A couple of weeks ago, I spoke about trusting God, even when a season feels like a straitjacket. Those words resonated with a lot of people. I suppose for everybody at some point life feels that way — you’re in a season that has you sitting still, and it’s often the case that the best you can do is just trust “it ain’t forever” and keep on keepin’ on. There are often great things happening under the surface, and the restraint we feel is often part of a bigger process, whether we’re aware of it or not.

But part of the process of making it through one of those seasons is knowing when the season is done. And sometimes that’s easy to see — you get fired from the job you hated, or you get the promotion you’ve been praying for that will reduce financial stress. The sign changes and the speed limit is no longer 25. Other times, like the butterfly, you are a part of the process of wiggling your way out of the chrysalis that has held you in place while the change was taking place.

So how do you know when it’s time to wiggle?

2 Kings 7 tells this fantastic story that is almost Shakespearean humor to me. Syrians laid siege on the city of Samaria and people were quite literally starving to death. In those days, lepers were banished to live outside the city because people didn’t want to touch them, for fear of being “made unclean.” {Long explanation for that, let’s save it for another day.}

So these four lepers were living outside the city, and when times are tough and people don’t have food for themselves, it’s pretty likely these dudes were on the verge of extinction.

Until they came up with a plan.

“Muchachos,” they said to one another, “why are we just sitting here waiting to die? Obviously, if we go into the city, since there’s no food in the city, we’ll die. And clearly, if we just stay sitting right here, we’re gonna die. So why don’t we head over to the Syrian camp and surrender to them? If they keep us alive, well then sweet potatoes. But if they kill us, what’s the difference, right?”

What these dudes didn’t know was that the Lord had been at work while they were busy reasoning things out. He’d caused the Syrians to hear the sound of a big army coming, and they thought the Samarians had hired some folks to come fight on their behalf.

“The Egyptians and the Hittites are coming to lay the smack down!” they’d shouted to one another. And they took off running scared, leaving all their stuff right there in the camp, shedding layers of clothing so they could run faster.

When those lepers showed up in the camp, it was a ghost town. So {this is the part I really love picturing in my mind} they start raiding the camp from tent to tent. Check it out, guys, there’s food over here! Bro, check out this rocking new garment I just found! I’m gonna go bury this booty in the ground and come back for more! Whoo-hoo! Who’s thirsty???

Eventually they think to themselves, Dudes, we are being totally not cool. The people in the city are about to keel over starving because they think this army is still here. We better go tell them the good news before we get in trouble for being selfish punks.

So these four lepers, who nobody expected anything from, told the city the good news, and in a way, they kind of saved the day. The king sent some of his men to go check out their story and make sure it was true, and then people went out and plundered the tents — the siege was finished and the famine was, too.

Now what if those guys had just decided to stick it out and hope for the best? What if they didn’t decide to get up and at least attempt to change their fate? The time was right for them to make a move.

Call it grace, they made their move, and many people benefited from that decision.

Another story is told*, about these prisoners of war, being held hostage, imprisoned for months. Who knows how badly they’d been treated, what atrocities they’d suffered through in this dark corner of the world.

Some Navy SEALS arrived to rescue them. They flew in by helicopter, stormed the compound and found their way to the room where the hostages were being held. In this filthy, dark room, there these hostages sat, curled up in a corner, terrified.

The SEALS entered, stood at the door, and called to them. “We’re Americans, c’mon, let’s go! Follow us, we’re gonna get you out of here!” But the hostages wouldn’t follow them. They hid their eyes on the floor, fearful, not believing this was real, not believing these rescuers were really Americans who’d come to save them.

There were too many hostages for the SEALS to carry out, and for a moment they didn’t know what to do. Finally one of the SEALS had an idea: he put down his weapon, took off his helmet, and curled up tightly next to the other hostages on the floor, so close that his body was touching some of theirs. He softened the look on his face and put his arms around them. {He did what none of the prison guards would’ve done — do you see the beautiful redemption in this?}

He stayed there for a little while until some of them finally looked at him, and then whispered that they were Americans, there to rescue them. Will you follow us? he asked.

He stood to his feet, and one by one the hostages did the same, eventually every one of them was willing to go. At the end they were safely aboard an aircraft carrier, free from the horrible place where they’d been held captive for so long.

Like the lepers, they had to get up to get free.

You’ve heard the saying that sometimes we stare so long at the door that’s closed we don’t see the open window. And a season can be a closed door, or a period of time where you feel held captive by the circumstances of life.

But one of God’s first promises after the Earth was flooded was about seasons:

“While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, winter and summer, day and night shall not cease.” {Gen. 8:22}

We can be certain of the fact that seasons will always change. There will be a time to plant, a time to reap, a time to kill, a time to heal, {is turn turn turn in the back of you head now?} We can be certain, from the very mouth of God, that no season is going to last forever.

Maybe the straitjacket that’s holding you is still tightly around you, cinched and closed; maybe the process isn’t over, maybe the chrysalis isn’t complete. But be careful to stay alert and mindful: the strings may have already been loosened, the door may already be unlocked.

The Sermon in a Nutshell: Be mindful, be on the lookout, and be ready to face your fears. Recognize that you might have to get up to get out of what’s holding you. There is the distinct possibility that the only thing holding you in the season you’re in is you.

xCC

*I’ve adapted this true story from the book Blue Like Jazz. (Thank you, Don Miller, for sharing it!)

There’s a funny thing we often say when we’re trying to get the Bear to do something. He’s been able to spell his name aloud for a while, and he’s able to write it down on a piece of paper (although he writes the letters in order, he doesn’t always put them beside each other on the page). He can sing his ABC’s or It’s Raining, It’s Pouring and do the little motions our sweet Agnes taught him.

But give him an audience — a grandma or grandpa on Skype, an uncle he hasn’t seen for a while, a family friend he’s meeting for the first time — and he is usually not interested in displaying what we think are some of his wonderful achievements. He’s not about to perform, and the first thing one of us usually says in comment is:

He’s nobody’s monkey.

In contrast, I’ve been thinking a bit about the expectations this Mama Bear sets for herself. You might have them too — thoughts about what kind of spouse, parent, friend or employee you have to be? Because you say so?

Turns out I’m my own monkey, trying to clang the tiny cymbals and turn the handle on the box at the same time.

I (finally) became aware of one of those expectations the other day, and I thought it might be worthwhile bringing it your attention, too. Is the fairness expectation turning your handle?

Click over to Signposts today to join the discussion!

xCC

One of the books I’m reading at the moment, which I quoted the other day, ya know, while I was looking for my ferret, is speaking some really life-giving words to my soul at the moment. I’m adding a little Amazon link right here right now, in case you would like to read the life-giving words, too.

You might enjoy this book if you 1) are breathing 2) ever feel like saying “I’m fine” when you don’t feel that way or 3) find yourself avoiding confrontation like the Black Plague.

Anywho. Here’s what I feel like I needed to hear this evening that you might need to hear, too.

It is okay, and even good, to be honest about your emotions.

It is good to be honest with God.

It is good to be honest with the people around you.

{An honest dog, who’s visiting with my brother, who just met his second nephew for the first time!}

If you’re hurting, angry, sad, disappointed, confused, or something else, hereby receive the permission you may or may not have realized you already had to speak freely. Feel free to practice in the comments, but I also recommend speaking to other people in real life to talk about what you’re going through.

Speaking freely and honestly, I personally don’t do very well with speaking freely and honestly. I would rather you perceive me as having it all together than take a chance at letting my guard down and change those perceptions.

Right now, for example, life feels kind of confusing for me — as if there’s a fog over my head and I’m watching my life through one of those viewing windows you look through when people are being interviewed by the police in those intimidating rooms that just have a table and two metal chairs.

I’m confident that this is all a part of the process of re-entry, and I’m not planning to start worrying about how and when the fog will lift. In the meantime, it’s here with a little sadness, a bit of feeling disconnected. Even a bit of wishing I was somehow more in control. Transition is weird.

Sometimes unpleasant…like the air biscuits my brother’s dog is laying as I type this right now.

Fear encourages us not to be honest about how we’re feeling. But these emotions are a part of this glorious human experience. And I don’t know whether there’s supposed to be a ‘u’ in glorious anymore.

But it’s still glorious.

The next time someone asks how you’re doing, I hope you’ll think twice before just saying “Fine.” {And thanks, Emily, I needed the reminder.}

xCC

{A point I think I’m suppose to add down here: Grace for the Good Girl by Emily P. Freeman is 1) a great book 2) available on Amazon and 3) if you click that link up there and go buy the book at Amazon, like the little carousel to the right, a small portion of the sale will come my way. Kind of like commission. Which is nifty. So there ya go.}

Have you ever heard of a nursing strike? Like, when a baby basically decides they won’t breastfeed for some reason? Well around these parts, the Tank has enacted a napping strike, which (in our case) is when a baby who used to nap very nicely decides once the clock hits the 30 to 45 minute mark, sleep is done. And this baby who was taking 3 or 4 good hour and a half naps a day is no longer giving me a chance to read a chapter, or shower, dry my hair and get dressed.

It ain’t purty.

In other news, the internet was out for two days, hence things being quiet here. And. It came back on, and that evening I was planning to catch you up on the life and times of this here expat-repat, and do you know what? It sure enough decided it was time to stop working again.

Weren’t too purty either.

{I should warn you I’m writing this tired and the southern comes out when I’m tired. Alright y’all? Let’s move on.}

In other news that’s a lot better, we actually did achieve those little photographic missions I was hoping to accomplish just before, and upon, our arrival. The photos from London aren’t ready yet, but the arriving photo I was hoping we’d capture is hot off the presses.

In case you need a reminder, this was when the Bear met G-pa, back in Cape Town airport in 2008:

And I hoped we could snag something similar, right here at Raleigh-Durham International Airport, September 2011.

And we did!

See?

G-pa opted for the purple, instead of the yellow hat on this occasion, which was nicely complemented by the Tank’s yellow onesie. We didn’t even plan that. And like the Bear, the Tank was equally impressed with G-pa’s hat.

Another very special reunion/introduction ensued, after a wee car drive to eastern North Carolina.

Very exciting, and rather different from when G.C. met the Bear:

because he was only a few days old, but Blakey already had six month notches (now seven!) under his belt. Or on his onesie. Or etched into his crib. But we sold that. Ahem.

So the news in a nutshell is: the Bear loves preschool, the Tank loves solid food but doesn’t like napping, Hero Hubs officially starts work next week, and I’m still feeling a bit loopy getting settled in to life here again. And I think it’s gonna take a while.

But I’m thinking I’ve got a while.

And that’s good news, too.

xCC

I‘m in the middle of a couple of good books at the moment. I grabbed one of them off my sister’s bookshelf, and she’d made notes in it that make me feel like I’m getting to read it with her, even though she’s many-a-mile away in Colorado. Special treat. She has a great sense of humour. Or humor, since she’s American. So am I.

My own thoughts still feel like a bit of a jumble at the moment…like I’m struggling a little bit to get a grip with the new reality. It reminds me of a dream I had the other night that seemed so certain and so real, I woke up and wondered where my ferret was. I have never owned a ferret. And I don’t think I ever will own a ferret. But I woke up from the dream with the cuddly little white ferret, it may or may not have had a collar, and the first thought in my mind in those waking moments — troublesome, loud and important was:

Where’s my ferret?

The good books I’ve been reading have had some good thoughts I thought were more mention-worthy than my imaginary ferret.

{A bookshelf at Se7en’s house!}

I’ve been challenged by these words: “Andrew is the one who taught me that what I believe is not what I say I believe; what I believe is what I do.” This reminds me of some definitions of integrity I’ve heard, and makes me thankful for grace.

“Jesus didn’t value what people thought; he valued people, period.” This is an incredibly freeing statement for me. I need to internalize this wisdom.

I’ve also been thinking about Mark 11, and Jesus deciding to make that triumphant entry into Jerusalem, not long before He died, on a donkey. I’m sure His disciples would’ve been willing to put on a show for Him — a big jazzy parade with flags and loud music, maybe even some people to toss figs and dates to the crowd. He could’ve had strobe lights and fog machines if He wanted. Or at least bubble blowers to make all the children giggle.

But He opted to go the road low. And I’ve been thinking about Him leading the way, in that way, and what that might mean for you and me if we want to follow His lead. Hmm.

I made a second trip to the grocery store, and once again enjoyed seeing exactly three people I knew. I kept the list short and thus avoided the fog of too many decisions at once. In case you ever plan on making a transcontinental move, I highly recommend taking the engagement with grocery shopping S.L.O.W.

We don’t quite have our routine and rhythm yet, but I’m hoping making a meal plan for the week will help. And I’m hoping Blakeyboo will decide sleep is awesome and he wants more of it. And I’m hoping to get a grip with reality again, so that my heart and my brain can focus for a decent length of time, and enjoy clear time in the presence of the Lord, and share encouraging thoughts and revelations here.

Until then, if I ask you where my ferret is, just remind me I don’t have one.

xCC

P.S. Want to take a stab at what two books those lines might be from? Two hints: free and Blue.

Although this post is available to friends and family near and far, being posted on these here internets, it is especially devoted to the Goo-Goo and Gammy who are spoken of each and every day, who I’m certain would like to hear how preschool is going. And who would also probably like to hear that after requesting a drive to G-pa’s house on Wednesday, the Bear asked where Goo-Goo and Gammy’s house was. He was disappointed that “not so close” and “South Africa” were words involved in answering that question.

Miss you guys.

Okay everybody. The Bear had his first day of preschool on Monday.

And the morning started off in a bit of a blurry wee hurry, but when he tripped over his own foot in the living room and met the floor a lot faster than usual and cried his eyes out and wanted me to hold him and wanted Daddy to hold him, the thought suddenly occurred to me that that very same thing could happen. And happen at preschool. And I wouldn’t be there.

It was a troublesome thought, which I banished quickly to a dark recess for another day, and pressed on through the morning without tears. A remarkable achievement, don’t ya think?

As we embarked on the adventure to preschool, the photojournalism, documenting this historic event began.

The Bear seemed… concerned… about the day ahead.

Perhaps it was a defiant look of determination.

And then rather an “I’ve got this” sort of pose.

Mayhaps he was downright excited?

But arriving at the gates he was back to determined.

An expression followed quickly by an I think I can moment.

Upon arrival, he gave the space an intentional perusal before settling in.

And determined it was worthwhile spending time here.

Perhaps it could even be good. {Especially if I get to play with this! thought he.}

He felt uncertain about the customs and behaviour of the natives.

{And his mother blurred faces out, because we’re back in the land where people have sued people for less, and I don’t have parental permission!}

He was uncertain that the friendliness of their leader was genuine.

{But his mother thinks his teacher is Awesome! Capital A.}

And by the time his mother came to collect him at morning’s end…

{disclaimer: Quiver Tree Photography would like it to be known that it is not responsible for this shocking attempt at a photograph. And I take full responsibility for the lack of skill involved in its capturing.}

…the overall outlook at the end of day one was pretty bleak. Perhaps starting a week late (he couldn’t help it, he was in the UK!) was a bigger problem than we thought.

On Day Two, after a field trip to the local library, there was a heart sore moment involving one or two kids’ parents or grandparents arriving before the Bear’s (he didn’t know I’d been waiting in the parking lot for ten minutes). The (perceived) temporary absence of his mother was mildly disturbing. I arrived to find him in tears about it. Fortunately, that was very brief.

On Day Three, his stuffed animal Beaver made an appearance in the classroom. And besides practicing the songs they sing in the morning that I’d picked up while sitting in with him for a little while (at his request) we’d practiced answering important questions: Beaver’s name is Beaver. Beaver is the colour brown, Beaver is small. Mama got Beaver in Germany. (Which sounded like Jury-uh when he said it.)

And somehow, on day three, things began magically clicking into place. (Answered prayer.) And the Bear enjoyed preschool. And seemed happy when Dada arrived to pick him up. The teacher’s assistant said he had a very good day.

Monday will be day four, and here’s hoping there’s more happy in store!

So, that’s how it’s going with preschool! Goo-Goo and Gammy, we wish you were here!

xCC

]]> http://www.carolinecollie.com/2011/09/he-came-he-saw-he-pouted/feed/ 4 http://www.carolinecollie.com/2011/09/you-say-its-my-birthday/ http://www.carolinecollie.com/2011/09/you-say-its-my-birthday/#comments Mon, 19 Sep 2011 03:18:43 +0000 Caroline http://www.carolinecollie.com/2011/09/you-say-its-my-birthday/ The rumours are true. If you heard any. But you probably didn’t. I’ll set the record straight anyway. I am, in fact, turning 21 for the 9th time today. And now that you regular folk have caught up with the mathematicians, I will emphatically say yes, it’s a new beginning. New Year. New Decade. New [...]]]>

The rumours are true. If you heard any. But you probably didn’t. I’ll set the record straight anyway. I am, in fact, turning 21 for the 9th time today. And now that you regular folk have caught up with the mathematicians, I will emphatically say yes, it’s a new beginning.

New Year.

New Decade.

New Country.

New adventure!

And if today was any indication of what’s to come, I’m in for some goodness in the days ahead. I was treated to a wonderful rendition of the birthday song, sung by the Bear this morning. Hearing “Happy Birthday tooo Ma-Muhhh” was a great start. And so was bacon. And presents. And coffee. And the sweeeeet birthday card from the Hubs. And bacon!

Other highlights included:

Being treated so well, welcomed so warmly at my Dad’s church this morning — a wonderful church that has been a support to me since I first left for Scotland so many years ago.

The folks at his church collected pantry-stuffers to welcome us back — they absolutely spoiled us with stuff for our pantry, cleaning supplies, diapers and wipes, pasta and salsa and the list goes on, things so that we wouldn’t move into a home with a completely empty cupboard.

The surprise of seeing some very dear friends who drove up from Jacksonville. And others who drove from Greenville. (Congrats on the engagement!)

The Lord making one of the key verses from the sermon this morning the same specific verses He spoke to me when He called me to follow Him to Scotland nearly seven years ago.

My dear friend Amanda also made a surprise appearance with her awesome little girls. And they are just so delightful they deserve their own bullet point. And she blessed me with a book I’ve been looking forward to reading.

Amanda’s little girls. Playing with the Bear. Highlight!

My Dad cooked a big ol’ pork loin in the pig cooker at church. Yum yum pig!!

The Tank was just the sweetest happiest little creature {almost} all day, even though he did keep us up quite a lot last night. Bless his jet-lagged little heart!

My Dad’s birthday card was really sweet.

Lots and lots of well wishes from Facebook friends.

And now, the Hubs is on his way to Bojangles to end the day with a tiny birthday feast.

And boo-yow, he hath returned! They gave him Boberry Biscuits for waiting so long. This day can’t get any better.

It’s been a good one! Thanks for sharing in the joy!

I’m looking forward to telling y’all some more stories about the trip home, and the tremors of re-entry shock, already shaking things up, but for now I’ll just say, I’m home, it’s my birthday, and it sure is good!

xCC

At sometime around 8:00 this morning, {London time} a taxi will be arriving to collect our many bags and four selves for a ride through the busy business of London to Heathrow. And at some time around 10:00, Lord willing, we’ll be allowed to pre-board a plane with our small children in preparation for take-off. And around 11:00 this morning that plane should be taking off, destined for Raleigh-Durham International Airport. And around 2:45 this afternoon, North Carolina time, that plane should be landing.

But before the joyful excitement of Mama-cooked meals, first days at preschool, and unpacking the suitcases we’ve lived out of for almost three months — before we even pile those suitcases into the car — I have one more mission in mind, another photographic one.

This was the moment when G-pa met the Bear in Cape Town airport in 2008:

{The Bear meets the Man in the Yellow Hat, New Year’s Eve, 2008}

And now, G-pa will meet the Tank for the first time in Raleigh-Durham airport, right here in 2011. So I’d like to stage a similar shot for posterity’s sake. But we’ll bear in mind that this baby has more weight and, for some reason, less hair.

Hopefully the same’s not true for you, Gpa?

So here we are, the day has finally arrived! And it’s not just the day we fly for the Carolinas, it’s the last day for which we have clean underwear for the Bear. So I think we’re all in agreement. If you’re out of clean underwear, it’s time to head home.

Catch you on the left side!

xCC

We’re planning on trolling around London today. I hope. And having spent a decent amount of time in this uniquely fascinating city, and being a little on the tired side from the adventures thus far, my only goal is a simple one. Besides maybe getting fish and chips. Hero Hubs obliging, I’d like to get a photo right here:

{That’s me and Big Ben, 2004… living with a bad hair decision}

but I want a picture like this:

{with the Bear, 2009, better hair choices}

But I’d like a photo like the Eiffel Tower one in front of Big Ben with the Tank.

What do you think? I’m hoping my chances are good. And my hair looks better than in did in ’04, so that’s a start.

My dear friend Pam wrote a few special words about her return to the UK — we lived together for a bit here in Scotland, she’s most recently been in the States, but she’s from Zimbabwe. And honestly, I couldn’t have said it better myself — and I mean that with the most sincerity possible, try as I might for as long as I can, I can not weave words as delightfully and whimsically as she does.

So please take a few moments to enjoy her words about this magical place I also wish I had a “secondhome” word for. I think it’ll give you a laugh. If you speak English and have a heartbeat. And mayhaps you’ll understand my sentiments toward this place a little better at the same time.

And can you believe it — TOMORROW is the day — our big long flight from Heathrow to the tall trees and sunny skies of the Carolinas beckons. A reunion, an introduction, and much merriment will ensue. It’s simultaneously six long years and nine long months in the making. And I’ll keep ya posted.

xCC

Sorry for the delayed update from the road. By and by an explanation will be produced for this great pause in communication. Really, it all started not long after we last spoke on Thursday. Friday we got ourselves together to take the train up to Scotland. Besides consolidating ourselves to one suitcase for the week away, we also needed to pick up diapers and a quick lunch before the departure.

We found the diapers {but I should say nappies since we’re in the UK} and some snacks for the road {hello, pan au chocolat, I missed you} and the Hubs and I grabbed some chips {but I should say crisps since we’re in the UK}, and what have since been dubbed the chicken wraps of death. We won’t mention the name of the supermarket, but it starts with S and ends with ainsburys.

And all seemed right with the world.

After a quick lunch we were headed to the train to the tube to Kings Cross Station, to take the train up to Scotland.

And all seemed right with the world.

But as we made our way up the largest of the British Isles, as the light began to scatter across the green sheepy fields in the way that it only does in Scotland, and as the long hours of a Scottish summer day were drawing to a close, and we were nearing that sweet train station destination where I first arrived to settle in Edinburgh six years ago, suddenly

all seemed not right with the world.

And by the time the last train journey of the day brought us to our dear friends and hosts (life looked like this when we last were together)

they were offering us dinner and we were asking where the loo was.

And through the night, we got exceptionally well acquainted with the bathroom of their new home.

Hero Hubs seemed to experience a slightly more expedient recovery, and we managed together to muster the strength to make it to the wedding ceremony the next day.

There was a slight drizzle about as we made our way to the absolutely breathtaking church near Linlithgow Palace (gorgeous!) where the beautiful moment took place. I am SO glad I cowgirled up to be there. The bride looked beautiful and so joyful, the groom dashing and kilt-bedecked… love and joy in abundance. The music and readings were very well-chosen, and it was all just so special.

{The father of the bride and mother of the groom, and then father of the groom and mother of the bride, skipping down the aisle after the blessed event… awesome and priceless highlight.}

Very very very sadly, I had cowgirled up for as long as I could, and the Hubs, too, was pale and weathered, and we weren’t able to continue in the fantastical merriment. Meaning: we couldn’t enjoy the reception or the ceilidh, and that was a BIG bummer. My heart is still sore about it.

But the pledging of two loves to one another, in love and faith before God, that really is the highlight of the day (besides folk skipping down the aisle) and I am ever-so glad we were privileged witnesses of that special event.

{Congratulations, Grace and Gordon! We were so happy to witness you two tying the knot!}

In summation, the S to the ainsburys chicken wraps of death rained on the wedding day for us a little, and we were still a little worse for wear on Sunday, but we enjoyed being at church {a story for another day} and catching up with friends throughout the afternoon and evening, and were afterwards anxious to return to the beds from whence we’d risen.

And now to set about the business of enjoying the rest of our time in Bonnie (rainy) Scotland…

xCC