Deeper sorrow, deeper joy

I know how to hide my feelings from myself. I’ve had practice telling those miniature white lies about how I don’t mind or that I’m unconditionally happy and galloping through life without unwanted feelings lassoing me.

My body gives me a jolt now and then: a wrinkled forehead glimpsed in the mirror, indigestion, weight loss, fatigue. But look on the bright side, I think. I don’t really feel that stressed, weary, cranky, or conflicted. I am living the ideal life. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to be me right now?

What I don’t remember is that shutting down my “negative” feelings also shuts down my capacity to deeply feel joy.

Earlier this month, I realized that wedding planning all day on my day of rest was not a sustainable pattern. So on my next day off, I forced myself to rest, really rest. I wrote “read” on my to-do list and that was all. As evening came, I transitioned into watching Call the Midwife. Two episodes later, I shut down my computer and cried. It was as if feeling vicariously for almost 2 hours helped to release my store of pent-up feelings.

This is where I want to be: feeling. Even if sometimes it means feeling an aching loneliness or feeling downright scared at what looms ahead. When I open my heart to feel, I experience the richness of the ups and downs of a life fully-lived. Because joy is right there too, every bit as deep… deeper even, but I can’t notice it when I’m only skimming along the top of life.

This season of life is filled with lasts and goodbyes as I prepare to leave Spain in 3 1/2 weeks. “Another last,” said my teammate when we dropped off my final guests. My guests and I had had a marvelous time, exploring and talking, processing and laughing. Their leaving set me into motion, clearing out my house and closing up my life here. It aches, but not all aches are bad.

I’m also filled with energy as I think about trading this life for several months with family and friends in my home community. And then there’s the dizzying delight of marrying J in three short months.

God meant the sorrows and joys of this season to be felt rather than ignored. So today, I choose to stay in this vibrant sense of being alive.

J&T: A piece of our story

Besides a detailed account of our few weeks together, I haven’t written much about my relationship with J. It’s not because he has been pushed to the periphery of my life–he has been invading every nook and cranny! But I guess those were the nooks and crannies I once used to write on my blog.

Months ago, a reader asked me to tell our story. So here it is from my perspective…

We met at a wedding, our siblings’ wedding, to be exact. My older brother and J’s younger sister married each other in the summer of 2018.

You’d think that we both would have had romance on the brain in such a setting. Yet, he was based in China and I had just moved to Spain. Our minds were on our respective work, not romance. When I think hard enough, I remember things about him from that weekend–like when I tripped on my too-long skirt and he tried to blame my clumsiness on himself–but I can’t remember what he was wearing the first time I saw him or anything of the sort. He remembers even less than I do.

At the Sunday potluck, we chatted with each other. Our conversation was enthusiastic because, as overseas workers, we could connect in ways that we couldn’t connect with just anybody. He asked to be added to my newsletter mailing list.

I went back to Spain. He finished school and returned to China. I contacted him once about an article I was writing and he sent me some information. That was our only personal contact for five years.

His church became one of my supporting churches for two years. I was delighted because I already knew some of the congregation. I also knew his family. (When our siblings were dating back in 2017, I had made a point to travel to Ohio. Twice. And J was in China both of those times.)

In 2019, he returned to Ohio to finish his Master of Science with the intention of moving back to China. And then the pandemic happened, and he found himself planted Stateside indefinitely. Over the next several years, he made trips to Illinois to visit his sister, my brother, and our mutual nephews. I returned to Illinois as well, for a vacation or a home assignment, but our paths didn’t cross, and neither of us considered that they didn’t.

Then while I was on home assignment summer of 2023, I gave a talk at his church. J and I chatted a little that Wednesday evening, but I did a little chatting with a lot of people and nothing felt unusual. I was at the beginning of a long trip and was dealing with ongoing health symptoms I had become an expert at suppressing. Had I been a little more in tune with my surroundings that evening, perhaps I would have seen that quiet question mark above J’s head. But I continued my trip, clueless.

Still, he said nothing. Not that I was expecting him to have anything to say. In retrospect, it was as if, in my mind, he was married to China and therefore ineligible.

Toward the end of my time in the States that summer, he and his parents came to Illinois to visit his sister… the same day I left for Indiana.

It seemed that God was keeping us apart. And I think, in a sense, He was.

While in Indiana, I found a name for the symptoms I’d had for more than a dozen years, the symptoms that were getting progressively harder to suppress.

I started treatment after returning to Spain. Within a month, I recorded in my journal that I was beginning to feel better. I knew I wasn’t completely healed, but I was on my way. I had lots to be thankful for that Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving was also the time that J, who had been praying for me in the meantime, sensed that the time was right. He emailed me that weekend.

I woke up at 5 a.m. to take the day’s first dose of treatment. As I crawled back into bed that Sunday morning, I saw I had an email from J. I immediately assumed that he was writing to say he was moving back to China and could I please take him off my newsletter list?

Or.

I didn’t stop to ponder; I just tapped the notification and opened the email that would change my life. Stunned, I lay in bed, lost in thought until my alarm went off.

He didn’t get an answer right away; I had a lot to think through. The truth is, as older singles, we both valued our respective single lives. Could this really be God’s next step for us? I knew I would need to mourn that first layer of loss before I responded to his email. Finally, with both trepidation and excitement, I wrote back, mostly with questions he had given me permission to ask: What about China? How did he feel about singleness?

Our initial emails were full of questions as we tried to sort out if forward were the best direction for us.

Deep down, I had a sense our relationship would work out, which was based on what I knew about him, his family, and his church. At its core, that inner sense was: “Of course. Why didn’t we think of this before?”

We wrote back and forth for a bit and then were ready to make our relationship more official around Christmas. Our families were shocked and excited. Our friends were shocked and excited. At last, these two “permanent singles” were dating!

Starting a relationship while 4,000 miles apart wasn’t for the faint of heart, but I’ll skip over those layers for now. One month after our first official phone date and just when I was admitting to myself how much I liked him, J was nominated to become a pastor in his home church. The next Sunday, one man would be chosen by lot and ordained.

He wrote to me on Monday morning, and all I could do was fall on my knees.

We both had lots of feelings that week. We tried phone calls but found we didn’t have a lot of words. Tears came at unexpected moments. I wasn’t mourning; I was overwhelmed. How could I support him when I was feeling so weak myself? What exactly was the new girlfriend’s role?

The events of that week drew us together in ways neither of us could have anticipated. Our relationship deepened to a level we would have said we weren’t ready for. We learned to trust each other.

I watched the ordination over WhatsApp, tears flowing as J was chosen to serve as a pastor in his home church.

Then we picked up and kept going, in both praise and uncertainty.

He came to visit Spain in May. We had 19 whole days on the same continent. During that time, we finished falling in love and seriously talked about a future together.

Three months later, I spent three weeks Stateside, in my home community and his. Right in the middle of our time together, J asked me to marry him. Even though I had known it was coming soon, he managed to surprise me. (Well, he surprised both of us, but that’s another story. 😉 )

Then came the whirlwind of excited decision-making in the week before I returned to Spain. Spain is where I am now. The whirlwind hasn’t stopped and likely won’t as I close down my life here, move back to the States, and plan a wedding.

But I’m surprised to find how much joy is in the whirlwind too.

This message has been approved by J. 😉

I’m doing terrible, terrible

“Estoy fatal, fatal…” I’m doing terrible, terrible. That’s how an elderly neighbor typically greets me.

Maybe I’ve lent an ear too many times. Or, for all I know, she dumps her health issues on everyone she comes in contact with.

Being on the receiving end of her complaints isn’t much fun. It’s hard to listen to how the doctors can’t give her any answers, about her latest trip to the pharmacy, or how her legs refuse to work (although they mysteriously carried her several blocks from home).

She never asks how I am or what I’m doing. I doubt she even knows my name.

I help roll her walker down the ramp from the elevator, open the door, and stop for a “Oh, uh-huh, oh that’s too bad” chat on the street. I even take her cinnamon rolls at Christmas because I know she likes them. Still, I inwardly groan every time our paths cross.

“Estoy fatal, fatal…”

As much as I hate to admit this, I know that sometimes I sound just like my neighbor: “Why me? Why do I have to be the one to deal with this bumpy relationship/chronic illness/broken heart/smashed dream? I’m doing terrible, terrible…”

When life doesn’t feel fair, it can be an easy slide from lament to griping, from heartache to bitterness. Even with the Spirit of God dwelling in me.

So it’s a good thing God sends my neighbor into my life every now and then to give a face to my inward grumblings and remind me to trust that God knows what He is doing. Then, as Jen Pollock Michel writes in her book In Good Time, I can receive life with gratitude and say, “Whatever you choose to give, Lord, I embrace” (p.99).

Pollock Michel, Jen. In Good Time: 8 Habits for Reimagining Productivity, Resisting Hurry, and Practicing Peace. Kindle ed., Baker Books, 2022.

Part six: Melancholy and sweet

Click to read: Part one: A palace and a hostel, Part two: A stolen sandwich and art, Part three: Relationship advice and edible puzzles, Part four: Tanneries and street food, and Part five: Friends and ferries

Melancholy and sweet. Those words describe the days following our return from North Africa. We knew our time together was winding down, and we were determined to make the most of it.

At the beach, we walked along the shore until we were among a scruff of bushes and leftover seaweed. We spread our towel in a promising spot, but then had to scramble back to avoid a soaking.

Next, we hiked a horse trail up the side of a cliff. The view of the town and the blue sea beyond was startling and we stopped to drink in the view… and let me catch my out-of-shape breath. From there, we joined a greenhouse tour with a group of German students. Some of them were in the eye-rolling stage and received lectures from our tour guide. J’s mind was brimming with questions, I could tell. But it wasn’t until we had munched our way through samples of tomatoes and cucumbers drizzled with olive oil that he was able to corner the guide and ask his questions.

The next morning, we toured Almería’s Alcazaba (Arab fortress) with two teammates.

On Saturday, we puttered around the center, cleaning and hanging out, then slipping over to my neighbor’s barber shop for J to get a trim.

That evening, my teammates hosted a “romantic date for two” in their living room. To dress up or not to dress up? Not to. That’s what we decided, knowing we would be most comfortable “as is.” So we arrived at the front door, barefoot and the day’s leftover sweat still clinging to our clothes.

A smoldering incense stick, music, games, discussion questions, and a massive charcuterie board. We took a few moments to orient ourselves.

“Message us when you’re ready for tea!” And then they closed the door and left us alone.

There were so many options that we hardly knew where to start. We sampled this and then that and then the other things. We paired foods, discussing the flavors and textures. Yes, for a long while our conversation revolved around food, but only because we were both enjoying the experience so much.

We played Dutch Blitz. I won, but he was such a good sport about it that it wasn’t even fun to gloat. We put a puzzle together and talked until we were yawning, or, in J’s case, until long after we were yawning. J managed to walk me home, even with drooping eyelids.

We spent Sunday morning walking around town and looking for murals and other interesting sights. J had the sermon for our team service. I don’t remember how we spent all of our time that day; I just was aware that it was passing too quickly.

Monday was our last day together. We took the bus up the mountain to the springs, spread our blanket, and sat on the thinly-covered knobby ground. We talked, played Qwirkle, and stuck our feet in the chilly stream. I managed to hike partway up the side of the mountain with him, but petered out and parked myself on a nice rock while he ran the rest of the way up. Yes, ran. When he returned, we meandered among the busy beehives we found there and managed not to get stung.

After a stroll through a sprawling Spanish town, we eventually caught the bus back to Mytown just in time to join teammates for a steaming plate of couscous that hit the spot exactly.

A few hours, a walk, and a couple of park benches later, we ate our last supper together and J washed the dishes for the very last time.

Then it was time to go.

We stood shivering in the chilly night air until the bus driver beckoned. It was over. For now.

But like J wrote the next day: “…we have accumulated some good memories and have many more to make.”

Much blessings

This morning, a friend sent a voice message that ended with “Much blessings!”

Her non-native English made me smile; I love the way she talks. “Many blessings” is grammatically correct–my work email even signs off with that–because blessings are individual and countable. Or are they? We count our blessings, the many ways which we are thankful for what God has given us, but can we really count them all?

I’m pondering this on after saying goodbye to visitors who celebrated life with me. We toured an Arab fortress, a cathedral, and a greenhouse. We strolled the beach, picnicked by mountain springs, housecleaned, marketed, and tasted lots of foods. And my favorite parts were the conversations, prayers, and laughter woven through all of it. My friends brought gifts and letters from home. On the board above my desk, hang two letters from a nephew and a niece who are big enough to write in beautiful cursive and sign their letters, “Yours truly” and “Love.”

And this week, I have another visitor–one I’ve been looking forward to seeing since… well, since a long time.

With all of the extra activity infused with normal life and work, I sometimes struggle to keep up. Yet, I am filled, sandwiched here between the goodness that was and the goodness that is to come.

“Much blessings” describes this perfectly, I think.

Foodie nights

This summer, I was encouraged to add recreational activities to my regular schedule. “What do I enjoy doing?” I asked myself. My default pleasure activity has always been reading, any free time passing with my nose in a book. But surely that wasn’t all I enjoyed.

Then I remembered that I like puttering around in the kitchen when I have purpose but no pressure. The remembrance felt like walking into the embrace of a dear friend, so when I returned to Spain, I determined to make time for recreational cooking.

Roughly every other weekend, but sometimes in another available time here or there, I plan a time for recreational cooking. I call it a “foodie night,” but mostly just to myself because, truth be told, I’m not a foodie; I just like trying a new recipe now and then without the pressure of it needing to turn out.

The foodie night process starts long before the evening I get to try out a new recipe. It starts with ideas–maybe an ingredient I see that I didn’t know I could get here in Spain, or something someone else mentions they made. Then I hunt down a recipe, gather ingredients from hither and yon around town (and invent substitutions for those I can’t find). And maybe the recipe requires a little prep beforehand. At last, foodie night arrives, and I pull out my collection of ingredients, turn on some music, and take my time.

Here’s what I’ve made so far:

Miso soup ⭐
Spring rolls with shrimp, cucumber, carrot, and mint dipped in peanut sauce ⭐⭐⭐⭐
Miso soup again ⭐
Gelatin gummies ⭐
100% Rye bread, recipe #1 ⭐
Sugar-free chocolate mousse ⭐⭐⭐⭐
100% Rye bread again, recipe #2 ⭐⭐
100% Rye bread for the third time, recipe #3 ⭐⭐

Perhaps the stars say it all. They surely tell you that you’re glad you weren’t around to taste test!

I decided that miso is an acquired taste that I don’t feel like acquiring. Or maybe I chose the wrong recipes to try. Who knows? The only thing the spring rolls were missing was more shrimp. My tight-wad amount of shrimp was masked by the show-stealing peanut sauce. The gelatin gummies were a nice thought, but just tasted like bland finger Jell-O. And then began the rye bread saga. The flavor was right every time…but I was always disappointed by the incredible density that made it more chewy than pleasurable. The last loaf puffed promisingly in the oven, but collapsed when I removed it. The chocolate mousse was a modest success, but only with myself since I didn’t share it with anyone.

Although many of these attempts didn’t turn out like I had envisioned, it doesn’t really matter. The joy of the process was exactly what I had envisioned.

O come, O come

The winter chill has pervaded the bones of my apartment. The tip of my nose is frostbitten, I think. (But then, do I even remember what frostbite is?) Anyway, the extra cold gives an excuse to curl myself around a cup of steaming tea and think about Christmas, the advent of the Messiah.

I could say a lot, but I won’t today. The words in my head are napping now. Do you want to sit in the quiet with me? I’ll turn on Christmas lights and light a candle. To the tune of the gently ticking clock, we can just sit in the anticipation of what is to come.

“O come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Bid Thou our sad divisions cease,
And be Thyself our King of Peace.”

From “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel”

Blooming and growing

Less than a month ago, I was driving a winding road through trees that were just changing color. As I drove, golden leaves sprinkled my car, catching the afternoon sunlight.

My chest ached like something was trying to get out. Or in. The beauty of the moment was so sharp it physically hurt.

I knew I was leaving this beauty–the golden leaves and dry cornfields–for a different world with a different beauty. I was in between seasons of life again.

Despite the busyness of an Illinois summer, my family managed to make quite a few memories. I became “Isha” to three of my nephews. Exclamations of “Isha” were usually accompanied by sparkling eyes and an equally sparkly grins. Well, except that rough day during potty-training when Alex said wistfully, “Bye-bye, Isha.”

My oldest niece decided to pray for a “good husband” for me. When did this little fluffy blondie get so big? Every time I visited their house, her little sister Joanna asked me to “pick stones.” She has a fondness for all things little and finds remarkable traits in the unremarkable. I love that about her.

When feeling particularly independent, some of us would quote Camden, “Camden do it self!”

Zayne called a tiny Fisher Price slide a “wee.” We spent our last moments together on our backs, wildly kicking the air like we were running and then dissolving into giggles much to the amused consternation of the other adults in the house.

Nettie came over to me after church to tell me that her new little cousin, Boone, “–is like a tiny pea!” She squeezed the tips of her thumbs and index fingers to make a tiny dot as if to indicate Boone’s unnatural smallness.

Boone was small, although not quite that small. Just small enough to snuggle and smell like a new baby.

I read stories to ones who are learning to read for themselves. I had them read to me too. They were excited when Grandma brought home The Pancake Pie from the library (one of the best children’s books ever!).

There were days I just wanted to squeeze them tight because they were so cute–like when Dylan pointed out the “-ole” in his sock. There were also days when I was relieved when everyone went home and the house stilled. Oh, we made lots of memories, not just the littles but the “bigs” too. And I return to Spain with a full heart.

It’s time for another season. This season includes a time of not feeling well. I spend more hours than I would like in bed or curled around a hot water bottle, as my body fights the bacteria in my system. But seasons don’t last forever, and the drier seasons often make room for us to dig our roots deeper as we search for water and nutrients.

Besides, I heard recently that one doesn’t have to bloom to be growing.

Cheese and chocolate

Hello, everyone! It’s been a few weeks. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I have…mostly because the nudge to update has been less of a nudge and more of an ominous cloud above my week that I. Just. Can’t. Quite. Get. To.

But now it’s Sunday and I have a quiet morning before our afternoon church service. So here I am, pecking away on my phone because I’ve been staring at my computer screen far too many hours this week and the idea of voluntarily sitting down in front of it again threatens my emotional stability.

First, the reason I have fallen a bit behind in writing:

FAMILY!

Yes, my parents, sister, brother-in-law, and nephew came for a visit! Well, to be more accurate, we met up in Zurich and after a luscious week in Switzerland, came back to Spain for them to get a taste of my life.

This post is a bit of an introduction to our time together. We’ll see how wordy I get along the way. I was tempted to copy and paste the online journal we created for this trip, but as I read through it, I realized just how much it was not written for public consumption. *slight blush*

We met up on March 7 after we had all missed a night of sleep and felt covered in layers of trip grime gleaned from public restrooms and random people coughing on us. I arrived a while before my family since my flight from Madrid was more on time than their flight from London.

While I waited, I was startled by how much the people looked like me. Or I looked like them. I’m not sure which. As would soon be discovered, this caused some confusion because “Guten tag” can only go so far.

After the joyous reunion with my family, we were more than ready to leave the airport. But first, our reserved rental vehicle was a 5-seater for 6 of us. And then there were seatbelt issues that kept the car dinging at us as we wandered through the labriynth of airport traffic and had to pay 12 CHF for even daring to be there at all.

But as we left Zurich, the scenery continued to improve and so did our moods. Dad and I made the first shopping trip while everyone else snoozed in the van. Dad made a beeline for the meat and cheese and looked disgruntled whenever I dropped vegetables into our shopping basket. We may have spend a considerable amount of time in the chocolate aisle, but it was nothing compared to the time it took us to find a simple tube of mayo.

As we wound up into the mountains, we kept exclaiming over the stunning scenery…and the lack of guard rails on the narrow roads. Forget hairpin curves; winding up to the farm where we stayed was hairpinning all of the way! (My poor brother-in-law was very patient with the other 4 gasping drivers in the car with him.)

From the outside, our Airbnb looked a little dumpy. Mud. Dogs. Random farm equipment. (All of which we would eventually realize is part of small farm life in the Bern area.) But once we were inside, our place was warm, clean, and welcoming. The hostess had left us a loaf of fresh bread, homemade butter, cheese and jam.

We made ourselves at home.

green grass, fir trees, and snow covered mountains

Our first full day in Switzerland was rainy. We didn’t get a whole lot accomplished since it took considerable effort to drag everyone out of the house by 1 p.m. (Which means I don’t have to try to make a long story short for blogging purposes–the long story is short!)

We puttered along, “oh my”ing at the incredible scenery. We also snickered at the “ausfahrt” (exit) signs all along the way. My Swiss friend sent a message to welcome us to Switzerland.

“It’s so beautiful up here in the mountains!” I wrote back.

She laughed when she responded in a voice message. “These are the hills.”

close up of town with mountains in the distance

We drove to Gruyère where we strolled around around the free part of a cheese factory and then feasted on cheese fondue until I wondered if I’d ever want to eat cheese again. Our waitress spoke English, which was helpful. She also spoke Spanish, which was fun.

fondue pot with fondue dripping off of piece of bread

Side note: The prices took us a while to get used to. Visiting Switzerland isn’t for the empty-of-pocket. Even though we had tried to prepare ourselves, at least one of us would often sigh or grumble.

We sipped hot chocolate from a shop across the the street from the cheese factory as we wandered back to our van. We tried to get a peek at the local castle, but we would have had to park and walk through the rain to even see it. So we started for home.

That was pretty much our day besides a quick Aldi stop and two liters of fresh milk on our doorstep when we got back to our Airbnb.

I’ll write more another day. We really did do more than eat cheese and chocolate, although those two reasons alone are enough to warrant a trip to Switzerland!

Have you ever been to Switzerland? What sorts of things did you do?

It’s February

It’s February. February. February.

I have to remind myself of that. The other day during our team lunch, I declared with a sigh, “I’m so glad it’s March!”

They all laughed at me. Or with me, because I laughed too, even though I was startled. Was I really an entire month off?

You may wonder why I feel like I already have one foot in March. Because a few family members have tickets to come to this side of the world. Yea!! It has been a long time since the last “exclusively-mine” visitors, especially family. Long, as in, 2019.

But it’s still February, and that is a good thing. More time to anticipate my visitors, yes. But also more time to just plunk myself down right here in the middle of today. To study elusive Arabic vocabulary, to take a spontaneous walk with my neighbor, to attend Spanish class, to plan and teach English lessons, to stand in the middle of the market listening to a soul’s sad story, to spend an hour orienting myself at my new job as a space heater thaws my feet, to bake a batch of granola, and even to reheat leftover soup and eat it straight out of the kettle (*cough* Yes.).

So, it’s still February. And I’m glad.