The concept of home is important to me. *cough, cough*
I remember very vividly throwing up in my car seat when we drove away from our first house for the last time. I had just learned how to climb the fruit trees crammed in our 1/2 acre lot.
Leaving our last house has already been documented and whined about sufficiently enough here. Suffice to say that I am, at heart, a homebody. The problem is, sometimes you do something stupid and everything gets all discombobulated. Like, one day you get on a plane to Ukraine. That sort of thing.
And…BAM… Life is ruined and/or made into something even more wonderful and beautiful and filling-uppish than you ever imagined.
But still… it kind of stinks. To be woken up to the fact that you will never be all home. On this side of alive anyways. Or something. I don’t know. And this is why we need to talk about meth.
I returned to America on October 29th. I would like to say that I began unpacking the next morning (not my stuff from Ukraine [I left most of it there]), but my entire life which had been so graciously boxed and moved in my absence. But I didn’t.
I “finished” unpacking on December 24th.
A few days later, we moved out.
This is because everyone had been sick since October. At first we were shut-ins. We naturally assumed we had a bout of the Black Plague. A few people, however, braved our white chalked doors–comrades, my mom, the mailman–none of which contracted any crippling symptoms.
Eventually, after a lot of rounds of The Incredibles and howling in the night, it was decided our issues must be provoked by environmental variables.
We tested the house. Methamphetamine and formaldehyde (and a few other things associated with addiction, crime, and the preservation of dead bodies) came back. But after more intense testing, all of these were below “threat levels.”
My nieces and nephews missed literally every Christmas and New Years extravaganza. Some of us have seen some improvement since moving out. Some have gotten worse in the last week or two. We still have no clue what is going on. Or what to do next. YOLO. xP
Although it is the worst to watch little people be sick (and I’m sure their parents would have a thing or two to say about four months of sleepless nights), they do help you keep your sense of humor/reality.
3-year-old-nephew: draw me a fridge.
*I draw fridge*
3-year-old-nephew: draw a biiiiiigggg fridge. with a water thing.
*I draw a fridge*
3-year-old-nephew: draw me a really tallllllll fridge. don’t forget the water thing.
*I draw a fridge*
3-year-old-nephew: draw me a fridge with the door open. And ice cream.
*I draw a fridge*
3-year-old-nephew: me a tiny, tiny fridge.
*I draw a fridge.*
3-year-old-nephew: awe. It’s sooo cuuute.
3-year-old-nephew: make it on fire.
6-year-old-niece: what does that say?
me: can you read any of it?
6-year-old-niece: there is “all.” And “love.” Because it is almost Valentine’s Day.
me: it’s actually a gift for [person I was staying with at the time’s] wedding. It says, “love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” And, “love never fails.”
*extended moment of contemplation*
6-year-old-niece: but sometimes it does.
Aw, yes. But not Jesus.
This may sound more angry Godish than I intend, but life seems kind of like a series of God showing you the stupidity of the idols you’ve been leaning on. I feel like there has been a very distinct chain of this in my life. And all things have hurt, and all things have been good.
“Security” and “knowing what to do” are getting a hard hitting at the moment.
Also, since last we spoke, I started my worst paying, most labor intensive job of all time. Which I love tremendously and which makes me invariably high (no drug houses needed, thank you very much).
I’ve never had just one job at once and I’ve had a wide variety of jobs in general…but this is the first job ever that I can’t really take home with me (or does not exist in my home, on the desk two inches from my bed when I try to sleep, or in my laptop, Hector, etc.). It is a weird experience. And it is good when you’re on the move/homeless. 😉
Basically I get to go through the rituals of normal living and make people eat and drink coffee and get paid for it. Also, hang out with old people.
Quote from a resident observer on my 3rd week or so: Well, it looks like she’s still incompetent, but she’s having fun!
This post is deceitfully titled for effect (I learned how to do that in journalism school). We aren’t really on the other side of this yet. I’m not sure I’ve actually learned anything. In general my nervous system and brain are just freaking out these days anyways.
I mostly just feel, right now, that I am watching “my wonderful plan for my life (and/or next summer)” crumble up with days off work and doctor and being homeless bills.
But, the Lord puts a table in the valley and in front of our enemies when there’s still a lot of fighting to be done. Celebration occurs in the valley. It is with Jesus.
There are many ways of shepherding. And many ways of needing to be shepherded.
And I feel like a idiot. And I sound like an idiot. And this is the most writing I’ve done since our family Christmas letter that I’m not even sure we ever sent out.
p.s. if you feel let down by this blog post and/or me and need some emotions to move on to, try these guys which are really getting to me right now…