It has been three years. I am out of practice (and we eat way more bread now.)
I have been putting off writing another post. I just didn’t want to write “we are still settling in.” We have been here. We have done that and more. Makes me feel like we should be firing on all cylinders since we are now one month in. But we aren’t.
A few factors have played in. We have slogged through a round of colds and the stomach flu in one month’s time. Getting the apartment set up was put on hold while we recovered from illness. So no bathtub yet, but we do now have a microwave and we found a bread machine to help me feed my hungry family. We slowly are figuring out how to make productive trips to the market, navigating buses and crowds. It takes time to feel comfortable shopping in a group like the photo above. Not to mention, we somehow can go to the market and buy what seems like an enormous amount of fruit compared to the Chinese granny next to me and I still run out in an insanely short time! I blame the altitude for how hungry my children seem to be these days. The altitude – my word are we still adjusting to that…adjusting how much sleep we need, adjusting how I bake and how much water we need to drink.
So although in my mind we should already be running English corners from our home, we should have book studies and I should be teaching at the orphanage, we just aren’t.
We are getting there.
We have settled into a rhythm with homeschooling. Hubbie is busily writing mid-term exams for his classes. I have an appointment this week to meet the new director at the orphanage. Students are starting to stop by our apartment and our neighbors are becoming comfortable enough with me to fuss when they think I haven’t dressed the children warm enough (sounds strange I know, but that really is a sign of friendship here!) So we are getting there.
I keep reminding myself that this is not a sprint but a marathon. We are plugging away and just when I want to get discouraged I stop look around and realize the miracle of being here. Earlier this week as I stepped onto the bus with my heavy market load, I did just that. I was weighed down with purchases and stumbled as I tried to get on the bus and pay. The bus driver started to fuss at me for being slow. I began to sweat. I plopped down in an empty seat (PTL there was an empty seat) and looked around at the curious stares. A crazy white woman laden with packages isn’t a normal sight on the bus, I guess. Tears sprang to my eyes -not because I miss Walmart and my mini-van (of course I do) but because it hit me again that “We are back.” I have the privilege of being the crazy white woman on that bus, in my neighborhood, on this campus. What a gift. Not sure why My Father is allowing me to tell His story here, but I am so very thankful.
Yup, we are still settling in, but could I be any more thankful that I get the job of doing that?! Blessed.