Merry Christmas and Goodbye

I have a few more minutes alone, tucked in with blankets, the propane heater, my cup of tea and a candle close by. The kids late to bed after feasting and unwrapping and playing, should buy me some time this morning to write my last post from Kathmandu.

Aside from merry making and prepping for our Christmas Eve celebrations, I’ve been busy packing and purging clothes, books, and shoes (again! sigh). Days have been spent visiting places for one last “____”, saying goodbye to friends and enjoying our Nepali favourites.

I have found myself sliding again into a liminal space; the place where I’m neither here nor there, but somewhere in between. The uncertainty and vagueness of this space doesn’t overwhelm me anymore. It’s become familiar now. I’ve learned to understand that it’s part of transition, however, it is still full of unknowns and somewhat disorientating. So many questions brim under the surface: where am I? where am I going? who am I in this space?

It seems fitting, sitting here on Christmas morning, thinking these thoughts. Jesus’ arrival marked a season for him of existing in a liminal space. Separated from his kingdom, born into a place groaning, “your kingdom come”; fully divine yet fully man; immersed in the now, but also the not yet. He was somewhere in between; living apart from all he had known, yet not yet living in the fullness of what was to come. Did he have moments of asking: where am I? where am I going? who am I in this space? Did he find it vague and disorientating? lonely? confusing?

I take comfort thinking that Jesus can perhaps identify with my ambiguous thoughts and emotions, that mark a season of transition, but I take greater comfort in believing that although he was living in a liminal space, he knew who he was and what he was on earth for. As had been prophesied about hundreds of years before:

The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
a light has dawned.

For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the greatness of his government and peace
there will be no end.

Isaiah 9:2-7

 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. John 1:5

He is the light! So as I hang out again in a liminal space, “betwixt and between”, I will look for the light, cling to light, trust that I will find my way forward with the light as my guide. In this I have hope, I can find joy, I have peace. I am not alone, I needn’t be afraid, I won’t be overcome. There is one who can identify with me, but also who knows the way!

Rejoice, Rejoice, Emmanuel (God with us) has come!

 

Merry Christmas and great Peace to you and your loved ones from the Meiers!

Last Days

With a little over a week left here in Kathmandu, I’m running around madly with camera in hand, trying to catch images of all the things that have become normal to me.  I spent last Saturday on a long, meandering walk through the rice fields and neighbouring villages, reflecting on those many months ago when we joined in the fun, planting the rice that is now being harvested.  Despite not being full of rich and radiant greens, these rice fields continue to have a mesmerizing effect on me.  The natural beauty is one thing for sure, but what has impacted me the most is the beauty and simplicity of the community of planters and harvesters. I haven’t fully found expression for it yet, but there has been something so appealing as I’ve watched groups of women, men and families, work beside each other week by week in the basic task of crop production.  Community, belonging, commitment, care. Perhaps I’m observing my core values being lived out before my eyes, reflecting something of my soul.

I give you the rice harvest and neighbouring villages Kokhana and Sano Kokhana.

Oops, sorry ‘bout that!

Having kids in tow while living in a new country has been (insert one or all of the following adjectives): crazy, interesting, hilarious, amazing, challenging, fun. In many ways kids act as a buffer; an awkward situation or language misunderstanding can be softened by the antics of a silly two year old or a singing four year old. The kids often challenge me to come out of my comfort zone and be bold when they would rather play shy. They ask straight up questions, and make straight up (and sometimes way too loud) statements.

Aside from those things, they are definitely helpful in breaking the ice with their universal childlike behavior, pale skinned cuteness, blond hair, freckles, and squeaky sing song English voices. They also just “do stuff” that an adult would be totally embarrassed by, but when a kid does it, it’s accepted with a smile and a shrug.

I am so thankful to be living in a country where people genuinely love children because we have had plenty of those “oops, sorry about that” moments!  

Here’s a few for the scrapbook:

• sorry that my kid wasn’t looking and rode into your scooter while you were maneuvering around him on the street.

• sorry that my kid dropped a rupee coin into your giant vat of yogurt, probably contaminating the whole batch.

• sorry that my kid has this thing with grabbing the tomato on the bottom of the pile, causing the rest to fall to the ground.

• sorry that my kid ran over your toe while she was passing you on her bike.

• sorry that my kid is staring at you while you eat rice, sweep the floor, talk to your friend, fix the bike…always, always staring. (but hey, we’re always stared at too, so I’m not really that sorry.)

• sorry that my kid ripped the sparkly hanging thing off the mirror in your taxi (and almost ripped off the head of the Buddha statue on the dashboard, pretending it was a gearshift)

• sorry that my kid spilled a glass of water (for the third time) over the table and floor at your restaurant.

• sorry that my kid picked a handful of marigolds, that you planned to use for puja, from your beautiful potted plants.

• sorry that my kid blew out all the sacred candles at your Hindu worship site.

In Nepal, people love children, they are always smiling at them, wanting to pinch their cheeks or pop a candy in their mouth. And for as many times as I’ve been ready to apologize for my children’s mistakes, I’ve heard, “that’s just children”, with a smile and a laugh. I have never seen a frown nor a reprimand from an adult because of something my child has done (take note uptight Westerners!) It has been amazing and a gift to live in a place where there is no apology necessary!