Where you belong

We've been in country for just over a week and already you're adjusting. The heat is irritating, but your tiny body just sweats it out. The humidity is oppressive, but it's given your hair a bouncy curl that has turned you into a little girl overnight. The night noises are new and loud, but you don't pay them any attention. The storms are ferocious, but you sleep deeply through them. The baby geckos living in your room poop on everything, but you enjoy watching them scurry around the walls. The electricity is completely unreliable leaving our fans impotent, but you continue piddling with your books as if the house didn't just become a roaster. The groups of drunk men ambling down the street at 5 am are obnoxious, but you call out to them through the window loving them with your baby heart as you love all people. Strange women and the occasional man are constantly patting, squeezing, bouncing, and touching you, but you're reveling in the admiration. You wave, squeal, and chatter at almost everyone. In Texas you would get upset when the car seat came out, but here in PNG you know the appearance of a car seat means we're going to a place where new people exist. Instead of grunts of frustration as the restraints tighten, the car seat triggers the kind of excitement that involves your whole wiggling body.

When the days start to close and the relentless heat hangs on, you get cranky. Unfortunately that's right when we're trying to feed you, and those experiences haven't been awesome. You scrunch up your face, shake your head firmly, and in no uncertain terms let me know where I can put those pureed lentils. I'm nervous about getting you the food you need here, and your sudden affinity for picky eating has not allayed any of those fears.

You've also decided that bathing is not the diverting activity of yesteryear. Literally, yesteryear... just a couple of weeks ago before you turned one. Baths have gone from delightful playtimes to a nuisance interrupting your day.

Sometimes at night you cry so much that the national translators living in the dorm behind our house come to check on you. Your voice rockets across the yard between our buildings and assails them as they're trying to have a relaxing evening. I'm fairly certain they think I'm a shockingly negligent mother, but it's too hard to explain to a group of Papua New Guinean men that I let you cry in the evening and at night because I know your determination and your end game: holding off sleep. You're learning to put yourself to sleep and this is how I believe you will succeed in that. So instead of worrying about being seen by our Papua New Guinean coworkers as a "good mother" I've chosen to accept the title of "mediocre mother" and appreciate the fact that they already care about you. Care about you to the point of making sure your Mom and Dad aren't sleeping through your 11pm fit.

But in the end, putting both the good and the bad together, you were made for Madang. I love watching you interact with people as we toodle around town. I love watching you sponge up all your surroundings, from the small piece of dirt on the floor to the black bats swirling above the house. I love watching you grow up and touch people where you are. Above all, I love watching God answer all the prayers from home for you and your transition into life in PNG. 

Why I'm breaking up with Facebook

"It's not you, it's me." I may have heard that frustrating phrase as part of someone's worthy attempt to dull a blow. I may also be guilty of having used that frustrating phrase as part of my own unworthy attempt to avoid conflict. Now I am definitely saying it, but not to a person: to Facebook.

I don't remember when I joined Facebook, but I wasn't one of the first. I had to be convinced of its wonders and I prided myself on not joining the pack. Eventually, I was persuaded to swim along and didn't look back; at least not until recently. Facebook hooked me with their lazy man's methods of staying in touch and easy reconnect with people I otherwise wouldn't remember. It takes just a couple of clicks a day and I can see all the babies, new houses, exotic trips, and seasonal celebrations of hundreds. I mull over pictures, laugh at status updates, get angry at the multitude of faceless arguments, and roll my eyes at the community games (another invite... really?!?). 

But that's not all I do. If it was, Facebook and I wouldn't be having our irreconcilable differences right now. I also covet and envy the picture perfect lives of many Facebook friends. I live in a self-inflicted state of insecurity because I compare myself to those particular friends, seeking out their status updates and pictures to mentally torture myself. And then I superficially calm my mind, not by confessing to God my sin of envy and pride, but by glancing at the news updates of Facebook friends that I qualify as having the same monotonous Facebook life that I do. See? Those people are just as boring as I am. No fancy job, pretty house, or fashionable clothes. Just a humdrum person. Ahhh. 

Brian has been flint on flint for me in a lot of areas, but maybe none more so than Facebook. He's the one that absorbs my insecurities the most, so my unhealthy relationship with social media has affected him deeply. He has to listen to it. When I brought up the idea of cutting my ties and moving on from Facebook, he was fully supportive. He knows that it's a foothold in my life that the devil is using over and over. I've tried to simply use it as a tool for staying in touch with friends, families, and supporters, but in the end I find myself browsing aimlessly and eventually landing back in the "why isn't that my life" mode. Those perfect pictures are just too enticing.


At a conference where it's possible I'm Facebooking...

Just as the devil uses our world to tempt us away from God, God uses all sorts of methods to reach us. Like millions of others, I have loved The Chronicles of Narnia since before I can remember. My favorite is The Horse and His Boy for two simples reasons: I love horses and Breey-hinny-brinny-hoohy-hah is one of the best character names I've ever come across. Besides the immense pleasure I find in imagining having a talking horse friend, there's a very convicting aspect of that story for me. Several different characters at different junctures of the plot express concern or curiosity about the path of the other characters. Aslan's answer is always, "It's none of your business. Stick to your life and what I put in front of you." Okay, maybe C.S. Lewis had Aslan say it a bit better than that, but it's what I hear. I worry much too much over other people's paths and lose mine somewhere along the way. Facebook will never help me focus on what God has put before me, and for that reason I have to say my goodbyes to posts, likes, pictures, and endless invites. I will miss "seeing" many "friends" daily, but I already feel free.