Measuring Comforts

thehardyheyday.blogspot.com

It has been apparent (though maybe moreso than I thought) to people we met the times that it's been difficult for me to be away from the comforts and familiarities of home - family and friends (obviously), my dog and house and 'hood (obviously), my music (dumb, dumb, DUMB to pack it all up without loading to Jacob's computer, but hey - it is neatly organized and labeled!), my schedule, my activities, my work, my church, my life.

But sometimes, I'm afraid, it has been the unfamiliarity get to me even more than the lack of familiarity...sometimes the fact that measuring cups (Measuring cups! Everyone cooks!) "...do not exist [at Carrefour] (this week)," was too much for me.

Sometimes, as I cried to Jacob once just before our (it should be noted stellar, IwaswrongIwaswrongIwaswrong) trip to Jordan, "...going to another freaking Middle Eastern country is NOT my idea of vacation, ok?" (sniffle sniffle)

Sometimes, when heat nuked my feet and burned through my soles (and soul...oh, the exquisite pain, right?) and beat down on me and oppressed me and seasons did not change and weather did not desist, I cursed the dusty palm trees and their failed coloring. I sniffed contemptuously at the swirling, messy sand that blew and piled like drifts of dirty snow.

Sometimes, donning what I deemed to be unstylish and certainly uncomfortable clothes, I resisted the culture and turned inward to my own little corner wherein I could ruminate on my fashionable friends and variety of shoes that aren't dust-ridden.

But those sometimes have turned up less and less frequently as we've been here longer. And, while I can honestly say that even during those times I'd never make a different decision, I'd never leave before our time and I'd never say I wasn't having a wonderful adventure, I've come to feel something that surprised me a bit: affinity. Appreciation. Familiarity.

The thing is, I do miss my family and friends - most of all and most importantly - and as long as we're away, I will, but I can be home here. I can rejoice in the small triumphs like figuring out how to rig our stove to actually cook at a fairly consistent temperature - and use that to provide things for other people. I can appreciate getting outside and hiking around a Wadi - even dusty and not-as-green-as-I'd-like. I can appreciate that I don't have to make an outfit every single morning (fun as that can be!) - and that I have a husband who still loves me even though I occassionally have to wear a denim skirt (horrors!).

I can appreciate the privelege of helping others adjust to all this (culture shock can be at least disturbed with one simple thing: a VPN that allows access to sites like Hulu so you can watch TV shows from home). I can revel in the teeny tiny baby language steps I'm taking (even when I meet children who speak so perfectly - darn you, native kids!). I can even cherish the moments (this moment brought to you by Skype) of phone-passing amongst family members gathered at Sunday dinner, without thinking too much about being there.

And then, tonight I looked out the window of P's apartment atop the Hilton tonight during small group and watched the day change to dusk, coloring minarettes and small white houses against a clear blue sky, and I thought how beautiful it is here. And then I looked around my other surroundings inside the apartment - the women who are some of the expats and locals who make up my newest group of friends - and I truly realized how beautiful it is here.

I have been provided with everything I need here - and more (even measuring cups!).