I love my mama. She is one of the funniest people I know, not because she cracks jokes, but because she's spunky and what you see is definitely what you get.
In the great year of 2004, my parents went on one of their annual vacations to some exotic place abroad. This particular trip included a stop in Edinburgh, Scotland. When they got to their hotel on a chilly morning in October, the receptionist told them that there was going to be a parade of sorts and they needed to go and watch, as the Scottish Parliament was officially moving from one building to another. They scurried off and found a place to wait amongst the others waiting to see the show. While waiting, they had a nice conversation with a very friendly policeman whom they struggled to understand. Finally, the moment arrived. My parents watched this historic moment, as the Members of Scottish Parliament made their way from the old parliament building to the new one. The MSPs were dressed in their finest kilts and then, there he was. James Bond. And my mother, being who she is, was overcome with excitement and yelled out "Sean! Sean!" in her best giddy school girl voice. Upon hearing his name, Sean Connery, all decked out in his Scottish best, turned to my mother and gave her a thumbs-up.
Minutes later, the queen rolled by in her car. She did not look at my mother, presumably because she heard her call out for Sean, who, as we all know, is a Scottish nationalist that believes Scotland should be free of stuffy English royalty.
Ah, but our tale doesn't end there. This now brings us to 2011. About a month ago, my husband and I decided to go out for a drive. We went to Braemar, a small and not terribly interesting town, on to a ski spot, just to see what a ski resort looks like in the Highlands of Scotland and then turned back toward home, with the intent of stopping at Balmoral Castle. Balmoral Castle is the Queen of England's vacation home. Purchased by Queen Victoria in the mid-nineteenth century, it has been used by the British Royal Family ever since. While I did know that the Queen is currently residing there for her usual winter vacation, I thought I'd read that we could at least walk on the grounds. Unfortunately, the gates remained firmly shut - at least for us, though I did see a car or two coming in and out.
After all is said and done, I can only assume that the Queen knows who I am and is holding a grudge because my sweet and spunky mama called after James Bond and not her and therefore refused to let me see her fancy house. And I think that's rather petty of her. Don't you?
Tuesday 22 February 2011
Sunday 6 February 2011
Courage
I have spent much of my life being afraid. I have always been different, and while I wasn't an outcast, I never knew how to belong to a group. I remember as a young teenager I would start journals time after time during school breaks with lists of all the things I was going to change about myself, from my laugh to my clothes. I shake my head as I type this. It seems so very long ago. And yet I still distinctly remember the sting of believing that God made me wrong, that I had an inherent flaw that I could not escape.
For my first twenty-five years or so I had few people in my life who saw me as something special. I was not one of them. It wasn't until my late twenties, starting my life anew, that I came to appreciate those things about me that stood me apart from others. I worked hard to overcome my insecurities and look at myself for who I really am. What I saw was a woman who had no idea how to be an adult. I was (am?) a bit neurotic and too sensitive and made plenty of mistakes. I also saw that I was beautiful and those things that make me different are actually now my favorite things about myself. And while I didn't know how to be an adult on my own, I knew I could get there - that I could one day become the amazing woman God created me to be.
When I was 29, I met a man unlike anyone I'd ever known before. He became my best friend. I married him. I followed him far far away. Our journey began in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. We then travelled to his home country of France. After three years there, we moved to Scotland, where we have been for almost a year.
I have spent much of my life being afraid. In France I was afraid of just about everything. I spoke no French and was deeply intimidated. The courage I fought so hard to find in Oklahoma seemed to leave me. I was an alien in a foreign land. I was afraid of roundabouts, which were everywhere. I was afraid of going to the butcher. Being a perfectionist, I had no interest in fumbling about in a language that sounded to me like nasal gibberish. I was very very afraid of what people would think of me. How silly. Still, it was real to me and it hindered what I could do.
So. I practiced roundabouts. We lived in the small town Abbeville (prounced ab-ville or sometimes ab-uh-ville) in the north of France, where, with knuckles whitened from gripping the steering wheel too tightly, I would drive on and off one of the small roundabouts near our home. It took a few months, but I went to the butcher. He laughed at me once. I was trying to ask what cut of lamb to use for a cous cous and the old man who I'd thought was nice went into the back and talked about me, which I could see. The men he spoke to looked to find me. I met their eyes directly and shook my head; they lowered theirs. I was embarrassed, but I went back. Eventually, we all became friends. My French was never perfect, but to my relief, I realized that it didn't have to be.
While adjusting to my new surroundings my husband and I suffered great loss. I thought the sadness might overtake me. Quite frankly, it very nearly did. But I didn't let it. It was a careful and conscious choice. One foot in front of the other, I overcame the sadness. The loss has become a part of me, but I choose to focus on what I gained. I experienced great love. I gained insight. Though for a time I struggled to see where God was during my greatest need, I slowly began to see He'd never left.
When I prayed, I heard no answer. I started to wonder what the point of praying was. Then a knock at my door came, literally. Some of the neighborhood children brought me flowers for no reason. We chatted. They came back twice more with more flowers (that were really just weeds). We had a picnic in the front lawn with chocolate cake and milk. I gained a friend. She was ten years old. When I left France, she gave me a note and her favorite necklace. God does not always answer our prayers with thunder and miracles. Sometimes, He sends us little rosy-cheeked angels bearing flower-weeds.
Now, after all that, I'm not afraid anymore, at least not like I used to be. I still have a lot of growing to do. One thing God has reminded me of again and again is: "to whom much is given, much is required." To this, I will respond with a great quote from Mother Teresa: "I know God won't give me more than I can handle; I just wish He didn't trust me so much!" I say this with a smile. Life abroad is wonderful and amazing and I have seen and experienced things I once thought I'd only ever read about in books. It is also often difficult and sometimes lonely. Still. I am, among all women, most richly blessed.
I have found that courage doesn't necessarily mean forging ahead without fear. Sometimes, true courage is carrying on in spite of it.
For my first twenty-five years or so I had few people in my life who saw me as something special. I was not one of them. It wasn't until my late twenties, starting my life anew, that I came to appreciate those things about me that stood me apart from others. I worked hard to overcome my insecurities and look at myself for who I really am. What I saw was a woman who had no idea how to be an adult. I was (am?) a bit neurotic and too sensitive and made plenty of mistakes. I also saw that I was beautiful and those things that make me different are actually now my favorite things about myself. And while I didn't know how to be an adult on my own, I knew I could get there - that I could one day become the amazing woman God created me to be.
When I was 29, I met a man unlike anyone I'd ever known before. He became my best friend. I married him. I followed him far far away. Our journey began in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. We then travelled to his home country of France. After three years there, we moved to Scotland, where we have been for almost a year.
I have spent much of my life being afraid. In France I was afraid of just about everything. I spoke no French and was deeply intimidated. The courage I fought so hard to find in Oklahoma seemed to leave me. I was an alien in a foreign land. I was afraid of roundabouts, which were everywhere. I was afraid of going to the butcher. Being a perfectionist, I had no interest in fumbling about in a language that sounded to me like nasal gibberish. I was very very afraid of what people would think of me. How silly. Still, it was real to me and it hindered what I could do.
So. I practiced roundabouts. We lived in the small town Abbeville (prounced ab-ville or sometimes ab-uh-ville) in the north of France, where, with knuckles whitened from gripping the steering wheel too tightly, I would drive on and off one of the small roundabouts near our home. It took a few months, but I went to the butcher. He laughed at me once. I was trying to ask what cut of lamb to use for a cous cous and the old man who I'd thought was nice went into the back and talked about me, which I could see. The men he spoke to looked to find me. I met their eyes directly and shook my head; they lowered theirs. I was embarrassed, but I went back. Eventually, we all became friends. My French was never perfect, but to my relief, I realized that it didn't have to be.
While adjusting to my new surroundings my husband and I suffered great loss. I thought the sadness might overtake me. Quite frankly, it very nearly did. But I didn't let it. It was a careful and conscious choice. One foot in front of the other, I overcame the sadness. The loss has become a part of me, but I choose to focus on what I gained. I experienced great love. I gained insight. Though for a time I struggled to see where God was during my greatest need, I slowly began to see He'd never left.
When I prayed, I heard no answer. I started to wonder what the point of praying was. Then a knock at my door came, literally. Some of the neighborhood children brought me flowers for no reason. We chatted. They came back twice more with more flowers (that were really just weeds). We had a picnic in the front lawn with chocolate cake and milk. I gained a friend. She was ten years old. When I left France, she gave me a note and her favorite necklace. God does not always answer our prayers with thunder and miracles. Sometimes, He sends us little rosy-cheeked angels bearing flower-weeds.
Now, after all that, I'm not afraid anymore, at least not like I used to be. I still have a lot of growing to do. One thing God has reminded me of again and again is: "to whom much is given, much is required." To this, I will respond with a great quote from Mother Teresa: "I know God won't give me more than I can handle; I just wish He didn't trust me so much!" I say this with a smile. Life abroad is wonderful and amazing and I have seen and experienced things I once thought I'd only ever read about in books. It is also often difficult and sometimes lonely. Still. I am, among all women, most richly blessed.
I have found that courage doesn't necessarily mean forging ahead without fear. Sometimes, true courage is carrying on in spite of it.
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