Tag: little people

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 packing my bags

I’m packing my bags. Well, to be honest, I’ve been packing for a while now, trying to make every kilo count down to the last gram.

Mom told me the Amazon packages she’s piling on my desk in Illinois make her think of Mr. Grabbit. Toothbrushes, shoes, supplements, etc. Things I won’t have to bring with me.

I’m planning to wear multiple outfits to give myself several sets of clothes for the trip. “I might look homeless when you pick me up at the airport,” I tell J. The layers of clothing, the bulging pockets I stitched to the inside of my jacket, and the supermarket bag I’m planning to use as a carry-on might make me a key candidate for surveillance. Especially since I’m clambering into Chicago the weekend before the Democratic National Convention.

Time is winding down. Less than two more days now. My to-do list is moderate, all things considered. I put “mop the floor” at the top. The dirt on the bottoms of my feet comes off in rolls when I rub my feet together.

Below are a few snippets of summer life here that happen through the giddiness of preparing to see my family, friends, and J…

I love the extra wiggle room of a summer schedule. While most people choose not to cook or bake this time of year, I’ve tried North African bread, North African lentils, brownies with peanut butter and almond flour, and crackers with ground sunflower seeds. I’ve also attempted couscous twice and decided that “moderately close” is as good as it’s going to get for now. Puttering in my kitchen is delightful without the breath of a dozen other tasks at my neck.

I’ve been studying language at the local library. The walk across town in the afternoon sunshine is oppressive, but it doesn’t eclipse the joy of descending to the cool library basement. The summer crowd is sparse and the quiet is so thick it almost hurts until the ink chamber inside a pen rattles as someone write a note or careful feet tick down the stairs. I don’t use the library resources other than the air conditioning and the atmosphere, but it’s always worth it.

Summer has also been a good time to meet up with the friends who remain in Spain, to spend time in their worlds or let them be a part of mine. Maybe it’s English class or breakfast together. Or my little neighbor boys come up for a visit with their mommy to play with Legos, make the floor sticky with melon juice, and watch cookies bake with great anticipation.

While the cookies are still in the oven, I give them a drink of water which they drink with too-long straws. “Do you want one?” I ask the oldest boy, offering a container of dates I have on the counter. 

“No,” he says. “I want chocolate cookies.” And he returns to watch them through the oven door, content to wait.

There have been meetings, appointments, and the like. This week is also my week to work ahead on office manager responsibilities in an attempt to keep my absence from being too obvious.

I guess you might say that I’m planning to be distracted for the next few weeks. 😉 Until another day, then…

What’s NOT been happening recently

I was planning to jot down a few of the things that have been happening recently here in my daily life in Spain.

So what’s been happening recently? When I thought about it, I realized that there have been a lot more things that haven’t been happening. In fact, it’s precisely because of what’s not been happening recently that gave me time to sit down and write today. 

At times, it’s hard to keep a full schedule in the summer. Most people don’t care to do things during the hottest part of the day, so social interaction hours are limited. Besides that, there are fewer people to do things with at this time of year. During summer vacation when the greenhouses and packing plants are mostly empty and the children are out of school, immigrants pile their cars and vans high with the gifts their families are expecting and return to their countries. 

That means that when plans are canceled here in Mytown, the backup plans are a wee bit sparse.

Take today, for instance. I had a full day planned. Actually, several layers planned. A friend had invited me to the restaurant where she works to learn how to cook lentils. Last night, she messaged to say that something in the restaurant was being repaired today and the restaurant would be closed. 

All right. My canceled English class from earlier in the week had been tentatively rescheduled for Saturday morning in case my first plans were canceled. “I hope you’re feeling better…” I wrote to my student. And she was, but not enough better to leave her house. 

So I reached out to my neighbor. I enjoy when she brings her boys over to play or when I pop down to visit, catching up on the happenings of life. But she was out of town visiting her sister. 

That was the point I gave up trying to be social. 

It was my week to clean the center anyway. And besides that, the inch of dust glaring at me from the baseboard in my own apartment attested to a month full of Saturdays of half-hearted cleaning around uncanceled plans.

So that’s what hasn’t been happening recently. What about you? Anything not happening in your day today?

Part four: Tanneries and street food

Click to read: Part one: A palace and a hostel, Part two: A stolen sandwich and art, and Part three: Relationship advice and edible puzzles

I had never used the BlaBlaCar app before. Surely a carpooling app couldn’t be as pain-free as it looked. But it was! J and I arrived at the Málaga Costa del Sol airport in plenty of time. We checked in and zipped through security and border control before parking ourselves just inside of the international gate area to people-watch.

We were some of the last passengers to board our flight. Why rush to constrain yourself to a seat that’s already reserved for you? Our 15 euro flight got us to North Africa safely. After we landed, J and I stayed in our seats rather than smashing ourselves against the other passengers in the aisle. We didn’t even stand up, necks bent at unnatural angles under the overhead bins. (Why do we do this?!)

A man who had been watching us announced to the other passengers: “These are the most intelligent people on here! They waited to get on the plane until the last and they are waiting to get off the plane too!”

As we waited in the customs line, I couldn’t wait and asked J, “What do you think of North Africa so far?” Wisely, he returned that he wasn’t sure if his first impressions were accurate and that he’d rather wait to give them.

We stepped out of the airport and were spat into North African culture where overly helpful taxi drivers swarmed. After hemming and hawing, we agreed to a ride for 150 dirham, 50 dirham less than the initial asking price.

Once we had been deposited in our friends’ neighborhood, I asked the neighborhood guard where the Americans lived. He pointed me to a black gate and told me how many stories up. Americans in that part of the world don’t have much anonymity, and that is what I had been counting on. 

We joined the family, catching up on life, hanging out with the children, and feasting on a giant stir-fry for supper. 

The next day was our day to tour the city. It was my chance to show J the world that had been mine for 16 months. We passed my old language school and I recalled the hours I had spent exhausting my sweat and tears while learning Arabic. We dropped by my old neighborhood too, even popping in at the little store around the corner to say hello and buy a Snicker bar just because. (We also forgot about that Snicker bar until it became a squished pile in the bottom of our warm and sweaty backpack.) 

From there, we snagged a taxi to the old city. I could already feel myself shriveling into a prune. The weather was hotter than I had expected and much drier than either of us were used to. We couldn’t keep up with our water intake. 

We descended into the heart of the old city to the renowned tanneries, avoiding anyone who was too helpful. In fact, over the course of the day we managed to disappoint a lot of hopeful shopkeepers, browsing rather than buying. At the tanneries, we stood at the lookout and peered down on all of the action. There was so much to watch at once. J shooed away an over-eager tour guide, preferring to figure things out on his own.

colorful tannery vats

We hunted for a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, but the only one I remembered wasn’t serving lunch yet. So we bought street food instead: neems (fried spring rolls), briouats (a triangular, chicken filled pastry), kalinte (chickpea flan) sprinkled with cumin and red pepper, and olives with lemon and parsley. 

We looked for a place to eat our collection, and finally found a sunny spot along the ledge of a fence. But first on our menu was activated charcoal. Three pills before and three after a meal. With street food on a warm day, I got pretty bossy about following the instructions. We took our time, munching and tossing olive pits at the trunk of a scrawny tree in the sidewalk. Even there in that scorching African sunbeam, our repast was delicious.

street food cart

From my time of living in the city, I had fond memories of climbing up the side of a hill to a set of ancient tombs that overlooked the city. But how to get there? We stopped to ask directions. The shopkeeper gave us some of his life story for free as well as detailed directions, which I promptly forgot by trying to retain everything he said. No matter. We still had Google maps and what was left of my memory. We wound our way up the hill, admired the tombs and the view and then parked ourselves in the shade until my fantasy about a tall glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice overpowered the lure of a shady spot. 

We spent a chunk of the afternoon perched on a restaurant’s third story, sipping orange juice, eating tagine, and watching people swirling in and out of the city gate below. Once we had cooled off, we meandered back to our friends’ house, with one last stop to buy an ear of roasted street corn.

Street corn vendor

The next morning, we envisioned ourselves arriving at the international church on time. Instead, with all of the careful packing that went into the morning–the gifts for a friend’s family, the trusty charcoal, and the Imodium, just in case–I managed to forget my wallet. My wallet which held our only local currency.

“I’m sorry. We don’t have money,” I told the taxi driver. “Take us back to the house.” Obligingly, he made a loop at the next roundabout and waited outside while I dashed up the flights of stairs to retrieve my wallet. Any dreams of arriving at church on time were crushed. 

Although the fellowship had changed since I had been there last, it was still charged with a buzzing energy of brothers and sisters in Christ uniting after a long week. After the service, I was able to reconnect with a few acquaintances before we were on our way to visit Chaimae and her family.

I was surprised by how Chaimae’s family remained unchanged. Throughout the day, most of the family dropped by, delighted to meet J and practice their English. They fed us breakfast and then fed us several courses of lunch a few hours later. That afternoon, J got a very long look into North African culture.

North African breakfast spread

Our time in the city was drawing to a close. The next morning we breakfasted on eggs and khlea, a cured beef that tastes like a barn. I hung out in the egg section, but J preferred the barny beef. The guy has an inexcusably tolerant palate. 

As we left the city, I looked out the bus window, wondering if I was saying goodbye forever. I felt nostalgic but realized I no longer had a lingering sense of belonging.

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.

Utilizing distractions

The last few weeks have both drained and filled me in ways I’m not even sure I can explain. Oddly enough, one of the things that helped me cope with overwhelming emotions was reading a chapter book to my oldest nieces and nephews, sending a chapter or two each day via voice message. My family is full of avid readers and listeners, which makes the escape of a good story enjoyable for all of us. 

Did I just use the word “escape”?

I used to think distractions were an emotionally weak way to deal with an issue. I still think that they can be just that. But they can also give time to let emotions settle. A well-timed distraction can keep us from panicking, growing numb, or tuning out. A distraction contains the issue–good or bad–for a time until we’ve worked up the strength to deal with it. 

Even when I manage to relinquish my preoccupation to the Lord, I still find it helpful to distract myself so I don’t snatch it back from His capable hands. You might find me organizing my pantry while listening to an audio book or praying aloud. Or deciding an across-town shopping trip must be done today, on foot, at tip-top speed. Or making a detailed and utterly useless list.

At some point, the issue must be addressed–the change faced, the sorrow grieved–and distractions must come to an end. We cannot heap distraction upon distraction and expect positive results.

Today as I was leafing through an old Bible study book, I saw that I had written an “escape plan,” practical steps to exchange my burdens for the yoke of Christ. “Stop. Praise. Pray. Distract. Share.” My goal had been to post these steps somewhere, but the idea got lost in the shuffle of life. Until today.

I guess I needed the reminder that distractions, useful as they are, are a means to an end and not the end themselves.

My favorite kind of day

It was a balmy day at the beginning of winter that was worthy of short-sleeves. My laundry was hanging in the sunshine on the roof. My spinach and lettuce had dared to show their green little faces on my patio and I was beyond delighted, barely resisting the temptation to make a salad with the tiny sprouts.

My phone rang. “Do you have zucchini? Peppers? Lower the bag and I’ll give you some!” 

I held the end of the sturdy string and tossed the bag over the edge of my patio to my neighbor’s kitchen window. She loaded the bag with produce from the abundance in her fridge, and I pulled it up carefully.

And then I was dashing out the door to visit the neighbor around the corner. 

My phone rang. “Do you have a roof key?” My downstairs neighbor again. “Can you stay with my boys for five minutes while I take the stroller I’m cleaning up to the roof? It needs to be dry by tomorrow.”

After a bit of scheduling chaos, I continued on my way. I rang my neighbor’s buzzer and waited. Last week, I hadn’t waited long enough, she said, because she had been back in the kitchen with her hands in oily pastry dough and by the time she had washed her hands and put on a headscarf, I was gone.

Today I promised to wait. 

A shriek greeted me as the elevator door opened to the third floor. Her three-year-old son, L, was so delighted by my presence that he couldn’t contain himself. “He is flying with happiness,” my friend said. “He isn’t even thinking with his head, just happy.” Yes, that could explain why his feet were in the air more often than his head. 

My friend insisted on tea or coffee or something, although I had just stopped by to drop off the container she had sent home with cake the other week. So I stayed for tea, which, as usual, turned into more than just tea. 

While she was busy in the kitchen, I hung out with L in the salon. We traveled to other countries. We took naps with boisterous snoring to indicate that we were asleep. I put my head against the couch pillow; he curled up on the floor and pulled the rug over him. SNORE, SNORE. Then he tried to trim my fingernails with a clippers he found on the table. Then: “I have to poop!” And he was gone like a flash and back like a flash. He slipped into my sneakers and clomped around the room in them, giggling. So I grabbed his shoes and balanced them on the tips of my toes. 

Just then, his big sister strode into the room. “Shame on you, L!” she said when she saw him in my shoes. But when she saw me in his shoes, she doubled over with giggles. 

The tea arrived then, my friend and her husband walking in with laden trays to the sound of our laughter. 

Big Sister scooted over beside me when L put his feet near my face and was unceremoniously relocated. But, in the end, L decided he wasn’t hungry after all and hid under the table. We practiced English vocabulary for Big Sister’s Tuesday exam. “Granfodder. Granmudder. Unt. Brudder.”

“I have to go now, but let’s practice tomorrow evening,” I suggested before dashing back to my own building where my downstairs neighbor was waiting for me to bring the roof key so she could air her dripping stroller. I helped haul the boys and stroller to the roof. Little S ran his hand along the bottoms of the clothes dangling on the line as I unpinned them and tossed them into my basket. Baby A crawled across the sunbaked tiles.

I went downstairs to make lunch. The evening would be pleasantly full, but I had a few hours to catch my breath and to realize that this kind of day was really my favorite kind of day.

Little 2015 “poems”

In 2015, I challenged myself to a one thing every month. One month, the challenge was to write a poem a day. The challenge was that: a challenge and most of my “poems” turned into tiny definitions using the same rhythm: 8/6/7. 

I found them a few months ago while I was looking through my old journals and decided to pull out several to share with you. They’re not artistic, but they’re fun. And maybe I’ll inspire you to write your own! If you do, share them in the comments section below.

Flowers
Sweet thoughts shrouded in timely death:
Bliss to those remembered;
Tear drops to those forgotten.

TV
Exclusive members only, but
Please show brain parking pass.
Night is full of undreamed dreams.

Music
The heart’s expression put to dance.
Tones that beckon listeners.
Message in a bottle, found.

Music 2
Listening to another’s heart
In catchy rhyme and rhythm
And wishing you’d thought of that.

Blank Pages
Rolling stretches of nothingness
Packed into neat, white squares:
Deserts in languished places.

Clocks
Ever-present competitors
Daring life to vanish
Before we decide to dance.

Childhood Memories
Poignant traveling of the mind
That pinches can’t awake:
Bitter, sweet, and bittersweet.

Death
A monster posed to frustrate life;
Yet, mingled with heaven
Will strangely bring relief.

Heartbreak
Initial tears have disappeared;
Descends the selfish numb—
It’s only I who suffers!

Books
For a stolen moment letting
Reality fade and
Becoming who you are not.

Trust
Relinquishing every control
To one you believe in
Though sometimes you feel equipped.

Photo by Zaini Izzuddin on Unsplash

Birthday reflections

Welcome to the world, Della Grace. You are wanted. You are loved, you little imago Dei, you. I’m so excited to be your aunt and to share your little world. 

And you joined the family string of November birthdays. Happy birthday Della, Zayne, Joanna, Alex, and Bennett… and me. 

Zayne’s word for all candles is “happy-to-you.” Alex and Bennett love to sing happy birthday. In August they got stuck on singing to “Clarkie” and continued singing to “Clarkie” well after Clark’s birthday. 

So now there is one more of us in this crush of birthdays. One more life to celebrate, and do we ever celebrate you, Della!

As I think about another year, I want to face it head on–to throw my arms around it and laugh. I am not naïve enough to believe that the power of positive thinking will let me skip my share of heartache along the way. But I don’t want pain to keep me from the delight of another day, another opportunity to live well.

Happy birthday to us, Della, Zayne, Joanna, Alex, and Bennett. 🙂

Photo credit: K.K.