Oh to sleep.

"Come to me all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28

The past 72 hours have been the most exhausting and trauma filled in my life. I watched as my husband used physical strength to keep multiple people safe. I woke in the middle of the night to alarms and defiance. I learned that the police who work graveyard shift are just normal guys who went to the dentist on Tuesday.

My heart is pulsing at a faster rate these past few days. I know. I've checked. The alarm system in our house is as loud as a fire truck. Sounds like a fire truck. Repeatedly says "Intruder Alert, Intruder Alert, Intruder Alert." And it is slowly cause small doses of PTSD in me.

Two evenings ago, Austin and I found ourselves on the floor of a storage closet, crying. Surrounded by mop cleaner, granola bars and contraband items. We were a mess.

Sleep. We needed sleep. Like that "I've been traveling internationally and stuck in a terminal for two days I need sleep," sleep." But this level of tired pushes beyond physical dreariness. This job has tested the limits of our mental capacity, our marriage, and our faith.

I to the NorthWest in 144 hours - but who is counting? All I want to count right now is sheep.

Man Sized Boy Children

This job makes us laugh. And I mean seriously, laugh. I live with one man, and five boys each the size of a man. That equals me and six man sized creatures. Kind of like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs ... except I have seven dwarfs, and my dwarfs are actually giants.

In our cottage, we sing a lot of songs, we dig for gold, and I even talk to the little animal creatures outside. The songs are rap, country and screamo... Though there would be a lot of screaming if they found out I was calling it that. I find loose coins all over the house, every golden penny gets added to a jar. And outside, I find new creatures every day. This weeks creatures included roaches of variable sizes, biting anoles, and the famous annually appearing black racer snake.

Austin and I do a lot of laughing in this cottage. We laugh, when the man sized boy creatures throw tantrums like two year olds. And laugh at their facial expressions in response to finding out that we not only have a facebook account, but we also know the lyrics to Ed Sheeran's newest song. We laugh when we trick them into doing chores and when they catch us singing to each other as we do dishes. We laugh when they laugh. It's contagious really.

What is also contagious in a different way, is the weight that they carry. It surrounds them them like a cloud, a morning fog that never lifts; anything that settles in the valley is also clouded by the fog. The more that we learn their stories, the pieces that they share, the parts that they don't, the fog falls on us, as we settle in their valley. Those are the times where no amount of laughter can lift the fog. And it can be depressing.

Austin and I just ended 15 days on. Sitting at our favorite Farm to Table restaurant in Deland, we talked about the week. We started out by laughing, sharing favorite moments of things that made us smile. But inevitably, this turned quickly into stories that had been shared with us. Moments when the man sized boy creatures let us peek in their hearts. And it just hurts. And no amount of laughter can clean that slate.

Stay

We met our six giant "man-child" boys in the afternoon. We had a meeting where we got to know each other and get on the same page. When asked if they had anything to share, one brave young man spoke for the rest; "Don't leave." He looked at us earnestly, pleading in his eyes, he left the statement sitting on the table in mid air.

"We drove 3023 miles, just to come live with you. We left everything and everyone we know to be here. We are not leaving."

My words felt so empty. Unconvincing. The silence that followed seemed to echo off the high walls. What could I say to convince them that we were here to stay? What could we do to convince ourselves?

The words were so simple, straight forward. Yet they were complex and vague. These "man-child" boys are like toddlers, crying after a mother who goes to Starbucks without them. They, like the toddler, lack an understanding of time and promises. The mom on the way out the door always says "Honey, I will be right back." But the child wails on, "No mommy, take me with YOU." And these boys, these almost men, they look at us with eyes that say "take me with you."

Coming to Florida, when people asked how they could pray, we asked that you pray that we would be the couple that would "Stay." We have heard the rumors about how many staff have come and gone with this specific group of boys. They are losing all trust and hope. We want so badly to be the people who stay. I want to grab hold of their face and promise them with all my might that I will never leave ... but I cant on a good conscience do that. I get angry about the people in their life who have let them down, who have not fulfilled promises. I get angry at the adults who have left them, who have given them up, or given them back.

We were off shift for the last two weeks. It is always a little nerve wracking coming back, we don't know what unfolded during our absence and we have to muster up all the courage we have. I wonder if any of them will be happy to see me. The school bus brakes release, I hear running feet, "Mr. AUSTIN! Ms. HEATHER!" I am so glad you are here!! I am so glad  you came back!"

We smile. "Yes" we say, "We were visiting family. We are back. We are not leaving. We are here to stay."

Invite me in

My Mama tells me stories of a church her and my Daddy attended when they were in their early years of marriage. She said that each week, a different family from the church would put lunch in the crock pot at home, ready to invite a guest over. If a guest was at church that morning, the ready family would invite them over for a home cooked meal. She said their church grew tremendously during those years.

As Austin and I moved away from our home, from our friends and family and church; we are starting to get a glimpse into the world of hospitality and understanding it in a new way. We, who are so far away from everything, long to be included ... in anything. It would absolutely make our entire month if someone would simply invite us over for lunch.

Looking for a new church community is a hard, sometimes painful process. If you have ever moved, or needed to find a new church for any reason at all, perhaps my words will resonate with you.

"Welcome to our church, if you are a guest today, please don't put anything in the offering ... fill out the information card in front of you and take it to the hospitality desk following the service (or drop it in the basket, hand it to the usher, leave it on your seat etc.) We have a free gift we would like to give you, we wont solicit your name..."

We have turned in the cards. We have given our name. We have sent emails. We have received the "gifts," the free coffee, the worship CD, Our Daily Bread Devotional ... We have received a lot of "Wow, you moved from OR-E-GUN? It's snowing there right?" We've gotten the, "We have a lot of men with beards here, you will really fit in." "Do you have children? No? ... Well when you do, we have a great children's department!" We have met people with firm grasps and people with flimsy handshakes. We have met people who looked us in the eye, and people who eyed us up and down.

What we have not yet received is an invitation for lunch.

And I know this is like against our culture. I know we are not in the Middle East, the magical place where strangers invite strangers in for tea. I know that we need to put ourselves out there. But of all the "free gifts" we have received, what we would really love is someone to have lunch with.

At each of the churches we have been too, we have straight out said "We are new, were looking for friends,  they don't even need to be our age, what do your small groups look like?" And we have been referred to the website. Every. Single. Time.

Now, I am not trying to gripe about churches here, because I really could write another blog on the great things about each of the churches, but I think something needs to change about the way that we as the American Church run our "hospitality desks." Most people are not looking for a free pamphlet about your church, most people, if they are new, are looking for someone to eat lunch with.

I write these words and feel guilt rushing over me like a broken shower. How many people have I instinctively shaken hands with on a Sunday Morning and never once invited them out? What makes it worse, is that I can think of times when I thought of asking people over for a meal, but I justified it with statements like:

"I am having lunch with my friends today, bringing someone new would be weird."
"I was planning on a quite day at home."
"Maybe if I see them again next Sunday?"
"Maybe someone else is taking them to lunch."
"Maybe they don't want to go out to lunch with me."
"I have too many people in my life, I don't have room for anyone new."

Its that last one I think that usually gets me stuck. But this time, I am the one that doesn't have enough  people in my life, and I wish I knew someone that I could invite over for lunch.

I guess this is an urging, to be open to sharing a meal with someone you don't know. To ask a guest at your church if they have lunch plans. I know that I am waiting for the opportunity to turn this around and ask someone to join in a meal with me. And when I do, I will let you know.

"For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in. For whatever you do for the least of these, you do for me." - Matthew 25:25

Not in Kansas anymore

People use umbrellas here. They drive their car everywhere; from one end of the parking lot to the other. They drink plastic, bottled water. And they don't recycle the plastic. They talk with a bit of an accent, walk at a slower pace and eat grits with their eggs.

They don't have coffee shops. They drink Folgers, and McCafe and Dunkin Donuts. Like seriously, the google results for "coffee shop" include 7-elleven and Dunkin Donuts. I am guessing that people don't go to coffee shops to meet up with friends, or to use the wi-fi or to study. I am guessing that coffee culture really is a North West vibe and that if I want to fit in I should probably start to drink soda pop.

People here say OR-E-GUN, as if it is three separate syllables. One person thought that the New England snow storm was affecting our home, and most people ask if we moved to Florida to escape Oregon's snow.

Grocery stores use plastic bags. We get strange looks, deep sighs and questions when we offer our own reusable bags. One kind cashier asked if we would like our food wrapped in a plastic bag before being placed in our own cloth bags. We kindly declined his offer for the double bag.

It was sunny and 64 degrees. We were wearing T-shirts and sandals. On the Floridians, we saw winter parkas, turtlenecks, down coats, wool hats, thick gloves and boots.

The fruit here falls off trees. Grapefruit and oranges line the roads. The fruit in the store is very expensive, and imported from Guatemala. I am rather confused.


The roads here are nine lanes thick, and you can't turn left. U-turns are not just allowed, they are expected to ever turn left. I read the entire drivers manual, no where does it actually say that you can U-Turn, it only says to not do so if there is a sign telling you not to. Cell phone usage is still allowed for drivers, though texting is a great fine. But the most appalling: motorcyclists are not required to wear helmets. They zoom in an out of lanes, with no helmet. It gets me every time.

Everywhere we go, we find things that feel different from home. We see new brands, new stores, new advertisements. We listen to new radio stations, visit a new library, and travel down foreign roads. There are exotic animals everywhere, large dropping mossy oaks, and sunshine.

It is exciting still,  to open my eyes everyday and see what the world has to offer. To look upon things fresh and new. To experience and breathe in the unfamiliar. This is the stuff that brings life, the wind that unhinges our desires to stay grounded to the familiar. The amount of newness is overwhelming, and having but one other person to share it with is lonely, but I think for right now, it is good.

Truck Count

We used a U-Haul Trailer to carry our things to Florida. The rules of a U-Haul included : don't exceed the speed limit of 55 mph.

My mama said that this would help us enjoy the country.

I decided to make a game out of it. Seeing that we would have to drive in the right lane, I thought it would be fun to count how many semi trucks would pass us on the trip. Just past The Dalles, Oregon, I asked Austin if he thought I could count 200 on the trip? We pulled out a notebook and started to keep track.

Day Three : 167 I stopped counting.

That day I decided mama was right, 55 mph was helping me enjoy the country.

In Birmingham, we went to the Institute for Civil Rights. We watched videos and looked at artifacts. We read about a time in our not so distant history. We saw the site of the 16th street church bombing. On our way back our car, we met Jessie Strong.

He walked us around the block, telling us about what it was like to grow up in Birmingham during the sixties. He pointed out the "black district" where a once booming urban block now sits decaying. He pointed out the corner where his friends house use to be, where they use to gather on the porch before the protests.

He told us the history of the richest black man in Birmingham, and mapped out the buildings that man owned. He showed us the record store where he bought his first temptation album. He told us that times where hard.

We spent two hours at the museum, reading and trying to learn. But our two minutes with Jessie made it all real. It is not just history, it is real people, now.