Idiom Living and the Ultimate Metaphor

For any Trekkies out there. 

Idioms are an intriguing facet of language. Discovering unique ones is fun for me. There are lots in the Thai language which I have shared before (see my post Feb. 11, 2014), but every language has them. I like this one in French:  J’ai besoin de vos lumières. The literal translation is, "I need your lights" but the English equivalent would be more like, "I need to pick your brain" which, ironically, is also an idiom.

I could not think of a creative way to segue from the topic of idioms into this month's topic of Christmas and thoughts of the past year so bear with me as I connect the dots.

In the middle of November two things happened that gave me focus this Christmas: 1. My pastor asked me to write an advent poem through the four Sundays of Advent. 2. I started a personal study of the book of John. The theme of light was so startling to me in John 1 that that became my focus for my advent poem and for the Christmas season.

I think I was drawn to the theme of light because it is the antithesis of the difficult, sometimes dark year our family has been through. I began researching the word "light'" for my poem, and that's where the idioms come in. I came across a list of "light" idioms. They sounded so familiar as I read them. Then I realized I had used these or heard these idioms all year: make light of (a situation); bring to light; to be light years away from (something); see the light of day; light at the end of the tunnel; light a fire under; shed light on; see in a new light; the light dawned. Finally, the light dawned.

Was my year really just a year of idiom living? Of relying on idioms that can soon become cliche? I wanted to believe that that was not the case. Because, while these idioms are fine on their own, they are not solid enough to live by.

That's when I started reading John, who does not focus on idioms but on metaphors. And there it was--the ultimate "light" metaphor. John 1:4-8 says, "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. There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness, to bear witness about the Light, that all might believe through him. He was not the Light, but came to bear witness about the Light." And then in John 8:12, Jesus Himself says, “I am the Light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the Light of life.” That's the kind of focus I wanted and the perspective I needed. And that is His desire for our lives.

Idiom living might sound deceptively fine. But Jesus doesn't want us living that way. He wants us to live by the metaphors of who He is: He is Light. He is Love. He is Life. Small "l" idioms are but a dim reflection of capital "L" metaphors. This Christmas I am focusing more on those capital "L" metaphors as I think about how Jesus "emptied Himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men." (Phil. 2:7) He is Love. He is Light. He is Life. Jesus says, "Come and SEE!"

Feeling Raw Part 2--A Shift in the Dance

When I wrote "Feeling Raw Part 1" back in June, my intention was to write Part 2 soon after and I was going to write what I was really feeling "raw" about at the time.

Doug and I had just spent two weeks travelling, visiting family, friends, and supporters of our work with Wycliffe. We had spoken in two churches, made some new contacts and enjoyed our travels. However, when we returned to Edmonton I felt a strange and unexpected disconnect--the process of having to say good-bye to our lives these last six years had suddenly become very real. I knew we were supposed to return to Thailand but the inner conflict was there nonetheless. It was a time of transition, a shift in life, and my emotions were raw. That is what I was going to write about--but those emotions are now lost in a memory.

That was then--mid-June. This is now--August 26th. This is the day we were scheduled to drive out to B.C., spend some time with family, and then fly out of Vancouver on Sept. 3rd--back to Thailand and our lives and work there. But sometimes life doesn't happen the way we planned, just like Proverbs 16:9 says. Sometimes the changes aren't even in the script, at least not our script.

In mid-July all our plans changed due to a crisis with one of our children--serious enough that we realized we couldn't return to Thailand as scheduled. The last five weeks have been intense, not just family-wise but also internally. One day I'm dealing with emotions of saying good-bye, the next day I'm dealing with the emotions of not being able to leave. And to my surprise, those second emotions were more intense. I felt even more torn. Questions flooded my mind: When would we get back? Will we get back? What am I, what are we, going to do in this time of uncertainty? How do we move forward? The expectation was that we would return as soon as Doug was done his PhD program and I was overwhelmed with sadness. It reminded me that I truly am a TCA--a third-culture adult. While I love my homeland of Canada, I love Southeast Asia as well, with our work, calling and fulfillment.

For a few weeks I did not do so well at balancing on the fulcrum of my emotional teeter-totter.
Deep exhaustion hung heavy around my neck. I knew hope was there but I was struggling to find it. My prayers were simple cries out to God and I relied heavily on others' prayers when I didn't know how to pray. And, as always, God, the Faithful One, broke through with His Word and with a beautiful word picture.

The Word: "BUT GOD." Those two words reminded me of His faithfulness. Just like God did for Noah (Gen. 8:1), Joseph (Gen. 50:20), and David (1 Sam. 23:14), so He has done for me through Jesus (Acts 2:24) and continues to do (Rom. 5:8). His love never fails. I am learning that I do not need to worry or fret--that this shift in our lives did not take God by surprise and that I do not need to teeter on that fulcrum by myself--He is there with me.

The word picture: This morning God gave me a picture through the words of Madeleine L'Engle in her daily reading from the book, Glimpses of Grace. The reading is entitled, "The Shifting Dance Steps," and she speaks of how the dance steps of life shift and change. She concludes by saying, "The melody seems unfamiliar to me, but I will learn it."

I thought about life being a dance. I love dance, although I'm a pathetic dancer. I wish I could dance as an expression of God's handiwork, as a testimony to His faithfulness and love. I can't. But I do appreciate those who can. They too draw us to God. They reveal God's creative heart and His love for all things beautiful.

As I pondered these thoughts throughout the morning, I stopped at lunch to finish watching an episode of "So You Think You Can Dance" on TV. And there it was--the dance that reinforced L'Engle's words. It was a couple dancing to "Angel," one of my favourite Sarah McLachlan songs. The girl moved with such beauty and grace and emotion and her partner held her, carried her, moved with her but also freed her. And it was me dancing--moving to the shift of something new, effortlessly. But I was not alone--Jesus was there with me, leading me, carrying me, freeing me. It was a liberating moment for me. And again, it reminded me that God is faithful--that He cares about me and my emotions and struggles and that He is committed to partnering with me through this dance of life.

Feeling Raw: Part 1

The skin--the largest organ in our body systems, protecting all our other biological systems. It is resilient. We know this from experience. Think of all the times you've bumped, bruised, cut, scraped even burned your skin--to the point that we would call it "raw." Then it heals. Sometimes scars remain if the wound is deep enough, but not usually. I have one such scar.

August 1991. As a family we were travelling from B.C. to Dallas, Texas to continue our schooling as linguists/translators with Wycliffe Bible Translators. In those days we would travel in the early mornings, leaving at 4:00 or 4:30 a.m., while our kids aged 1, 3 and 4, would sleep. By the time we stopped for breakfast, we were half-way to our destination. That eventful morning we arrived in Wichita, Kansas in time for breakfast--only we had no American cash on us to buy breakfast. We drove around looking for a bank machine but found nothing on the outskirts of the city so we drove into the downtown sector.

We devised a plan. Doug would park the car and would stay with the kids while I went walking around looking for a bank, sure to find one downtown. So I hopped out of the car, turned the corner and was gone. 15 minutes later I returned, moneyless, but bleeding with large scrapes on my arm, knee and down my shin. And with a bruised ego. I had been so intent at looking at buildings, trying to find a bank, that I did not realize there was a 100-mile cycling race going on through downtown (I guess it's a famous race but I didn't know--I was a "foreigner.") Suddenly, while crossing an intersection, I heard people yelling at me from the sidewalk to get out of the way. I turned to look behind me and there was a pack of bicycles coming at me FAST! I swerved back to the sidewalk, hoping I too could be fast but alas, the cyclist on the edge hit my knee, sending me flying. He too went flying; My glasses went flying; His bike went flying. I laid there for a few seconds while people came running to me, insisting that I be taken to the finish line to be looked at. I said I was okay, and I was, for the most part. But honestly, all I remember was seeing the cyclist hunched over in the middle of the street, crying. All his dreams dashed by this moronic, clueless woman. Completely embarrassed and in shock, I convinced everyone that I would be fine and fled the scene as fast as my injured body would take me. 

When I turned the corner back into the parking lot, and opened the car door, I'm sure Doug was in shock too. Blood oozed down my lower right arm, knee and leg. What had happened?! I tried to explain but my words were few. "Let's just go," I pleaded. He obliged. We ended up stopping at a 7-11 for gas and our breakfast consisted of foods bought from their shelves. It was probably the worst breakfast we ever ate in all our travels. Honestly, I don't remember.

I do remember that by the time we arrived in Dallas, my body ached and my leg was stiff. The concrete had rubbed my skin raw. However, I did realize that it could have been much worse--nothing was broken and I hadn't hit my head. For the next month, however, I could not wear anything that chafed my wounds. Often when I went out into public people stared, some asked what happened. I did not disclose much.

Even though we had only crossed the 49th parallel, I connected this accident with being a "foreigner," an "alien." After all, any Wichita native would have known what was happening that morning on those streets in their city. But I was just a simple Canadian bumpkin. Sounds silly but often the truth is stranger than fiction.

I saw then how closely we connect our culture to our experiences; Where we come from is so ingrained in us that we don't realize it until we are placed in a situation that should not feel that strange, but it does. We feel unexpectedly lost and slightly off-balance. I did not anticipate my response that day, nor the emotional rawness that went with it. But it was there.

I still have a slight "bicycle tread" scar just below my knee. It is a reminder of who I am, my deep cultural roots AND my need to be sensitive to other cultures as well. After all, I don't want to run anybody over with a Canadian tire. 

News from Home

One of the things that happens when living in another culture, away from your home country, is you seek "news from home." Any kind of news--of course, any contacts from family and friends which can happen these days with a click of a button, but other kinds of news as well. Any time someone said the word "Canada," my hearing would improve. What is Canada involved in now? What's going on politically, economically, socially? If Canada was doing something positive in the world, I was proud. If Canada was mentioned in a negative light, I wanted to defend my country.

But there was nothing that kept my attention more than Canada and sports. I craved the sports of home which included not just Canada but U.S. sports as well since so many Canadians watch not just Canadian sports but generally sports of North America, including the NFL and the NBA. It was my connection with the familiar--not just geographically but also with the English language. It was a craving I did not anticipate.

And now the tables have turned. I have lived back in Canada for almost six years now. I am relishing all things Canadian. There is an appreciation in my heart and soul for this country that I would not have realized had I not lived overseas. But even though I am here, I am still seeking "news from home"--from my other home. News from Thailand, news from Southeast Asia. And now I listen for Thai when I pass by ethnic speakers from Southeast Asia. I don't hear it very often but I seek to--part of my heart is still there.

So, this morning, when I read the following post, my heart was aching for those people:

 http://www.wsj.com/articles/thailand-arrests-four-and-vows-crackdown-on-human-trafficking-1430734044

Even though they are not people I know personally, I have a heart connection. My heart was heavy with sadness. My prayers lifted up "my people" for they were under attack. And I must confess, my heart was angry at those who have no conscience--no sense that human trafficking and treating other humans like animals is wrong. But they too are lost--and I prayed for them.

My heart for the minority peoples of Thailand and surrounding countries is a part of me that I cannot cut off. It is with me. It will always be with me. It is part of what being a TCA is all about. And it is a part of me I wouldn't change for the world.

Hang Gliding and Holding On

Today I was sitting at my computer, working on our newsletter contacts before we head back to Thailand when in walked my granddaughter Sydrah. She has the week off from school so is spending it with us. My husband and I are trying to get in as much time with her as possible--holding on to that contact that we will miss in the future.

She had spent the last half an hour in the other room working on some sort of craft. She asked for paper and tape--then for crayons. I heard her cutting with scissors and then towards the end she came into the dining room and took a few toothpicks from the toothpick holder beside the table where I was working. I was curious. What WAS she doing in there?

A few minutes later she walked into the room with her finished creative work: a paper hang glider complete with a little paper person taped to the straps under the glider. She had also taped three toothpicks to one wing as control sticks. She sailed it proudly to me and around the room.

"Ooooo, a hang glider," I say. "That's cool. What made you think of making that?"

"Hmm. I don't know. Just me," she says matter-of-factly.

"With even a little person flying under it. Is that you?" I ask.

"No, it's you," she says and then she turns the corner and is gone.

I am hit by questions: Is that how she sees me? Brave enough and young enough to be a hang gliding grandma? A grandma that loves life enough to try such an extreme sport? That would take up the challenge? Well, if it is. then that makes me warm and happy inside. She has felt my love for adventure, for not necessarily following the norm, and for being my unique, quirky, even weird self.

Yes my beautiful granddaughter. It is how I want you to see me--thinking and living outside the box and facing the challenges of what that means whether here in Canada or on the other side of the world. And even though you may not understand now why your Papa and I are moving to a country far, far away, and you won't see us as much, I pray you will understand our hearts and the calling God has put within us to go and help those who don't know Jesus, who don't have God's Words of love written in their language. I pray that in your sadness, God will give you an understanding beyond your years to realize the importance of sharing God's love to all.

I love you my granddaughter and will hold on to you in my heart. And please know that even though I am excited about the future and new adventure, I am also sad to leave you behind. It will be one of the hardest things I will ever have to do.

Purging

This past weekend my husband and I decided it was time to clean up, purge, re-organize our basement. It has become a dumping ground not just for us but for our children as well. After all, we're the only ones that have space.

Well, soon we won't have space--5 months from now, in fact, when we leave this place and move back to Thailand. So, we are re-arranging the basement to make a storage room while we are gone. What a challenge!

I used the word, "purge." The word is defined as: "to rid (someone) of an unwanted feeling, memory, or condition, typically giving a sense of cathartic release." Is that what I am doing? Am I purging? Well, I am ridding myself of the unwanted condition of a mess in the basement. But I have NO desire to rid myself of the feelings and memories found in my basement, not just from the last five years but from years of memories found in photo albums, in items from Thailand or the Philippines sitting on shelves or hanging on walls, in totes full of our children's lives. I never want to be purged from that. I WANT to keep those memories and feelings. No, I want to be purged from the unwanted, bad things, not the good things.
(Above images: Kids being silly in a photo booth; James' 4th grade Science project)

Funny--that's exactly what God calls us to do in our faith-lives. In Romans 12:2 He says, "Do not be conformed to this present world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may test and approve what is the will of God—what is good and well-pleasing and perfect." He asks us to get rid of the old junk and renew our minds. To keep what is good and well-pleasing and perfect but throw out the junk. Sorting through stuff in the basement has given me a fresh understanding of what that means. And it doesn't just happen all at once. Oh yes, some things are easily tossed with a twist of the wrist. Other things like writings and papers, require sifting through, require perseverance. It is the same in our lives. Perseverance in purging can be painstaking but it is worth it. The beautiful thing is, God is not absent in and through it all. His presence is a promise of hope. So whether it's purging physical junk or purging spiritual junk, He is with us. Realizing that just makes me love Him more.

And now I must get back to my basement--to enjoy the good feelings, memories, items, and throw out the useless, hindering junk.

I am ______________ when God brings transition into my life

I am ______________ when God brings transition into my life. That's one of the questions posed to our Home Group this past week as we studied Acts 11:19-30. It's a chapter about transition as God reveals His heart to bring the Gentiles to saving grace--stemming ALL the way back to Genesis 12 and God's call to Abraham.

My gut response to that sentence is "excited" because for me, transition means change is coming and I've always welcomed change--ever since the summer of 1979 when I lived on a First-Nations reservation in northern Saskatchewan and I felt God's calling on my heart. I remember reading the book, "Lord Change Me"by Evelyn Christenson. It's outdated now but it had a powerful effect on me. And one line of a song kept running through my head: "And I welcome the change like I welcome the rain, after nothing has grown in a long, long time." So I welcome change because change means growth.

I think most missionaries have a positive attitude toward change. I mean, they almost have to, right, with the travelling and training and moving that takes place? At least for us, we've lived in over 20 different places since we've been married. That's simply crazy--and yet it's often the life of a TCA.

That all being said, transition and change are around the corner again. In January 2015 Doug and I will be returning to Thailand. Am I excited? Yes, because I know God is going before us and preparing hearts and lives for our work there. Am I sad? Yes, that too, because it is the first time we will be leaving all our children, and granddaughter, behind. I don't really like to think about that aspect of this new change. It won't be easy. For now I am simply trying to milk the year for all it's worth--soaking up every opportunity to be with family, extended family and precious friends here in Canada. And it's all good because it's ALL from a good God. And that too is a good perspective for a TCA to have.

Language, Translation and Existence

I wrote this for a Composition course I took a few years ago. There is some overlap with the previous post but this post has more to do with identity in a new culture and language, something a TCA struggles with almost daily.

LANGUAGE, TRANSLATION AND EXISTENCE

Growing up in a little prairie town in Saskatchewan, I had little exposure to mountains. I have a vivid memory, however, of driving through the Rocky Mountains on a family vacation when I was 11. As we travelled west past Calgary, I was in awe of what rose before us. The jagged peaks, multi-faceted rock formations, swift-flowing streams rushing down from the snowcaps were fantastic—but also ominous for a young child. Winding around the dynamite-blown rock faces beside 300-meter drops, blind to what was around the bend, was frightening. What did the first explorers feel when they traversed the prairies and watched the mountains grow in the distance, not knowing how high or wide or long the range extended? For me, the only thing I can compare it to is the feeling I had upon moving to the other side of the world. Trying to communicate in a language I had never heard, with strange vowels and tones and a script that looked only like geometrical shapes and artistic squiggles, was like trying to cross an undiscovered mountain range.

 Part of me was exhilarated by the adventure. I studied the many crags and crevices of the etymology and syntax of Thai, a slow uphill climb. I drank in the cool, mountain stream of Thai culture—relishing spicy dishes filled with hot peppers and coconut milk or swaying on the etched back of a graceful elephant. But I also felt crippled, lost, in the inability to express ‘me’ and I sought to understand the ‘why’ of that feeling and the ‘how’; how could I be me in Thailand?

In the early stage of language learning I realized that language is existence, not mere existence as another homo sapien on this planet, but existence as an individual. If I cannot speak or write, I cease to be the person I am. My cultural heritage, my personality, my uniqueness would vanish in the mountain wilderness. But it was in translation, in using the familiar highway of English to explore and chart this new mountain range called Thai, that I grasped how my individuality, my values, and my history were defined by my words. It was a paramount discovery.

I am a trained linguist. That means I am able to analyze the speech sounds and patterns, phonology and grammar of any language of the world. What drew me to this area of study was my infatuation with the English language. In grade school I was curious—curious about all the different figures of speech, what constituted classic writing, why we studied grammatical parsing of sentences, how English differed from French. That curiosity directed me to linguistics, and linguistics made me appreciate and love English, my mother tongue. But in moving to Thailand I felt like my mother tongue was being stripped away. And, in a way, it was.

In my training I saw that figures of speech, especially metaphors, flourish in all languages but as I studied Thai I realized metaphor is not just a comparison of words. George Lakoff and Mark Johnson state in Metaphors We Live By that “Our ordinary conceptual system, in terms of which we both think and act, is fundamentally metaphorical in nature” and that “our concepts structure what we perceive, how we get around in the world, and how we relate to other people”. One example they cite is the metaphorical concept “TIME IS MONEY” as shown through such phrases as “wasting my time, budget your time, borrowed time”. This book opened my eyes to why I was struggling to express myself in Thai. It was not just a language problem. It was a concept problem.

With that knowledge I began to study how a Thai person sees the world—the metaphors they use to explain culture, feelings and relationships—in contrast to metaphors I use to define my world. The clouds that had been hanging heavy over the mountain range began to dissipate.

An old English proverb says, “The eyes are the window of the soul.” In English, eyes metaphorically represent emotions in terms like ‘green-eyed monster, bright-eyed, hungry-eyed, flaming eyes, sparkling eyes, longing eye.’ For a native English speaker, each of these metaphors describes a specific emotion. The Thai language does not use the eye but the heart to describe a wide range of emotions, a discovery that gave me a glimpse into the Thai mindset.

A colleague introduced me to a book called Heart Talk by Christopher G. Moore, a book for the foreigner seeking to understand how the word ‘heart’ is used in the Thai language. Moore states that the word “jai [defined as “the heart” in English] in Thai means both “heart” and “mind”.” (13). Generally, the Westerner separates thinking and feeling. The Thai person does not. Let me cite two examples from the over 300 root words using jai. The first one, written in Roman script, is cit jay suung, literally translated as the “tall heart,” (56) and in English means “a person who has a high moral standard” (56). It is a choice of the mind in English. In Thai it is a choice of the heart. The second example means the same as our metaphor ‘out of sight, out of mind’ showing how we compare sight to thinking in English. In Thai the phrase klay taa klay jai is translated “eye far/heart far” or we could say “out of sight, out of heart,” comparing sight to emotions. I was beginning to envision what was around the next bend.

That revelation energized me for the long journey ahead. It is a journey I will continue on as long as I am living in Thailand, exploring how the metaphors of my language and culture translate into Thai. Just as the raw, Rocky Mountains stand in stark contrast to the serene, Saskatchewan prairies, so the Thai mindset counters mine. Translating ‘me’ in Thailand takes time and work. It is, however, a highway worth travelling because for me, it is the difference between merely existing and truly being.

Heart Talk

When our family moved to Thailand to work with minority language groups, my husband and I were introduced to a book by Christopher G. Moore called, Heart Talk. This book is like no other on the study of the word, *jai 'heart' in the Thai language. It is a fascinating read for anyone doing any kind of cross-cultural writing because it provides insight not only into "love" emotions but into most of the emotions expressed by Thai people.

In this book there are over 700  jai words/phrases that the Thai people know and use constantly. Whether it's talking about positive emotions or negative emotions, good character traits or bad character traits, right choices or wrong choices, the word or phrase usually includes jai. It is no wonder the author calls it, "the central metaphor in the Thai language."

Let me share a few of these "heart" words to help you understand how differently the Thai view life. There are some words that cross over culturally such as jai-yai 'heart big' in referring to a generous person, or jai-sing 'heart lion' in referring to a courageous person. However, there are many that are surprising and sometimes even opposite of how westerners think. For example, jai-nooy 'heart small' doesn't mean a stingy person. It is referring to someone who is highly sensitive emotionally, who is easily hurt or offended by others. Kin-jai 'eat heart' is a verb meaning, "to impress" in a good way; Or, jai-phra 'heart monk' referring to a person who is extremely compassionate and forgiving; Or naam-jai 'water heart' referring to someone who takes into account another person's feelings. This last one could be translated to mean empathy or sympathy in English but in Thai there are two totally different jai words for those feelings. Are you getting the picture?

But I must mention one of the most used jai words: kreeng-jai 'awe heart'--a word that is almost untranslatable into English. Moore calls it, "the heart of hearts of the Thai culture and class system.":

"The phrase reflects a rich brew of feelings and emotions--a mingling of reverence, respect, deference, homage and fear--which every Thai person feels toward someone who is their senior, boss, teacher, mother and father, or those in powerful position such as a high-ranking police officer."

It takes the author 1 1/2 pages to define this type of patron/client cultural system and even then he confesses that it goes so much deeper. Our western culture find this a difficult concept to grasp. Often we are more jai dii phii khaw 'good heart, ghost enters'. Anyone care to guess what that means?

I focus on this book because it is a reminder of what happens when we come in contact with other cultures--how my eyes were opened to their culture and thus I looked at my culture in a new way--and how through it I became more of a TCA in the way I began to view the world. And it made me more aware than in a world that is becoming smaller every day, where we interact with other cultures on a daily basis, a book like this can help us see the world through different eyes and then help us show love to others in a whole new way AND share Jesus' love in a whole new way too.

*Unfortunately, due to computer incompatibility, I could not mark tone on the Thai words.

Pain

Every Thursday morning I spend time at a local Junior High School, tutoring/mentoring immigrant students in an ESL class. I love this volunteer work--it keeps me in touch with the cross-cultural life that feels so comfortable to me. I never enter the school in fear, wondering if I will be able to help the student I work with or wondering if I will be able to communicate effectively. Like I said, it is a comfortable place for me as a TCA. I don't believe this is typical for Canadians who have not had any cross-cultural influence or experience.

I work one-on-one with the student that the teacher assigns to me. Often it's the same student but not always. Today was one of those times when I worked with a new student. This boy was from Seoul, Korea and had only been in this school for 2 weeks. I was asked to help him with the reading comprehension of a book the class was studying together. The teacher warned me that he was struggling but I had no idea to what extent until I tried to dialogue with him. He was shy and soft-spoken when he said anything at all. For much of our time together he said nothing and if I asked him questions he would stare blankly at the book or just look down. It was all so painful for him, like he was screaming inside to get out but living in this cold, foreign land was smothering him to death. I asked him if he missed his country, his family in Korea. He replied, "yes" very somberly. I wanted to hug him--to tell him I was sorry and that he would be okay--but will he be? Will he be strong enough to fight for identity? The only time his eyes brightened briefly was when I mentioned I had been to Seoul once, just for one night between plane transfers. I could tell he liked that but then the moment was gone. And then my time with him was done and I was gone.

As I walked to my car, I cried for him, my heart breaking. I felt his pain--the pain of the surreal, being surrounded by everything unfamiliar and missing home. And then I said a prayer for him, that God would meet him in his pain and give him comfort and hope. Because I know God cares and loves immigrant and TCK children.

Cereal Overload

In 1992 my husband and I arrived in the Philippines with our three children, all under the age of 5. That reminds me, sometime I need to write about flying. But today I write about food surprises.

We lived very simply in the Philippines, especially when we were out in the village. Breakfasts were especially simple. During language school and when on the Wycliffe centre we had access to bread so we could make toast. Even then, though, there were few boxed cereals--corn flakes and maybe rice krispies. But out in the village there was nothing and I learned how to make very yummy granola in a cast iron frying pan. It became our staple.

Before going overseas, and in our first year overseas, we were required to read a certain number of book on culture, cross-cultural living and the different stages to expect when adjusting to life in a different culture, especially a third-world culture. It was good reading and helpful. However, when we returned back to Canada, we were given little to read regarding the reverse i.e. culture shock in the return.

I remember going grocery shopping for the first time upon return from the Philippines. There were changes, of course--new foods, new brand names. Nothing surprising. THEN I turned my cart into the cereal aisle. I remember freezing in my tracks. Cereal. Cereal. Cereal. A whole aisle--two rows--all devoted to cereal. I was overcome. It was a shock to my simple-lifestyle system. I cannot explain my emotions in that moment--fear, claustrophobia, sadness, shame, disdain. Just negative emotions. I just remember I was too overwhelmed to even look at it all. I quickly picked two cereals I was familiar with and got out of there.

The next time I went shopping, I prepared myself for the emotional onslaught and spent more time perusing the cereal aisle. I was okay. I could breathe. I learned to adjust to this small outcome of living in an affluent society. But even now, there are times I enter the cereal aisle and am reminded of that day and a tinge of emotion ripples at the bottom of my gut. It lingers still.

The Smell of Shrimp Paste

 Today I write because I'm homesick--not homesick for the little town I grew up in but homesick for Thailand. I've started an assignment for an English course I'm taking called, "Creative Non-Fiction." My writing prompt is to write a story about being ambushed by a smell. Think about it. This happens to all of us--you enter a room filled with a certain smell and it takes you back to a place in time. Well, the smell I am writing about is typical of a TCA because it is the smell of shrimp paste wafting into our house from the neighbour's house almost every morning like clockwork. The smell assaulted me with memories that occurred in that house for 7 years of our lives as a family--especially morning memories when the smell was pungent in the air. Mostly mornings of trying to get the kids ready for school--mornings of loud arguments with my daughter who hated mornings, mornings of hunting for school uniforms, whether skirts or pants or even sports teams, mornings of trying to get my son to eat a little something before heading out the door. 

 Admittedly, these memories make me sad because I was often so impatient, so unkind--a reminder that I was and sometimes still tend to be a control freak. I've learned much about myself in that area in the last 7 years and am thankful that God is gentle and kind and patient with me and with my relationship with my children. I was so far from being the perfect mother and yet God protected these relationships and caused them to grow and flourish in Him so that despite my past failures, I have beautiful connections with my kids. I feel so blessed.

There were also happy memories mixed with the sad ones. MANY happy memories. Our dog Rosie would almost always make us smile in the morning as she attempted to attack our cat, who wanted nothing to do with the dog. I think Rosie was a morning dog and our cat, Kitty, was a night cat. Two opposites clashing in the morning like my daughter and me. But also memories of eating together, celebrating birthdays and holidays together, playing games together. Lots of love and good times.

And so I am homesick, all from writing about the smell of shrimp paste. Nothing triggers the TCA syndrome like food. Sometime I'll have to write more about that. But not today. And now that I've written here, I feel joy instead of sadness and am thankful for the gift of memory. God is good.

I recently read an article that I found thought-provoking on life overseas and saying good-byes. It's worth sharing so here is the link.

http://www.alifeoverseas.com/outlawed-grief-a-curse-disguised/?fb_action_ids=10151782189960936&fb_action_types=og.likes&fb_source=other_multiline&action_object_map=[702236749800456]&action_type_map=[%22og.likes%22]&action_ref_map=[]

I never thought of the sadness over saying good-bye to people AND places as grief--but it is. Calling it grief helps to better understand the emotions and accept them for what they are. I have experienced this grief for myself but, as a mother, it has been harder to see my children grieving, because I feel like I am partly responsible for their grief. It was not my children's decision to live and work overseas. The calling was placed on my heart long before I was even married. This is definitely a part of being a TCA and a parent of TCKs.

That being said, I have learned to rest in a God who is gentle and loving and kind. He does not leave my children alone to deal with their grief alone. He understands their hearts and He understands my heart. He has an answer for any guilt I have felt as a TCA parent because the guilt is not from Him. It is from the enemy who wants to prevent me and my children from living abundantly and in freedom. So, I leave the guilt burden at the foot of the cross and He willingly takes it and replaces it with peace. And I leave my children in His care, like the Great Shepherd that He is in taking care of His sheep. It is and has been a process but through it all I have come to a greater understanding of how much He LOVES us. He LOVES us. He LOVES us. He LOVES us. I am still so far from understanding how much He LOVES us but the process is beautiful and I rest in His love.

In September I attended my first Inscribe Writer's Conference. I enjoyed it for a number of reasons but mostly because it spurred me on to get back to my writing and blogging. I've been writing more, mostly poetry which I am really enjoying. However, it took me until yesterday to truly figure out what to do with my blog. You see I was suddenly inundated with information on what makes a good blog, and I was almost embarrassed by my blog. So, I attempted to update it but still wasn't happy with it--there wasn't any unique perspective to it. Then last night it hit me. Well, the Holy Spirit gave me the idea while I was reading Eternity in Their Hearts by Don Richardson. I had read the book before I went overseas. Now it had a totally different meaning because I connected with his stories, his examples. Heck--I've LIVED with some of those examples. Then the idea hit me--why couldn't I write about that? About, how I see the world, especially the world I grew up in, after living away from it for 20 years. How do I see the world around me differently? In some instances, my change of viewpoint is drastic. In most instances, it's very subtle. Most of the time I don't even notice it unless I make a conscious effort to think about it.

I realized that, like my children, I also "grew up (not physically but mentally, emotionally and especially spiritually)" in a cross-cultural setting. So why is there no term for someone like me? Thus, I coined a term: TCA--Third Culture Adult. That's me. I like the term. I like who I am. I like how I see the world because what I've learned, I've learned through living a life of faith in my Father God, the Lord Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. How exciting and beautiful is that!

Here is my disclaimer: In no way am I unique in being a TCA. I know there are many of you out there. I am just simply writing about it from my perspective.