day two.

He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face to his and kissed her.  ‘Happy birthday, glimmering girl.  Sorry it’s been such a hassle.’

‘It isn’t such a hassle, really.  It’s just life—quirky and scary and lovely and immense.  The beauty to be seen from our window can’t be diminished by the dark soul that crawled out of it last night.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

– Jan Karon

In the Company of Others

The day we left for South Asia, I lay in bed at 124 Market Street and felt so panicked I couldn’t move.  I can’t get on the plane.  My stomach churned with nausea.  I was terrified.  God, you’re asking too much from me.  Don’t make me do this.  Please.

Then, in my heart what I heard was, Just get out of bed.  That’s all you need to do.

I sat up and swung my legs around and my feet brushed the worn wood floor.  And I got out of bed.  I took a hot shower.  My stomach eased.

God’s grace arrived, not a moment too soon.

His grace helped me say good-bye to two of the people I love most in the world and then put one foot in front of the other, hour by hour, bleary-eyed, across oceans, time zones, and airports.

And now, I awake on Day 2 of our once-again Asia life, and so far it is not at all what I expected.

I find myself looking around our apartment with something akin to delight.  And my soul is stretching out into this familiar space with a sigh of relief.  Home.

With all the emotions swirling around our departure, the very last thing I expected to feel when we arrived here is relief.

621.  our city’s sunshine pouring in through open windows.

622.  monsoon winds rustling through the palms and 65 degrees at night.

623.  eight full-to-bursting suitcases full of Things We Needed, unpacked and finding homes in our home.

624.  my children tearing through our flat, rediscovering their bedroom and their toys.

During a Skype meeting with my counselor, in one of my darkest moments here in Asia, she told me, “Do not think about next week.  Do not think about tomorrow.  All you need is this moment, this hour.  Ask, ‘Father, help me to live just this one hour.’”

Trying to cling to that is what helped me through the past couple of months.

And now I think maybe, for a little while, God has taken away the trying.  It is happening on its own.

When I think of the next two years, I panic.

When I think of the next six months, I panic.

But I’m not thinking about those things right now.  I am thinking of today.

625.  Judah’s soft murmurs in the living room, stretched out on the rug, playing all by himself.

626.  stacks of books to fill out our bookcases.

627.  the groceries and bananas and mangoes Colleen had waiting for us on the counter when we returned.

628.  the casserole and tuna salad and fresh Thom’s rolls Keli left in our fridge.

I think I expected the culture shock to hit full-force again when we got off the plane.  But, so far, it hasn’t.  Things seem . . . familiar.  The sounds.  The smells.  The funny –tasting milk.  Coming home to a broken water filter and broken internet (how can they break when we’re not even here to use them?). The electricity cutting out when I’m getting ready for bed.

I thought returning and facing those things would instantly send me into a downward spiral of stress.  But they haven’t.  They seem . . . normal.

And six months really does make a world of difference.   We don’t sit and feel helpless.  We run across the street to Kumar’s for six 2-litre bottles of water and call the water filter man.  We take our laptop to Richey’s to check email and call the internet company. I stand in the dark and wait for the generator to hum so I can take out my contacts.

629.  Anila, our first floor neighbor, who greeted me with a big smile in the stairwell and an offer to help in any way we need her.

630.  the fourth bowl of Mom Gentino’s homemade granola I’ve finished since I’ve been back.  Comfort food.

631.  our cozy cave of a bedroom, with its simple furniture and clean surfaces and a.c. unit.

632. 632. the mango and banana yogurt smoothie David just brought me for a mid-morning snack.

633.  puttering around in our space, organizing clothes and toys and kitchen utensils.

634.  the prayers of the saints, which have brought us this far.

There is still the aching in my heart, over who we have left behind.  That hasn’t diminished at all.

But here is the surprise of this morning: the beauty of the palm trees and our very own home and our hand-made pottery coffee mugs isn’t diminished by the aching.