My Love-Hate Relationship With Schedules

Guys, it's happened. I'm that mommy. The one whose whole life revolves around her child and whose Facebook is plastered with said child's pictures and whose blog posts have turned into mommy diaries.

Well, sort of. See, I am learning that life is not lived in separate blocks of time - "Now I am a mommy. Now I am a missionary. Now I am a housekeeper and homemaker.", but rather as a messy, challenging, glorious, exhilarating mix that makes me a wife, homemaker, mommy, and missionary (among other things) all at the same time.

As such I am learning to bring Him into everything I do rather than waiting for that elusive moment of free time when the baby will be fed and all the chores will be done. When I am nursing Gracie I am thinking about Him and His amazing love for me as my Father. When I am doing housework I am thanking Him for a house to clean and a family to take care of. Even when I (finally) get to take a shower I am telling Him how grateful I am for the small things like hot water and showers and body-wash.

What I'm trying to say is that this is not a blog post about being a mommy - it's a blog post about life.

With that said, how many of you have a schedule? If you have one do you stick to it? How do you feel about yourself when you stick to it? How do you feel about yourself when you don't? For years I was an organized person. I loved my schedule because it was my measuring stick for my personal standard of success. Give me a list, baby, and let me cross those things off one by one - not so much for the purpose of getting things done, but so I can drown myself in gloating and self-satisfaction at the end of the day. I was successful again! Hooray for me!

Of course there was always the downside of raking myself over the coals every time I failed to stay on my schedule. How could I be productive/successful/

efficient if I messed up and didn't check something off the list?! I even took it so far as to berate myself that I couldn't be glorifying God if I didn't keep to my schedule perfectly.

I lived my life this way until in my mid twenties I had a revolutionizing enlightenment of grace that practically changed my life on many different levels. Suddenly my success, acceptance and value no longer depended on my performance, including how well or not I stayed on a schedule. God's view of me through the eyes of grace began to seep into my heart, slowly but surely doing away with my old patterns of selfish, self-satisfied or self-deprecating living (all of which, by the way, are rooted in pride) and rejuvenating my relationship with Him in a way I never could have imagined.

Somewhere along the way I threw out my schedule. There were several reasons for doing this, the main one being my old tendency to rely on my schedule for my sense of self worth which went against the truth He was revealing to me and life of grace I was just beginning to learn how to live. Also I wanted everything I did, including my times with Him spent praying and reading the Bible to be born out of love and gratitude for Him and not just so I could check something off my list and feel good about myself. So. No schedule for me! Woo hoo! I'm free!

But then I became a mommy. A stay-at-home mommy for that matter. Suddenly I was surrounded by mountains of things needing to be done and my former free and easy method of living wasn't seeing those mountains getting any smaller! In fact they seemed to be growing to insurmountable heights! I caved and made a house-cleaning schedule. I arranged the major daily, weekly, monthly, and bi-monthly jobs into a nice, neat, Pinterestey format and felt quite proud and accomplished and supremely mom-like surveying the result of my efforts. Maybe now I would get something done around here!

Only to despair the first week of putting it into action. "Oh no! I missed one day because Gracie was fussy and skipped her nap! How will I ever keep up? Now that task will remain undone for another week!" And my inner wailing went on and on. My grand schedule was a failure after all!

Then I had a revelation that knocked my socks off:
I WAS THE MASTER OF MY SCHEDULE and not the other way around! As the creator and implementer of my schedule I had all rights reserved and total freedom to adjust, make changes, or even scrap it completely if it wasn't serving it's purpose of helping me to accomplish my goals of a cleaner and more efficient home. Armed with this new enlightenment I attacked my schedule and made adjustments moving some things around, taking some things off, and creating a "catch-up day" so that if I miss one day for some reason (like fussy Gracie, or a doctor's appointment, or mommy's crashtime/naptime) I can make it up!

And so my love-hate relationship with schedules continues. The key for me is to remember that it is there as a guideline and not as my master or my measuring stick for success. It is to help me to be the wife and mommy that God wants me to be and when it ceases to do that is when I need to either scrap it or revamp it. I also am learning to remind myself daily that my value and worth do not depend on how well I stick to the schedule or even how good of a wife and mommy I am but how much my Father loves me and His grace that covers me in spite of all my faults and failings.

I will say that it felt pretty good to check off "Clean, sweep, and mop kitchen" today! It's ok that I didn't check off yesterday's task for the day because my Gracie needed me. She will only be a baby for so long. Tomorrow is another day!

Gracelynn Ruth's Birth Story or His Plan is Best

So it's been almost 2 years since I posted on this blog?! I have no idea what could have possibly been keeping me busy...besides planning a wedding, getting married, moving into our first house, and working my first real job. Oh, and carrying and giving birth to our first child!

What better than the birth of our little girl to get me back on the blog, right?! Now that she's here and sleeping [almost always] through the night and my world is starting to consist of more than just feedings, sleeping, and feeding again, it's time to share my daughter's birth story!

It's funny; all the plans you make when you're expecting, all the hopes and ideals you build up for the birth experience...and somehow God always takes our dreams and plans and turns them all around and upside down and yet the stories are *still* beautiful.

This is our story. From the beginning it was anything but "ideal" from a human perspective. We didn't expect to be expecting our first child before our first anniversary. We didn't plan to be moving, unpacking, and starting my new job in the early weeks of pregnancy. We didn't dream we would experience bleeding and a threatened miscarriage early on. [That's a story in itself!] But all of this our Father knew. And He is faithful. We know His plan far outbested our best plans and were thrilled to learn of the little life growing inside me! Although I didn't find pregnancy to be high on my list of "favorite things", the joys and blessings were still to be found, along with the anticipation and excitement of preparing for our little one to join us. Somehow I made it through the last weeks of my kindergarten job and we were at home anxiously expecting the arrival any day of our little girl!

My mother-in-law arrived, the crib was ready, all her little clothes were washed and stacked neatly, and I was...VERY pregnant. So began the anxious waiting to feel the first signs of labor beginning! As my due date approached, apart from the intense discomfort of late pregnancy I felt...nothing! At each doctor's appointment baby girl was still doing well and ready to go, but no signs of labor. Rats! I should mention that although I was hoping against hope, I was half-expecting to go past my due date as my mom has a history of carrying her babies for 42 weeks!

At our 39 week appointment we were surprised to see that somehow even in extremely cramped quarters Little Miss Zhang had managed to wrap herself up in the umbilical cord not once but TWICE! It was distressing, to say the least, since I was all ready to go for a natural delivery as soon as contractions started. To make things worse, her heart rate had slowed significantly compared to her usual heart rate. I was shocked to hear the doctor recommending that we be admitted to the hospital until she was born just to be on the safe side! What?! From still having another week to wait until the due date, to going to the hospital and suddenly expecting her anytime?!  Hubby and I talked and prayed about it and decided that due to our living a considerable distance from the hospital we should go. In the event that her heart rate dropped lower or we began to experience any other complications, it would be better to be where we could receive immediate care.

When we checked in to the hospital the next day they ran us through some tests and found that the cord was still wrapped around twice and baby girl's heart rate was still low. When our OBGYN discovered this she immediately recommended a C-section. I was beyond distressed to hear this and asked many questions and explored all our chances of being able to wait it out and give birth naturally. It was a difficult decision for us and we had all our family praying for wisdom and peace! We asked God to show us the best and safest way for both our little girl and her mommy, and we feel that in the following hours He did so. First of all when they checked me to see if I had begun to dialate, nothing. NO signs that labor was anywhere close to starting. Meh! How discouraging! Then during the 20 minute stress-test baby girl's heart beat was either in the lowest range of what is safe, or even dropping down to unsafe. The last straw for me was what I believe to be a miracle sign from God. Until this point I hadn't experienced a single real contraction, just Braxton Hicks. However during the 20 minute test I had 2 or 3 real, painful contractions and we were able to see our baby's response to them. Her heart rate dropped incredibly low during each contraction, and for me that was a sign that if she was distressed during these first, small contractions there's no way she would be able to handle full on labor. Besides there was still no indication that I would go into labor any time soon. So we made the call to schedule a C-section!

It's very strange to suddenly have all your ideas of how your birth plan will go being exchanged for planning for surgery. In the hours leading up to the scheduled time I found myself struggling with letting go of my ideals. I was even more upset to learn that Winston would not be able to join me in the operating room. What?! We would not get to experience the arrival of our daughter and becoming a family together as I had imagined for so many months! I fretted and worried that my baby girl would miss me, having been carried close to my heart for so long, and suddenly out and on her own while I was sewed up after she was born. But about half an hour before they came to prep me for surgery I was listening to two songs that I believe God gave me for my delivery: Hillsong's "Still" and Chris Tomlin's "All the Way My Savior Leads Me" and so much peace washed over me. Out loud I gave my ideals and dreams and plans to God and told Him that I receive and accept the birth story He was going to give me and my baby girl. From that moment on there was no distress, no anxiety, not even any fear of surgery. Just joy. His time was now. I would be a mother in a matter of minutes, and would be holding my baby girl in my arms. As I was wheeled back to the operating room I looked at my husband and smiled and tears began to roll down my cheeks. The nurses said, "Don't be scared! It will be alright!" "I'm not scared," I answered, "I'm just so happy and excited!"

The operating room experience was nothing like I had imagined. I pictured white and cold and quiet and alone. The doctors and nurses gathered around first thing to get their picture with me before surgery! I know, I know, In the States this would be unheard of! They even posted the pics to an online media site right there in the operating room! Cracked me up right from the start! There I was in my luxurious hospital/surgery clothes, no makeup, grinning a silly grin and giving a thumbs up minutes before my baby girl would be pulled out of my giant belly! The anesthesiologist asked it it was twins. Sigh. For the last time, "No, just one!" The nurses and anesthesiologist proceeded to give me the spinal to numb me from the waist down, and while I was scared it would hurt, I was shocked when they told me it was all over. It felt like a pinch or a push on my spine and I kid you not, 30 seconds later I couldn't even feel my legs. It was the craziest feeling ever! I had worried that I wouldn't be with it enough to realize what was happening for my daughter's birth, but although the lower half of my body was totally numb, I felt like my mind went into super-clear overdrive state. I remember every single thing about how the room looked and smelled and everything everyone said. The anesthesiologist gave the ok to start and called the time. The nurses and anesthesiologist started chatting with me while the doctors worked and I remember talking about how my husband and I met, how I learned Chinese, and how I had spent time teaching English in Taiwan. We chatted it up big time, and I didn't feel anything except a bunch of tugging and pulling behind the curtain.

Then they told me I would feel some more intense tugs and pulls for abour 5 minutes. Whew, was it intense! No pain at all, but wow, I thought my body would come off the table they were pulling so hard! In all that pulling I heard the doctor say, "Sheng!" which in Chinese means to give birth, and with one mighty tug all the tugging and pulling stopped. It seems like time froze for that moment. I'm tearing up now as I write about it. "2:46pm!" The anthesthesiologist called the time. I heard a couple little fussy cries and my heart stood still. "Is that my baby?!" I asked. "That's your daughter!" the nurses told me. Instantly I was overcome with the most amazing joy and the deepest love I've ever experienced. It was my Gracelynn Ruth. I was a mommy! Tears rolled down my cheeks and I talked to her so she would hear my voice as they cleaned her up and wrapped her in the blankets I had prepared for her months before. "Gracelynn, Mommy's right here! Mommy loves you! Don't be afraid, little girl...Mommy's right here!" The nurse standing beside me used the blanket to wipe my tears and looking up I saw she was using her sleeve to wipe at her own tears. There will never be anything to top it. It was a holy moment. They brought her over to me, swaddled until nothing but her sweet, wet face was peeking out. I kissed it and took in her scent and her flavor, relishing and basking in the fact that this was my little girl. Then they carried her out to her Daddy and Grandma while they sewed me up. Winston says it was about half an hour but I felt like it was just a few seconds. I was so pleased and thrilled and still not experiencing any pain at all.

They wheeled me out of the operating room where my sweet husband kissed me and then we went straight to our hospital room [No long hours in recovery! YAY!] where my baby girl was waiting with Grandma. After considerable heaving and tugging they got my still totally numb self onto the bed and laid my precious little one in the crook of my arm so I could hold her for the first time. More tears. She knew my voice and smell, and started to cry hungry fusses. Her daddy leaned over the bed and called her name, "Gracelynn!" She turned towards his voice. He leaned down and kissed us both. We were a family and it was perfect.

There are many more details about the not-so-perfect parts...
About after the spinal wore off and crying joyous tears through the pain and telling hubby I'd do it all over again for our little girl and dealing with the pain and recovery while trying to nurse my newborn and learning to sit up again, and walking for the first time and going to the bathroom for the first time, and so many overwhelming, challenging, beautiful and glorious firsts!

Here we are, two months later with a gorgeous, chunky 2 month old girly who talks and coos and smiles and lights up our lives every day! I would like to say, His plan is perfect. Every time I think I have the best plan He has a better one. Every time I think I can't follow through with His changed up version of my plan, He shows me I can in His strength. Every time I worry that I am the worst mom in the world, He reminds me that we're all the worst parents in the world learning from Him how to be better parents. I've found He gives grace for every step WHEN it's time to take that step...not sooner. The day Gracie was born I was still overwhelmed and thinking "How do I do this?!" The minute I held her in my arms I knew, "With the grace He is giving me right now. In this moment." And so I am trying to live moment by moment with my little girl. Parent her, make decisions, love her, show her [and my hubby] grace...in that moment. The moments all add up to make the days and months and He is there with His grace to give wisdom and cover my failings.

He is so, so good!

decking the halls [of my heart]

i'm writing this post from my bed where i've been for the past three days since the flu decided to pay me a visit the day after christmas. in a way, it's perfect that this post be written from amid the mountain of tissues, medicines, and hot water mugs that surround me. it's so "not perfect" that it's perfect.

this christmas has been the most different one of my entire life! between the flurry and dizziness of getting engaged on thanksgiving day just as the christmas holiday was beginning, and being in neither of my familiar places to celebrate the season, there have been many times when nothing "feels" right. it just doesn't "feel" like christmas. for any of you seeing pics posted of me on facebook with my handsome fiance looking as if all is bliss, don't be deceived into thinking that our life is without it's hardships, lessons, and challenges. this post is about how in it's different-ness and hardness and unchristmasy-ness it has also been the most beautiful.

in the states as christmas approaches, anywhere you look you can see signs of the season - christmas trees in houses, stores, businesses, malls decked out to encourage shoppers to get in the "christmas spirit" in THEIR mall, strains of "silent night" and "joy to the world" can be heard wherever you go because somehow at christmas time it's ok to proclaim from the housetops that "Christ our Savior is born" in the public arena. and from the christian arena, there are even a decent amount of reminders that "Jesus is the Reason for the season." families are preparing their annual visits, favorite goodies and dishes, wrapping gifts, and houses smell of cinnamon and spices and fireplaces glow. in our own ways we are all trying to find christmas. we are searching for a feeling that we once had, whether it be when we were children and christmas was magical, or that one year that it seemed everything was perfect - all the family was gathered round the tree, everything was harmonious, all was calm and still as dad read from the advent story book by candlelight...

so what happens when none of those "feelings" that seem to make christmas are anywhere to be found? what happens to the Savior's birthday when there is no pile of gifts under the tree to commemorate the great Gift that He gave of Himself? what happens when looking out the window there are no lights or greenery or christmas trees to please our eyes and give us that "christmas feeling" in our hearts? what happens to our hearts when that warm family feeling cannot be recreated? when hurts and rifts and disagreements are too deep for harmony and peaceful gatherings? what happens when death enters a home and leaves that family circle feeling empty and broken and unfixable and irreparably void of the warm feelings christmas is supposed to bring?

this christmas, stripped [just when i think it can't be stripped any more...] of so much of the glitter and spice and eye and ear pleasers that my heart has come to look and long for at this time of year, i have been amazed as He has shown me, with more clarity and depth than ever before, the beauty and wonder of His Son coming to earth.

" ...and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen His glory..."
john 1:14 tells us.

the gifts that have decorated my christmas this year cannot be bought in a store, wrapped in pretty paper, or put under a tree. they are not feelings that can be drummed up by the sounds of a christmas song or the smell of cookies baking or the sight of fresh fallen snow glittering with the reflection of christmas lights, or even by cuddling down with my favorite man to watch a christmas movie. [let it be said here that said favorite man has been GREAT in making me feel loved and special although i'm spending this christmas so far from my family.]

this christmas as i sat with a group of students, around an open bible, sharing and discussing the story of how and why He came, the miracles surrounding His virgin birth, the very miracle of the Gift that He is to all of mankind, my heart hung a twinkling decoration in honor of this moment. the longer we talked about His birth, His unselfish love for us, and His immense and timeless plan to become like us, take on our skin and bones, and feel our very pain and sorrow and discomfort and sickness, then to die for us so that we might know the Light of Life...the brighter the ornament in my heart shone.

hearing new baby christians thank Him for His coming, tell Him how grateful they are and how unworthy they are for Him to come with His light into their darkness, how they only want to live for Him, my heart hung another ornament. here, with no lights, no tree, no outward signs at ALL of christmas as we have come to expect it to be, here were His disciples "getting it." they might not get what christmas means to us in the states, but they get HIM. here was the true meaning of christmas.

learning, sacrificing, messing up, and growing in my relationship with my husband-to-be, working through some difficult things with someone very dear to my heart, realizing that christmas isn't a time to cover up and hide unlovely or unholy things, but to rejoice that HE CAME to our unholiness, yet another tear-be-sparkled ornament graced the corners of my heart. coming to accept the grace that says christmas is not only for joyful things, and in all reality, this is WHY we can be joyful. this is why we have christmas. not to cover up or run away from things that make us uncomfortable or that look and feel messy, but because IN them, we have a PRESENT Savior...our Emmanuel, who came to be our Shepherd, our Guide, our Helper, our Rescuer - not separate from these everyday messes, pains, failures, and difficulties, but IN them.

"the Spirit of the Lord is on Me, because the Lord has anointed Me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent Me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of despair..."
 isaiah 61:1-3  so for me this christmas, the all-encompassing lesson to be learned has been that He came not to give me one warm fuzzy night a year of "silent nights" where all is calm and bright, but to enter my sin, suffering, unholiness, gloom, despair, struggles, messiness, grouchy moods, unchristlike attitudes, and bring the Light of His life to outshine my darkness. writing out from under the mound of blankets, tissues and such that have continued to collect during the writing of this epistle, i can say with joy that three sick/flu days after christmas, the decorations He hung in my heart this season are still shining brightly. [good thing because i'm watching the strands of lights on my sad little tree burn out one by one.] praying He will continue to teach me more of Himself...what it means that He is my Light and my Life...in whatever season, whatever situation i find myself.

"In Him was life and the life was the light of men. the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."
john 1:4-5

portrait #1

15 year old guang peng.
the mute one.

who just talks with his eyes.

he sat in our makeshift camp office looking curiously around as the orphanage director introduced him and his three friends to us. my busy, overworked brain tried to think of a million and one things and rush ahead to be sure we were prepared for our next activity as the names flew by me. but when she said his name, “this is guang peng. you have to keep an eye on him…he’s a rascal, this one.” i stopped, looked down, and two of the deepest, fullest brown eyes i’ve ever seen looked half-innocently, half-mischievously up at me. there was something in those eyes that spoke volumes. something that grabbed me and drew me in. the director continued, “he’s mute. he doesn’t speak, but he can hear and understand. just…keep an eye on him.” she didn’t need to say anymore. my heart was gone.

over the next few days we became best of friends, guang peng, in his shy, silent way; speaking, almost yelling, without words. i’d turn around and there those eyes would be, calling to me from across a room, pleading with me to join him. i found out why the director had said to watch him…he was a runner. one moment he’d be there, the next he’d be gone. just a few minutes though, and he would appear back at my side, laughing at me with those eyes as i realized he’d fooled me again. we talked about things too. he’d slowly look through all the pictures on my camera and i’d talk to him about camps, about life, about things that made me laugh and cry. and he’d answer with his eyes.

on our last night together he laid beside me on the floor during our evening movie, making constant silent bids for my affection.  he knew it was almost time for goodbye, but he didn’t want it to come. he didn't make one sound, but everything in his actions, looks, movements was screaming out for a mother's love. i might have been the closest he ever came to it that night, him all curled in a fetal position inside my arms, taking my hands and wrapping them around his face, closing his eyes and breathing me in like he wanted to remember that place to come back to forever.

so many secrets hidden away behind those eyes. i’ll never know what tragedies, heartaches, and tears hide behind the locked up place in his heart that also binds his tongue. i only know that those eyes, so full of understanding, and so pleading as they spoke the unspeakable found their way into the memoirs of my heart. i will never forget them. they are one of the images that drive me. as i live to go beyond the walls that guang peng and children like him put up to protect themselves from a harsh and violent world. as i live to build behind those walls a kingdom of love and gradually to see those walls crumble and fall, conquered by the only Love that will never fail.

finding the words

how do you get to the end of a summer and really reach the point where you can put it into words?

how do you capture weeks of camps, and all the kid hugs, laughs, dances, games, tears, i love yous, and sad goodbyes in a blogpost?

there are so many stories.

so many emotions.

so many deep down experiences that really, when it comes down to it, can only ever be captured with the heart.

for me, i think there is a tendency to shy away from any invasion into my house of memories that is stored away after a summer, or a winter, or a lifetime of living and loving.

rather than attempt, and fail, to convey for someone else's comprehension, the countless stories i've encountered, the endlessly deep eyes i've looked into, the hopelessly, gut-wrenching cries i've heard, i just remain silent.

in my quiet place i take out those memories, and i contemplate, i grieve, i resolve, i become re-invigorated to make changes in my world, in the lives i know, in the ways i can.

sometimes when someone asks me, "how was china?" or "how's kinmen?" i try.

i try to open the locked up place and let them in.

i'm glad they care enough to ask.

i'm glad they want to know.

but it's hard, in a few minutes of conversation, to see them really grasp or fathom the depth of the story i am telling...the grandmother, the idol worshipper, the orphan, the real-life person behind the story.

this summer's end, as i have returned "home" to the states for the time being, i have found myself coping with all the stories crashing on the shores of my heart by hiding. not that i have stopped feeling or remembering, i just stopped going there.

stopped going deep.

stopped taking out the key and entering into the locked up place.

because it's easier if i just focus on here and now.

it's easier if i don't feel the pain.

it's better all around if it stays locked up.

but somehow today, i found myself forced to remember.

somehow something triggered those feelings locked up deep down.

memories of faces, of cuddles, of tantrums, of desperate bids for love and affection crashed over my heart again like waves that i couldn't and didn't want to hold back.

as i wept for their loss, ached for their abandonment, prayed for their rescue and healing, i longed for a way to convey each story, and paint each face in a way that brings to life for others these forgotten ones.

as i wracked my brain for a way to do this, the answer came.

"you have to write."

and so this post is a resolve to write.

i write for tian xi, and for you peng and guang peng 
for justin and for jo
for cindy and lucy and antony and susan and for the scores of people i can't name here who have made their imprints on my heart.

it might be slow in coming.

it might be one slow story at a time.

but i want to at least try to create with words pictures of the people i see and love.

i'm taking out the key and i'm walking inside...

who wants to go with me?

the ones who didn't cry - reflections on BMH summer camps, 2012

it is day five. the inevitable friday that all BMH (bringmehope.org) campers dread. i stand on the bus trying alternately to close my heart and senses to the scene around me, and open up and embrace it at the same time. my heart melts and runs out my eyes as i watch beautiful child after beautiful child be carried onto the bus by loving volunteers or translators. some as small as 4 or 5 years old; others in their teens. most have to be carried because part of the beauty of these children lies in their disabilities. over the past four days i have seen them charm their volunteers and translators into seeing that beauty - the true beauty that is hidden inside their twisted, deformed bodies. beautiful spirits that are strong from all the challenges they have overcome; beautiful hearts that reach out to love again, in spite of having been hurt so deeply by abandonment and rejection; beautiful faces that snatch the breath out of our very souls and make us fall in love time after time.

i give myself a little shake to keep myself in the present. this time i am not on the bus as a heart-riven volunteer or translator, i am staff. i can't let myself go. can't allow myself to get carried away in the emotions of the moment. people need me. need direction. to my right a volunteer stumbles slowly off the bus, face buried in her hands, shoulders heaving. my hand rests gently on her back as i whisper hope into her ear. "He knows. He sees. He loves them more than we do." - words once spoken into my breaking heart by sympathetic staff as i said goodbye to my first orphans. just down the aisle someone is blocking the way as more children are carried onto the bus. a translator, slumped over his boy, tears pouring onto the child's face like rain, tries to say goodbye, tries to let go, but can't make himself. i've been there. my heart swells up within me as i made my way toward him. a light pat on his shoulder, "it's time. c'mon. he knows you love him. he'll be ok." 

but the worst - the worst for our rending hearts is not the sight of the adults' grief, but that of the children's. i walk towards the exit of the bus, leading the last volunteer who is so overcome i wonder if he will faint. as i walk down the aisle, hands - so many little hands - reach out after me, grasping, clutching my clothes, my hand, my arm, anything they could grab. into every dear little face i look, kissing them for the last time, trying to smile, wiping away tears, even as i mix them with my own. their voices rise and rise, the wail growing louder and louder at the impending departure. the driver releases the clutch causing a rush of smoke and the loud hissing that says the bus will be pulling out within seconds. just seconds to go, and it feels like an eternity - like my heart is being ripped out and carried away with each precious little person the bus carries. "jie jie, don't leave me! don't go! i don't wanna go back there! jie jie!! jie jie...!!" they scream. and the sound pierces down to my very soul. it's the scene my dreams are made of. the sounds that haunt me when i'm not there, not pouring out energy and resources and sweat to help them. the cries that drive me.

i grit my teeth, clench my hands, and promise myself and my God again that someday i won't have to leave them. someday i will be in a place where we can stay together and i can love them with His love and help them day after day to grow in physical and mental and emotional strength as their little hearts and minds heal. for now though, for now, i have to do it. i have to give one last kiss to the sobbing girl closest to the door, give one final wave, shout one final, "jie jie loves you all!" to the heart-broken, sobbing bus-full of kids, and step off the bus. i have to watch the doors close, give high fives through the windows where i can see the tear-streaked faces staring out at me, and run with the bus until it goes so fast that i have to stop to catch my breath. then i will stand waving until long after i can't see the bus through my tear-filled eyes. 

~~~~~~~~

fast forward one week. it is friday again. again i stand on a bus; again, surrounded by translators and volunteers accompanying their children onto the bus, making sure they are comfortable for their long ride. it is time again to say goodbye. to give last kisses, last hugs, last high fives; time to run after the bus and wave goodbye until it is out of sight. time for my heart to break again. no matter how many times i do this, i never "get over" it. never get to the place where a piece of me doesn't go with them, tearing my heart apart as the bus drives away. over the past four days we have played the same games, sung the same songs, watched the same movies, loved with the same love we have been pouring out for three weeks now. but this time something is different. i look around, taking in the scene, trying once again to open my heart to it, and still protect it somehow from the pain. but this time it's a different kind of pain. as i look into these faces i don't see sadness, heartbreak, or despair. no little hands reach out to grab me, and no voices protest aloud the hell that is taking place in their hearts. these children sit calmly in their seats, gazing matter-of-factly out the window. they even smile as they wave at their volunteers and translators outside. the driver closes the doors, releases the clutch, and a repeat of the previous three weeks begins it's vicious course. after the bus rounds the bend i stop, hand frozen in the air where it waved, stomach clenching so that i feel sick and my legs feel weak. i drag wearily back to my fellow staff friends and we lock our arms around each other's shoulders as we commend them to Him who knows and understands all hearts and who protects the afflicted and abandoned, and who is a Father to the fatherless. 

these kids are from a home where, from their actions, behaviors, responses exhibited over the last week, we fear they do not have as safe, protected, and healthy an environment as we hope all our precious kids can return to after camps. despite their silence and apparent nonchalant attitudes as the bus pulled away, i have seen, throughout the week, many, many evidences that their little hearts are screaming and crying out inside them, for love. it is impossible to know what secrets are locked in their past, what made them the way they are today. but it is apparent to anyone who tries to love them that their hearts and emotions have been locked away in some place perhaps even deeper. shut off from anything and anyone in an attempt to protect themselves from further hurt and damage. it's so hard to feel like just another adult in the long list of adults who have come and gone in their lives. so hard to not be given enough time to break through; to prove to them that we are different. so hard to send them back to a place where in all probability they will go on and on being hurt, only deepening the emotionless silence that has become their world - their safe place. only in His strength...only because He knows their names and their situations...only because His heart breaks for them even more than mine...only because He's worthy of our trust...

it's the only way i can let them go. 

as far as the kids from the first scene go, they have been to camp before - some of them multiple times. after camp they return to a foster-care situation where there are loving people evaluating them, helping them get treatment and therapy, and advocating for them to find forever homes. yes, it is heartbreaking to watch them go. it hurts to see them hurt. but in comparison, it is much easier to see their tears, to watch their increasingly normal reactions to grief, than it is to see children who have been hurt so badly that they are completely closed off to emotions of any kind, no matter how sad or happy. 

so in retrospect, as i process each week from this past summer of camps, the lessons learned the tears shed, the kids i came to know and love - my heart breaks for them all. my tears, my prayers, my future plans are for them all. but i grit my teeth a little harder, and clench my fists a little tighter when i promise myself and my God again that someday - someday i will do something for these. for the ones who didn't cry.

welcome home

on my way back from my favorite coffee shop where i enjoyed a good chat with my bestest friend, i walked back through my favorite streets in the world. past the jewelry shop that fixed my broken necklace chain for 50NT (about $1.70 US), and the "everything store" (thus named because at one time it was the only store in kinmen where you could literally buy anything), past the old "abei" (uncle) who is my special friend and always smiles and nods at me, and the stinky tofu stand with the little "ama" (grandma) who makes stinky tofu with her little grandson strapped on her back in a sling. past the bakery run by my student's parents, and the "bag lady" store with the sweet aboriginal lady who always invites me in for tea and has cried with me about anything from missing home to sad pet stories. as always, it was common as i passed by for people to look up and nod, smile, or call out a friendly "hello" as they recognized me. as i walked i thanked God in my heart for this place and these people and this time when i can enjoy walking familiar streets, seeing dear faces, and feeling an incomparable "at homeness" that makes my heart tingle with joy.

i got to the intersection with the tea stand and the corner clothing shop, (where i have purchased more clothing that i care to admit : / ) to be waved in to chat by the shop ladies. "yes, i am back in kinmen for a couple months...yes, i have been in china for the past while working in an orphan home...no, i did NOT find a boyfriend while there, and i am not searching...yes, i missed kinmen very much." i went on to tell them what i was feeling in my heart at that moment, and what i've felt since i set foot back on this island...how no matter where i've gone during the 9 months since i left kinmen, i haven't been able to find anywhere that feels like this. how kinmen's people, and simple beauty and charm have stolen a part of my heart that i will never be able to take back. how the friendliness and warmth of the shopkeepers and families i pass by so often took me in and made me feel like one of them during my first years here. how no matter where i go in the future, just like i will always go home to america to see my family and loved ones there, i will, of course, come home to kinmen every chance i get. tears came to my eyes as i talked with my friends. i looked over to see one of the ladies dabbing her eyes. the other one teased her good-humoredly for being so moved, but smiled from ear to ear as she told me, "kinmen's people are so happy to hear you say that. we will always be here, and this will always be your home! after you finish running everywhere and helping people, welcome back home to kinmen to retire and rest!"

hmmmmm...not such a bad idea. at any rate, i know that come end of june when i get on a boat and sail back to china, i will not be nearly as sad as i was last summer when i took my last view of kinmen from the plane before it was hidden behind the clouds. because i will be back. wherever He leads me, whatever lessons i learn along the way about obeying and trusting Him, i will always come home.