Western Roots

It has occurred to me that I usually blog about my adventures into the Chinese way of life.  However, I wanted to note that I am still in touch with my roots...and here are some of the ways.

Western Dining - Sometimes a girl just needs a big ol' hamburger.

Visits - Mom visited Harbin.  YAY!!

Metro - The best import store in Harbin...yes, we shop in herds of foreigners.

Moody Grads - There are a handful of Moody Grads floating around the organization.  (below Erica and I are demonstrating our love of Moody with our own "Arch.")

Top 10 Ways I'm Acclimating

10. I own 10 pairs of house slippers/shoes.
9. It's normal to clean the poo off my eggs...don't you?
8. I'm drinking more tea than coffee. (!!)
7. I walk arm in arm with friends.
6. Meat is optional...vegetables are not.
5. I walk on streets and believe sidewalks are parking lots.
4. I put my unwanted food on the table (or floor).
3. I believe the correct driving position is 10 and horn.
2. I excitedly point at any blonde that I see.
1. I lecture people on the number of layers they are wearing.

"Blending In"

Remembering Grandma

I wrote this a year ago, shortly before my Grandma passed away.  In loving memory...

1928 - 2010

My definition of love has been challenged of late.  I have been told that my definition of love is too deep, too extravagant, and too costly.  In response to this challenge, I began a search to find why I define love in such an apparently unique way.

In this search, I looked to my family.  My family is not perfect…never have been, never will be.  My family is crazy, but I know that my family loves. 

My grandma is not like most grandmas.  I’ve never seen her knit or crochet and we didn’t usually get cookies fresh from the oven.  She didn’t always hug me and she was never overly sweet.  However, my grandmother is a survivor.  Life taught her from day one that it’s going to be hard, people cannot be depended upon, and you’re on your own.  Throughout her life people left her by death, by neglect, and by abandonment.  She loved and she lost, but she survived.  When her husband left her with three kids, a mortgage and a divorce, she put on her heels and marched to work.  She survived and she fought for her kids.  While always being a survivor did save her and her kids, it didn’t always leave her with the ability or knowledge of how to show love.  She loved…I know she did…but she didn’t always act it out or communicate it.

Fast forward 40 years.

My grandfather that I had never met shows up completely destitute, sick, and unable to take care of himself.  In a decision filled with grace and mercy, my mom and aunt take care of him.  I never heard him say thank you and he never said I’m sorry.  He didn’t tell them that he loved them and he never told them that he was grateful for them.  And yet, they loved him and served him until the end.

Fast forward another 10 years.

My grandma doesn’t know who I am.  My grandma doesn’t know who her son and daughters are...but my family loves her. 

My grandma doesn’t remember how to swallow, put on her shoes, or go to the bathroom.  My grandma didn’t know how to show love and now she doesn’t remember who she loves…but my family loves her.

I watch my uncle move my grandma to her wheel chair even though the pain shooting from his hip is intense enough to make a grown man cry.  I watch my aunt struggle to get my grandma back in bed after finding her sitting on the floor next to her bed.  I watch my other aunt sit with my grandma and hold her hand until she falls asleep.  I watch my uncle change my grandma’s diaper, just like she did for him years ago.  I watch my mom selflessly work for years tracking my grandma’s bills and doctors and taxes and all the details my grandma can’t remember.  I watch my family love.

My family knows how to love…it runs in them and through them.  They do not love because the person receiving their love was kind to them, nor do they love because of what that person can do for them.  They love with abandonment because that is the only way they know how.

My family has shown me that love is costly, love is deep, and love is extravagant.

While I have seen pain, betrayal, and heartache because of this love…I have also seen joy, hope, and peace.  Love is extravagant, love is deep, and love is costly.  If love is shallow, containable, and cheap– it isn’t love. 

At this point, the question arises,   “Isn’t G-d’s love free?”  Absolutely not!  His love is extravagant, it is deep, and it is costly.  “For God so LOVED the world that He GAVE His one and only son…”  His love for us cost Him everything…and I’m positive that He did not love us because we were able to give Him something or because He was better off with us. 

He loved us because He is love. 

In the end, I define love as deep, extravagant and costly.  To those who accuse me of defining love as an impossibility, my reply is to look at my family and to ultimately look at the Creator and Definer of Love.  There is love…and I would not want it or define it in any other way.

Definition:

Love is patient, Love is kind

Love does not envy it does not boast…it is not proud

It is not rude, it is not selfseeking, it is not easily angered

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth

Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love Never Fails.

Perspective

Sometimes, in life, there are aspects about yourself that people make fun of.   For example, in my old job many people would comment and snicker about how short I was (I'm mentally glaring at specific people - you know who you are).  Or, many of my friends would comment about how white I was and my ability to blend in with bright lights and white walls.

HOWEVER, in China...these facts are viewed differently.

- I'm tall here!  (Except for the other day when I was smashed into the corner of an elevator by a really tall Chinese man and 10 of my students.  As I was straining my neck to look up at him, I had a weird sense of long ago de ja vu.) 

- Being this pasty white is a whole new experience here.  I have actually seen facial cleansers with whitening cream (I try to avoid buying those).  The other day at the copy shop, one of the friendly workers giggled and grabbed my arm to compare skin colors. The whole store then got into the conversation and once again...how white I am was highlighted.

So, if the kids make fun of you on the playground...I recommend moving to a new country.