Rooted

As long as I can remember, I've liked to have my stuff in a certain place.  Also for as long as I can remember, I was a girl in constant change and transition.  Raised overseas, I remember moving houses, then countries, then houses again and again.  And I remember that the best way to feel settled was to unpack as soon as possible and put "my stuff" in its place.  Knowing where everything was made things feel normal.  If my belongings had a home then perhaps I did to.

My coping mechanism for transplanting my life was to set down roots as soon as possible.  This is maybe slightly different than a lot of TCKs and transient people.  Most are afraid of putting down roots knowing they or those they love will soon be saying good-bye.  But I found that if I set down roots into the new soil around me, soon there would be consistency, normalcy, and perhaps even good new friendships.

Lived and loved well.  It was a phrase I kept telling myself as I began to say good-bye to my life in the Middle East.  I had spent 5 years there, and I attributed the pain of leaving to the fact that I had indeed lived and loved well.  I had set down roots.  I had a home of my own.  I had a job, friends, and co-workers.  I had figured out how to live in that unpredictable world, and learned a new set of rules.  Now I was being asked to leave it.  I had peace in the timing, and knew that another chapter of my life awaited.  I didn't know what was next, and I still don't, but in some ways it has taken more courage to leave the Middle East than it did to actually move there in the first place.

Are you excited?!!?
I am a little more than month out from living 5 years in the Middle East.  5 years longer than I ever thought possible.  And since being "home" which is not home mind you, I've been asked various questions.  Mostly pertaining to the "Are you excited to be back?" "Does it feel good to be home?" "Aren't you glad to be back?" "Don't you feel relieved to be out of that place?" type.

These questions have all made my defenses rise up and I stare at this person, willing my heart to think the best of them.  I know they don't know how to relate.  I know they are trying to make conversation, but let me tell you why I get a little defensive.  Because when you ask if I'm excited to come home, you are assuming that my time elsewhere was of little significance and well not that exciting. That living that life perhaps was SO difficult that of course I would be absolutely relieved to be in the safety of America.  And yes, life in the ME was tough, don't get me wrong, but it was also my life. My good, hard, fun, adventurous life.   Asking these questions belittle my experience and render it a small blip in my life's journey.  When in reality it's a significant chapter that deserves to be read, heard, and dissected.  In asking me these questions, you are telling me you just skipped to the next chapter.  There were good lessons and amazing people you just glossed over, don't you want to hear about them?

I recently went to a week long retreat appropriately named Debrief and Renewal.  It's for people who have worked overseas and are transitioning back "home" to America.  The renewal comes from staying in the middle of a forest in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do except rest.  There's also a sense of renewal that comes when you hear others who are where you're at--yep living with the parents, yep unemployed, yep don't know what I want to do.  It's actually really refreshing to realize that I'm not the only one in this predicament.  The debrief comes from sitting and having someone listen to you tell your stories, to hear about the good lessons, and the amazing people.  But they also  listen as you talk about the hard times, and the negatives without judging you or responding with, "then aren't you glad you're back?"  They know it's part of the chapter.  That your life there was a paradox of love, hate, life, death, joy, grief, adventure, boredom, excitement and dread.  And that the story is yours and it's a good story, deserving to be heard.

This week also helped me to see where I'm at and to finally embrace it.  There was a picture of transition that was explained to me that made absolute sense to me.

Settled---->Unsettling---->Chaos---->Resettling---->Settled

These are the natural steps of transition and to be honest it wasn't new to me.  But the description of Chaos stuck with me and resonated with me deeply.  The facilitator was explaining a little potted plant being replanted into a garden and the process it goes through when it's being replanted.  There comes a point where you have flipped it upside down and removed it from its little pot home (unsettled).  Now its just hanging out--in between little pot and big pot (chaos).  And in order to get it ready for the big pot, you have to cut off some of the soil it had.  Now it's sitting there roots exposed, homeless, and vulnerable. I would imagine it's dying to get into that new soil pretty quickly.  It has reached a moment of chaos and I'm sure it wants to get back to what it is used to doing.  But imagine if this little plant, roots exposed, was left sitting, for days, weeks, months, with no future soil in sight.
This my friends is where I'm sitting.  Soil all around me, flower blooms a little withered and shaken, roots completely exposed, emotions vulnerable, and a strong desire to get into the next pot of soil sooner rather than later.  But this is what I've come to embrace.  That for whatever reason the Lord wants me to sit in this stage of Chaos a little bit longer than I'm used to.  To force my roots into soil just to be settled isn't working and has left me frustrated and confused.  And to be honest, I don't even know what kind of soil I like right now.

This place of exposure is teaching me to trust that there will be a new pot of soil someday, and for some reason it's not ready to receive my roots, and probably more likely my roots aren't quite ready yet either.  And while my petals threaten to fall off and my stem is a little bent, I trusting that I will be protected by the elements and that my exposed roots will remain intact.  And no matter how much I desire to be rooted, I have to wait, trust the process, and trust that the next place will be worth this exposure.  Trusting that this process will further develop my strength and give me a renewed sense of identity.  And so I embrace this chaotic rediscovery phase.