The songs are in your eyes
So I realized today that I leave to come home tomorrow.
TOMORROW MORNING!!!
I cannot believe it’s been 3 months. 3 months of living in my dreamland... of so much that I can't find the words to explain the fullness of it all. And yet, I'm a bit sad because I feel with all this time here, I have been too busy (or too exhausted or distracted) to sit down and do one of my most favourite pastimes ever: Livejournaling! I love signing on and reading all my friends entries, but a few meagre minutes are all I have to spare on most days and so I choose to read rather than write- it makes me feel closer to home, it makes me feel somehow "right" on my end of friendship. It makes me feel frustrated that I have to choose not to write as well. However weird or cryptic or wrong that might sound, forget about it! Know why? Because I'm updating! Now! Tonight! The little battery on the top right hand corner is showing red and my charging cable is upstairs. And I'm sick and don't feel like going up two flights right now. "I'm going to turn off on you!" (It’s taunting me...) "Just TRY" I reply in severe mind-tones.
My life in England? How could I possibly explain it? A dream, a nightmare, a strange mix of both... in any case, the task before me seems too huge. Because living here has been so much, its meant so much... and I've discovered why. I've always had this obsession with details. They are the little things that make the big things in life so special. They are essential. And I have rediscovered that fact here. Besides the monumental truth that I'm actually HERE (it still makes me smile), what has made this experience the sweetest has been the intricate blessings that show up day by day, the unique people I've met and become part of (or perhaps they have just become a part of me?), the breakthroughs in weaknesses and fears, the whimsical luxury of being able to dress up in warm clothes and a coat and go for a walk on a foggy afternoon, realizing that I still need the grace of God- and then receiving it...
I wake up in the morning and the first thing I see is sky through my windows in the attic. The sky is always a different colour. Pale grey, charcoal, brightest blue, Mordor brown (as I like to call it), faint sapphire.... A million emotions hit me all at once. "God! I'm in England! God! I love my family here! God, I miss my family at home. God! What are we gonna do today? God, I don't want to move from this bed at all." Downstairs I can hear Toby (my littlest "brother") talking to himself and then walking out the door with Charles to go to school. I manage to drag myself out of my room and downstairs just in time to be blocked in by Sigrid's freshly mopped tile floor. ::aggravated sigh:: My mind races. Is the bathroom free? NOPE. Is the kitchen free? NOPE Is the living room free? NOPE..... Ugh, will I always be this lazy and get into trouble for it?! I am forced to go back to my "tower" and sit with my messy hair, growling stomach and my open Bible (which makes it all worth it anyway). Feeling much more encouraged and whole, I attempt to start my day again. Shower, breakfast, dress (a big deal on colder days!) and go! Everyday is different. Some days I visit people. Some days I stay home and work on my Sunday school lesson. Some days I go to work with Rich and Arthy. Some days I stay at home on my day off.... others I sit and lust after my day off.
I love the days that are cold and foggy with a slight misty rain that trades places with golden sunlight every hour. Those are the best days for daydreaming. I love the days that are cold and crisp and brightly sunny. They remind me of home for a split second- until I look outside my window and see brick rooftops and leafless trees that all slope down a hill and clear at the bottom where the river Cole runs next to the park. Those are the best days for exploring. Especially if I am lucky enough to have someone to do it with. I hate the days that are wet and dark and miserable. Well, I hate them at first. But they let me walk around with an umbrella and get squished on the overpacked busses that are crowded with people trying to escape the rain- an experience that makes me want to laugh hysterically at the absurdness of it all. I usually end up muffling my little-girllish giggles on those days. They are good for coming home to my nice warm house and the family inside it.
The people that come to church or that we visit weekly are so diverse. Some are completely fine while others have severe life problems. All of them are crazy in some way or another. I guess this is why I fit in so well. Who better to get along with the needy and “unique” than one who is like them? Yet I love each one of them and pray that my life blesses them in some way or another. Sadru is a 60 year old man from India who hugs and kisses me every time I see him. I’ll never forget how he introduced himself to me: “Hello, my name is Sadru. I come from India. I have made mistakes, but I know the Lord and God is with me.” He treats me like his granddaughter and wants to know when I can come for tea. Hamid is a large, stubborn man who moved from the Middle-east to England. He likes to argue about the pastor’s sermons and his wife Wafa and daughter Rand must wait while he does this. Hoda used to be a Muslim and is now a new Christian. She doesn’t realize that Jesus isn’t all about speaking in tongues, but she is eager to learn and brings her daughter Sippy on Sundays for me to teach while she sits and hears from the Bible. Jonathan and Helen are a middle-aged British couple that live a couple miles outside of the city. They come faithfully every Sunday and are two of the few mature Christians that fellowship with us. It makes my heart happy to see them- servants of the Lord that the know the sound of His voice… and are completely in love with each other after many years of marriage. Soft-spoken and funny, they take special care to check on me every week and also read scripture in our service prayer time. Jennie also used to be a Muslim. Like Hoda, much of her family now has nothing to do with her, but she continues to come with all her heart and life (just as she is) on Sundays. She has amazing clothing style and I like her laugh. Her sister Zoe is my age and doesn’t come to church, but I’ve been able to visit her and I hope to become close friends with her, as well as show her the true love of Jesus.
I like the way England smells. The thing is, when you open your windows and the cold air comes in, it doesn't smell like anything- just cold and crisp and exactly like air should smell. It hits you in the face and you have to smile. But, on the really cold days, you can smell the woodfires of the houses and see the smoke coming out of their chimneys, billowing up with Stratford Road and its shops in the background as you look down the hill. Certain places smell old- like a brown book that you pull from the shelf in a library. It smells like history- hundreds of lives and stories that happened before your own time and now still exist for those who care to find them. And then some places smell new- like City Centre. Shops and stores and fashion and food, bustling crowds. Somehow it has a smell to it, a feel to it.
I love getting off the bus at St. Martin's church and walking up all the stairs in City Centre to the Bullring. Selfridges and St. Martin's on the right and Borders, Costa Coffee, and then all the clothing stores you could ever want to go to. Its always crowded there, but not in a bad way. The tall buildings rise up above you and the cold air keeps you awake and wide-eyed. There are so many places like that here- places dear and special, places exciting and alive, some places whimsical and secret. Places I look forward to coming back to and places I wish I had someone to show them to. But that is another enrty and another time.
Birmingham is not the "England" I thought it would be- but it is so much more in a different way. And like any new place, time has made it and it's people more familiar. I miss home. But there's something about being here. I can't put my finger on it- I wish I could encapsulate the feeling... the sights, sounds, textures, tastes... good and bad (but all mostly good). Its like getting to know a person- so many different aspects and traits to discover and get used to. I have a new respect for that, believe me. I cannot WAIT to go home and see everyone! My heart bursts at the thought of it! But its nice to know that my fingerprints are on the bus stop on Stratford Road, that I get to visit Cadbury World and the Sarehole Mill next year, that Cannon Hill Park has been made my own because I've taken so many photos of it (and frozen my fingers off trying to play on the swings!), that I will forever laugh at the movies the kids and I have made with my digital camera, and that there's a little room in the loft at 66 Runnymede in Birmingham that will be waiting for me the day I come back.
Well my dears, I must finish packing. Come tomorrow, good old Ft. Lauderdale will accept me back into its welcoming arms. I cannot wait- the beach at night, Heidi's ice cream, sleepovers, driving with really loud music, the Hillsboro lighthouse and inlet, the park by my house, Shelby, my bed, Christmas morning...... it can't come soon enough!!!!!!!! I'll see you soon, loves.
From across the pond,
Meg
TOMORROW MORNING!!!
I cannot believe it’s been 3 months. 3 months of living in my dreamland... of so much that I can't find the words to explain the fullness of it all. And yet, I'm a bit sad because I feel with all this time here, I have been too busy (or too exhausted or distracted) to sit down and do one of my most favourite pastimes ever: Livejournaling! I love signing on and reading all my friends entries, but a few meagre minutes are all I have to spare on most days and so I choose to read rather than write- it makes me feel closer to home, it makes me feel somehow "right" on my end of friendship. It makes me feel frustrated that I have to choose not to write as well. However weird or cryptic or wrong that might sound, forget about it! Know why? Because I'm updating! Now! Tonight! The little battery on the top right hand corner is showing red and my charging cable is upstairs. And I'm sick and don't feel like going up two flights right now. "I'm going to turn off on you!" (It’s taunting me...) "Just TRY" I reply in severe mind-tones.
My life in England? How could I possibly explain it? A dream, a nightmare, a strange mix of both... in any case, the task before me seems too huge. Because living here has been so much, its meant so much... and I've discovered why. I've always had this obsession with details. They are the little things that make the big things in life so special. They are essential. And I have rediscovered that fact here. Besides the monumental truth that I'm actually HERE (it still makes me smile), what has made this experience the sweetest has been the intricate blessings that show up day by day, the unique people I've met and become part of (or perhaps they have just become a part of me?), the breakthroughs in weaknesses and fears, the whimsical luxury of being able to dress up in warm clothes and a coat and go for a walk on a foggy afternoon, realizing that I still need the grace of God- and then receiving it...
I wake up in the morning and the first thing I see is sky through my windows in the attic. The sky is always a different colour. Pale grey, charcoal, brightest blue, Mordor brown (as I like to call it), faint sapphire.... A million emotions hit me all at once. "God! I'm in England! God! I love my family here! God, I miss my family at home. God! What are we gonna do today? God, I don't want to move from this bed at all." Downstairs I can hear Toby (my littlest "brother") talking to himself and then walking out the door with Charles to go to school. I manage to drag myself out of my room and downstairs just in time to be blocked in by Sigrid's freshly mopped tile floor. ::aggravated sigh:: My mind races. Is the bathroom free? NOPE. Is the kitchen free? NOPE Is the living room free? NOPE..... Ugh, will I always be this lazy and get into trouble for it?! I am forced to go back to my "tower" and sit with my messy hair, growling stomach and my open Bible (which makes it all worth it anyway). Feeling much more encouraged and whole, I attempt to start my day again. Shower, breakfast, dress (a big deal on colder days!) and go! Everyday is different. Some days I visit people. Some days I stay home and work on my Sunday school lesson. Some days I go to work with Rich and Arthy. Some days I stay at home on my day off.... others I sit and lust after my day off.
I love the days that are cold and foggy with a slight misty rain that trades places with golden sunlight every hour. Those are the best days for daydreaming. I love the days that are cold and crisp and brightly sunny. They remind me of home for a split second- until I look outside my window and see brick rooftops and leafless trees that all slope down a hill and clear at the bottom where the river Cole runs next to the park. Those are the best days for exploring. Especially if I am lucky enough to have someone to do it with. I hate the days that are wet and dark and miserable. Well, I hate them at first. But they let me walk around with an umbrella and get squished on the overpacked busses that are crowded with people trying to escape the rain- an experience that makes me want to laugh hysterically at the absurdness of it all. I usually end up muffling my little-girllish giggles on those days. They are good for coming home to my nice warm house and the family inside it.
The people that come to church or that we visit weekly are so diverse. Some are completely fine while others have severe life problems. All of them are crazy in some way or another. I guess this is why I fit in so well. Who better to get along with the needy and “unique” than one who is like them? Yet I love each one of them and pray that my life blesses them in some way or another. Sadru is a 60 year old man from India who hugs and kisses me every time I see him. I’ll never forget how he introduced himself to me: “Hello, my name is Sadru. I come from India. I have made mistakes, but I know the Lord and God is with me.” He treats me like his granddaughter and wants to know when I can come for tea. Hamid is a large, stubborn man who moved from the Middle-east to England. He likes to argue about the pastor’s sermons and his wife Wafa and daughter Rand must wait while he does this. Hoda used to be a Muslim and is now a new Christian. She doesn’t realize that Jesus isn’t all about speaking in tongues, but she is eager to learn and brings her daughter Sippy on Sundays for me to teach while she sits and hears from the Bible. Jonathan and Helen are a middle-aged British couple that live a couple miles outside of the city. They come faithfully every Sunday and are two of the few mature Christians that fellowship with us. It makes my heart happy to see them- servants of the Lord that the know the sound of His voice… and are completely in love with each other after many years of marriage. Soft-spoken and funny, they take special care to check on me every week and also read scripture in our service prayer time. Jennie also used to be a Muslim. Like Hoda, much of her family now has nothing to do with her, but she continues to come with all her heart and life (just as she is) on Sundays. She has amazing clothing style and I like her laugh. Her sister Zoe is my age and doesn’t come to church, but I’ve been able to visit her and I hope to become close friends with her, as well as show her the true love of Jesus.
I like the way England smells. The thing is, when you open your windows and the cold air comes in, it doesn't smell like anything- just cold and crisp and exactly like air should smell. It hits you in the face and you have to smile. But, on the really cold days, you can smell the woodfires of the houses and see the smoke coming out of their chimneys, billowing up with Stratford Road and its shops in the background as you look down the hill. Certain places smell old- like a brown book that you pull from the shelf in a library. It smells like history- hundreds of lives and stories that happened before your own time and now still exist for those who care to find them. And then some places smell new- like City Centre. Shops and stores and fashion and food, bustling crowds. Somehow it has a smell to it, a feel to it.
I love getting off the bus at St. Martin's church and walking up all the stairs in City Centre to the Bullring. Selfridges and St. Martin's on the right and Borders, Costa Coffee, and then all the clothing stores you could ever want to go to. Its always crowded there, but not in a bad way. The tall buildings rise up above you and the cold air keeps you awake and wide-eyed. There are so many places like that here- places dear and special, places exciting and alive, some places whimsical and secret. Places I look forward to coming back to and places I wish I had someone to show them to. But that is another enrty and another time.
Birmingham is not the "England" I thought it would be- but it is so much more in a different way. And like any new place, time has made it and it's people more familiar. I miss home. But there's something about being here. I can't put my finger on it- I wish I could encapsulate the feeling... the sights, sounds, textures, tastes... good and bad (but all mostly good). Its like getting to know a person- so many different aspects and traits to discover and get used to. I have a new respect for that, believe me. I cannot WAIT to go home and see everyone! My heart bursts at the thought of it! But its nice to know that my fingerprints are on the bus stop on Stratford Road, that I get to visit Cadbury World and the Sarehole Mill next year, that Cannon Hill Park has been made my own because I've taken so many photos of it (and frozen my fingers off trying to play on the swings!), that I will forever laugh at the movies the kids and I have made with my digital camera, and that there's a little room in the loft at 66 Runnymede in Birmingham that will be waiting for me the day I come back.
Well my dears, I must finish packing. Come tomorrow, good old Ft. Lauderdale will accept me back into its welcoming arms. I cannot wait- the beach at night, Heidi's ice cream, sleepovers, driving with really loud music, the Hillsboro lighthouse and inlet, the park by my house, Shelby, my bed, Christmas morning...... it can't come soon enough!!!!!!!! I'll see you soon, loves.
From across the pond,
Meg