I am an expert in very few things: the rule of thirds, packing tiny suitcases, and dodging PTA meetings all make honourable mention on the shortlist. But there is one thing I've been forced to contend with, through copious amounts of trial and error and the benefit of...
Read moreIt's a tease
It’s a tease, the wanting to leave. I feel like I have to apologize for it, that I can’t miss it, because we wanted to leave. Because we chose it, fought for it, prayed for it, jumped at it. The longing to go doesn’t place a lesser value on what we left, and it’s a tease thinking going will fulfill the longing.
Read moreGift-Giving for the Far Away Family
Christmas sneaks up on me every time. I don't know how that happens; it's not like it's a fixed date on the calendar or anything. But somehow I still miss it, put things off, always thinking this will be the year I plan ahead, yet I never do.
At some point in November I get the email from the parents asking what they can do for us for Christmas. This proves to be a bit of a conundrum as we no longer live across town; we live across an ocean. Shipping rates aren't exactly favourable to any of us and I spend hours racking my brain on gift ideas for my children (and, likewise, for them!) that will be thoughtful and personal, as well as thrifty and expedient.
If you're a fellow expat, or love an expat, or just live too far way from family, here are a few ideas to make Christmas gift-giving (and shipping) not such a pain in the neck.
Read moreTo Know or to be Known
When pulling up stakes and moving around the world, it’s fairly safe to assume we will not be known. But we can take it for granted - this calling, this Holy Spirit prompt - that if God has told us to go, untold blessings on the other side will make the sacrifice worth it.
Read morethe long goodbye
We just did that thing again. That thing where you wave at your dad from behind the glass, shoes off and boarding pass out. One or two children huddle around you, throwing backpacks onto conveyor belts and walking back and forth through the metal detector. Your husband waits for you on the other side, while you pass through security and from one life to the next.
On one side of the glass you are a daughter. On the other side, you are a sojourner; though, in that moment, you probably don’t feel like one at all.
I remember our first time. A baby girl on my hip and a little-boy-hand in mine. We left on a Sunday, a cavalcade of cars burdened with luggage and hopes, and a great deal of uncertainty. I pressed my forehead against the glass, the warmth of a sunny, late spring morning effortlessly pulling tears from my eyes. Turns out, even after four years of support raising, I was not-so-ready to forsake my Kansas home for Ireland’s green shores. My heart literally ached, threatening to break in two. A large group of saints gathered round us, hands on backs and arms, prayers lifted high by people I have known all my life.
I remember my mother’s proud cries, and my dad’s wave goodbye.
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I'm writing today at Velvet Ashes on how we say goodbye. Would love it if you joined me there.
