I love these Sundays. Reading in the mornings, coffee with the wife, mini city adventures with my kiddoes.
And it's the calm before the storm - baby, moving, jobs, goodbyes.
So today, I did some of my favorite things.
One of my favorite spots in the house.
With some of my favorite people.
Packed on the scooter.
No goodbyes today. Just life.
Because before I know it, they'll be moving on. And I don't want to miss a thing.
Josey and I went for a walk this morning, past our old, favorite coffee shop which is now being confronted with construction and workers and the trading of the nearby park for another on-ramp, Josey looked around and said, “I can’t tell if I’m sad so much is changing as we leave, or if it’s fitting. Like it’s packing up to move with us.”
From there, we wondered past our old, favorite market, the one just down the road where the little old ladies would wave at our girls and hold their hands. It too is closing down, scattering its venders around the city, making way for newer and better.
The city has changed a lot since we first arrived, in large and small ways, but we've changed with it. Because we're part of it. But once we leave, it will continue on without us. Like bricks in a building, our imprint will soon be covered up or torn down and quickly forgotten; it will no longer be home.
Even if we're fortunate enough to some day visit, it will be as that, a visitor. Because like us, it will have moved on.
Two months ago, my brother sent me this message, “I love you brother. Just wanted to let you know you are always in my thoughts. America is a shitstorm right now. You know how I think, . . . anyways, prepare for a different world when you come back. We have each other no matter what.”
Maybe that’s what home is, family. Not a country, not a building, not an address.
But maybe it is also those things. Even now, almost fifteen years after living in my parents’ house, when I come across a freshly cut lawn or stand in the midst of cottonwoods, no matter where I am, I say, "It feels like home." When the sun sets a deep gold across the land, Josey and I remember our first home in California. Pumpkins and the sound of crisp leaves falling from trees hold memories of our home in Pennsylvania, while grilling with a beer nearby is Wyoming.
Because home is all of those places.
It is scattered everywhere, and its nostalgia creeps up at the strangest of times and just about knocks me over. Like the time I was riding in a rickshaw in downtown Chengdu during a heavy rain and felt like I was heading on a fishing trip with Dad – my hands aching for a pole and the tug of a big hit.
The city changing as we leave is appropriate, I think, because it's life.
We can never return home because it's no longer there. The remnants are, and some bits and pieces of the sights and sounds, but Home is gone. At least physically.
At the end of her brilliant TED Talk, Chimamanda Adichie reads, "The American writer Alice Walker wrote this about her southern relatives who had moved to the north. She introduced them to a book about the southern life that they had left behind. 'They sat around, reading the book themselves, listening to me read the book, and a kind of paradise was regained.'"
A paradise regained as they read, laughed, and cried over stories from home, with their families, in their new home.
The truth is, I have many things to be thankful for and although we are walking through a very real and very heavy transition of life, we are blessed.
Because the truth is, there are parents tonight going to bed without their children, and I have three who read with me, ask me to carry them to bed, and giggle when I pray in their ears. And even though my kids aren't as perfect as I want them to be, they're still here, they're still learning and growing, and they like to play chess together.
We're leaving this beautiful country, and that's a big deal! I doubt we'll ever be back and I doubt we'll ever really get over it completely - because this is our home.
But the truth is, my family is still in tact, still in good health, and we are being blessed with another small addition, in just a few short days.
But there are some who will find no sleep tonight, no comfort, and little hope that it will ever get better. Because losing a child, a brother, a friend is a forever losing.
Today, it's hard to find something to say "goodbye" to. It just seems trivial, a smack in the face even.
And my heart is heavy, and fully grateful, all at the same time, and I just can't make sense of it.
So I watched Judah play chess with his sister, and I felt spoiled. I heard Zion call my name to come see what she'd made, and I felt relieved. Because tonight, I don't have to say goodbye.
For some, having a quiet day with nothing to shout about or be up and arms over may not be considered productive, but with a baby already one day past due, calm and quiet seas is a good day.
With still plenty to chuckle about.
Judah stayed home from school today so he could go with Mom to the doctor and see the baby (which is technically due today but will probably come in another five days or so).
They spent the morning, talking of China, and laughing over memories. She had the foresight to have him type out his thoughts on her computer.
Cousins! I remember being surprised and happy that I had a bunk bed, but scared we lived so high up from the ground in our house. Also, being in a big earthquake.
Our first meal out, just as a family.
Judah and Eden's first bedroom.
I really missed my family and school was sad because I had no friends in my class and all the boys had black hair but me, and I didn't understand anything that the Korean's were saying.
Judah's buddy, Solomon
2nd Grade Field Trip
Hamburgers, playing in the backyard with dogs, road trips in cars, going to Home Depot with daddy, having a garden, Dairy Queen, being able to understand and speak the same language as everyone, and going to the big library. I missed seeing farms and tractors.
Cousins!
-Playing in Zhonghai with Ryley and Ari and Sadie and on the top of the old school roof we had a big fun campfire on Chinese New Year.
-I was sad to move from our first home but when I got here there was a pool and a big roof.
-Going on a trip by myself with dad and mom to Xichang, climbing the big mountain, and being on an overnight train for a long time.
-When the Wells moved to China and he was my 3rd grade teacher.
-Going to the Philippines with my mom and the Wells and the Bennett's.
-Staying a week in a hostel in the Kangding Mountains.
-My 9th birthday with friends and going to the hot springs with Gengsen.
-Miss Bekah taking care of us while my parents were gone.
-All the camping trips.
At a countryside Chinese school
In the Philippines
Going to the hot springs with my family, Spent more time with Solomon, wishing I would have learned how to speak Chinese better, learned how to dive at the pool.
Kanding
Photo walk
My friends! Eating on the porch, my bedroom, the street food like fried rice and spicy potato fries, being at the same school as daddy, Global Center, ZZY neighborhood, Kangding, the freedom of running around and leaving outside the gate without my parents, riding on the scooter with daddy, the city noise from our apartment.
His other buddy, Gengsen
I am really excited to see Papa and Meme and Adah and Selah, Camping more, driving tractors with Uncle Jake and Kade, playing with Nathan again, the food, not having to worry about bad air and not having recess, Snow!
On another adventure with Mom
At first I thought that the Chinese people were kinda scary and I didn't like them. But then I started to realize that they were very nice and helpful! I learned how to make coffee. I learned how to swim. and I learned how to make a campfire.I learned how to make a lantern! I learned that earthquakes can cause a lot of damage. I learned how to make waffles. I learned how much I love to travel. I learned how to use a big camera. I learned how to type.
photo by Judah
Cousins!
It may seem obvious, or simple, but more and more it's becoming clear to me that this leaving process is more than leaving a place - the streets, the food, and the people - its also a remembering what life was like in this place. What were their habits? What did their voices sound like? What struggles were they facing? and who were they, when we lived in this place?
I look back at some of the places we've lived with out kids - the group home on Berry Rd, the in-law suit in Fort Washington, PA. Gillette, Wyoming - and I don't really remember my kids and how they were. I think of them now.
And I don't like it. I want to remember them as little things who leave their backpacks and jackets outside (JUDAH!) because hopefully, please God hopefully, it will one day be a memory and not a habit. In future years, I want to look back and see Eden's early years of art - the beads and drawings of horses.
I want to remember Zion reading before she could read.
Photo by Eden.
When I told the kids to get dressed because we were going for a walk, I wasn't expecting Judah's response, but I wasn't fully surprised. His shoulders sunk, "Do I have to?"
"Yes!" I said, perhaps a little more annoyed than I needed to be, but this attitude was pretty invasive the past few days and I was (and still am) pretty tired of it.
"I just want to play with my lightsaber," he responded.
I was just about to make him come, with that, "Get your shoes on!" bark that gets every kid excited to hang out with Dad, but then I didn't. "Okay," I said, "You can stay and play with your lightsaber. But me and the girls are going and Mom is taking a nap." He began a rebuttal, but I stopped him, "Nope. You wanted your lightsaber, so now you have it."
The girls and I put on our shows, grabbed a few cameras, and headed out the door. Judah stayed home. Because sometimes, the worst of all consequences, is getting what you want.
For almost two hours, the girls and I walked our neighborhood. Each of the girls were allowed to take ten pictures at a time (I think they took over 100 by the time we were done). Sometimes we found similar inspirations:
Daddy's
Eden's
The whole time, though, I missed Judah and thought about how much fun he would have had, what he was doing instead, and what I would say to him when we returned. When we got home, he was sitting on his bed, reading. I sat on the floor, below his world map, and we talked. I still didn't know exactly what I was going to say.
He said it wasn't much fun, being there without anyone there to play with him.
I told him I missed him, that I knew he would've enjoyed the walk, taking pictures, and being with us.
And then the Lord took over. He reminded me of Adam and Eve and the fruit, and Judah and I talked about how they too didn't see what the big deal was either, and how God let them make that choice - he let them get what they wanted. And how well that turned out.
He then showed me the map and gave me an idea for Judah - the bigger picture. "Judah," I said, turning and pointing at a small island, "imagine this is a baby's world, this little island here. This is his Mom, his Dad, and his family and home. It's what he understands, what he knows. But then," and I circled the larger area, "he turns 10, and he now understands that that little island makes up the greater land of Indonesia."
Judah nodded in understanding.
"What, do you think, his parents know?"
Judah circled all of Asia.
"Right," I said, "and what does God know?"
He circled the whole map. "And beyond," I said, "right?" And he agreed.
"Sometimes," I said, "When Mom and Dad ask you to do things you don't want to do, it’s because we see a bigger picture. We know what’s ahead, and what you need, so we are doing our best to help you, and to provide for you. Like when we ask you to do Saturday morning chores. It's not about the actual cleaning, it’s about teaching you to work and take responsibility. Or when we ask you to come inside when playing with friends. It's not about wanting to steal you away from a good time, it's about eating dinner, spending time with family, and getting enough rest for the busy day ahead. It's about the bigger picture." He nodded. We seemed to be on the same page.
Then, few minutes later, quite coincidently, we read the story of Abraham and Isaac, and of how they were asked to trust in a bigger picture. Even when, especially when, it seemed "crazy" (Eden's words, not mine).
The Jesus Storybook Bible - a fantastic way to read the Bible.
Afterward, they were asked to think of a time when they might need to trust in the bigger picture. Judah wrote a story about kids trusting parents, Zion scribbled, and Eden drew two pictures:
Abraham and Isaac
Daddy telling Eden to jump, because I'll catch her.
When they were finished, we chatted and laughed at their stories and I quickly discovered that this lesson was not just for my kids. I had recently applied for a job and didn’t get it, because the principal “doesn’t like Skype interviews,” and I was pissed, because the job was perfect, in a perfect little town with a perfect little college where I could teach, take classes, and sign my kids up for some really cool shit! WHY WASN'T I GETTING THE JOB!!!
Maybe because I only see Indonesia. Not the world.
I too must trust that He who sees it all, has a plan. And it’s not to play alone with a lightsaber (I don’t think so anyway). But to put on my shoes and head out the door, trusting that he’ll guide and protect and care for the next step, every step of the way.
Wherever that may be.
Even if I only see this far ahead.
Photo by Eden.
For a late March morning, today was especially cold; it felt like camping. Which was okay because it meant Zion was cold and wanted to sit extra long with me, and talk, and read, and giggle. Throughout the day, we both found ourselves here, doing this thing, in one of my favorite spots in the house.
We still don't know where we'll be exactly next year, which is fine for now, but I know I will miss this porch. I love sitting seven floors up, listening to the birds and traffic below as they twist and sing through the buildings, and I love when my kids curl into my lap. In the years to come and the memories to follow, this porch will be where my kids could fit under the blanket, sometimes two or three at a time, to find comfort from the hurts and struggles of the day. And it was be enough.
I love this porch.
But not the water. Here are the filters I switched out today. Guess which one is the new one?
But all day, this girl melted my heart and I wanted more and more of her. But she wanted to head outside to climb trees with her sister. So she did, before she left, I took this, as a reminder.
The day ended with Splittoon Literary Magazine Reading Night at the Bookworm. I asked Jeff Birdsong to go with me because I read one of my stories and I knew he would give honest feedback . . . even if it is a bit harsh. I'm glad he came. Not just for the critique either, but for the company. He's some of the best.
My story.
Bookends are the beginning and the end, the holding in place, secured and in order. A book or two might be taken, causing others to lean, but still, they hold. Because of the bookends. Without them, everything has a tendency to fall off the shelf.
Today, I had strong bookends.
Just around the block from our apartment complex is this corner. Often, unless the police drive them out, there are several venders selling various foods. I've written about them before, and probably will again and again because they are just so much a part of Chengdu and the identity of the streets.
(Have to post in the morning because of another internet sort of night last night . . . just sayin.)
But this lady, and her bread, are my favorite.
Four almost four years, whenever I've see her, I've stop. She greets me every time with a smile and wave. And every time I smile, wave back, and explain how I like the bread - bu yao lajiao, bu yao MSG (I've never learned how to say this so I just wave my my hand over it saying, "bu, bu, bu, bu." She gets it).
I love this bread.
She rolls it out, sprinkles on salt and some oil, then sticks to the inside walls of the stove. When baked, she pulls it out with some long tweezer looking things, stuffs it into a plastic bag, and "Zai Jien!"
It costs 3RMB (about fifty cents), and tastes like heaven baked in a street-side oven.
Found out yesterday Eden's passport expires in a week, so we rushed her over to the US Consulate for her last passport renewal in China. We got there a bit too early so we walked to Starbucks for a coffee and sucker. She asked me how and why we named all the kids. It was a sweet little time.
That night, for dinner, we ate with the Todd family (with Honor Hallaway making a guest appearance!).
I don't think this will be our last meal shared, but with just over two months to go, I can see how it could.
The Todds used to live below us, on the fifth floor, and I don't think we used that time wisely because they are too good a family not to at least spend one evening eating and laughing together.
Travis and Sonya have loved us and our family well, and in a variety of ways, and we will truly miss them.
And Judah will miss Sydney. They've been in class together for the past five years, have played outside and boardgames together, and on summer nights, they can stand outside well after dark together, "just talking."
They are pretty sweet.
We will miss you Todd family.
War Eagle!!!
I could write a whole blog series on how the internet will kill me in less than one hundred days. Starting with last night. Because for some reason, every night around 7:30, our internet shuts off. Full bars show on all our devices, but nothing loads. And last night, on three different occasions, I wrote this blog post. And on three different occasions, after pressing save, my computer thought and thought and thought and then said, "error" and tossed my blog into that giant abyss of unsaved work that is guarded by the devil himself. If ever I find that place, I know there will be a mansion built out of my works. And I will -
Okay, that's enough. Back to the point.
Outside our complex, nestled between a Wowo and a Hong Qi store, are two small produce shops. One sells fruit and the other vegetables and pork that hangs from hooks. Both spill out from their front steps and into the walkway- cutting, shucking, and selling. Cardboard boxes and scraps of their produce litter between the trees and benches.
The fruit comes from some far off places; their delivery truck often arrives about the time I leave for work. But the vegetables are local. They come from the farms and yards and small patches of earth that have been etched and scratched into city. I love these little shops, and the food they produce. Especially the apples. Wowzas!
Just beyond these two stores are the street venders - meals on wheels - and they roam the streets selling noodles, rice, cooked vegetables, oven-baked bread (which is my favorite!), yams, corn on the cob, lamb skewers, and sometimes, chicken feet.
I've gotten used to or have grown to love many foods Sichuan has to offer, even the famous Sichuan Spice, but I've never been able to attach myself to chicken feet, or chicken head for that matter. Maybe it's the texture, maybe its the taste. It could even be the idea or the image of gnawing on chicken feet that I'm averse to, I'm not sure. Whatever it is, I haven't been able to assimilate.
I think there was also chicken, duck, and rabbit head in this batch.
But I will miss them, because they are Chengdu. And Chengdu is them and their steam that floats from their pots and suddenly disappears into the currents. It is their smell that wafts through the crowds, curling the nose and watering the tongue. It is their creaky breaks and wobbly tires. Their friendly smiles.
And yet, I won't miss them because deep down, I am an American who was raised on milk and cookies for late-night snacks. Not chicken feet.
And I've now written these thoughts, in multiple variations, for the fourth time. Let's see if it sticks.
Photo by John Blanchard
One-hundred days is a lot. And sometimes, there just isn't enough time in a day to find something specific to say goodbye to or enough energy to wrestle with the sadness of "this is the last time that I will (fill in the blank)."
So I'm taking a night off.
Cody Walker and I were chatting the other day and he mentioned wanting to write something. And he did! And I'm grateful for it because, in doing so, he reminded me that leaving can become very isolated, and very one-sided. It can become all about me, what I'm leaving, and how I'm feeling - forgetting that everyone is transitioning. Even those who are staying.
So, for today, we'll say goodbye together.
Cody, take it away!
Meet Clay and Nathan. They own a restaurant here in Chengdu called “The Range”. They are good southern boys from from Southwest Virginia (not South West Virginia).
Photo by Johnny B!
This year our principal has been throwing out the idea to us that stories matter, specifically peoples stories about their life. So we thought it would be a good idea to ask Clay the story about The Range and how in the world they ended up with a restaurant in Chengdu, China. Clay and Nathan have been best friends since they were 10 years old. They went to the same school, same college, and now own the same restaurant. After college, they wanted to open a restaurant and Nathan had a friend in China that told him he should come here to open one. They moved to Shenzhen and started the same style of restaurant there. Clay mentioned that in Shenzhen they had to figure out everything for themselves; becoming legal, buying food, buying beer, and hiring people all with no Chinese. Through all of their struggles, they managed to become successful and open another restaurant in Shenzhen. After a few years there they were looking for the next thing to do. They had a business investor propose that they open a restaurant here in Chengdu. They officially opened in February and business has been great. Stories matter. We were ready to leave the restaurant at 6:30 and then decided to ask him questions. We did not leave until 10:30.
There are many western restaurants that are technically in competition with each other but Clay says that all of the owners are really good friends and help each other out when needed. You can also sit with the owner of a restaurant to talk and play games with him for 4 hours. I don’t know of many places in the states where you can do things like that.
So now the food. Delicious. That is all that is needed. All of it was great. We had wings (65 RMB), burgers (80 RMB), mac-and-cheese (50 RMB), spinach artichoke dip (50 RMB), quesadillas (65 RMB). All for a grand total of roughly $45 USD. This is an average price for western food here in Chengdu. All of the things on the menu are family recipes as well.
Photo by "The Interim"
Photo by Dirty John
We wanted to single out the wings this week. We tried four different flavors. A southern dry rub, mild buffalo, bourbon BBQ, and Sichuan Mala. The Sichuan Mala was on point! Usually when foreigners try to make a Sichuan spice they make it too overpowering but no theirs. Clay told his Chinese cooks to make a spice like they would if they were at their house and this is what they came up with.
Photo by DJ Glitta
If you are ever in Chengdu we recommend going to have a beer and a good meal with Clay and Nathan. Some good ol’ southern boys in Chengdu.
photo by Sgt. Sprinkles
I (this is me again) don't connect with this because I don't connect with food really. Especially western food in China, but Cody does, and he's built a small tight-knit community around it. Saying "goodbye" to Chengdu looks very different for the both of us, but we're both saying goodbye, both wrestling with a countdown.
And on that, we can connect; we're the same different.
Thanks Cody!!!
"Nearly thirty eight weeks. You can find me on the couch holding the others, resting in bed, or slowly on my way up the seven flights with more stock of food and baby prep. So much change is coming, but it's Monday so laundry and another cuppa."
Today was the official first day of Spring, and a beautiful Monday.
On my way up the stairs I saw the Pappa Johns Pizza delivery woman walking down and I thought, "I hope Josey ordered tonight."
I found the family on our bedroom balcony, eating pizza, and making parachutes.
She wore this shirt today because she "missed camping."
We threw them off our 7th floor balcony (Eden's too) . . . they got stuck in the trees.
Not bad, for Chengdu
Before putting the kids to bed, I changed the air pollution filters on their bedroom fans.
#thingsi'llneverdointhestates #won'tmissthiss
Our internet at home is bad. Way bad.
For the past four "Last Hundred Days" posts, I've had to wait until the early mornings of the day after because during the evening hours, I might as well be using a dial-up.
Which is why I truly believe, if there is such a thing as a real devil, he (or she, I suppose) was actually the mastermind behind computers and internet. There is nothing that can question or steal my salvation faster than when these two things, in tandem, don't work properly. I'd rather they both just go to hell.
And the stakes rise even further when I'm trying to fill out a job application.
Around 11:30 or so, I stumbled across another job opening that would be closing in the next day or so, so I decided to pump it out and get it over with, not knowing what the next couple days would hold.
But I forgot about the devil, and that he has many friends.
China is not America. Sending my kids "outside to play" does not mean them heading out to the backyard or nearby park. Often it means heading upstairs to our rooftop. Which then means them "mining" or Judah building. Both translate into an erratic yet consistent banging that seeps to the depths of my soul.
And with slow internet and irritating applications, this is bad.
Because I am not the perfect dad. So I ran up the stairs, several times, and asked in a not-so-kind way to STOP POUNDING!!!! several times. Once, I literally only made it back to the front door before having to head back up and take away the hammer.
Each time I went upstairs, my heart dropped a bit because playing upstairs is not what I've envisioned for my kids. I grew up with a giant backyard, a beautiful outdoor fire pit, BB guns, basketball courts, and fresh grass. Judah has made a gun out of a broken PVC pipe, after giving up on making a fire.
So after a few failed attempts at the internet, and questioning whether the Lord could forgive the thoughts in my head, I closed the computer, grabbed some lunch, and headed upstairs.
Building a fire on our rooftop is not like building a fire anywhere else. Most of the wood has been scavenged, is a bit rotted, and none of it smells like pine. Plus, the pit is entirely too small.
But my kids love it.
The internet isn't what I want it to be, the upstairs isn't the "play outside" experience I've envisioned for my kids, and this Sunday isn't going as planned, but it is what it is, and with only 82 days left in China (and then, hopefully, many more days on Earth after that), I don't want to waste a single one.
While Josey took a much needed nap . . . without the pounding.
Morning scooter ride
With Judah staying Friday night and Saturday with Gungsen, and because Zion was going on an "adventure" with Mom, Eden and I made a day of it. We left the house at 7am for CDIS to check in on the science fair, but then took off for the city.
I love this pictures because it defines Eden on public transportation. She sits in the very front, right behind the driver, and cuddles up to the window. I also love it because it's Chengdu - the apartments and the small, busy stores that line the heavy traffic.
We explored the streets for a bit,
then we headed to one of my favorite streets Chengdu has to offer: U37.
Eden loved this wall:
and she loved this woman sewing and mending clothes. I think the feeling was mutual.
She snacked on her favorite: tea eggs.
Chengdu sidewalks: tiled and slick, always swept, with lined tiles for guiding the blind.
Several times throughout our walk, whenever we'd stop somewhere for a shot or food or whatever, I'd find her writing something on a nearby wall or bench or even just in the middle of the sidewalk. She had found a rock, as always, and was continually writing, "EAd" everywhere she could.
We ended with cuddles, coffee, and books. A perfect ending to a great "EAd" day.
"Eden And daddy."
Definitely one for the books.
Read from 4:30-5:35ish
Kissed the wife, rode to work, got the day going with another cup of coffee and several meetings.
Taught AP Literature, got a pie to the face from David Kim, then kicked off the INTEL Science fair with a quote from Ben Franklin, “Any fool can criticize, condemn and complain – most fools do.”
Asleep on the couch by 8:30.
Pretty good day.
Thursday night means Mom has the night off and Dad and the kids . . . do whatever dads and kids to when Mom isn't around.
I can say say the stash of mini chocolate chips that is stashed in the freezer might need a refill, but other than that, YOU AIN'T GETTIN NOTHING OUTTA ME!!!
Okay, we watched old American Idol videos.
We watched Lee DeWyze sing "Hallelujah," Jessica Sanchez absolutely KILL "I Will Always Love You" and Clark's rendition of "When a Man Loves a Woman." Haley was always one of Judah's favorites, and this duet with Kasey is really and truly a joy to watch.
But our family favorite is and forever will be Phillip Phillip's Home.
So after reading and before bed, I asked the kids a few questions about home. Zion made me promise not to take too long because she was tired.
Judah: "Warm and bright."
Eden: "Mommy makes the house really beautiful and really good food."
Zion: "I like mom makes all the nice pretty stuff."
Judah: "Living room, because it's warm and where everybody is."
Eden: "My room, because my bed is comfy and looks good."
Zion: "Living room because we get to sleep there sometimes when we watch movies."
Judah: "On top of the World" by Imagine Dragons
Eden: "Fix You" by Coldplay
Zion: "Uptown Funk" by Mark Ronson Ft. Bruno Mars
Judah: "My birthday sleepover with Reister, Solomon, and Ari."
Eden: "The first time we moved here because it was an adventure and I just liked this house . . . I'm gonna miss it."
Zion: "Playing with friends and cousins and brothers and sisters and moms and dads."
Our home.
Bring your shield to work day
Yesterday was a rough day. And it bled into the morning when I tried to read, when I rode in on the scooter, and when I sat at my computer. I should have spent the morning getting work done or writing, but instead, I brewed. I hated it and hated that I couldn't get myself out of it.
Warren challenged me a few weeks back to find things I'm grateful for whenever I'm frustrated. So, this morning, after sulking in my frustrations for far too long, I tried. And the first thought that came to mind was being grateful for every morning.
Because I get to see my boy walking through the gates and I love that even though he's about to turn ten, he still give me a huge and that throughout the day, he stops in my office (even when he's not supposed to) to ask questions or get gum or tell me he's lost his lunch box . . . again. When I'm not there, he writes little notes that always end in "love you Dad." And I friggen love it.
Always second is Zion (she's actually in the picture above too):
She either comes through the gates with a run and a smile, or sleep still in her eyes. She loves school. Perhaps a bit too much, and I love being able to watch her play from Bekah's office. I get to watch her through giant windows as she looks for books in the library, and I'm allowed to catch her in the hallways with more hugs and kisses. Because we live in a small community.
Always and forever last, sometimes by several minutes, is Eden:
She's been awake for all of but an hour and already her shoes are untied, hair crazy, and she's telling on herself, "I'm sorry Daddy but I accidentally played (I forget the girl's name) iPhone today on the bus." Good God I love this girl. An artist, snarky, and just now beginning to love running. She makes this world beautiful, and I get to hug her in the hallways and hold her hand on the way to piano lessons on Thursdays with Ms. Hoekman.
Because we live in a small community, which sometimes feels like we're living in a crawl space. Other times, not at all.
Today, after loving my kids through the gate, I got to working on work, and was loved like family throughout the day.
Friends entered hard conversations, others wrestled honestly with problems, and some brought gifts: a freezer dinner of the best ready-to-deep-fry chicken on any continent and a handmade bunny for our soon-to-be addition - complete with a little "M"!
Michelle Leitner, thank you for the food and encouraging words. Truly. You inspired my heart and blessed my whole family.
Ricki Liang, thank you! This might be the cutest thing ever made. Would you mind terribly if I kept it and slept with it and made it my own?
Today, I am grateful for new mornings, small communities, and days like this.
When it's not always raining there'll be days like this
When there's no one complaining there'll be days like this
When everything falls into place like the flick of a switch
Well my mama told me there'll be days like this
This evening, when I sat down to write, the lyrics, "There'll be days like, there'll be days like this" ran through my head and I had to look it up. I didn't know it was a Van Morrison song, but I recognized the tune. The lyrics also seemed appropriate.
Working and living in a small community, at times, is like living in a crawl space; it's confining, dark, and stinks. There aren't many days like this, when they do, like a thick blanket of pollution that steals away the joy of the sun, they're suffocating.
When everyone is up front and they're not playing tricks
When you don't have no freeloaders out to get their kicks
When it's nobody's business the way that you wanna live
I just have to remember there'll be days like this
I've been wrestling with several ideas this past week, ideas about unity and thoughtful disagreements and how to be promotors of the Faith through mindful discussions. And I've been wanting to document my final days in the country I've lived and worked and loved for just about five years. I've been trying to find a balance between working hard, leaving well, having a baby, loving my kids, finding a job, serving my wife, and maintaining sanity. I've been trying not to check out early (as I am often prone to do) and be present, to keep investing.
When no one steps on my dreams there'll be days like this
When people understand what I mean there'll be days like this
When you ring out the changes of how everything is
Well my mama told me there'll be days like this
But days like these have me wanting to pack my bags and leave it all behind (minus the baby, kids, and Momma of course . . . and perhaps a few books).
Oh my mama told me
There'll be days like this
Oh my mama told me
There'll be days like this
Oh my mama told me
There'll be days like this
Oh my mama told me
There'll be days like this
Days like this. I want to remind myself of days like this because, as much as I love China and my job and the people I work with and the people I meet on the streets, I also want the last 100 days of me being here to be appropriately represented. Not fabricated or dishonest. I want it to be an true goodbye.
Josey and I are battling the tendency of accidentally making America heaven. The "Just wait till we get to America," or, "In America we'll" come without warning and great devastation because America isn't the promised land, and our baggage and weaknesses and faults will hop on the plane with us. We will still have days like this.
But I also don't want to look back and read through this blog and think, "Wow, in China, there was no hurt, no struggles, and no broken relationships. It was heaven!" Because it isn't.
Leaving well, I think, also means leaving honest. It means reconciling what can be, affirming those we'll miss, and nodding at the things we won't, with a sort of, "It's okay, really, but goodbye" sort of understanding and a no-hard-feelings handshake. Literally, and metaphorically.
I'm not there yet, ready to say goodbye with a good attitude, but I hope to be. That's even why I started this 100 Days thing . . . to walk through the process of saying goodbye, and to one day be able to look back and remember. All of it.
The beauty and the pain. The joys and the sorrow. The triumphs. The disappointments.
The days like this.
About this time each year, for the past four years we've been living in ZZY, the city shaves down the trees.
Last year, when they cut on the east side of us, I drove over with my three-wheeler scooter and started gathering wood. A man from top the truck started yelling at me and I played dumb, "Ting bu dong!" (don't understand what I hear). He grunted and waved me off with a small load of wood that burned through the following fall.
Last year, when they shaved off half the trees in our complex, I had just finished reading Raising Modern Day Knights and was longing for opportunities to be with my son, to do hard and rigorous things together (camping and hiking aren't always being an easy option), and to find tangible ways to teach him what it means to be a young man and to serve others.
That coming Saturday, chainsaws woke up the neighborhood and a pile of treetops piled in the middle of our complex. An answered prayer.
Judah and I spent the morning and early afternoon sawing, by hand, and carrying the wood up our seven flights of stairs. We even split the pile in half and shared it with a friend. When Judah asked why we were giving so much away, I was gifted with the opportunity to teach him about humility - to use one's gifts for the benefit of others.
Of the many days spent in China, that one was one of my favorites.
