Dancing Driftwood

Washington State boasts miles of coastline, much of it decorated with tangles of driftwood. One of my favorite memories from childhood days at the beach is seeing how far along the beach I could walk, balancing only on driftwood, without my feet touching sand. 

In the 7 weeks since we left “home” in Thailand, we’ve slept in 8 beds. This is just the beginning of what will be a year of transition. While many would find a year like this unsettling (and I have – already – felt that unsettledness), I am finding it also an expedition of discovery, learning how to make this (current) place, my place; knowing that I must embrace the gifts today offers, not cling to the past, nor long for the future, but… focus on and appreciate today. 

As we step from one home to another to another throughout this year of transition, there are some lessons to be learned from walking driftwood, as I did recently during some days near Ebey’s Landing, on Whidbey Island.

Sometimes a log seems very narrow and I wonder, “Can I really walk the narrowness of this place, this piece of driftwood?” Arms naturally swing wide to assist in the driftwood dance, inching one foot forward, then another. 

On the narrow edge of transition, we need to exercise other parts of ourselves in new ways in order to gain our balance.  We employ some less used parts of our bodies, but also our brains, souls, and spirits, which assist us in gaining balance and learning the way forward. We use some “soul muscles” we may not have used in quite some time, or… perhaps, ever! Some of this begins to feel quite natural, but… at the close of most days, there will be an ache that reminds us of the efforts of the day. 

It’s pretty natural to look ahead, in transition… and, certainly, looking ahead is necessary when walking driftwood. There are some logs that hold promise, but which are simply too short; they don’t take us the length of where we want to go. There are others that have length, but maybe don’t have stability, so there is some trial and error to find our best path through the driftwood, our best path through transition.

There’s a lot of testing involved when walking driftwood. Sometimes you step on a log and you think it will fully support your weight and it doesn’t. Regaining balance (or landing softly and getting up to walk again) must be done over and over and over. You learn a way of walking that suits the driftwood – putting a foot in place, but delicately; not putting your full weight forward, but testing it to see if the next log will hold your weight. Being ready for the expected, but unexpected, shift of log beneath you can be exhilarating at first, but as muscles stretch and tense, you become aware of a creeping fatigue, as you are constantly on alert. No two steps are the same in walking driftwood, nor in walking transition.

Often, straddling a couple of logs is necessary to find support between boards, between here and there. Transition is also about straddling, one foot in each of two places, gaining balance, then shifting weight from one place to another.

Sometimes, the best option is not our ideal. There’s such a jumble of small logs that you can’t really find your purchase, can’t really find your balance. Toes slip, bodies tip, arms flip, and we find ourselves on the ground, breathless, wondering how we got there. Arising, brushing sand from our bums, we become aware of scrapes and bruises, with no memory of how they came to be. Welcome to transition, where there is also quite a bit of bum brushing, nursing our wounds, getting up and putting ourselves back together to march onward.

Every once in awhile there’s some retreating, retracing of your steps in order to go a different way.  You feel defeated and discouraged, thinking that forward movement is hindered. Did the logs get the best of you? Still, the backward walk is a necessary endeavor in the forward movement, as a different log holds more promise to move you in the direction you want to go.  

We can be so focused on navigating the maze of driftwood, that we don’t notice the beauty of the driftwood along the way, the swirls of wood, the shades of tan, brown and gray. Fragile flowers grow between the boards and are easily missed, if we don’t occasionally pause to sit, rest and appreciate this place, this space. We’ll miss the beauty springing up and growing in between the logs; we’ll miss the beauty springing up in us, in between the there and here, in between our then and not yet.

There’s a delight and discovery in walking driftwood, but also a dull pain, a longing for rest. One finds that the place of rest on driftwood is a short-lived relief; pausing suits, lingering doesn’t. As the board becomes harder and harder beneath us, we are prompted to get up and walk, once again, because remaining does not provide true rest. True rest will only come at evening, at home in one’s own bed. So, too, with transition… there are momentary pauses, small moments of rest along the way, but… we are all searching for, longing for, anticipating an arrival home.  

The awareness that all of life is transition knocks me off my board at the moment and gives me pause.  As I sit and ponder, I realize that my experience of being between here and there… is everyman’s experience. We are all between here and there. Between this country and that. Between this job and that. Between this grade and that. Between college and career. Between the single life and married life. Between raising families and empty nest. Between work and retirement. We live our lives in between places, spaces, walking from one place to the next, moving forward as if on a delicate driftwood dance. 

Summer is vacation season. Vacations offer times of discovery, opportunities to see the world from new vantage points. But the very definition of vacation means there is an end, a home awaiting after the exploration ends. 

This year of transition is not a vacation for us, although it is certainly an opportunity to experience new vistas, to gain new perspectives on this lovely wide world in which we live. There is not a home (yet) awaiting us, but… there is a home sought. We have plans in place to “land” at the end of our driftwood dance, to find and make a home in a new neck of the woods. Yet, we are more aware than ever that we are temporary citizens of this current space, that country up ahead, this planet. Our ultimate home is elsewhere. Yet still, we long for “home,” for a place to “call our own.” It’s up ahead somewhere… another home where we’ll find shelter and so much more. We will belong, find ourselves in relationship with those we love and long for, find beauty in daily rhythms, delight in walking familiar paths.

But for today? We’re dancing driftwood, finding our balance between the logs, experiencing the joy – and ache – of daily discovery, and… brushing our bums off a bit from time to time! 

Roller Coaster

After a long absence, we made our way to the Ocean City (NJ) boardwalk on a summer evening in June. There’s no place quite like the boardwalk for overstimulation; the aroma of funnel cakes, the flash and dash of kitschy storefronts, the mouth watering chewiness of Shriver’s saltwater taffy, the fireworks bursting over the end of the pier. At the end of the evening, we fell into bed exhausted, with visions of the Python (roller coaster) looping through our dreams.

We feel like we’ve been riding that roller coaster this past year, complete with twists and turns, flying head over heels, blind curves and that sense of weightlessness followed by heart-pounding drops. Throughout last fall, we had a growing sense that our ministry days at Gatehouse in the role of house parents were drawing to a close. By January, our board had agreed that we would take a sabbatical during the 07-08 school year. Last spring, we wrapped up our days of ministry in the house; over the last 8 years, we’ve had 42 young Missionary Kids live with us. As you may imagine, we were weary and in need of rest, but also sad at seeing a beloved chapter of our lives come to a close. So, began our season of transition.

It was a season of transition in a lot of ways. David and I each celebrated our 50th birthdays this past year. We also purchased our first home, an investment property on the WA coast in a resort community – a place we could rent out daily or weekly, but have available for our own family’s use as well. We anticipated it as a place where our family could gather – something we’ve been missing these past 8 years at GH, where there was no room to welcome our sons and daughter-in-law “home.”

Packing and moving was squeezed in and around other life-jolting events, beginning with an unimaginable fracture in a cherished life-long relationship in March, my step-mom’s death in June, my dad’s death in August and, in the final days of October, a call that David’s dad may not make it through the night. We are in daily contact now with David’s mom, as we continue in this season of waiting. Our comfort? All of these precious loved ones making their final transition from this life have that “sure and certain hope” in the reality of their home in heaven because of Jesus’ shed blood.

Especially during this season of sorrow, it would have been great to have a place to call “home.” We had arranged a house sitting situation in anticipation of being near my dad this fall. Instead, 3 days after our arrival in WA, Daddy passed away. Instead, since leaving Gatehouse last May, we’ve slept in 17 beds in 7 states. To be sure, we’ve been grateful for the generosity of so many, but we are weary and our longing for “home” has reached the point of ridiculousness!!
So, in this season of sabbatical, we have found ourselves homeless, parentless and jobless.

Truthfully, our summer has been a bit overwhelming. As we watched a storm come in along the California coast not long ago, I wrote these words “I feel like the sand, worked over and over and over by each crashing wave with no time to settle into place before another wave of sorrow or disappointment or hurt washes over me again, tumbling my world upside down.” Just like that roller coaster, we find ourselves topsy-turvy and wondering which way is up.

What do you do when the waves of life crash over you? Where do you turn? How do you muster up obedience in the difficult seasons of life? What prevents you from becoming completely undone, uncertain, at the mercy of the roller coaster of life? What lessons are to be learned from seasons of sorrow?

One big lesson for me has been that we reap what we sow. What we practice in the good times, serves us in the hard times. My relationship with the Lord tells me who (and whose) I am. Proverbs 4:23 says, “Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.” In this season when it’s been necessary to dip deeply from the well, I’ve found it full of life-giving water for my soul. Like any relationship – my relationship with the Lord is sometimes hard work! But as I commit to relationship with Him, I am strengthened (even when tired), joyful (even in sorrow) and hopeful (even when every evidence would indicate otherwise).

Ken Gire writes in Life As We Would Want It, Life As We Are Given It “so much is distilled in our tears… not the least of which is wisdom in living life. I have learned that if you follow your tears, you will find your heart. And if you find your heart, you will find what is dear to God. And if you find what is dear to God, you will find the answer to how you should live your life.”

On the breath-taking roller coaster of our recent months, finding ourselves in unimaginable places of grief (probably at least as much for the broken relationship as for the deaths of our dear ones), we have determined that we want an - “our God is able to save us, but even if he does not (Dan 3:17-18),” “you meant it for evil, but God meant it for good (Gen 50:20),” “though he slay me, yet will I hope in him (Job 13:15)” - kind of faith.

God’s promises are what we cling to – that safety bar on our roller coaster…

“Indeed, the Lord will comfort Zion; He will comfort all her waste places. And her wilderness He will make like Eden, And her desert like the garden of the Lord.” (Isaiah 51:3)

“But as for me, I will always have hope; I will praise you more and more. My mouth will tell of your righteousness, of your salvation all day long, though I know not its measure.” (Ps. 71:14 – 15)

“Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.” (Heb. 10:23)

As you may imagine, we’ve been trying to catch our breath and gain our equilibrium. We’ve experienced God’s grace through your love and care for us. Thank you.

In His Grip,

Janet

New Land

9 summers ago, we left Mali for what we thought was a 4-month furlough in Seattle. Little did we know that we wouldn't return to Mali, that instead God would lead us to a "new land," a land filled with young people from every corner of the globe. These last 8 years, God has filled our home here at Gatehouse with 42 MKs who have lived in 36 countries. These have been rich years, indeed!

God is now leading us to a "new land," so to speak. Last fall, the Lord began to reveal that this was our last year as house parents here at Gatehouse. Some days this was a happy bit of news, but many days this year, we asked God if we could extend "just one more year." (We had "planned" on being here 10 years.) His consistent answer was, "No, I am leading you in new directions." As He did with Abraham, He hasn't exactly told us what those directions are, only "to the land I will show you." (Genesis 12:1)

And so, an era ends. The Gatehouse board has agreed to give us a year of sabbatical/furlough, while living in Seattle to be near my dad, who is in failing health and to be near our children and work to strengthen family relationships.

We believe that God will reveal the specifics of this new direction during our sabbatical year. We know that our hearts continue to be burdened for missionaries and their "globally nomadic families." We believe that God is leading us toward a national ministry, encouraging local churches and districts across the US to care for their missionaries more strategically. We also believe He is leading us toward an international ministry, encouraging missionary parents in their parenting role (here is where some of my parent coaching training will come into play).

Gatehouse has always been more than the physical location here in Redding, housing MKs. Gatehouse is a concept of caring for missionary kids and their families. We feel that the Lord wants us to strengthen His Church to fulfill its role in this care and to help missionary families thrive in ministry and family life, amidst their many life transitions.

Often, ministries flounder when the founders step away from their founding role. We, along with the Gatehouse board, and countless Gatehouse supporters, believe that Gatehouse is a ministry that should continue helping MKs to navigate the "new land" they enter when coming to the US for life after high school. Please pray that the Lord will continue to build up the Gatehouse family - the precious MKs He brings to this home.

And, lastly, a bit of trivia -

Did you know that my maiden name was "Nyland?" You guessed it - it means "new land!"

On the journey,

Janet

Too Much!

Surprisingly, I find myself in transition this fall. Some will look at the upcoming milestones in our lives (David turns 50 this Friday, I turn 50 in May) and say that we are right on time for a "midlife crisis." I guess there must be some truth to that, but I must say that this season of transition has taken me by surprise.

July brought 77 MKs into our lives during the MK Transition Seminars in SoCal. These seminars demand a tremendous amount of physical and emotional energy - they are, at once, exhilarating and exhausting! The rest of July and August are a blur - filled with people and travel and ending in late August with welcoming a work team of 10 from a WA state church. They helped prepare Gatehouse the last week before GH reopened and the MKs returned.

Additional, intangible stresses were also present - some disappointments weighed on our hearts, the pressures of our parents' stage of life also burdened us, the A/C here at GH was producing nothing but warm (hot!) air, and I was trying to process and integrate some of the transformational materials presented during my first Parent Coaching class.

On the morning of August 23, my heart woke me up around 5 am. I had been suffering from a tweaked nerve in my back for about 3 weeks, but figured if I could get up every morning and go about my day, that whatever it is would "work itself out." When I woke up on that Wednesday with racing heart and couldn't find my pulse, I rolled over onto my back and contemplated what was happening. Was I having a heart attack? I wasn't in any pain and didn't even feel particularly scared, but knew that my heart seemed to be pounding out of my chest and that something was "wrong" with this picture.

Three hours later (after 911, EMTs, ambulance ride, ER, EKG, and blood enzymes) I was home, eating breakfast with the work team. The explanation? The tweaked nerve in my back had set my heart racing. Other than making up for a little lost sleep that Wednesday, I "rebounded nicely" and finished the week with the work team. The MKs moved in Friday evening, the work team left on Saturday morning. By Sunday afternoon I was pleading with David saying, "We have to talk about this. What does this mean?"

While my life wasn't in jeopardy, as I had possibly imagined it to be that morning, nevertheless I knew my body was telling me SOMETHING! In the silence, listening to my heartbeat, my world narrowed and the silence shouted, "Too much!"

Too much what, you might ask? That's the question begging to be answered! I have to admit to living in a sea of ambiguity about my presence, role and contribution at GH this fall. There isn't a day that goes by when some aspect of living in community with 8 college-age MKs doesn't bring me profound joy. On the other hand, I am realizing that there is a deeper fatigue than ever as I go into the fall and that I am feeling the cumulative effect of community living over these last 7 years. As an introvert, I need time and quiet to process life - something I've had little opportunity for during this most recent season of life. My introversion is now screaming at me, "Too much!"

Looking back, I can't imagine eliminating anyone, any year, any venue, anything. Yet, looking ahead, I know that my life MUST be different or I will, quite simply, burn out. I've been the speed boat rudder, shuddering along under the water, trying to go deep, while being dragged along on the race course of our lives.

Bebo Norman sings, "...tonight I want a life where the faces are the same most every day.... We will make a home... where the trees stand still."

What can I possibly omit from my life? WHO would I omit - especially if I "want a life where the faces are the same most every day?" Remember we have lived with 41 different young people over the last 7 years.

If anything, as we approached this fall, we've anticipated expanding ministry with my Parent Coach training, a possible trip to Russia in the spring, and continuing contact with MKs from this summer's transition seminars during their freshmen year of college, as we remain committed to providing a place of refuge, a place of belonging for globally nomadic young people. Our hearts remain fixed on the goal of member care for missionary families worldwide.

The flip side of this dream is that our family has had no home for the past 7 years. While GH has been a home for MKs, it hasn't been our home - there is no room to welcome Matthew, Jeremy & Jenae for a visit. There has been an element of "home," an element of stability, which has been missing from our family's life. This is wearing on all of us, but particularly me.

We wonder at what God is doing in this season of change in our lives. I have only questions - no answers.

We have made a commitment to this year's GH family and we will finish this year in the house, but then???? I have reached my limit. What does that mean for GH? We do not know...

Mary, the mother of Jesus, set a precedent for contemplating the inscrutable things in life; she "pondered" things in her heart.

Rather than rush forward with answers, we are embracing a season of waiting and listening. It is a season of more questions than answers. I am praying... and pondering...