DAVIS JOURNEY

Upon finally accepting we won’t see any family in 2020, the conversation shifted to ways the girls could have a bit of Davisville here. Beyond people, the girls talk about the trampoline and gaga ball pit as what they miss! Michael and I talked with Nana & Papa D…and, well, guess what happened for Christmas? Thankful for yardsale sites, a home with a backyard, and a vehicle for picking up the surprise! Nana got to tell the girls about the surprise via a video call! We are overJOYed about this early Christmas surprise! Thought you might enjoy a bit of happiness, too!

I’m not athletic, but I grew up at the softball fields cheering on Mars Hill softball teams.  I hollered with the best of them when a  homer pinged off of a bat.  And I joined in the ‘hoorays’ each time a foot hit home base.  I witnessed the encouragement when the runners strides looked tired.  I saw the team and the crowd carry them forth to add another run to the score board.

Home.  Team.  Home.  Base.

One of our girls asked Michael Joe where home was this week.  She said she didn’t know how to introduce herself to people anymore.  I could see the ache in his eyes as he relayed the conversation to me.  Another daughter started rattling off friends’ names as tears filled her eyes. “I just want to play with them,” she cried.  And my heart broke anew. Yet another said she was reluctant to go back to America because she doesn’t know  who she is there.

Almost 20 years ago, I met my first group of TCKs (third culture kids). In my mind’s eye, I could hear myself asking my Shanghai kids ‘Where are you from?’ and watching them search for an answer. Should they respond- where they lived the longest, lived most recently, name of a place they grew roots, or just simplify with ‘my passport country is ___”?  Those are the kids that led me to love Expats-their treks, their willingness to go, their courage to stay, their ability to impact the world for Him.  Expats have grown to hold significant space in my life story.

But now I’m raising TCKs and I’m married to an Expat.  One of my gals was so young when she left America that corn dogs and M&Ms are foreign to her-just like Target and Chik-Fil-A.  How do we navigate this new life?  How do we not just weep in the brokeness but let the tears rain down as to grow roots in a new place?  What is the formula to help our family not just survive, but embrace this new home and culture in those moments we just want to run into the embrace of family and friends?

During a January wedding of one of my dearest Shanghai kids, a Henry Nouwen passage was read.  It sums up the pain and beauty of this calling so beautifully:

 

We cannot stay if He leads us on.  Just like we cannot go unless He beckons.  We have to put down roots wherever we are regardless on how long we are there.  We can’t hang back and see or wait until we don’t miss home.  We are to dig deep into His Word and be confident in who He is.  To trust His character, His promises, His salvation even when our whole hearts are plowed under and roots are yanked up.

I believe there is another way we make it through the rough seasons with homesickness, yearning, and ache.  We rely on our home base.  Our home team.  The team that launched us to this new life-even though it broke them in the process.  We have found such strength in the committed prayers, cards, emails, texts, and partnerships.  We watch and rewatch videos.  We do our best to send mail and videos back.  We treasure voice calls and video chats.  Each instance reinforces those roots we have branched from.  While it can be tricky to navigate old roots and new, Romans 11 echoes in my heart.  We don’t have to choose between the roots and branches.  Grafting is what makes us who we are.  We are purely His with new branches and ever growing roots.  We need each of you from our home base to know you are with us here.  Your strength and passion keep our roots strong.  To those where we are, your branches make us see more beauty in this grafted Expat/TCK life.  Keep lifting us up-that we may not shy away from brokenness but instead bear fruit all the more.

When dad was in seminary, we lived down a one lane road, had to have water trucked in, and had next to nothing.  That house is where I remember falling in love with hand-me-downs.  The UPS truck would come rambling down our road.  Next came a knock on our door.  The UPS guy would be holding a huge box and Christmas had arrived (regardless of the month!). I recall going through piles of clothes from cousins and friends. (I even had some with my exact initials on them! Thanks, Aunt Marge & Alison!) And the lure of the hand-me-downs was born.

As we had girls of our own, we continued to be blessed by family with fantastic hand-me-downs & upgrades.  It was so fun to see the girls wearing a cousin’s dress or boots. We would giggle about how we remembered the other kid in that outfit and bonds grew tighter.

Now hand-me-downs have a bit of a different tang.  Hand-me-downs & upgrades are typically the result of someone moving (although not always! whew!).  Around here, that moving comes with airline tickets and new countries or islands.  We are so thankful for the opportunity to get hand-me-downs and have a way to create tighter bonds as our local families follow His leading to other lands.

 

 

 

This past weekend Michael and I were gifted a tremendous 48 hours KiD-FRee! It began gloriously-we had a rare double-date with dear friends.  But things began to go askew from there.  We had to switch hotels because our first one was…well, iffy.  Happily, the new place was lovely.  We had the remote to ourselves and turned off alarms.  Bliss!  The next day was a bit different.  I ran smack-dab into my first horrific case of food poisoning.  While I will spare you the details, let’s just say it will be a memorable trip for years to come. (Also, the Art Deco flooring was beautiful!)

It may seem odd, but after a rather intense battle between bad food and my stomach, I recall thinking, “marry a man who cleans up after you have food poisoning”.  And this post was born.

Here is my absolutely non-exhaustive list of reasons to marry a man.

1. Marry a man who pursues Christ day in and day out.
2. Marry a man who actively chooses you every day.
3. Marry a man who acknowledges his need for prayer and guidance from God.
4. Marry a man who knows how to laugh when things don’t work like they are supposed to work.
5. Marry a man who bravely seeks God’s guidance-even if it takes him far from his comfort zone.
6. Marry a man who rubs your aching feet. (Do you really want to see that?)
7. Marry a man who courageously teaches you life skills you don’t think you want.
8. Marry a man who stands up to you when needed. (I was mad…no pics!)
9. Marry a man who wears a ridiculous wig because he loves you.
10. Marry a man who treasures time with you…(especially the non-picture worthy times). 
11. Marry a man who demonstrates how a gentleman treats a lady.
12. Marry a man who crosses oceans to propose (or is at least willing).
13. Marry a man who braves your cooking-smoke and all. (nope-zero pics of this!)
14. Marry a man who sets new goals.
15. Marry a man who loves his family deeply.
16. Marry a man who opens his heart to new adventures.
17. Marry a man who loves your first kids like his kids.
18. Marry a man who shares Little Debbie treats when the next box is half a world away.
19. Marry a man who cheers for his team whether they win or lose.
20. Marry a man who still makes you grin like this 14 years later.

I’m so thankful I married a man who does all these things and much much more.  Happy 14th Anniversary, my love!

As a momma-of-four at home, crisis schooling & teaching my own classes to my students, maintaining semblance of sanitary home, wife-ing, and friend-ing gal, I hearby grant thee the following permissions:

1.  You may say no, nope, nuh-uh, no way with no residual guilt.
2. Paper plates are allowed.
3. You may read a book that you like-not for work or any purpose other than to just escape.
4. You are granted permission to turn your phone off.
5. Cease checking the news.  If you must check it, set a timer for 15 minutes and then move on.  Permission granted to focus on your home and those within.
6. Sleep odd hours (even for a thing called a ‘nap’ if the opportunity arises).
7. You may retire the iron for this season.
8. You may lock your bedroom door for a date night (ONLY applies to marrieds).
9. You may make a fantastic detailed schedule.
10. You may crumple up said fantastic detailed schedule.
11. You may uncrumple and tweak said fantastic detailed schedule.
12. Sandwiches are permissible for any meal-as is cereal!
13. Permission granted to focus on your home and those within.
14. You may lock the door when you go to the bathroom.
15. You may decorate for any season you like.
16. Worship through song with your church, youtube videos, homemade instruments, and off-key voices.  Sing at the sink, in the shower, at the dinner table, and on the porch.
17. You may let your kids do their work/projects by themselves-you do not need to re-earn your elementary and high school diplomas.
18. You may let your kids fail.  It is a great lesson to learn.
19. You have permission to start a project, quit it 1/3 way through, stick your tongue out at it, restart, and repeat!
20. You may laugh in a gut-busting, down to your toes, tears in your eyes manner as much as you can.
21. You are allowed to wallow and weep-give yourself a set amount of time (15 min-30 min) and have a good ol’ tantrum.  Then blow your nose and march on.
22. You may wear comfy clothes-including seasonal ones that simply are not in season.
23. You are allowed to fail.
24. You are also allowed to succeed.
25. You are granted permission to feel all the things.

May the lasting memories from this unexpected season be ones of joy and an awareness of Christ’s love.  If you don’t know Jesus as your personal Savior, email me or comment!  I would love to chat with you about Him!

Even now I can see Pawpaw’s faded overalls and hear the jangle of mechanic’s tools in every pocket as he walked.  My Pawpaw was tall and lanky.  He also had a cigar perpetually perched in the corner of his mouth (though it was usually a stub and unlit in later years).  Last month, my Pawpaw would have been 100 years old.  We celebrated with a meal of his favorites-pinto beans with cornbread.  And no party would have been complete without a banana pudding, which he much preferred over cake!

My Pawpaw, Jesse, was born in 1920.  I loved sitting and chatting with him about what he had seen in his life as he turned grease-stained solitaire cards over and over.  He was the type that could say more in a few well-chosen words than those who prattle on for hours and say nothing.  He was from the era of letting your actions speak.  His actions spoke loudly.  He was a mechanic by trade.  Living in the South, Pawpaw fixed everyone’s car-regardless of color or creed.  This was definitely not the norm.  He could simply lean over the engine, listen well, and fix what was broken.

His life wasn’t easy.  At age eleven, a truckload of logs fell on his leg. His femur was shattered beyond repair.  Experimental surgery was performed-a sheep bone was used to replace his bone.  And it worked.  A challenge appeared later.  He was eleven and eleven year olds grow.  The sheep bone didn’t.  His leg remained that same length the rest of his days.  I can still picture the cane hanging from the loop on his overalls.

In 1970, Pawpaw was given the Tennessee Handicapped Citizen of the Year award.  An award he never told me about…which is just like him.  I am thankful for this man who lived a hard life and served others well.

Happy 100th Birthday, Pawpaw.  Love you. Longing for the day I hear you say “Love you, too,” again.