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In the Eye of the Swarm: Learning Patience While Waiting for Everything to Change
They come in near silence, minding their business and ready to work. They never need blueprints, complain of the load or ask for time off. Their days are long and full of physical labor. They don’t work for the weekend; the word itself does not exist in their world. They are not lazy, selfish or greedy. They toil as a team with their boss in mind; everything exists for her. But amidst their fantastic attributes, they are squatters by nature. They move in without asking, build without permits, and defend their stolen property with a vengeance. So who do you call when they join forces, come out swinging, and threaten…
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A Bark, a Whistle, and the Woman Behind the White
When a car of teen boys drove by and one of the confident losers barked, I secretly cringed, kept walking and felt something die inside. I didn’t need Seventeen magazine to tell me I wasn’t in the running; we who weren’t natural beauties already knew. My awkward teenage self turned a bit inward that day. I questioned more, doubted more, hurt more. Stupid memories stay with me longer than they probably should, but here we are. Two-and-a-half decades later and I can still hear his voice. I now live in a Latin-American country though. I am a pale version of the beautiful brown humans surrounding my kids,…
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Dear Stay-At-Home Mom: I Figured Out Your Problem
My face told him my approximate age. The awkward wedding reception silence told him to ask. I knew what was coming; the same thing that always came after the “nice to meet you” part. “Do you work?” It’s not a question I get down here in Baja; the majority of women stay home and take care of the kids, cook, etc. But when I lived in the States—a perfectly normal question. I wanted to launch. I wanted to redefine his inquiry, spell it out, wrap it up and hand it back. You mean like for money? No, last time I checked there’s no salary for washing, changing, feeding,…
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10 Secrets Missionaries Keep, Part 2
Last week I shared the first five questions and answers from missionaries around the world about the secrets they’re keeping regarding honesty, Corner Office Syndrome, guilt and MKs. If you missed it and want to catch up, come on over! Obviously becoming a missionary in another country should not be entered into lightly. The common thread running through those of us who call ourselves expats is we’re committed, but missionary life tends to be harder than we let on. Most of us have great intentions of meeting needs, but being honest about our own is not usually on the radar. This week we’re talking about marriage, money and moving, along with a bonus…
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10 Secrets Missionaries Keep, Part 1
Depending on the country, you might think being a missionary means having a bunch of faith, eating rice, praying all day and swinging in a hammock. But unless you’ve taken a trip to visit a missionary, you might not see the challenges behind the scenes. Even then they’re probably not telling you how they truly feel about their marriage, raising support, and those donations you sent. I emailed a list of questions to 39 missionary friends, asking them to be brutally honest and open about missionary life in a foreign country. I got back answers from India, Canada, The Middle East, Mexico and Italy. I took the survey too,…
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Seriously, Put Your Arm Down
Even the most vain men who spend absurd amounts of money on clothes and time in front of the mirror don’t do it. But most women do. Most little boys couldn’t care less, but most little girls care too much. Why? Doesn’t matter what country you’re from, where you went to high school or how tall you are. If you are a girl/lady/woman and possess an upper arm, letting it squish up against your rib cage is a current no-no. If you think I need to search for an American runway, benefit dinner or black-tie auction to find such poses, think again. Triangular arms are alive and well in…
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My Kids Can’t Spell “Sabbath.” But They Love It.
“Christians aren’t bound by Old Testament Sabbath directives, but Jesus never said to forget it completely.” ~ Lauren Winner Braided challah bread, shabbat candles, family time and prayer. In Jewish communities, Sabbaths are truly set apart from the other six days. But I was not raised Jewish. And I’m still not Jewish. Even the old-school word “Sabbath” makes me think of head coverings, Fiddler On The Roof and kiddush cups. So what’s a white girl, raised Baptist, turned non-denominational, from California, living in Mexico, supposed to do about the command to rest? Something. Anything. Honoring the Sabbath seemed easier in Puritan New England, where almost everyone took it seriously. Sunday…
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The White Girl Doesn’t Fit In
This post is part of Lysa TerKeurst’s Uninvited Book Blog Tour which I am delighted to be a part of along with many other inspiring bloggers. Are you a blogger? You’re invited! Do you know a blogger? Invite them! I don’t fit in. At all. And that’s okay. For the first few years I lived here I didn’t feel like it was okay though. I wanted to fit in so I could stop feeling insecure. I wanted browner skin, better Spanish and a clue about how to make tamales. I didn’t want to fit in so I could be with the cool kids, I just didn’t want to feel so different. Of…
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Excuses I’ve Told Visitors for $300, Alex
I’ve racked my brain, but can’t recall a time I have ever walked into a guy’s house and listened to him trip over his tongue in an effort to tell me all the reasons why his dwelling looks messy, dirty, or both. The home of a woman though? Different story. Every time I’m in a friend’s house and she starts going on about why there are messes, I want to grab her shoulders and say, “Relax. It’s okay that your nail clippers landed on the coffee table, beach towels are in the kitchen and dozens of unread magazines rest by your bed. You live here.” And then someone comes to…
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Living in the High School Library
New. School. Can any two other words evoke such equal feelings of curiosity and trepidation in a tween or teen? Pretty sure I’ve never seen anyone more than three feet tall jump for joy over the thoughts of being pulled from their normal and dropped in the midst of new schedules, peers and teachers. But when we returned home from vacation on a recent Sunday evening, our oldest son didn’t have time to think about it. Faster than fast he unpacked his suitcase, ironed his new uniform, and went from English-speaking camper to Spanish-speaking student. Putting on the welcome green with a few new acquaintances. A mere 45 hours separated…
