It's hard to reflect when you're in the middle of it

A fellow writer said to me recently that she wants to write about the current situation, but is reluctant for a few reasons.

There is a sense that we're living through history that needs to be recorded, but also that in some ways we need to live through it before we can write reflectively about it. There are also a lot of sensitive toes that are easy to step on at the moment, probably a lot more than usual. Additionally there are so many threads running through this current season that it's hard to know even where to start to write much (though much is being written). Hence I didn't get to writing here last week, though I have been adding to a list of ideas to write about.

Despite the strangeness and difficulties, though, our weeks are running past relatively quickly and I've been busy enough to find that I'm tired each evening and certainly by the weekend. Indeed, I don't think I'm alone in finding these weeks and months tiring. There's been so much to adjust to and much to ponder. Just like when we first moved to Japan. Culture shock. New rules. Worries. Grief. It's not always easy to find ways to look after myself. Sharing so much of my day with two teenage boys isn't always fun. I'm glad I've got books to retreat to (I'm soooo thankful for the Kindle Fire I got for Christmas—who knew that would be so timely—and the library in Australia I get to borrow ebooks from).

This was one of the batches of biscuits that I made
for my friends. Australian and Lego biscuit cutters
made it extra fun to give them away to a
non-Australian family.

Over the weekend I indulged in baking, which is probably why I didn't find time to write on my blog, as I'd hoped to. As I wrote in this post late last year, baking is one of my loves. It's something that rejuvenates my soul. I've been doing a lot lately, as many people have. This weekend past I was blessed to have the time and resources to bake for others. I rarely have the time to do that in May, so this was indeed an opportunity. I was able to provide some home-cooked goodies to two families we are friends with. I'm please to say I've got enough flour to continue baking this coming weekend (are Japanese people baking more?). There's a Chocolate Zucchini cake I'm dying to try out again, as well as the ongoing search for the best brownie recipe.

Our weekends have been quiet these last couple of months. Actually quite pleasant, until you realise we've got very few events to look forward to. It's easier if I just focus on today, or even, this week, than try to think too far ahead. One way I make it through difficult seasons is to have what a certain psychologist calls "Lily Pads"—things to look forward to. Part of the challenge of this time is that so many of our lily pads have been shot out of the water. And the related challenge is that we don't know when we can start making plans again. It was fun this morning over breakfast to talk about hopes we have for 2024 (during our next home assignment)! Only God knows if they will come to fruition, but it was fun (and probably quite healthy) to dream about it.

On Saturday I actually hit a wobbly spot in the middle of baking when I realised that we were heading into "Farewell" season (here's one of my posts about this season in 2016). It is a difficult season any year, but this year it's going to be worse because much of it will not be done in person. One of my closer friends is leaving Japan next month and not coming back in the near future.

I've been writing this blog post for a few days now and it's time to wrap it up while I'm feeling able to. Last night I only got about 5 ½ hrs broken sleep and I suspect that might hit hard later today or tomorrow. 

Our 11th grade son had a calculus exam in our dining room at 3 am! It's another flow-on effect from COVID-19. Many American and American-flavoured international schools offer college-level subjects called AP. These subjects cost extra and have a single external exam. Doing well on them gives you college credit at American institutions and, I presume, bragging rights on their applications; but merely helps with increasing your tertiary admission rank (and also can function as prerequisite subjects for some courses) for Australian students. Usually these exams take place in very controlled environments, but they have been modified this year and take place in student's homes at a single time across the world. Of course in an American-centric way, so that all students in this part of the world are faced with doing it in the early hours of the morning. No idea how they stop kids cheating, but that's not my problem. Anyway, though I wasn't downstairs with my son, I couldn't sleep (something about a mother's heart).

I generally don't do well with sleep deprivation, but I think that I've been getting more sleep than usual lately (no long Saturdays at Track meets and getting up a little later because my husband doesn't have to be at school by 8am). So I'm not feeling too bad so far. We've got one more exam on Friday, but it's 5 am, not 3 am. And I write "We" deliberately, because this is bigger than just something our son is doing, with ¾ of the household losing sleep last night!

But back to the idea that reflecting on what's going on right now is hard, not the least because there is a lot of fluctuation intermingled with a lot of same-ness. But I'm reminded of a book I re-read recently: My Seventh Monsoon by Naomi Reed. She writes about different seasons in her life up till that point, but then when she got to where she was when she was writing she said, "It can indeed be a joy to look back and see the way God works through seasons . . . The much harder task is to live within the season 'right now.'" 

A couple of pages later she wrote:

"The stories from this new season are worming their way out, wanting to be told . . . waiting to be told. But it's me. I'm not ready to tell them yet. . . I can't tell the stories until the season is done. Why can't I? I think it's because I don't know how it will end up. I don't know how long it will go on for. I do't know what I will make of it at the end. Or what I will have learnt. Or how I will have emerged. Without the perspective of time, it's very difficult to know. it's very difficult to live in the season right now. . .  

Right in the middle of a season, we just don't know. We can't neatly define, we can't neatly wrap up, and we can't neatly expound. All we can do is live. And in the living, we grow and we learn, we enjoy and we cry, we struggle and we rejoice. We do it right now, without knowing what's around the corner . . .without knowing what will come out of it." (Chapter 16).

I think that summarizes how I feel. All I can do is live right now, and in the living will grow and cry, and struggle, and rejoice.