-
Home Sweet Trailer in Baja: Abraham’s Forever Faith in My Face
I am no longer a journaler. Journaler? That’s a weird word. I engaged my pens decades ago, especially when the subject matter revolved around boys, but then I tapered. Since then I’ve started and stopped more than start-stop technology in city traffic, but I just can’t get into it. So now I use them as notebooks, and I’m totally fine with that. No more guilt. For years I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t want to journal anymore until I realized the list involved reasons I didn’t want to admit. Mix together slight perfectionism and the constant inner critic of an Enneagram one, with a full schedule and a woman…
-
Corner Office Syndrome as a Boss: When it’s Always Lonely at the Top of the Business or Ministry
A few years ago I reported the results of a missionary survey I did and was surprised by their answers. (Especially when they matched mine.) With global loneliness at an all-time high, I thought I’d take a closer look into the phenomenon where some people might not look. The old cliché, “It’s lonely at the top” rings loud and true… 92% of missionaries I interviewed said yes to this question: Do you ever suffer from Corner Office Syndrome? (Knowing a ton of people but not having any real friends.) “Totally. I have lots of friends on Facebook, but nobody checks on me; I always have to reach out. It’s hard…
-
Kicked Out of the Bank: When Rejection Suddenly Strikes You and Your Family
A few years into Baja living, my husband learned to roll with the inconvenient punches, knew exactly how to pay all the bills in person, and understood the cultural norms. But of all the places we visited in the city, going to a Mexican bank never felt fun. Between 230 cars jockeying for 13 parking spaces, sketchy holes in the sidewalks and a general feeling of being a tad nervous carrying too much cash, I preferred to stay in the car. Or at home. At least their banks had real police officers packin’ heat at the front door. None of this rent-a-cop packin’ snacks nonsense you find in the States. …
-
Above Reproach: 3 Stories with Men That Changed My Ways
At the ripe old age of 16-ish, I’m pretty positive I couldn’t have told you what living above reproach meant. Fifteen years later I moved to Baja and lived above a roach (a colony of them actually), but that’s different. The appearance of evil is a tricky thing. If you’re not actually doing anything evil/wrong/illegal, it’s easy to argue it’s no biggie. How it appears to outsiders looking in is whole ‘nother ballgame. I didn’t realize it for years, but I’ve had three similar experiences that could’ve flipped me on my head and changed the trajectory of my life. They didn’t just happen to me though—I chose them. I just…
-
The Hungry Games
(Shared with permission) Age: nine Child: mine Attitude: fine Until it wasn’t. When one of our kids got in trouble for a garden-variety no-no, I figured the next steps would resemble the rest. Too tall to spank and not naughty enough to ground, I sent him to the back room where his timeout minutes matched his age. He knew the rule: any yelling or screaming made the time start over. Normally, regret bubbled and his demeanor recovered before I returned. But this time it elevated from mad to angry to ballistic in way less than nine minutes. In a house on a foundation, the muffled sounds of fists beating floors…
-
Donate This, Not That: Tips to Donate with Dignity
I know… I’ve had good intentions that went awry too. I’ve donated things I probably should’ve thrown in the trash. I felt guilty about the blatant waste though, so I passed it on for someone else to hopefully benefit from. Trouble is, if an item falls into that category, it’s probably going to end up costing the recipient more time than it’s worth. I never truly understood this principle till I moved to a 3rd-world country. Pretty sure the ministries in Mexico get more donations from the U.S. than any other nation, but after living there for 12 years, I’m not confident the helpful handouts outweighed the inconvenient/annoying ones. For…
-
When You Don’t Wanna Bloom Where You’re Planted
When the Mary Englebreit craze invaded 1996, I joined millions of other fans and hung her calendar on my wall. I liked her one-two faith punch: “Everything is a risk. What if it doesn’t work out?” “Oh—but what if it does?” Over the years my floral style changed, but I now see that she produces black and white art, and her sayings/phrases are clever with a side of sass. For example, you’ll find these on some of her recent cards: “When you thought everything would be easy peasy lemon squeezy, but it’s actually difficult, difficult, lemon difficult.” “When life shuts a door, open it again. It’s a door. That’s how…
-
Classy Smut: TV Shows That Suck Us In
I walked by the dilapidated Baja house with the window open and heard it. I visited Porvenir friends in the middle of the afternoon and saw it. Almost every time we ate tacos early, like old people, we saw it again—at our favorite stand, just above the raw meat. Ask any woman in most Latin American countries what rules the mid-mornings and afternoons at home and they’ll probably say the same thing: Novelas. Known as Soap Operas in English, the name originated from the squeaky clean stuff we call soap. Since most women worked at home in the 1930s, daytime dramas targeted them and their cleaning needs. The networks required…
-
Clearly We’re New Here: Moving Back to the United States and Another Culture
Are there any two words more filled with trepidation for a middle schooler than “new school”? Well, maybe “avocado prices,” but that’s probably more for the moms. Plop that middle schooler in a new country, state and city, and you’ve got a recipe for a confused kid. According to sociologist David C. Pollock, “A Third Culture Kid is a person who has spent a significant part of his or her developmental years outside the parents’ culture. The TCK builds relationships to all of the cultures, while not having full ownership in any.” Though they’re American citizens, one child has never lived here, the other one doesn’t remember living here,…
-
Finishing Well. Sort Of: Moving to Another Country When You’d Rather Not
Did you know you’re never supposed to start a sentence with a number in the shape of a number? 11 years ago we had recently moved to Porvenir. We felt rather pale. And tall. 9 months ago we thought we might move back to the States. I didn’t want to. 7 weeks ago I stopped packing for our move and celebrated my last Mother’s Day in Mexico. 5 days ago Doug moved our fridge and beds into our new rental. Weird. 3 hours ago our real estate agent moved through our home with his tripod, clickety-clicking his way from the calle to the bodega to the baño. 1 minute ago…
