by @ngie on January 21, 2012
When coordinating a handful of simultaneous moves one must consider oneself a box: flexible, fill-able, empty-able, re-fill-able, and tough.
I go behind the grocery store and dig in the the bins for boxes. Flattened, the boxes stack on the scale so they know how many coins I need to give them. I feel like these boxes. Emptied of the original and deflated. I am emptying myself of the attachment we have had to this location for years.
Reformation of the 200+ boxes by way of rolls of sticky tape makes perfect work for children eager to lend a hand. They pile by the wall waiting to be filled. I feel like these boxes. Devoid of my former attachments I wait for re-purposing. What will I carry? What will the new load be? What will fill me at the new place?
Filled yet still in use the boxes lounge around. Items will be pulled and returned a number of times still before Monday. Then the final strip of tape will shut them up for the trip down the street. These boxes mostly likely won’t stay taped for long. I feel like these boxes. I am in the in-between. There are daily chores that feel suddenly odd even after doing in them every day for all time. I want to be at the new place but we are not there yet. So I have to unpack and repack myself various times in a day.
The Berenstain Bears tell a story of prepositions using the predicament of being stuff in a box. The rhythmic verse chants in my mind, “Inside, outside, upside-down…” Our things displaced fill our spaces, inside, outside, and all around. I feel like these boxes. Insecurity of not-what-was and not-yet thrust me forward, awkward, in the way, imposing. I want to rush and be done with this. I want to quit stubbing my toes on things out of place. I want to stop stubbing my heart on a jumbled up soul.
Monday we move our house. Other moving dates will come soon. For now I focus on this one. This sweet picture taken by their older sister, Gabrielle, captures the anticipation of my little ones. I feel like this box. The burden of making this move a good one for the whole family weighs heavy. I hope they don’t feel overlooked or shoved to one side. I hope I can absorb their insecurities and stresses in this time of change. I hope I don’t forget that they, too, are feeling all the boxes-full of emotions that I am. I hope I remember to run to the One who can tape together my seems when I feel things getting to be too much.
by @ngie on January 17, 2012
Way back in 2008 I blogged a series called green about envy. On the last day I revealed a notebook I used for a gratefulness journal. Oh the joys of a Sharpie gliding across the lush pages of a snazzy journal.
Origami made by my son. The green swan used to be an envious ugly duckling.
Way back a long time ago before that I learned the meaning of the word unabridged. I felt gypped. How could anyone dare defile the original intent of the precious words of an author? That very day I went to the library and looked for the unabridged version of ‘Little Women’ by Louisa May Alcott. From that day forward I accepted no substitutes. Being that Alcott ranked number one, at the time, in my long ‘favorite authors’ list I diligently read every book in the library by this esteemed woman.
During that stint of Alcott immersion a practice found in the life of the character named Jo stuck with me. I tucked it away and kept it for the ‘someday’ when I would be married and have children of my own.
That journal I started in 2008 got about half way full. I put it away, for a time. Last year, as family and friends, we began writing what we are thankful for on the wall in our home. Then around the beginning of December I ran across this glass-half-full journal. As I thumbed through the pages I saw sweet Jo at her writing desk and the images of the tucked away practice returned to my mind as the first time I read about it.
SPOILER ALERT! (If you have not had the joy of reading Little Women and Little Men then you might want to wait to read the rest of this post. Really, I don’t mind. This post can wait for you to get done reading the gems. If you have an e-reader you can get the books here free: ManyBooks.net)
Jo March married the good Professor Bhaer, much to my chagrin; I wanted her to be with the passionate Teddy. She inherited her Aunt’s big old house, Plumfield. She and the professor started a school. Every so often Jo sits down with a journal and writes down admirable things she sees in her pupils. She then finds a quiet moment to share these observations with the young ones to encourage them.
I wanted to start doing that with my family. So I re-purposed the rest of those snazzy pages and started right away. I write down what I admire about my husband and my children. Then I read aloud to each one individually what my own hand has written, from my heart to theirs. The reminders help me appreciate each one. They feel good as I choose to see the good, and in turn tell them about it. I write with green ink, my favorite color for my favorite people.
Secretly, I hope to be able to do this, also, for the Lifetime Dreamers. Someday.
by @ngie on January 8, 2012
Like everything?
By this time next month:
- the church will be in a new location.
- the ministry office will be in a new location.
- the orphanage will have a new rental house.
- the Washington’s will have a new rental house.
By the mid-year the bowling alley will be in a new location.
The only thing not moving? The school. We are fighting tooth and nail (whatever that means) for the land where the school is so it can stay put.
Moving our family excites me most. Perks:
- Three stories
- A bit of an outdoors with a little grass
- A half a block from a HUGE park
- A block and a half from a main street
A rough sketch of the floor plan:
Oh, yes, and to finish this post I wanted to share with you a verse from the New Living Translation version of the Bible found in Isaiah 54:2 which applies to our situation.
“Enlarge your house; build an addition.
Spread out your home, and spare no expense!”
Isn’t that a refreshing look at the old verse about lengthening cords and strengthening stakes? Yes!
by @ngie on January 4, 2012
Surrounding the elevated statue of Simon Bolivar, the Great Liberator of South America, in the plaza at the center of Bolivia’s capitol city Sucre you will find a ring of golden words. Words. Powerful words which read: Sucre, Bolivia, the cradle of liberty.
The city holds the wonder of words which gave me the power of liberty. Our first months in Bolivia beginning in 2001 we forced our tongues to converse with the people in the language of the heart of this land. When the uncomfortable unfamiliarity traded places with familiar ownership we pushed past the easy into the mechanics of the language. By taking a trip almost exactly ten years ago I spent a few weeks in Sucre learning the rules of the Spanish language.
In the city where liberty meets law my tongue and brain submitted to language laws which gave me social liberty. I found a freedom to befriend Bolivians. I saw the reason behind the ramblings. In this cradle of liberty I felt like a child learning to speak, full of uninhibited vim.
El Poder y la Gloria // The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene
A decade later I return with my husband. I carry in my bag a book I started reading a few weeks ago. I picked it up at a flee market in Cochabamba. During my time on this vacation I determined to finish reading this book.
How poetic that I would finish reading my first Spanish novel in the city where love for the language was born. I’ve read other non-fiction books out of duty or obligation. I am not too proud to mention I have also read a small mountain of children’s books in Spanish. I’ve also started, and re-started, reading the classic monstrosity ‘El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha‘. This one, ‘El Poder y la Gloria’ (The Power and the Glory) by Graham Greene, I choose for the sheer pleasure of the reading.
The story tells about a Mexican priest being pursued by a lieutenant during the polemic 1930s. The British author wrote the book in English. Knowing I read a translation from the original I felt like I lost some of the artistry of the work. Yet, being able to read the book in the primary tongue of most of the characters enriched the experience. I recommend the book (in whatever language you prefer).
on 
