Little exchanges add up to a lot

Have you ever thought about the little exchanges that make up the bulk of connection with others? Our lives aren’t generally full of D&Ms (deep and meaningful conversations). Though often I long for that deep connection with people, there is, actually, a limit on how much of that I can handle in any one day.

On Friday the school held the biggest school-community event it’s had in three years. It’s a descendent of the ginormous garage sale known as Thrift Shop. I’ve blogged about that event many times over the last 12 years (see some of those posts here). Now it is called the Fall Festival and Bazaar. The “bazaar” side of things is a scaled-down version of Thrift Shop, designed to cost less in terms of time-commitment for staff and volunteers. It also includes something new: a place where individuals or groups can rent a table to peddle their own wares. Because, of the last three years, we've been saving up stuff we want to get rid of (that isn't rubbish), we decided to rent a table.

Our table as it looked at the start of the day.

There were a few great things about having our own table: 

• I had a place to "be" all day. I didn't feel like I was loitering or wasting time. It was also a starting place for conversations that weren't uncomfortable, a here-and-present kind of thing that helped me stay away from topics that aren't so easy to talk about in a light way.
• We had a bucket of "free stuff" that the younger kids loved. It's such fun giving things away.
• I got to make and sell fudge (but I was disappointed with the packaging we managed, which made the fudge look decidedly dodgy).
• We did actually get rid of a fair bit of stuff to places that it will be used (rather than just sent to the rubbish). We were able to give two boxes of stuff to the Salvation Army who came at the end for stuff that hadn't been sold.

I went into Friday expecting lots of more conversations, and came away feeling a little dissatisfied with how insubstantial most of the exchanges were. But, as I've seen as I reflected over the weekend is that on Thursday and Friday I was part of the gentle web of connection that has begun forming again in the community that centres around the school. Looking back, I had short conversations about all the following things:

A future camping trip

Why I had a nearly 100-year-old hymn book for sale (yes, I sold it)

A recent 500 pound, 8-foot bear attack in the US (yes, there was)

How much my youngest son has grown and changed

How to say “poached egg” in Japanese (no, I can't remember now)

How to use a baccarat espresso maker

What Thrift Shop used to look like (for someone new in the community)

Where Kuranda is (inland from Cairns)

How much CAJ pays substitute teachers

The difference between chocolate and fudge (yes, we were confused by the question)

What it was like growing up a few blocks from the US on the Canadian side of the border and how I’ve never lived in a country that has international land borders (only sea borders, hence “going overseas” is synonymous with going to another country). 

Shopping habits: I prefer to be left alone to consider the option and very much dislike shopkeepers in my face.

How exhausting parenting is emotionally, and how ready I am to be moving on out of being the parent of a school-aged child (7 ½ months…but I’m not counting :D).

Fudge and how we’ve given this to our boys’ teachers for years. This is the last year that will happen.

How I got rejected by the blood bank on Friday at the school because my haemoglobin was a little bit low.

Plans for the next couple of years (moving out, home assignment from July 2023, moving back to Japan).

The big gaps that the pandemic has left us with in community: those whose kids started at the school during the pandemic don’t know the parents of their kids’ friends. I don’t know the faces of a bunch of new teachers (and their kids). That's something that rarely happened before the pandemic, due to staff-family gatherings that have usually been held through the year.

I met a lady who works for the same organisation that publishes the magazine. I’ve only really interacted with her over email, though perhaps we’ve met once, I can’t remember.

I got some hugs and got to see some people I haven’t seen in months or years.

And a thank you for my recent blog posts from someone who says she reads everything I write!

I'll stop there. When you add all that up, that's a lot of networking. And the sorts of stuff that doesn’t happen when you aren’t face-to-face with people. I was exhausted on Friday night (and Saturday). But also thankful. 

Last week was quite a week!

I always struggle to write here after I've shared something deep and vulnerable. I've been truly bowled over by the encouragement I've received since hitting "Publish" last Tuesday. Some of it can be seen on my Facebook page, with more than 20 comments there. Here's a sample:

"You're not alone. Thanks for sharing your experience and heart."

"Wendy, I didn't know. I'm so sorry you've had to walk this journey."

"Thank you for posting this . . . We all face many challenges in our lives and families, and we need to know we aren't alone."

"It's also a struggle that doesn't end with children growing up and leaving home."

    [Yes, I know. I've had one son in Australia right through the pandemic who hasn't had an easy time. It's been hard to watch him at times.]    

A friend shared this beautiful prayer:

Father of all Compassion, God of healing and hope, I pray today for those who suffer deeply within their minds, naming particular friends and family before you now.

Prince of Peace, minister most gently to those who are closest to you because their hearts and minds are broken. Speak ancient words that silence storms. Break stigma, isolation and shame.

Wonderful Counsellor, Spirit of Shalom, renew the wisdom of those who care and the resilience of those who share their lives with vulnerable people. Wherever there is a ‘spirit of despair’ please pour out the ‘oil of gladness’ today in unexpected moments of joy.

And so, may the love of the Father, the grace of the Spirit and the mind of Christ himself prevail in our world.

Amen            ~ Pete Greig

People wrote comments on the actual blog post too. And I've received in-person hugs as well as several private messages. It's been a bit of an overwhelming response.

It was a bit of an interesting week last week, actually. The week before I'd been struggling with not being busy enough (and with David being away on a school trip and no little kids to look after, and a bit of lull at work, plus rain meaning I couldn't go riding). I had that horrible voice in my head: "You're a bit useless Wendy, not much good at all." It was in the context of all that that I both saw that Facebook comment that first made me angry and then propelled me to write.

David and I celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary a 
few weeks ago.

Then, after having hit publish last Tuesday, I had people telling me that I wasn't useless at all. That I'd given them a voice when they didn't have one. That in itself was an encouragement.

I had a friend who I mostly know online (we've met once). She's followed my exploits and what I've written for many years now and specifically reminded me of many of the things we've done to invest in our boys (e.g. reading to the boys at dinner, camping, games nights, sport etc., plus working hard at drawing closer to each other as parents).

I also, independent of writing that blog post, I found some more of "my people": a group of expats in Japan who also have "special kids". I cried as I told them an abbreviated version of my story. Though I've told parts of my story to quite a number of people now, I don't always cry. But to tell it to others who know what it's like to struggle with hidden (or not so hidden) disability with their kids, in a land where they aren't natives, was powerful.

I also had another coffee time with a friend who is going through a different kind of parenting struggle and she wrote to me later with encouragement about our conversation. She also specifically assured me that I am certainly not useless!

So, it was quite the week.

But it's just a step along the journey. We're by no means finished this long road of parenting, and I don't think this side of heaven we ever will. But if my story can help encourage others along the way, then I'm doing the right thing: helping others by using my gift of writing true stories. If I can encourage you to tell others about the secret struggles you are having, then I'm also doing the right thing. 

Let's not be ashamed of the less-than-perfect lives that we live: none of our kids are perfect and none of us parents are perfect. But we can do the best we can in the circumstances we find ourselves in. And if we are Christians, we can keep our eyes fixed on our heavenly Father, who never leaves us, and indeed goes before us.

The truth about journeying with illness that isn’t physical

Monday was international mental health awareness day and as this is something that has become part of my family's life over the last few years, I have been pondering how to write about it. I'm hesitant, but last week I was encouraged by two separate people within an hour of one another, that telling our stories is valuable and important, something I know, but need reminding of occasionally. And another person on the same day asked about my writing. All of this was a reminder that God has given me a gift for writing, so I should use it, even when it is a little bit scary. For though I’ve talked to various people about portions of the journey that our family have been on with mental illness, writing it in a public forum is a different level. I’m scared to hit publish on this post!

Until mental illness became part of my own family's story, I knew little about it. Though possibly I knew more than some as my university degree touched on it. But I consciously tried to stay as far away from having to interact with this topic and this “scene” as I could, until it appeared under my own roof and I couldn't run any more. I’m writing for those of you who have no experience of living with someone with a mental illness, that you might know some of the struggles we have. But I also write for the other parents out there who are quietly, perhaps silently, struggling.

I recently got quite upset when someone wrote on their social media page that they'd never heard a negative comment about their child. It's difficult to imagine a life like that. I'd like to be someone who hasn't had to talk to teachers about their child's behaviour (behaviour that stemmed from a neurodevelopmental disorder and mental illness). I'd like to be someone who hasn't had to take their child to a psychologist for an assessment and had a diagnosis (or several) presented to them. I'd like to be someone who hasn't had to research psychiatric drugs and sit in a psychiatrist's office.

I'm scarred because I've heard mothers of classmates of my son say things that show they don't understand their kids are barely aware that my son is in their class, let alone that he’s struggling. And I’m wounded because another mother told me she'd hate to have a child with a disability. So

This little plant is thriving in a hard place. That's what I want to see me and my family doing too. 

I hesitate to share about our experience because I know there are people out there who simply aren't interested in understanding.

But what I was most sad about when I started this blog post the other day is that someone may think that they have never heard a negative thing about their child because they are great parents and have, in their own power and strength, raised amazing children.

I know that I haven't been a perfect parent and that my kids have not had a perfect childhood, but I can't allow myself to be ashamed that they've struggled. That we've struggled as a family. A lot of what's happened isn't my fault, and nor is it the fault of my children.

I wish I didn't have the knowledge that suicidal thoughts are part of one of my son's experience. I wish that another of my sons hadn't had someone close to him take her life.

I wish that our dinner times had been ones of great conversation and connection over the years. We’ve often struggled, and it’s not because we don’t value that time. We’ve tried, really hard, every day, but dinners are still often a struggle. Polite conversation is not something everyone does well, or happily. I wish I could say I hadn’t felt judged because of my kids’ social skills.

Mental illness in a teenager is difficult because it is very often not easy to diagnose. It masquerades as a lack of motivation, as belligerence, as disobedience, as stubbornness, or a lack of confidence, and many other ways that look like behavioural issues, not illness.

For example: Is not sitting with anyone at lunchtime at school worthy of concern? Are they shy and prefer their own company, or do they lack the same interests or social skills as other children, are they the victim of bullying, or are they socially anxious, or do the sounds that other people make when they eat bother them? As they get older: not being able to get assignments in on time: is that just poor organisation, or is it because they have trouble concentrating, or are they depressed and struggling with motivation? Or is the effort just to get out of the house and interact with others through the day draining them of all the energy they have and there’s none left for doing difficult assignments?

I wish I was someone who could talk freely with my son about future plans. Plans for college or work; about the big, hairy audacious goals that some young people have. For several years we’ve struggled to talk to him about the next week. Anxiety takes a toll and makes planning for the next day hard, let alone planning for the start of life after high school.

As a parent of someone with mental illness, I've had to be hypervigilant at times (and I know that is the case for some parents of kids with other disorders also, like epilepsy and some kids on the Autistic Spectrum). Hypervigilance is exhausting. It's a hidden hurdle a parent must overcome to participate in daily life outside the home. If you have to be hypervigilant, it's important to take care of yourself and please don't feel you have to make excuses.

Mental illness in your house means you become a buffer between your child and the rest of the world. An advocate too, if you choose to be. I've had to spend a lot of time explaining our son and our family to others. Explaining why my son isn't getting out of bed at an "appropriate" time, explaining why he's wearing headphones, or why he's hitting his head. I've had to explain why he's not participating in polite dinner conversation or why he won't share a bedroom with his brother when we're traveling.

We've had to adjust our family's life and our parenting in so many big and small ways, it is hard to even remember them all now because many have become instinctual. It's only when other people see us behaving in a way they don't think is normal that we remember (and may have to explain).

Grief is part of all this and I guess that is part of why I feel this so deeply when people "boast" about their brilliant kids. I grieve that my family has suffered in this way. I am sad that what seems easy to some, is a battle for us. On a bad day it's tough to keep looking upwards, to trust that our God loves us and our kids as much as he says he does. To know that he goes before us, and that our situation is known to him. 

Sacred pathways spiritual temperaments

I've just finished reading a book called Sacred Pathways by Gary L. Thomas. It's about different "spiritual temperaments". That is, about various ways that people find it more natural to worship God. This is fascinating to me, and consolidates things that I've contemplated over the years as I work and live in an interdenominational environment.

I've found the book helpful for a number of reasons:

This helps with the tendency to be judgemental of people who do things differently to you. I work with a lot of different people from a wide range of backgrounds. It's good to have a better understanding of their perspective when it comes to worship and connecting with God, and to move away from that tendency that "only my 'tribe' does it right".

It's taught me about my Christian background and how that plays into the way I think about worship. I come from a tradition that strongly values intellectualism. I see that in how much emphasis they put on the words of songs, and on concentrating carefully on a complex, often theologically rich sermon. 

The big revelation that I had as I recognised this was the struggle I have every week with worshipping in Japanese. I only grasp small portions of sermons and most Japanese worship songs mean little to me. However, I love singing with my Japanese brothers and sisters. That's not an intellectual activity for me, it's a sense-filled one that I appreciate. Sermons often turn into intellectual activities as I work really hard to understand what's being said, and look up various words, but I don't feel particularly close to God doing this. It's a language learning exercise that wears me out every week.

The book has helped me see that there are other ways to worship. This is really helpful because my background, and also the unspoken emphasis of my organisation, is that "words" are all important. As a writer, I have to agree . . . to some extent. But here's the interesting thing: being at church is important to me. When services were only online during the pandemic, I could barely bring myself to listen to a Japanese worship service from my home. However, I appreciate going to a worship service in person. I can only account for that as being I appreciate the atmosphere, the music and the beauty of the building, I appreciate being in the same space as others who are worshipping, and even the comfort that comes from the familiar rhythm of the elements of a worship service.

The book has taught me other things about me. I would never have called myself an "activist" (in fact I tend to run from confrontation), however the book showed me that a deep passion and involvement in mission work, like I have, is a form of activism. I also wouldn't have picked myself to be an "enthusiast" either, but in mission work we take risks and get to see God work in supernatural ways (like people giving money for the last 21 years for us to serve in Japan). Apparently both these things are characteristics of enthusiasts.

And I was surprised at how strongly I had affinity to caregiving, for example offering rides to people, cooking for them, and helping with needs when I can. I love caring for my own family by providing meals for them, and making sure they have a reasonably clean and tidy house to go about their daily lives in (though I don't take that too far, I get bored too easily with housekeeping).

I also didn't realise how much time in nature and appreciating God's creation was also a way I love to worship God. Though I should have known that, given how I love camping and going to parks, taking care of pot plants, and getting out of the city. Having my work desk in a place where I can see outside, especially seeing green, is also important to me.

Probably this isn't a book for Christians who are new to the faith, or who have a shallow faith. But for someone who has been around a while and has a reasonable grounding in basic truths of the gospel, it's a helpful read. I'm already feeling less guilty about not being the best Japanese student, and more appreciative of those who feel that liturgy or incense or fasting or  drawing is a really good way for them to connect with God.

It's always good to remember that the God of the Bible is a big, humungous God. One that we can't put into boxes. It makes perfect sense that just as he's made so many humans, each one different, that he's able to connect deeply with each one, and never in exactly the same way.

[And a very cool thing: I discovered this book through editing an article by a colleague/friend of mine, then found the ebook in my local Australian public library (Ipswich)!] 

Trying to feel fully settled again

A cross-cultural friend I know in Japan asked me this week: "Do you feel fully settled back in at home?"

The last "nature" I soaked up in Australia 
before we flew back earlier this month.

My answer: Yes, and no. 

Yes, I'm doing all the things I usually do when I'm here, and it feels fairly normal. I'm even baking!

But no, my head still feels a little like it hasn't quite turned the page. Being in Australia was good, but it was unsettling. It stirred up longings to be with friends there, and for things that are so easy to do there, but a little bit harder here. That is, I'm a little bit homesick. I'm also still processing the various things that happened there, which is also a bit unsettling. But I'm continuing to go through the motions and hopefully my mind will catch up soon.

Also "no" because I've arrived in the middle of things. The school year has already started for my husband, and youngest son. 

Plus it's our son's last school year. Therefore our last year with a child at school! I'm terrible at not thinking ahead on these things (I spent a long time anticipating him starting school, kicking off my "all the kids at school" phase after ten years of having little kids at home all day, every day.) 

This is even more momentous because this is not just the end of being school-parents, but also the end of life in Japan with kids in our home. We're going on home assignment in late July next year for twelve months. Prior to that we will move out of the house we've lived in since our youngest started school in 2010. We will be downsizing significantly because when/if we come back to Japan, it will be without offspring. We will be empty nesters and will move into a smaller apartment.

That's a lot of big change, and it's on my mind, and unlikely to completely disappear out of my consciousness as we walk through a lot of "lasts" in the next year. So, I may not completely settle down for many months, even though my suitcase is completely unpacked and put away.

But again, what can I do? I will walk through the daily and weekly routines, trying to ground myself in the now and be as settled and present as I can.

How can God help me with this? Here are some thoughts from this blog post.

1. Take time to focus on God. "Fix your eyes on Jesus" (Heb. 3:1) and "set our minds on things above" (Col. 3:2).

2. Be content. Paul tells us he learned to be content (Phil. 4:11). I'm still learning this, but I think part of it is taking the time to be thankful, and telling God (1 Thess. 5:18).

3. Continuing to be prayerful. Starting every day with prayer, and turning to God in prayer more regularly through the day (Col. 4:2).

4. Remember God's exhortations to be strong and courageous (e.g. Joshua 1:9).

5. Think about others, don't get wrapped up in myself. Love others! (1 Cor. 16:14)

6. Trust God with the future (Psalm 25:1).

I'm preaching to myself!

What do you struggle with when you're facing big change that you know is coming?

Families: microcosms of cultures

During our time in Australia we stayed in a variety of different places. Twice we stayed with family members, twice (three times for me and our middle son) we stayed in a self-contained apartment attached to someone else’s house. Only once did we stay on our own in a detached house.

This humble house is the only place where
we lived in a detached building as a family
while we were in Australia.

Then, at the start of August, David and our youngest son left for Japan and our middle son and I moved into live with a family as guests. We were like boarders, we provided our own lunch and breakfasts and did our own washing, they provided us with dinner. We each had our own small room. This is where I quarantined with COVID. After nearly three weeks here we separated. He went to stay with his brother in his share house for ten days, and I went to stay as a guest of the family of a close friend. 

Each of these locations had their own culture.  On reflection, we were “free-est” when we rented a (holiday) house for a week.

I’m guessing that most people haven’t stayed for as long as ten days or three weeks with another unrelated family (we've done it a few times, when we visited Perth for deputation). Generally, in our Western culture, we live with our own immediate family, and only visit other families for short periods. For four years I lived in a residential college (dorm) when I was at uni. Then, after I graduated, I lived in three different situations before I got married: on my own, with part-time housemate, and with a full-time housemate. But it’s been almost 25 years since I stayed with someone other than my family for a long period.

As I reflect on what we’ve experienced since June, I’ve realised how some of the things that stressed me most was living with my family with the other family cultures we experienced. I call them cultures deliberately, because they each have rules. They each have unwritten expectations and codes of behaviour that aren’t easily decoded by outsiders.

Family cultures are influenced by so many factors, here are a some:

• Personalities
• Ages of family members
• Life experience
• Location
• Environment
• Pets
• Habits
• Work
• Busyness
• Expectations
• Health
• Division of labour
• Housing: layout, resources (e.g. hot water), cleanliness, age etc.
• Tone of voice often used
• Toleration of conflict
• Parenting styles
• Values
• Goals

For example, a family with school-aged kids who have two parents working outside the home looks very different to a family with older, fairly independent teens and parents who often work from home. Factors that vary enormously include different expectations about what meal times should look like, how recreational time is spent, what expectations the family has about security, showering, feeding and exercise of pets, whether they are introverts or extroverts, and messy or slightly obsessive about cleanliness. 

When you encounter someone outside their home (including on social media), you know very little about their home life and how things work there. When you are a houseguest, you have to be fairly alert to figure some of these things out. Depending on the family, some expectations are overtly stated, but other expectations aren't even conscious. This is complicated by the fact that we guests each bring our own expectations, needs, and values into the situation!

All of this is also affected by our role as a guest in the household. Hosts are being generous, so in reality they hold more power than you do in the situation. Not that I'm saying our hosts abused this power they held (although they may not have realised how much of a power imbalance existed), but it's worthwhile acknowledging that as a guest you are somewhat powerless. Most guests feel the pressure to not to cause any unnecessary inconvenience to their hosts. That can be a stressful tension to live with, especially over a long period.

So, how did I survive all these different living situations, especially when sharing a kitchen/bathroom/living area?

My strategies as a guest this time

If I could avoid the early-morning breakfast-bathroom rush, I did. Most of the time I didn’t need to be up as early as my hosts, so I just waited until they’d finished using the kitchen and bathroom. I tried to ask questions about important things like the laundry, shower use, dishwasher, and security. And I took my own coffee-making equipment (a very portable AeroPress Go)! 

I don’t have food allergies or sensitivities and can eat most things, so that makes being a guest easier. But I can’t use regular soap, it dries my skin out and causes rashes, so I provided my own body soap and my own dishwashing gloves. I also used my own pillow most of the time. 

In each location I tried to unpack as best I could, which included putting clothes on hangers or in drawers, so I didn’t feel so much like I was living out of a suitcase. If I needed space, I retreated to my bedroom for solitary time. 

On a couple of occasions, when something was bugging me about the house that I could influence, I dealt with it myself, rather than expecting that the host would meet my expectations. 

And, I wore comfortable slip-on shoes inside! We’re very used to Japanese houses, where the floor is fairly free of debris, I find walking around in bare feet or socks in most Australian house difficult. I also find it's "unrelaxing" to always be wearing outside shoes inside.

Reflecting

As I write all this down, I realise why I'm struggling to regain my full strength, other than still recovering from two respiratory infections in the last six weeks. It's exhausting being a guest. It's exhausting moving around from place to place. You are outside your own family culture, or as a parent, you've brought your family culture with you and you're trying to do your best to make sure your family are good guests. When you're at home with your usual family in your usual accommodation, you are most relaxed. Most of the unwritten rules are understood. Daily life happens relatively smoothly, because you have routines that work for you. (I know of course that that is the ideal, that there is always some level of friction when people live together, and probably even more so when you add children into the mix.)

However, I am very grateful to all those who generously hosted us. We're not a neat, easy-to-host family. We're a cross cultural family and some of our foibles are born of that. Other foibles are born of difficulty "reading the room" and mental illness. And some of our hosts caught us at the tail end of the nearly three months we spent as guests, and therefore did not catch us at our best.

I'm also grateful to finally be back in my own house, where the unwritten expectations are understood. Where I can choose what mountains to battle over. And where I can sleep on my own bed, with all my stuff in the places where I can find them.

The other side of transitionitis

Driving home on Tokyo's expressways late on a 
Sunday night is a pretty pleasant experience. I'm
just glad I was a passenger, I was too tired to drive!

I'm on the other side! 

If you're wondering how the rest of our trip went, it was relatively smooth. Our hostess in Brisbane actually drove us to our airport-adjacent hotel (over an hour and a half), and we stayed there on Saturday night. It was a blessed time in the "airlock" between countries and on Sunday morning we experienced the easiest transfer to an international airport we've ever had: walking 50m to the terminal. We spent twice as long as we'd expected in that airport. The usual story we're hearing from airlines these days: various baggage handling and other difficulties that delayed our takeoff nearly three hours. But it wasn't our problem. We had two jobs: to wait patiently and mind our own needs. 

We eventually took off on our 8+ hr flight and arrived about 10pm. Moving through health-app checks, immigration, collecting baggage, and customs didn't take very long and we soon were greeted by David who switched our SIM cards (yes, this is part of our international travel these days) and drove us home. I collapsed into my own bed at 12.50 am.

Our trip to Australia was a much thought about, much discussed event for months leading up to it. Most of our time wasn't recreational, though it wasn't madly rushing around working either. It was a complicated trip, with messy goals and lots of things about it were unclear, even to us. So I'm really glad to be past that now.

Now I'm on the other side (of transitionitis) my sleep is settling down, my digestion (and pooping) is improving, my concentration and emotions are also settling. I'm guessing that I'm no longer running on a high level of alertness and adrenaline and that's where some of my fatigue is coming from. I'm hoping my stamina and health in general is improving. While I was away from Japan, I've had two viral infections (including COVID), one fungal infection, and one bacterial. At times it's been a battle to stay positive despite the illness and disruption to routines. 

On Monday, less than 24 hours after I arrived back in Tokyo, David and I took a short walk after dinner. It was shortened both by the onset of rain and my lack of lung capacity. Yes, I still am battling a respiratory infection and the asthma that goes with it. While we were walking, though, we pondered how difficult it had been to get exercise while we were away. We had little routine, we changed locations a number of times and had different interpersonal obligations with some of our time. It's lovely to be getting back to usual routines and a more healthy lifestyle.

On Tuesday David took some time off to drive us to the immigration office an hour south of here to pick up our new visas and resident cards. We wondered if that was the right thing, but it turned out I really needed his support. I was exhausted and sick and simply didn't have the energy to much more than being a passenger.

Since then I've gradually been increasing my hours working at my desk, and gradually taking on more household management tasks. But I'm still planning to "lie low" until at least Monday, giving my body maximum opportunity to recover.

This has been a big undertaking, not a fun "holiday jaunt". I'm feeling hopeful that in the long-term this has been a worthwhile exercise; a fruitful time in which we used our limited resources as well as we could manage. It will be interesting to look back at it all in a couple of years; hopefully we'll be able to see many more of the positive, intangible things that have been achieved.

An international friend and I have been reminding one another all year about our God who "goes before us" (Deut. 31:8). That's really been the theme for the year. Continuing to trust him in the midst of the stress, anxiety, and uncertainty is both my daily challenge and my testimony as I walk each day by faith.