thankful.

We've made this cross-cultural back-and-forth so many times now that many of the cultural shocks that used to shake us up don't stand out much anymore.

However, we are all still being hit by those moments of, "Whoa, that was different."

While the girls are both feeling better, I can tell they're having their own trouble with the transition.  Sofie was completely potty trained, and since leaving Haiti has had so many accidents that she's back in diapers again.  Lily quit sucking her thumb months ago, and suddenly she's popping it in her mouth again.  They are both asking for home and asking where we're going next all at the same time, asking for Noel, Gertha, Mish, baby Thaliya, Junior, and for cousin Nico, Aunt Lisa, Uncle Don.

Honestly, the biggest change that I am experiencing and struggling with, as always, is the shift in social norms.

After these 6 years, we've just become really comfortable with the very inter-personal, very social, very "invasive" culture of Haiti.  

There IS no personal space...people come to visit you and sit on your bed when you're vomiting...it's nothing for people to show up at the door at dinner time and take a seat...quite normal for strangers to run up to you and your kids just to talk.  When you shake a hand, you'd better not let go for a good while.  When you learn someone's name, they're inviting you into your home, and wanting to come into yours. When you meet your child's teacher, they come to your house to visit for a few hours. When people know you're alone, or sick, or unhappy, or have a new baby, or had a bad day, they want to come into the corners of your life and impact it--just with relationship. 

Yes, as Americans, this has all felt violating, irritating, or exhausting at times. I still don't appreciate having people in my bedroom (or outside my window) when I'm throwing up.  When men I'd never met used to try to help me with breastfeeding, or when Matt is exhausted and wants a few hours off Saturday morning, or when we're trying to get somewhere or get something done, yeah, it's been a big adjustment.

But by now?  We see the beautiful intention behind the outreach of relationship.  We've grown more comfortable in our own skin, no longer concerned about what people will think about a messy room or keeping up appearances.  We are now (most often) just blessed, instead of "violated" when our personal boundaries are crossed.

We praise the Lord for the ever-outreached hand, the constant friend-like-a-brother, the many ways God has touched our hearts and helped and blessed us through friends old and new.

So.  Ohio (and even more so, England) is feeling a little stiff.  Just adjusting to not having people in and out of the house all day is WEIRD.  Where IS everybody?  Why is no one talking to us?  How is it possible I don't know the neighbors name? (and don't even get me started this summer about why everyone is on their tablet/phone/i-thing:).  

When I took the girls to the playground last week, they walked over to the gaggle of running children, waiting for everyone to stop and acknowledge their arrival, grab their hands and suck them in.  This didn't happen.  Lily looked up at me, unsure of what to do.

In an effort to help them get plugged into an entirely different playground culture, I helped them approach little ones their age, ask their names and strike up a conversation, hoping they could then take off with some new friends.

Instead, almost every time, another parent quickly rushed over and ushered their children away.  I felt slighted.  Like a freak.  Hurt. 

They're not supposed to be talking to strangers, I realized.

And for the first time in 10 months, that's what I am.   A stranger.  Maybe a dangerous one! 

Haiti's rarely met one...just friends waiting to be, a community who lives on top of each other.  But in America--and rightfully so just regarding the news since we left the States in 2007 until now--everyone is.

And yet, today, a total stranger got me exactly the medication that another stranger told Lily she needed (final diagnosis: parasite and bacterial infection).  And this time with my dad...extended family, friends...priceless.  The efficiency (doctor- pharmacy- lunch- playground- grocery store=3 hours) is still pinch-me good, being with the girls in the home I grew up in, playing in the yard I spent my summers...speaking, thinking, talking English, every moment...eating bread I didn't knead...Diary Queen.  Roads.  Yogurt.  Cheese!  Looking forward to seeing SO MANY OF YOU....

It's a good life, wherever we are.  He's in it.  In you.  Alive and well.  In Haiti.  In America.  In the world. 

And no matter what language, nationality, land or heritage, God just keeps choosing to work through people.  Like us.  Right here.  Wherever here is.

Frankly, I don't get it.  

But I sure am thankful.