is suspicion. Why did this person do that? What were they thinking? I don't want that; why would they?
We were created as individuals. We all have different joys in life. Justin, for example, wants to go skydiving someday. I am doing my best to postpone that day (told him only if I go with him - ha!). He would also enjoy white-water rafting. I have vivid images of being trapped in a watery grave. He would love to fly planes. I would kill everyone on board before we got off the ground.
I don't judge him for his joys. I support them, as long as they don't end with me as a widow. Video games, for example. So why is it that I feel guilty for indulging in mine? If it makes me happy to stand on a street corner with a big floppy red hat on my head and belt out show tunes, so what? Should I be so concerned with other people's perceptions that I let it stop me from doing something that gives me joy? Our automatic answer is, of course, no. As long as it's not un-Christ-like, go for it.
But if you saw me in my big red hat on the corner of Main Street belting "Don't Cry for Me Argentina", wouldn't you judge me?
Sigh. This is the danger of late-night blogging. Now I'm too fuzzy to be sure if I got my point across or not. I think that many of you who read this, because you are my friends, would hop out of your car and sing the harmony. I hope so. And I hope I would do that for you, too.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Tiger tiger burning bright...
Look at me, such a good little blogger! I realized today, at the Jackson Zoo with the in-laws, that I have a pretty good Connor story that has yet to be shared.
One thing Harbin, China is known for is the tiger park on its outskirts. Unlike a zoo, the tigers aren't caged -- you are. You sit in this rickety van with something akin to chicken wire for walls and ride through different areas of the park, tigers meandering along beside you, tails twitching, eyes glowing. You can purchase, if you choose, anything from a piece of meat to be held on prongs through the chicken-wire-walls, to a live cow to be unloaded from a van as you watch. The most popular items are the chickens and ducks, however, and the tigers rush upon the vans at the first tell-tale squawk.
We've visited the tiger park three times. The first time, we were newbies to Harbin and wanted to see it for ourselves. Someone on our van purchased a couple of chickens, so we got very up close and personal with the tigers. They stood on their hind legs, the claws on their front paws reaching inside the van, eyes glued to the little mail flap our driver shoved the protesting chicken through. The second time, there were new teachers on campus we went with. Justin held up some meat for the tigers (two of them got into a fight, it was awesome) and someone else bought ducks. The duck procedure is somewhat interesting. A man in a Jeep with some bars covering the windows pulls up next to a lake on the grounds. The tigers swarm around him, eager for what they know is coming. He cracks open the door, tosses a couple of firecrackers outside, steps out into the smoke, and throws the ducks (wings clipped, of course) into the air. They splash into the lake, whereupon the tigers make a ruckus trying to get them. Everyone in the van was cheering for the ducks, who always managed to dive deep just in time...until they got in the shallow water.
Anyway. Those were our first two trips to the tiger park. The third was this past semester. Some friends came to visit, and we took Connor for his second trip to see the tigers.
It was largely uneventful. Nobody purchased chickens, ducks, or meat. We got to see the tigers up close, but it was, over all, a dud. Except for one thing.
I'm to blame, really. When we got into the van, I slid down the wooden bench to the very back, to make room for the other people getting on. We got separated from the rest of our group, who were sitting close to the front. So Justin, Connor, and I clung to the bench seat in the back corner as we bounced down the rutted dirt road to the entrance gate.
In the first area of the park, the van stopped to allow us time to view the tigers. One of which, a large male, wandered around to the back of the van. He sniffed the back tire, then, very deliberately, graced us with a view of his backside and sprayed us. Full in the face.
Yessiree.
Connor thought it was a great joke. I did not.
We get into the second area of the park. Here comes another male tiger. He sniffs our area of the van. In what I can only call a protective-mother-instinct moment, I threw my body over Connor's, shoving his face into my armpit, and the spray from this tiger coated my back.
Onto the third area. Our friends up front are bored, not being as blessed as we were. Justin had gotten sprayed also, and Connor kept chiming, "He sprayed us! He sprayed us!" in a very excited voice. A third tiger, I kid you not, approached us. We ducked our heads just in time.
Now coated, head to foot, in the very musky scent of tiger urine, we exited the van. I had two thoughts:
One -- a shower. NOW.
Two -- heaven help the next people to ride in the back of that van. It's a vicious cycle.
So today, while standing at the tiger exhibit, a tiger paced back and forth in front of us. Connor squealed, threw his dimpled hands into the air, and shouted, "He's gonna spray us, he's gonna spray us!" That is what my son knows about tigers.
One thing Harbin, China is known for is the tiger park on its outskirts. Unlike a zoo, the tigers aren't caged -- you are. You sit in this rickety van with something akin to chicken wire for walls and ride through different areas of the park, tigers meandering along beside you, tails twitching, eyes glowing. You can purchase, if you choose, anything from a piece of meat to be held on prongs through the chicken-wire-walls, to a live cow to be unloaded from a van as you watch. The most popular items are the chickens and ducks, however, and the tigers rush upon the vans at the first tell-tale squawk.
We've visited the tiger park three times. The first time, we were newbies to Harbin and wanted to see it for ourselves. Someone on our van purchased a couple of chickens, so we got very up close and personal with the tigers. They stood on their hind legs, the claws on their front paws reaching inside the van, eyes glued to the little mail flap our driver shoved the protesting chicken through. The second time, there were new teachers on campus we went with. Justin held up some meat for the tigers (two of them got into a fight, it was awesome) and someone else bought ducks. The duck procedure is somewhat interesting. A man in a Jeep with some bars covering the windows pulls up next to a lake on the grounds. The tigers swarm around him, eager for what they know is coming. He cracks open the door, tosses a couple of firecrackers outside, steps out into the smoke, and throws the ducks (wings clipped, of course) into the air. They splash into the lake, whereupon the tigers make a ruckus trying to get them. Everyone in the van was cheering for the ducks, who always managed to dive deep just in time...until they got in the shallow water.
Anyway. Those were our first two trips to the tiger park. The third was this past semester. Some friends came to visit, and we took Connor for his second trip to see the tigers.
It was largely uneventful. Nobody purchased chickens, ducks, or meat. We got to see the tigers up close, but it was, over all, a dud. Except for one thing.
I'm to blame, really. When we got into the van, I slid down the wooden bench to the very back, to make room for the other people getting on. We got separated from the rest of our group, who were sitting close to the front. So Justin, Connor, and I clung to the bench seat in the back corner as we bounced down the rutted dirt road to the entrance gate.
In the first area of the park, the van stopped to allow us time to view the tigers. One of which, a large male, wandered around to the back of the van. He sniffed the back tire, then, very deliberately, graced us with a view of his backside and sprayed us. Full in the face.
Yessiree.
Connor thought it was a great joke. I did not.
We get into the second area of the park. Here comes another male tiger. He sniffs our area of the van. In what I can only call a protective-mother-instinct moment, I threw my body over Connor's, shoving his face into my armpit, and the spray from this tiger coated my back.
Onto the third area. Our friends up front are bored, not being as blessed as we were. Justin had gotten sprayed also, and Connor kept chiming, "He sprayed us! He sprayed us!" in a very excited voice. A third tiger, I kid you not, approached us. We ducked our heads just in time.
Now coated, head to foot, in the very musky scent of tiger urine, we exited the van. I had two thoughts:
One -- a shower. NOW.
Two -- heaven help the next people to ride in the back of that van. It's a vicious cycle.
So today, while standing at the tiger exhibit, a tiger paced back and forth in front of us. Connor squealed, threw his dimpled hands into the air, and shouted, "He's gonna spray us, he's gonna spray us!" That is what my son knows about tigers.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
It's Justin's Fault
Mercy me. Here I am with this blog that I haven't touched in six months, and Justin goes and announces to the Family at West Side that if they want to keep up with our life in China, his wife does a blog. No pressure. So I guess I'd better get back on the ball. Perhaps I'll make this my New Year's resolution.
Let me do a quick recap. We did some traveling over the summer, seeing some of the most famous sights in China -- 西湖 West Lake, famous for its poetical beauty, and 黄山Yellow Mountain, famous for its jaw-dropping rock formations swimming in thick fog. We met a Belgian who taught me that french fries and mayonnaise are from Belgium (apparently all good things originated in Belgium; other people just keep taking credit). We got stuck in Beijing and detoured to Tianjin, only to get stuck there too.
Our fall semester was pretty much the normal work routine, which means we were run off our feet. We had a Halloween bash that was hugely successful, a Thanksgiving dinner that was absolutely lovely, and a Christmas movie night that was fantastic, except for the power outage in the middle of the Muppets' Christmas Carol.
It's funny, looking back, that all the days blur together. I know there were so many moments that were probably blog-worthy. Teaching Connor to read, for example. Making caves under his bunk bed. His insistence that he just had to have a big flashlight (this came in handy during the Christmas movie power outage). Starting to homeschool. Discovering mold in our apartment again and having to rearrange bedroom furniture in hopes that more air circulation would help keep it at bay. Buying two hamsters, a bunny, and a cat. Accidentally killing the hamsters (Connor still thinks they're playing outside in the -10 degree weather). Discovering that Justin's cat allergies are no joke, thus finding the cat a home with two students who smuggled him, yowling in a backpack, into their dorm room. Welcoming a new Sister into the Family and being super thankful that we have a bathtub instead of having to fill up the kiddie pool in the living room. Lugging heavy buckets of water was getting old, even if it was for the best reason in the world.
And now we are back state-side, visiting family, getting check-ups, and apparently blogging again. Justin is giddy at being able to watch football games for the first time in three years, Connor's little mind is boggled at getting to ride a car almost daily, and we're all thrilled to be enjoying good Christian fellowship. It won't be long before we're back on a plane heading "home" again.
Let me do a quick recap. We did some traveling over the summer, seeing some of the most famous sights in China -- 西湖 West Lake, famous for its poetical beauty, and 黄山Yellow Mountain, famous for its jaw-dropping rock formations swimming in thick fog. We met a Belgian who taught me that french fries and mayonnaise are from Belgium (apparently all good things originated in Belgium; other people just keep taking credit). We got stuck in Beijing and detoured to Tianjin, only to get stuck there too.
Our fall semester was pretty much the normal work routine, which means we were run off our feet. We had a Halloween bash that was hugely successful, a Thanksgiving dinner that was absolutely lovely, and a Christmas movie night that was fantastic, except for the power outage in the middle of the Muppets' Christmas Carol.
It's funny, looking back, that all the days blur together. I know there were so many moments that were probably blog-worthy. Teaching Connor to read, for example. Making caves under his bunk bed. His insistence that he just had to have a big flashlight (this came in handy during the Christmas movie power outage). Starting to homeschool. Discovering mold in our apartment again and having to rearrange bedroom furniture in hopes that more air circulation would help keep it at bay. Buying two hamsters, a bunny, and a cat. Accidentally killing the hamsters (Connor still thinks they're playing outside in the -10 degree weather). Discovering that Justin's cat allergies are no joke, thus finding the cat a home with two students who smuggled him, yowling in a backpack, into their dorm room. Welcoming a new Sister into the Family and being super thankful that we have a bathtub instead of having to fill up the kiddie pool in the living room. Lugging heavy buckets of water was getting old, even if it was for the best reason in the world.
And now we are back state-side, visiting family, getting check-ups, and apparently blogging again. Justin is giddy at being able to watch football games for the first time in three years, Connor's little mind is boggled at getting to ride a car almost daily, and we're all thrilled to be enjoying good Christian fellowship. It won't be long before we're back on a plane heading "home" again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)