A few weeks ago, my mother-in-law asked me if I had
put up a post lately. She wanted to make sure that she hadn't missed anything.
And that single question confirmed what I'd been
dreading for weeks: I'd become the blogger I feared
I'd become.
Remember back in September (September 12th to be
exact), when I'd tentatively written the first Indonesian blog post? The one where I mused:
Do I tentatively start what might end up a train-wreck of
a blog; one that started with great expectations and intentions, but quickly
unravelled into an abyss of nothingness after a few hastily posted ramblings?
Well, here I am. Days shy of reaching the two month
mark between posts.
Quickly hastening down the train tracks leading to
that place where expectations of blogger greatness are dashed to pieces by
inattentiveness.
And I'm trying to understand why.
Why I have let two months slip by without
narrating - at least in pieces - the life that we're building. The
experiences we're having. The joy and peace and contentedness that
we're filled with.
I think it's all become too normal.
It's normal for us to look at an empty fridge
and quickly order dinner delivered to the apartment in lieu of going
to the grocery store or going out to eat.
It's normal for our house to be filled with three
or four or more neighbor kids when I get home from work.
It's equally normal for our house to be perfectly silent
when I get home from work because the kids have invaded a different
house that afternoon.
It's normal for me to stop by the kindy
playground during lunch to give kisses to either (or both) of the girls
mid-school-day.
It's normal for Brandon to come into my class room
and ask my students, "What's my name?" to which they reply "MR.
AWESOME!"
It's normal to hop on the back of a neighbors
motorbike sidesaddle with my purse, school bag, and oversized tote with that morning's cross-country
gear for a ride home.
It's normal for Ibu Minah to run to the grocery
store at 5 PM - when I'm ears deep in valentines and cries of "play with
me, Mommy!" - because I forgot the tomatoes for that night's dinner
and Brandon's still not home from soccer practice.
It's normal for Bailey and Boston to shoo Ibu Minah
out of the kitchen because they want to wash dishes, put away placemats,
and wipe down the kitchen table after dinner.
In all of this, though, I pray that I have not
become so calloused to these "mini" blessings (if there is such a
thing) that I forget to be thankful.
Thankful for the convenience of food delivery
via three (possibly more?) different apps.
For the noise that fills my house and the days when
I can sit in silence.
The fly-by moments when I can fill my girls' love
tanks with high-fives and kisses blown down the hallway.
The man who has made me Mrs. Awesome by association
and his passion for all of the students, not just the ones on his roster.
Friends that forgive my death grip on their
shoulder as they dodge potholes, buses and other bikes on the roads that lead
home.
For Ibu Minah and her commitment to our family (and
her reluctant acceptance of sub-par help from girls that are growing servant's
hearts).
God has richly blessed our family. Just as his
mercies are new every morning, so is the bucket of blessings that he dumps
on our lives daily.
He is so good. Every day. And I live in hopeful
expectation of the next blessing He sends our way.
