French Fries.

Right now, friendships are equated with French fries. I just got home and am anxious all inside, and embarrassed at the same time. Trying to fit in and finds friends in Charlotte is easy and hard at the same time. This Tuesday, it is exclamation marks. I went out with some people after a gathering of Christian singles worship, thinking it would be conversation and general chat about our weeks. Instead, it turned into people throwing French fries, sugar packets, and whatever across tables to be silly. I was so embarrassed to be labeled with them, and especially labeled as Christians in that restaurant, that I wanted to creep out of my seat from beneath the table.

At this point in my life, I want to be tucking my children in. I don't want to be ducking adults French fries at a restaurant. I live this life of single, twenty-seven, and am trying to find other adults/women to really dig into life of greater meaning with others that have the space/capacity for me also. Husbands, children, whatever. It doesn't matter, as long as I am still welcomed along. I have friends with both of these, and we are still core friends. But, how do I connect and meet with some of them deeply here?

And not sit at a booth where they are throwing French fries.

Missing Home.

"I need not despise one to enjoy the other,

and I need not to be ashamed of missing one

while living in another.

There will still be times of sadness

and much that I will miss.

But I do not want to miss the present

by missing the past,

or miss the here for missing the there."
~ Victor L. Luther

This quote was written by a third culture kid, a TCK as their labeled in Missionary World, and was given to me during my training for the Philippines. It struck me and connected with me.

The last couple of weeks, it has become like glue to my soul. It transfixes on me, with its depth and truth, and gives me permission with its reality.

I miss Michigan right now. It's not that I don't want to be here, but I miss it. I miss having people who have known me for more than a season. I miss being able to drive twenty minutes and be on a sandy coast. I miss having great little nooks like East Grand Rapids, Holland, Grand Haven, and Rockford. I miss "my" places like Roses and the pier and Crossroads. I miss the people there, and the way they go about life. I miss chicks who wear John Deere T-shirts and braids in their hair, but drive Grand Prixs and wear Lucky jeans. I miss guys who get dirty during the day, but put on their button up at night. I miss wild and care-free life at the lake, my nephew, and my seat in the gym worship. I miss Meijers, Gap Body, Schueler, and coffee at JPs. I miss a homemade latte at Lynda's, brunch with Bekah, bike-riding with Anne, and opening day of BDD with "the girls." I miss day drives to Traverse, climbs on the dunes, picnics at Saugatuck, weekends at Mackinaw, and roaming through Nordhouse. I miss being able to connect with spaces in a sense so norm to me that it doesn't seem "culture."

I thought, in so many ways, things would look different. I thought I would always be able to go "home" in the summer and spend a month there during the season off from teaching. I thought it would always be a safe place. I thought I would find "nooks" and places like home in N.C. But I keep driving and looking. I thought I would miss MI more throughout the year, but with mom not there, it doesn't linger with the same appeal. But it's summer burns in me with lusting fire. I miss MI in the summer. I knew I would, and I do.

It's also different because, though I love the South, I keep finding how much I'm not a part of it. I keep finding ways to label it "another country" and knowing it really is. It's a place that does bridal portraits, high noon weddings, and dressed-up days at the lake. It's a place where country doesn't equate in any way with city, and shows no blurring of the in between. It's a place where it's talked about constantly, and labels itself with daily reminders spoken of "the South." It's a place where cities like Charlotte bear license plates with messages, and children with couture floral dresses and smocked shortalls. It's a place where I try to fit, but can't find the mold.

Really, I do love the South. I do want to be in the mix of it. But I don't fail to reckon that I'm not of it. That I'm Mid-West born and raised. And that though I hate snow, slush, gray days, and not-married-at-twenty, it's still the most of me. I don't have to hate one to love the other. I don't have to neglect to miss one while being in the other. I'm a TCK. Third Culture "Kid." Of foreign lands, of living here, of missing there. Of wishing and wanting... Home.

Left Out In-between.

Last year I remember standing in my mom's kitchen and talking about how well I connected with the women at my church who I was working with on the Women's Brunch and Retreat. I just felt so filled being with them. They were all in thirty, forty, fifty... and felt like women I would sit around the table with for hours over tea. We would talk about life, God, church, husbands, children, connecting, books, and the general planning ideas. I remember saying to my mom, "I connect so much more with them than I do with those my age."

She replied, "Oh, that doesn't surprise me at all."

I was surprised by that. I asked her why, and she went to comment about who I am, what I love, and I have much more in common with these women than with the single girls I was always trying to chum around with or fit in with.

It's exactly how I feel. I can enjoy the single life. I can enjoy being twenty-seven. But the heart of it comes down to that I don't want to go out and party until after midnight, or stay out for drinks after a gathering, or play mindless video games... Or pretend to be dolled-up, while silently hoping some guy thinks twice when he looks my way. Like a fawn, waiting to be wanted.

I want to make a home. To love and nurture my children. To become more than.... this.

I try live my life to the fullest now, as it was given to me. And not waste away the days "waiting" or even look at them as that. But living single and twenty-something doesn't fit the mold of me. I miss these Crossroads women in my life, and how they didn't label and disconnect me simply because our life circumstances were different.

I hear comments at the playground from children and parents, or feel the nudge of it from relatives. I heard it said word-for-word at the last Youth Group from a mother to a student, "No, you're not an adult yet. You're not an adult until you are married and have kids." Ouch. I could have stood their and cried right there.

Mothers at the playground here constantly react and treat me "less." As if I haven't arrived, am still some teenager with no life experience or know-how of mothering. Like haven't earned the right into their clique. They ask me to babysit like I'm twelve, and talk about homeschooling like I have no awareness of educational statutes.

I'm twenty-seven. I am a full-grown adult. I don't have the ring or stroller to prove it, though I tuck Garrett in every day and love people with all my heart. I have carried children since they were five days old, earned my Masters degree and managed 140 kids a day, sometimes 33 at a time. I pack a water bottle, sunscreen, and snack whenever Garrett and I leave the house. I cook pasta salad with peppers, Parmesan, and pepperoni. I know how to use a thermometer on a child, string prayers through daily life, and live in third world countries. I can schedule a doctors appointment, get the oil changed, and sit across the table from bankers. Proving myself somehow seems called for, yet I stay silently appropriate.

I know this post is ramble. It's only the ice burg of what's in me. Underneath is the complexity of it all - the wants, needs, emotions, hurts, gifts. But for now, I walk in between single, party-life twenty-somethings, and steady sippy-cup carrying moms. I don't fit nor am invited completely into either. Part of it is my own doing, part of it is their undoing. Either way, I'm left out, living in-between.

A little bit...Me.

Citizenship in the South is not easily gained.

It really is like a whole different country down here. I got invited to a gathering of 60-some twenty-somethings on Sunday, called "Easter at the Lake." So, of course, I grab my suit and towel and some crackers and head out on the road with Lady Antebellum and windows blowing.

But, who arrives at "Easter on the Lake" with dresses and pearls and high heels? Southern girls. There was not one bathing suit on the beach. Only one other guy had his even with. So there was I, ready to dive-in and exhale in the decently warm lake water, while all the other girls and Southern gents shimmered on the shore.

It was like a "lake day" on the lake, without the feel of lake. Volleyball, soccer, chips, and drinks... and guys dressed in full-out button-down Polo's and girls applying lipstick and blush.

I cringed. This just isn't me. "Me" is wild abandon, bring-it-on lake day. Throw off the T-shirt before you even hit the sand and grab the quickest wave you can. It's sloppy pony tails and tossed around towels. It's yelling "Hit-it!" from the boat, and sloshing cool watermelon chunks through your fingers. It's the leveling -- the rich/poor, good body/not-so-good body, all in suits and Ts and worn leather sandals.

So when it came down to it, I dove in any way. Sixty to seventy some others frolicked and flirted and stared coy at one another on the beach, and I just walked down the way a bit, stripped down my aqua cover-up, and dove on in. Swimming, somersaults, and floating alike. It's me.

I'm sure someone on the shore saw me, and considered me ridiculous. But it's me. I hadn't experienced joy like those first few puffs of air and strokes in the sea in... months. Only giggles and exhibitions and open-lunged release casted through my chilled veins.

In lots of ways, I try to fit in the South. In lots of ways, I continue to discover more and more... that I don't. That I'll just always be a little bit of an outsider... a little bit of an ex-pat... a little bit of a foreigner... A little bit... Me.

Let Heaven & Earth.

"Let heaven and earth praise him,

The seas and all that move in them."

Psalm 70:34

I sung out from the core of who I am, giving all of the life in me and shouting songs in worship at the color wheel of stained glass ahead. Pink geraniums gave fullness to the front of the church, an explosion of worship on their own accord. And me, melting into it all and overcome with the goodness that... Heaven & earth will praise him. Do praise him.

So today, it hit me with new goodness, new freedom: for all of us here on earth, for those who have loved, lost, lived, or live, we are all together in our worship. In our incredible, renown, exuberant magnitude, calling Him Holy. We gather with loud voices to the Throne, singing, "Holy, Holy, Holy... Alleluia, Christ Arose!"

Death cannot keep it's sting. Faith is the victory. Jesus Christ has overcome the world, the power of death, the fear of earth. He will and does break open the chains. He has the final victory, the last word. Praises. Holy. Holy. Holy. Let heaven and earth sing.

People Don't Get It.

People don't get it.

(Be warned... anger lurks...)

People say stupid things like...

"Take care of your dad, now, you hear?" (can I mention how many of my parents friends/relatives said this to me at the funeral, in the funeral line... right, exactly, because I haven't lost anyone here... but hey, thanks for the concern)

"I don't know if it makes you feel better, but my friend's mom died and her dad married within six months..." (ummm.... yes... does that make me feel better? yeah, uh, right. how?)

"Well, couldn't you ask your dad to fly down here and fix up a foreclosure for you?" (Yes, because he's been so willing to fly down here to see, encourage, and support me... can I mention I hate Realtors, and they both already knew my 'situation'?)

"Well, statistics show, most men marry within a year of their spouses death." (this is perhaps the worst and most repeated...see February blog on Statistics.)

"Well, you don't want him to be alone, do you?" (Thanks for the guilt-trip, but not working here... I didn't say I wanted him to be alone, but there is more to it than this.)

You don't get it. You're not the one who received a wedding invitation in the mail one day, and a packet from the lawyers the next. You're not dress shopping for a inconsiderate event, while still signing off on rights and waivers.

You don't get it. You're not the one who had family dinners with candles, and now don't hear a word high or low from what was called your family. You're not the one who will walk down the isle alone, decorate your house alone, and raise your child outside the bond of family. (I know, this could change... but hope is evasive nowadays.)

You don't get it. You're not the one who spent the following six weeks after the death with family each night at the dinner table, collectively working it through. The lost them completely somewhere along the way. You're not the one who wrote the obituary, planned the funeral, picked out the songs in the books, coordinated the food for 500+ people, had phone calls back and forth with pastors & planners, and arranged flowers to be distributed.

People don't get it. And because of this, they say and think stupid things. Hurtful things. Colliding things.

People don't get it, because their ignorant. They are not expected to get it. They can't get it. Because they haven't been here... I wouldn't really want them to really be able to get it... but the empathy strung alone could still reach the gap...

You can't equate the death of one, with the death of another. You can't equate the loss of family one way, to the loss of family another.

You can't equate four months of bedside cancer to drowning to roadkill. You can't equate childhood divorce to adult separation, to adoption, to betrayal, to no family at all. So to equate them is to draw conclusions that shouldn't be referenced in a way that does.

You can, gather empathy, listen carefully, and simply come by and say "I'm sorry." Or you can do countless of other things...

But you can't understand what it is like to go from last year, having security in all of it... to this year, walking through that front door on a Friday night.... to arranging a funeral, to hearing it was all a sick & psycho lie, to writing thank-you cards, to spending nights on your dad's couch, to arranging family meals, to boating, to sitting in a hearing, see seeing her face on the nightly news, to corresponding through the phone to lawyers, to seeing your face on the paper, to moving across the country, to developing new friends, to starting a yell-at-you job, to managing life away from anything safe, to receiving the outcomes of sentences, to watching your dad be touched by another woman, to starting another new job, to being yelled at over Christmas, to moving again, to being blamed & called "materialistic", to watching the man who killed your mother be chain-cuffed to jail, to the next day hearing her husband proposed, to hearing that you think you're the only one that's grieving, to having lies show up as broken truth again and again like the housewares and furniture that is now, too, scattered about without you.

You can't get it. You don't get it. But I have two Easter cards and a 1980's-looking wedding invitation and a lawyer packet to prove it.

Both In Tough Times.

Question: What do you do when you're both in tough times?

I wonder about this as I wade through my own struggles, and also hear the intensity of some of those of my friends. Usually, one is strong while the other is weak, and visa versa. But what if both are trying to be strong, while both are also really weak. What if you both are trying to help carry each other's burdens, but are in reality, really heavily carrying your won. Do you keep both entering into each other's deep waters? Does that help or hinder the friendship? The burdens?

I don't know.

I just have these thoughts. And I wonder what you, my precious loved ones, also think/wonder/process about it...