s. asia
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this week six years ago.
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six years ago.
Has it really been six years? Oh, the places we saw, the people we met. I look at these photos that seem like something out of a beautiful dream, and yet, my main memory is: Sick. Sick, sick, sick. I did not go to the Taj Mahal — David and Judah visited the Taj Mahal while I holed up in a hotel room in an enormous foreign city with a migraine and a one-year-old. Even so, I’m thankful for every single sight I saw: snow capping the Himalayas, orphans with beaming faces, enough stand-still traffic jams to last a lifetime. And I look at the Julie in those pictures and…
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five years ago.
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our first year of adoption.
The best way I know to describe older child adoption or sibling group adoption, is that it’s like culture shock. Let me explain. This is what it was like to move to India: We planned and dreamed and worked so hard to get to this new country. And after a 24-hour trip in three different airplanes, we set our feet on the ground. I’ll never forget that first nighttime ride from the airport, the cool wind in my face, craning my neck to take in the streets and leafy trees and buildings. Everything. I was exhausted to my core from juggling two toddlers on the Longest Trip Of My Life,…
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friends near and far.
Last week some good friends we lived with in South Asia passed through Columbia and stopped in for the afternoon. It’s been three years and some change since we left so suddenly, one dusty, blinding-hot June morning. Since then we’ve built a whole life here in Columbia. We have work that we love. God brought us our sons. There is much to be grateful for. Still, we carry our memories of South Asia like a wound that’s scabbed over. Every once in awhile we ache to be building our life there instead of here. Sometimes we talk about the “what if’s.” And so when any of our South Asia friends…
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two years.
June 6th came and went without fanfare this year. Last year, it was the day I dreaded. This year, I didn’t even notice its passing until a week later. Two years ago, on June 6th, we flew home from South Asia on medical leave. The kids and I never went back. Isn’t it funny how life is full of sadness and happiness, all mixed in together? For awhile there I was afraid to say I missed South Asia because I didn’t want to sound ungrateful. I’m healthy now, aren’t I? I’m able to be the wife and mother and friend I longed to be and couldn’t when we lived there. I…
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03.09.14.
One of the saddest thing about moving away from South Asia was leaving the friends God gave us. It was only for 18 months, but we made life long friendships there. Moving to another country rooted up the good, the bad, and the ugly in our hearts, and it was a gift to learn to love others and be loved through it. Our friends John and Alison and their boys Joshua and Caleb are in the States for a few months and visited us from North Carolina this weekend. It was a joyful reunion and after close to two years we were so happy to see our kids pick up…
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this day.
I’ve been dreading this day, June 6th, for months and months. And now it’s here. One year. One year since we stepped on a plane and said good-bye to South Asia. And, because of the time difference, also one year since we stepped off a third plane twenty-four hours later into a hot Columbia summer evening. I guess I’ve dreaded this day because the one-year anniversary of our departure seems to hold a new kind of finality. Like a chapter forever closed. No longer can we say, “This year, when we lived in South Asia.” No, now it’s, “. . . over a year ago.” Another life. And so I’ve…
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a year ago.
A year ago David’s aunt Pat came to visit us in South Asia. We showed her around her city and ate great food and she helped us get ready to get on a plane and come back home on medical leave. Such sweet memories. Thanks for making the trip, Pat!
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i miss.
I miss auto rickshaw rides at dusk, the wind whipping my face and hair, the twilit sea of humanity melting together I miss rich, doughy-sour dosa folded and dipped into fiery sambar I miss children’s school uniforms in colors as varied as schools I miss throwing my doors open to cool winter mornings I miss walking to Nilgiri’s for groceries at 8:00 at night, the streets alive with people and noise and life I miss the swelling satisfaction upon finding that elusive baking ingredient I miss flowers that demand to be noticed: hot pinks and oranges and tropical red I miss Deepakshi’s rajma