Goodbye Norway

I'm really bad at goodbyes. I feel like I can never find the right words or setting or emotion. So it often ends up coming out as an awkward blubbering mess.
This change has proved true to form. We've had our time for goodbyes with friends and school and activities and teachers and I cried through them all. I may or may not have cried in the middle of pizza with my family. It's pathetic.

With all of that checked off the list, mistakenly I thought my tears were under control at this point. Then today, with all of our possessions headed off in a truck that hopefully makes it onto a Malaysia bound ship, we turned over the keys to our house. Spending our last night living out of a hotel room, I realize that I hadn't prepared myself to say goodbye to this place, this country, Norway. It's different this time. We left Texas knowing it was still and always will be home. Our house, our neighborhood, our country remained intact. Leaving Oslo is different because those deep roots aren't so secure. We don't know if we'll be able to come back or when. It feels more permanent.

But then as I've talked to God this afternoon and prayed, I found some truths that are pulling me up. We may be physically leaving Norway, but my experience here has become a part of me that will continue to grow. I am changed. I define myself in a new way. It is not leaving one place for another, but an acceptance of all that I am.
I have learned things from amazing people, visited amazing places, had amazing experiences, and I've been blessed to live this adventure with Micah and my boys. It's been incredible. I take pieces of each of these things and molded together, they have made me who I am. My memories are more than thoughts or photos, they are me. God has laid out this beautiful path and as I'm trusting in Him and brave enough follow, I am finding my plan. I am thankful for each good bye and each tear. “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

A change of heart

Some of my family members might tell you that I have a history of being bad at change.
At age 6 we were relocating from Missouri and I distinctly remember wrapping myself around a bed post and telling my parents they could NOT make me move. Nevermind the fact that said bed was moving as well. Not the best choice, but that’s where 6 year old emotion gets you.
As an admittedly self-absorbed teenager, I dug my heels in when we moved after I finished high school into the city…almost 30 whole miles away from my life! To be clear, my bedroom did get relegated to the “sun room” which was a non air-conditioned former porch at the back of house. You would have been bitter too.
Micah and I’s biggest conflict in our decision to move to Norway was taking our kids away from home. He (who had never moved at all as a child) claimed it was no big deal. I (who moved 5 times in 10 years growing up) argued that he had no idea what it was like and how hard it was to be new.
So it’s pretty ironic that now, we have chosen to relocate our family yet again to a whole new world. I wanted to continue our adventures abroad. I hoped we would have another opportunity to extend our time.  I looked forward to all the places that have become possibilities. So what’s changed?
I’ve been inspired by our adventures.  We have delved into Norway, taking in as much culture, experiences, people as we could possibly fit in. We’ve explored with excitement all of Europe. We haven’t counted down days or wallowed homesick (at least for long). We’ve lived every minute and I’m proud of that.
I’ve been inspired by my boys. I came across a blog post about third culture kids recently that read “I love that they look at a map and see friends instead of stereotypes.” That’s it. The boys have unknowingly been exposed to so much and they have no idea of any underlying attitudes, fears, or labels that may be related.  They love different – in themselves and in others. They have learned as we’ve traveled and they’ve learned from the kids from all over the world who have become their best friends. Their world is without borders.
I’ve been inspired by my friends. When it feels like I’m a million miles away from home, and believe me those moments do exist, I can rely on the family we’ve found here. These friends are brave and smart and giving. They understand what it’s like to be away from home on Thanksgiving or not understand the language or be waiting with anticipation on your sea shipment to finally arrive. The connection is forever and strong.
I’ve been inspired by God. Just when I got to the point that I was finding my Norwegian groove, God threw me yet another curve ball. It was unexpected and my first reaction was similar to my childhood examples. “Hell no, we won’t go!” But as I relaxed and prayed and really listened, I understood that as much as I try to make it, it’s not my plan. God leads me and I will follow. His world is amazing and beautiful and wonderous and He’s letting me experience it. I am full of praise.
I spend these last few days in Norway grateful for my memories and my growth and my family’ strength. It doesn’t mean that I don’t have many a sleepless night right now filled with anxiety and worries and sadness that goodbyes are coming soon. But they aren’t filled with regret. New adventures await and we are ready to jump in.

Timeout to focus

I’ve been writing a lot these days as part of my master’s program…like “quality collaborative contributions on 5 out of 7 days” plus intensive research papers every 2 weeks and final submissions every 12 weeks. It is consuming. It is exhausting. It is worth it (I tell myself).

But as I sit in the Bekkestua bibliotek (to avoid procrastinating by working at home) trying to write about public health strategies for disease prevalence in Central America, I realize I haven’t REALLY written in a long time. I haven’t had the time to reflect on myself. Okay wait, let’s be honest, I haven’t MADE the time to reflect on myself, my mission, my motivation. I’ve been stuck examining the trees and have been missing the beautiful forest surrounding me.

I’m a juggler. I’ve got a lot of projects and commitments going on right now, as I know a lot of us do. I run from working at the school, to working on my schoolwork, to leading the parent association, to planning medical mission work, to planning travel, to finishing my medical continuing education (you would think my master’s program would cover that but the state of Texas disagrees with you) on top of my priorities of being a wife, a mom, and friend. I’m not complaining here, it’s just that I find these moments when I let all these things in my life take over and I find myself running to keep up. It’s in these moments that I realize I tend to feel overwhelmed and stressed and far from God.

So, today, I’m changing that. I might not be able to change it tomorrow or next week I might find I feel like I’m drowning again, but today I am putting aside all the deadlines and emails and papers and STUFF, and reminding myself of my focus. I'm taking a timeout. So with Nicaragua on my mind, today I choose to remember how grateful I am for my experience and growth there. Here it goes….

My trip to Managua this summer was different. I always find it awesome that no matter how many places I travel and how sure I am of what to expect, God always challenges me and shows me more on each trip.

Our group partnered with three churches in communities in need of help. I was able to hold medical clinics arranged by the local groups for the communities they served. These clinics are absolutely my FAVORITE thing to do in life. Absolutely nothing makes me feel fuller than laughing with the kids and holding hands listening to people. What really struck me here though was how accepted and a part of their community I felt. Some of that was logistics, my clinic was only one of many projects so I was often left to my own accord apart from my American group. But so much of it was the people. They were welcoming, loving, willing to share their homes with me. I was in awe.

The first day was very busy. I saw patients in a concrete shell of a room without electricity or water. After, I headed to the pharmacy on the back of a vespa with the pastor to pick up medications. That night was 4^th of July and the church surprised us at the end of the worship with homemade fireworks and a version of Celine Dion singing God Bless America. I laughed and cried at the same time. What amazing people!

The second clinic was in a different outdoor church structure where the church had invited community families, many of whom were gang members, to be seen. They were sweet, grateful, intelligent, hopeful. Our trips to the toilet consisted of walking down a dirt path through mango trees, past roosters and chained pit bulls to a home in the barrio. We ate together (mmmm, gallo pinto is my favorite!), we watched world cup football, we played. It was a beautiful day.

The final clinic day was spent caring for residents at a senior center. After I finished there, we took a bus (a shelled out van with a young boy yelling destinations out of the window) to another barrio to meet up with the rest of the group. We spent my last evening dancing and singing with the local kids together, making friends for life.

Despite language barriers (better described as my completely fumbling Spanish in which I mistakingly called a friend “gorgeous” for a day instead of “brother” and answered “only at night” when I mistook being asked if I was “married” as “tired”) the connections I made with people I respect and love were strong. It is so humbling for me to spend time with these people. I let go of my selfishness and judgments and find myself. I find myself content. I find myself real. I find myself seeing God clearly.

In all of my chaos, I  still have no idea where my path is leading, but I do know that continuing to step outside of my comfort zone, to force myself to see beyond my bubble, to be brave when I don’t feel like I can,  is to follow God. “Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders, let me walk upon the waters wherever you would call me. Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander, and my faith will be made stronger, in the presence of my Savior.”

Home from the pharmacia. Completely normal, right?? He wanted me to drive....maybe next time

New friends. Miss them all

Clinic smiles

Morning coffee, beautiful country

My sweet friend Matthews. We had lots of giggles and games this trip

This girl. My heart. She's a keeper

One year later

I haven’t posted in a long while – trying to catch up…

So it has been a year now since we left Texas and settled down in Norway. That seems so crazy. In some ways, I feel wide eyed and clueless, like I just arrived but in other ways I feel very comfortable in my home, like we’ve been here forever. Looking back over the past year, so much has changed –  but there are still moments of frustration that I forget that. Every morning on the way to school we do "grateful" when the boys list what they are thankful for. Sometimes, it's ninjas or pizza and sometimes it's mommy or daddy or Texas.  Some days I also need the reminder that I am grateful for this experience and how far I’ve come. So here’s my 2014-one-year-later-I-really-love list, for my review on a regular basis.

1.    I love how my boys are growing. As I write, Barrett is off 4 hours away north on a week long school ski trip. They are cross country skiing about 6 hours every day, snowshoeing, ice climbing, having the time of their lives. But mostly, they are learning independence and responsibility. He has called home twice and sputters out in about 30 seconds how much fun he’s having and that he has to run. I am in awe (sniff, sniff).

2.    I love winter (I can’t even believe I am writing that). In the past 2 weeks we’ve been downhill skiing, cross country skiing, ice skating on a frozen pond, and luging (yes, that’s a real thing and it’s unbelievably fun). As opposed to last year’s survival tactics, this year we are living in and enjoying the snow and outdoors. Yesterday I was standing at the top of the ski mountain looking out and was absolutely stunned at the beauty.

3.    I love the friends I’ve made. Friends that bring you chicken soup when you’re sick, laugh with you, love your kids, work out with you, email things like “I don’t need to practice. I am a natural twerker.” I wouldn’t love this place without them.

4.    I love traveling. Oh, the places you’ll go! You’re off and away!” That’s our new family motto. We are getting to see so much of the world and share it with the boys. They are learning to try new things, be good travelers, enjoy culture and history, be open minded – skills I am so grateful they will use all through life.

5.    I love the slower pace. Crazy frustrating at first, now I’ve learned to love that no one is ever in a hurry. It’s very peaceful and has forced me to slow down and be in the moment. Borrowing a good friend’s phrase “I am practically Norwegian!”

6.    I love going back to school. I have the opportunity to pursue my passion and I can’t explain how amazing it is to be discussing topics like justice in health care, how to help impoverished communities, and sharing kindness to improve the world with classmates from all over the globe. I am soaking it all in and can’t wait to put it to use.

7.    I love Micah. There is nothing better than sharing all of these memories with my best friend. I am so proud of him.

When we landed here a year ago, I was desperate to understand God’s plan for putting us here. I still don’t know exactly where I am headed, but I can see the changes and the growth in the past year. I am following His path and once I finally relaxed and accepted that,

It.

Is.

Amazing.

 I can’t wait to see what’s in store for us this year!

The perfect storm - or what sucks about international travel

So I just spent an exciting 4 days at the global health mission conference in Kentucky where I got to meet and share ideas and projects for improving world health with over 3000 people from all over the globe. It was amazing. It's still sinking in. Lots more on that later...

But first I feel as if I must document my travel escapades over the past day (days? I think I'm well past 24 hours at this point). The events were a chain of unreal scenarios, one after another...a perfect storm. I kept waiting for a candid camera guy to pop out laughing. So the need to have this day in writing makes it actually real. All I can say is by God's grace, I am back in Norway having not plummeted to the earth in a fiery plane crash or been detained in some dark damp German prison cell or have been guilty of murdering one or more of the characters I have dealt with.

So here's the long version, read and enjoy. It's funny now that it's over.

My day started off normally packing my suitcases and heading to the Louisville airport. I pulled in to return my rental car where I was told that the car I had been driving all week was not registered to hertz. They couldn't find it in the system. "Where did you get?" "Ummm, here. You (being the exact same employee) gave me the key." Crisis averted, they found the car and I escaped my grand theft auto charge.

Then I headed through the security screening where they flagged my bag because they saw a large bottle of liquid in it. After a full bag search, they realized the offender was bags of Reese's pieces. Candy smuggling? Guilty.

Next, while boarding the plane the scanner beeped and spit me out a new boarding card. Why? "Oh, they renumbered the seats in this aircraft." I was told. From 19A to 4C. Hmmmm, seems like renumbering wouldn't really go that way but whatever. Except that seat 4C didn't even actually exist so I'm left standing in the isle. I got to sit next to the flight attendant in the little jump seat since the flight was fully booked. Super comfy, by the way, but it was only an hour flight so I smiled on.

Things seemed back on track in Chicago and we boarded and took off towards Frankfurt without incident. Until about 2 hours in, the captain came on and announced we had an auxiliary power failure that would force us to fly at a lower altitude and we couldn't safely cross the Atlanta. We were diverted back to Chicago. Seriously? So we turned around, dumped jet fuel for 10 minutes to lose enough weight to land (how good is that for the environment below us?), and safely landed back in Chicago. We were ushered to another plane and left again about an hour later. Of course, I had missed my connection out of Frankfurt and had to wake Micah up in the middle of night to tell him but we were assured that agents in Frankfurt would have everyone taken care of.

Well, the ticket I was given in Frankfurt was to wait 24 hours and take the same flight I missed tomorrow. Umm, no. After arguing and maybe some hysterical crying on my part, they put me on another airline to leave an hour later. Yay! Best outcome considering the situation.

Until I went through security, where they wanted to see not only my passport but my Norwegian visa. Apparently, that confused the guy or maybe he was just angry but he started asking why I had a visa, why was I in the states, why didn't I speak Norwegian. My answers, and honestly probably my unenthusiastic attitude at this point, did not appease him so he felt it necessary to call a supervisor who led me to a small cubicle and asked tons more irrelevant questions for about 30 minutes. Who is the king of Norway? How did you get a Norwegian drivers license? Does Norway allow duel citizenship and if so, have I applied? Are my children USA or Norwegian residents? Do I pay taxes in USA or Norway? What Norwegian political party do I belong to and have I contributed any money to their cause? Aaaaggghhh! Finally I think he just got tired of me not knowing the answers to most of the questions and he let me go. (The king is king Harold, by the way. Score 1 for me)
But by this time I had missed my flight so had to rebooked yet again.

So it's over, right? Almost but the best is last.

So I finally board the last plane, stuck in a middle seat of course between a sweet older lady who only speaks German and an uptight businessman. He was the guy who doesn't have to follow the rules, you know? No first class on this tiny flight? He was obviously put out. He hung his suit jacket over my seat and spread out as much as he could while I snuggled into the old German lady. He complained about having to turn off his laptop, raise his seat back, not getting a meal, you name it. Really, he huffed and puffed for the hour and a half. Finally, as we are about to land, he and the flight attendant have it out over having to turn off his computer. She takes it out of his hands and tells him he can have it back when we land (like she was speaking to a child). He then decides to get up to go to the bathroom. I mean, landing gear is out, flight attendants are buckled in themselves. She forcefully tells him he cannot go and must sit down. He proceeds-no joke-to defiantly pull down his suit pants and pee in the isle. Unbelievable. That led to several male passengers restraining him while we got to sit on the plane even longer waiting for police to come arrest him.

Really. You can't make this stuff up.

At last, I am sitting in a taxi on the way to my house to cuddle with my boys. I couldn't possibly stand any more public transportation today so I skipped the train.

I guess it's been memorable and I guess it could have all been a lot worse but I am ecstatic that this day is O.V.E.R.

Nine eleven

This isn't typical of my posts but it's where my heart is today...

Everyone of our generation remembers where they were September 11,2001. It was a defining moment, a pivotal point in our country's history.

I was in El Paso on a hospice rotation in medical school. I spent the day in my short white coat driving in the hot dust of El Paso and across the border in Juarez to make home visits to patients in their last months. Most didn't have televisions but in the houses of those who did, I would try to catch glances and translate from the Spanish stations what was happening. I don't think I really understood the extent of the crisis in those moments, which was probably for the best considering I had patients to care for. I remember getting home, needing to hear Micah and my parents' voices from Houston. I wanted to know they were ok and I wasn't as alone as I felt 8 hours away. I remember watching the news for hours on end with my neighbor, horrified at the scenes and crying for those all of involved. I remember heading to the airport 4 days later to fly home for the weekend, beyond terrified to get on a plane. 

Devastating. Horrific. Unthinkable. The attacks of 9/11 were all of those things and more. People, children, families, cities were forever changed. Many have had to live with grief and heartache everyday since. We will always remember.

 The US sadly felt a heavy impact on 9/11 in a way we never had before. Our safety was on the line. Our confidence was shattered. Our bubble burst. The unimaginable happened on live television and played out in front of our eyes. We were flung into a new understanding of death and sadness on our doorstep.

In our blessed country, it can be  easy for us to forget that war, mass casualty and terrorism are a part of our world. Others don't always have the same luxury. There are people all over the world who have dealt with tragedy, some who are forced to live it almost daily. 

Over 600 were killed in political violence just last month in Egypt. Over the past few days, close to 50 have died in Northern India religious riots, with fighting continuing. In Syria, sources report that 100,000+ have died since July in ongoing civil wars. Even here in peaceful Norway, 87, mostly youth, were killed in 2011 terrorist attacks not 5 miles from where we live. 

I don't argue that one incident is worse than the other. I don't claim to call any of these equivalent to 9/11. I don't all at mean to take away from its gravity. 

What I point out is that it's easiest to focus on our differences. 

As a physician, I sometimes tend to rationalize a patient's condition to avoid an emotionally connection. I couldn't get lung cancer like him because I don't smoke. I would never lose a limb to diabetes like her because I eat well and run everyday. I would have started antibiotics much earlier than him and not ended up with an infection that bad. I'm different. I'm not like them. That couldn't happen to me. 

The same is true in our general thinking. Our understanding of cultures and lifestyles different from our own is limited. We can rationalize violence elsewhere and disconnect ourselves from those tragedies because we aren't like them.

But really, we aren't all that different. We are all people. We have unique struggles and worries. Our experiences are not the same. But we are all children of God. No one deserves to suffer. No one should have to grieve alone, regardless of country or race or political affiliation or religion. 

So today, on this important day, along with remembering the families, the first responders, and all the people effected from 9/11, I would hope we would take some time to consider we are not alone. Give some thought to those struggling with us. Remember the Africans, the Egyptians, the Indians that are living grief in their own way as well. It doesn't matter your political take on UN action or who is right or wrong or where Syria is on a map, all that matters is that they are human. It's what connects us all. 

Summer reflection

So school is back in swing and I've finally stolen some time to sit and reflect on the past few months. 

Summer was a whirlwind!

It started with a trip to Copenhagen. We took an overnight cruise on what we found out later is known as a party boat (and boy, did it live up to its name ...think south Padre at spring break in a confined space). It was actually a picturesque trip down the fjord to Denmark. Copenhagen is a canal city filled with house boats, amazing old world architecture and bicyclers dominating the roads.

Shortly after, the boys and I headed back to the states for 3 weeks. Micah joined us for the second half. We had a blast spending time with family and friends. They boys swam all day and ran the cul de sac with their sorely missed friends. We also, of course, did lots of shopping and stocking up on clothes and shoes, taking full advantage of "cheap" American prices. That, and my apocalyptic supply of US toiletries we brought initally was dwindling (seriously, I refuse to change my Secret
deodorant for a foreign brand at this point in my life).

From Houston, we headed back (with Hidden Valley Ranch packets stuffed in every crevice in the suitcases) to Norway via Amsterdam where we spent a week. What an exciting city! We love people watching and there is possibly no better place in the world to enjoy our pastime. Micah and I spent our jet lagged evenings watching all kinds of antics from our canal hotel balcony. We visited museums, rode down canals, ate amazing food. Unfortunately, we ended our last day with a mishap at the hotel breakfast when Barrett was burned with a pot of hot tea. It wasn't the best part of our
travels but thankfully he is fully recovered.

Finally, the week before school started we drove to Sweden where we spent a long weekend camping on the Baltic Sea coast. We had beautiful weather and enjoyed some amazing scenery and seal watching  as we explored the Koster Islands,  a Swedish national park.

Whew!

It was a busy eight weeks but filled with family days of laughing (and whining),  lots of logged airplane hours, and great memories. There were moments of happiness watching the boys pick up

right where they left off with their friends, moments of fatigue as I navigated the 14 hour trip to Houston with the 3 of them by myself,  moments of  fear in the back of an ambulance in a foreign
country after Barrett was hurt, and moments of awe taking in amazing Van Gogh works of art. It was awesome and exhausting and comforting all at the same time.

And now...

I'm glad to be back settled in Norway. I surprised myself.

I tried to prepare myself emotionally to go home. Micah and I actually talked a lot about how we would all handle "leaving again". I anticipated the same feelings of apprehension, sadness, frustration. But they never came. I never felt the bad stuff.

Don't misunderstand, I definitely was thrilled to be back in Texas. 

There was a day spent with my closest friends at the spa giggling and relaxing. There was a weekend with my oldest and dearest friend in Austin catching up on snuggle time with my god daughter. There was church time of completely losing myself in God. There was Mexican food.  It was pretty awesome. I enjoyed every minute. 

But I didn't countdown the days as I am known to do. I didn't wallow while packing. I didn't dread the drive to the airport. I waited, bracing myself for the flood of sadness. Instead all I felt was comfort - it felt like we were going home. In fact, Owen kept laughing telling us "we are leaving home to go

home!" Exactly!

Dare I say, this place is growing on me?

I hadn't realized how much I have changed until I was back in my old environment. It was little

things-conversations with people, trips to the grocery store, tv-it felt kind of foreign at times. It's all the same, but my perspective, my priorities are different.

 The thing is, I figured out that I am happy with my simple, beautiful life. There is such peace for me in not rushing, in not being a slave to my phone for work, in our family time. Gone are the feelings of guilt and worry and stress. I almost don't know what to do without them. 

This past weekend we celebrated Owen's birthday. At one point, as I was surrounded by a houseful of families we call friends here that I love, it hit me. I really like it in Norway. I really like our experiences and eye opening adventures and cozy family. I've made some true friends and I missed them over the summer. 

It really feels like home.  

I am content. 

It took me by surprise. I tried hard to dig in my heels and pull myself under. I got weighed down by the uphill climb and kept back at the starting line.  

Now, I can't say if I'm at the top. I have no idea where I am actually. I don't know where God is taking me. 

But I'm happy and  I am enjoying the view from where I am.