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Conversations with the Keim Kids
During the last school year, we (the Keim kids) set up a YouTube channel. Our friends in Atkinson Nebraska sent us pictures and asked us questions about our life in Thailand. We made videos to answer their questions, but instead of just making videos for them we decided to put all the videos we made on YouTube so everybody can see them. Josiah, Selah, and I did all the work so that we could learn about it and have fun with it.
These are all the videos we made so far if you want to see them:
Episode #1
Episode #2
Episode #3
Episode #4
Episode #5
Episode #6
Episode #7
Episode#8
Episode#9
Okay I got to go now, so see you next time!
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My Home
Autobiography Part 5
I was born in Denver Colorado, after I turned one we moved to Atkinson; but we lived outside of town. When I was six years old we moved into town. Every time we moved; I liked the next house more that the first. I loved our home at the ranch and was sad to move, but then I started to like our next home even more (after we got all of the bats out of the house of course). It wasn’t just because of the house itself that I liked it, it was because of the life it gave me. When we moved, we met our neighbors and have been good friends ever since. Also, I lived closer to my friend, Paisley, and I got to see her more often out of school. We also started home schooling in that house, which was a big–but great–change.
Here’s the thing: Our house was the oldest house in town. Most of the people in the town thought we were crazy for wanting to move in. There wasn’t a single room in the house that we didn’t redo, and it took a very long time. Like I said, we moved in when I was six years old, and we finished the house when I was ten. That is a LONG time. But after all that time it was finished, and we even had an open house at our house and everyone in town was invited to come see our house as it was completely remodeled.
Our house was finished around Christmas time. When May came, the big news hit: We were moving again. This time, we were moving to Thailand. There were a lot of tears shed that night. I remember my mom calling us for a family meeting. I asked her if it was good news and she just said, “I think so”. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it was not that. Everyone was sad, but I think we were all a little bit happy too. Even if we didn’t say we were happy, I think that there was a little bit of happiness somewhere.
Then the journey began. We started fundraising by telling our friends and preaching in churches (this was mostly my parents work). Our church even hosted us a goodbye party and gave us a great farewell. We gave up a lot. I gave up dance, which was really hard for me. My dad gave up his business. And we all gave up things like our family, friends, and home. Even though it was hard, we made the most of it and came to Thailand feeling hopeful. We knew that this is where God wanted us to be, and we knew that new friends and a new life was waiting for us in Thailand.
Packing took a long time and a lot of effort. We had to think of all the things that we were going to want but we were also limited, so we had to think of all the things that we were going to need. Think about when you go on a trip and you must pack all your things. You are worried that you don’t have everything, and you must make sure you haven’t forgotten anything because you are not going to be back for some time. Well, think about that but you are not going to be back for two years! We had to make sure we got everything! When we got to the airport, we officially had thirteen checked bags and six carry-on suitcases. We also each had a back-pack on our back. We are a family of six, so that means we had a total of 25 bags!
We had three flights. The first flight was from Omaha to Detroit, the second flight was from Detroit to South Korea, and the third flight was from South Korea to Chiang Mai, Thailand. When we made it to Chiang Mai it was pretty late at night and we were all so tired that we could barely stay awake. We all were ready to get to our house and fall asleep. When we got to our new house some of the other missionaries gave us bed sheets and other things like shampoo and conditioner. Then, for the next week or two, missionaries took turns helping us shop for things that we would need and showing us their favorite places to get food. After a while, we started to finally settle in and Thailand slowly started to feel like home.
I have lived in Thailand for one year now, and I love it here. Even though I miss a lot of things in America, I think that I could live in Thailand for a long time.
PS. If you want to see our house in Atkinson, Nebraska for yourself, you can! Since we aren’t living in it right now, it is an airbnb for people to stay at. Check it out here:
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An Unplanned Trip to Laos
I don’t believe in luck or in jinxes, but whenever my mom says that we have to take a “short” trip to the Immigration Office, it seems we are actually in for a whole lot more. For example, this last trip was supposed to take “maybe two hours” if we get there early enough to be first in the queue line. I mean, we’ve done this kind of extension before and it was fairly simple. Mom was even hoping we would get home early enough to have a normal day of school. So, we left at 6:30 A.M. and got home at midnight. Here’s how it went: (read in a James Bond British accent, if you have one)
It was an early Thursday morning. The weather, some of the nicest I have seen since the Big Move. We all got into clean, respectable clothes, for this was the standard. We left as the sun was coming up, shining the world in its eerie light. We were some of the very first to arrive, acquiring queue numbers that would set us among the first to travel to the counter. We had some time before the counters would open, so we found the necessary forms and filled out the paperwork needed for this visit. Then, paperwork completed, we sat in the empty plastic chairs, and waited about 45 minutes before the counters opened. By then, there were no empty chairs and people were forced to stand.
After a kind gentleman came out to tell the novices (a category the likes of which we are not in) how to proceed, our queue number was called. My mother, my sisters, and I went to the counter and confidently passed them our passports and paperwork. They were supposed to look at them and verify the validity before handing them back and sending us on to the next set of chairs and row of counters with a new queue number in hand. But our life is not one of ease, for when we spoke to the dear officer behind the counter, he informed us we could only be permitted another 30 days in the fine country of Thailand if we first left the country at the border. So, accepting our ill-timed fate, we left and sat on the steps of the office, waiting for my father and brother to get their situations worked out (fortunately for them, they have VISAs of a different sort). My father then needed to stand in yet another line at yet another window for yet another process. While waiting for him to finish, my mother, siblings, and I went to the nearest 7 ELEVEn (which is, in fact, spelled as such) to get some snacks to satisfy our grumbling stomachs. This was the second time getting our sustenance from a petrol station that day, for we had earlier purchased fruit from a stand at a petrol station for our morning meal.
Our father met us, and from there we all left for another unexpected adventure. We piled in the car and left town to drive through the mountains of Chiangmai. By and by the hours went, though we all knew we still had several more kilometers to go. We stopped at a third petrol station to use the loo and to find our lunch. Fortunately, this was one of the fancier PTTs. Fancier meaning there was the popular KFC in addition to the Five Star Chicken vendor, Dunkin’ Donuts stand, Cafe Amazon, and, of course, 7 ELEVEn. Yet again, we ventured forward, this time making a dreadful mess in the car with a huge bucket of fried chicken in the middle seat.
Fast forward the hours passed. After several devices died and our only entertainment was staring out at the mountains, and we finally got to the border. Memories filled our brains from our previous failed trip to the Laos border (that fateful trip, we ended up turning back empty-handed and flying to Malaysia the next day). When we stepped out of the car, we immediately coughed and gagged for fresh air for the dreaded smoky season had already hit that region quite hard. We walked the short walk to the border from the parking lot and got in line behind the small hoard of backpackers that were there ahead of us. Leaving the father and brother behind, we journeyed to a new country. We each, in turn, handed the men our passports, scanned our fingerprints, and stared awkwardly at the face-surveying camera, before walking to the bus stop.
After a small wait, we climbed into the bus and drove for a singular minute over a wide river before stopping at another structure exactly like the one we had just left: that one in Thailand, this one in Laos. Leaving the bus, we stood in yet another line behind yet another counter. Upon discovering it to be the wrong line, we began again: another line, another counter. After handing over a pile of cash in exchange for Laotian VISAs and entry stamps in our passports (the likes of which would prove we left Thailand for a few minutes) back to the bus stop we headed. We were done standing and waiting, now we could sit and wait. After 30 minutes or so, we could board the next bus headed for Thailand. The scenery was beautiful for we were right by the mountains and they looked right out of a painting, especially with a film of smoke covering everything the naked eye could see. We boarded the bus and ventured back to Thailand.
Everything went rather smoothly after that. We drove another grueling 5 1/2 hours home in the dark, with leftover fried chicken and 7 ELEVEn for our supper. We did have the good fortune to find a 7 ELEVEn with an ice cream cooler, so our day was topped off with Thai quality ice cream for dessert.
We came home at midnight and immediately fell asleep. That was the end of it. Ha! It might never be the end of it. Nevertheless, this adventure is over, and a new one is coming. I can feel it.
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After 12 Days of Christmas: Epiphany!
As a grown-up, I don’t think I’ve ever taken the Christmas decorations down before today, and that was true before I knew Epiphany was even a thing. At first, I’d say it was just me dragging my feet about allowing the “most wonderful time of the year” to end. As far as it depended on me–I declared by lingering decorations–we would have our full 12 Days of Christmas even if the rest of the world around us was ready to move on into New Year’s Resolutions involving less clutter and fewer cookies.
The New Year celebrations in Thailand overshadowed Christmas, almost swallowing it up: the numbers 2024 were displayed in red and green almost as if it were synonymous with “Merry Christmas.” There are plenty of Christmas decorations around Chiang Mai, in keeping with the city’s intercultural flair. The last time I was anywhere a Christmas tree had been erected, it was still up…and I like that. 2024 is the year of the dragon, a tradition Thailand shares with other Eastern cultures: the red and gold New Year décor blends right in with the glitzy glittery sort of Christmas décor that seems to be favored here. [Sidenote: I’ve probably seen more of the puffy sort of tinsel garland this year than in the past 20 years of Christmases in America combined. It reminds me of my Grandma’s Christmas tree in the late 80s/early 90s…you know, around the same time in history that we rolled our jeans at the ankles so they poofed out like MC Hammer pants.]
Yes, our Christmas tree is still up. Christmas was truly lovely in all the most important ways for us this year. We had a joyful celebrations with the ZOE family, and hosted a Christmas party for the ZOE Child Rescue Team.
At our international church service, we heard scripture read in a multitude of languages I didn’t know existed and worshipped with believers from all over the world. We took our annual Christmas church service photo in front of palm trees instead of a Christmas tree, void of fancy dresses or sweater vests.
However, I admit the coziness of the days between Christmas Day and News Year’s Day left me wanting. I still snuggled under my “Joy to the World” blanket, drank my coffee hot (even though iced is more appropriate to the climate), and tried to bask in the glow of the Christmas tree in our living room for some heavy hours of reading and reflecting. But I missed my fireplace, the snow outside, the sound of the wind howling, and reddiwhip to put on my coffee.
I was today years old when I really realized just how culturally bound my “feeling of Christmas” has always been. Snow wasn’t a part of the first Christmas. There was no bedazzled Christmas tree beside the manger. Stockings weren’t hung by the chimney with care on the night Jesus was born in the stable. Of course I knew that … and yet those things have always been a part of how Christmas “feels” to me. Realizing that, Epiphany carries new weight for me this year and is more beautiful than ever before.
Traditionally, Epiphany is the day the church has set aside to remember the wise men coming to Bethlehem to find “he who has been born king of the Jews” (Matthew 2:2). The wise men came from the East. I am a Westerner, I think according to Western ideas and have been shaped by my Western culture. I now live in the East and am daily becoming accustomed to Eastern ideas and the deep-seated customs of Eastern culture. The men who came to find Jesus came from this side of the world. Buddha walked the earth hundreds of years before Jesus and so I wonder: were the wise men schooled in Buddhist thought like the kids here in Thailand are today?
The wise men were astrologers or magicians: wealthy men who accurately discerned a message written in the stars. They came to worship, but they were not Jews waiting for their Messiah: they were Gentiles from a foreign culture, with totally different ideas, practices, traditions, and culture. A lifetime of astrological study, a very long cross-country journey, and their diligent search for one bright star culminated as they “rejoiced exceedingly with great joy” over finding young Jesus (Matthew 2:10). They bowed in worship to a tiny king and lavished gifts upon him (Matthew 2:11). This wasn’t at the manger, but I am glad the wise men are a part of our nativity scene anyway…we need them in this story.
After the gifts were given and received, the wise men’s part in the greatest story ever told just ended: in a quiet, anti-climactic finale we are told they chose to “return home by another way” (Matthew 2:12). The wise men’s experience of Christmas brought exceedingly great joy and—also—complex feelings of a darker nature (fear? Anxiety?) that caused them to act in caution and secrecy. When they chose to “return home by another way” they were choosing to disobey the local government official’s direct orders (see Matthew 2:8). This, in part, led to the “Massacre of the Innocents:” the tragic deaths of so many innocent children at the hands of a power-hungry government. And so Matthew’s account of the Christmas story ends with weeping and lamentation that could be heard miles away (Matthew 2:18).
I scanned the Christmas accounts for emotive sort of words that give us clues to how that first Christmas may have “felt.” Here are a few of them, in no particular order: shame, resolve, contemplation, fear, rejoicing, great joy, warning, lamentation, weeping, refusal to be comforted, greatly troubled, fear, power, holy, wonderful, blessed, rejoicing, exaltation, mercy, great fear, great joy, haste, wondering, pondering, glorifying, praising, peace, marveled, give thanks, “and a sword will pierce through your own soul.”
Christmas is beautiful, as we celebrate our God who took on flesh in the most extraordinary way through the most ordinary of miracles. Christmas is complicated, for all the same reasons and more.
The celebration ends, after 12 days of Christmas, with Epiphany. Epiphany recognizes that Jesus is a gift not only to a specific people, but a gift unto all the world. The celebration of the coming of our LORD is one that transcends culture, and it has done so from the very beginning. Upon entering the world, Jesus radiated love so bright and so bold that the whole world could see. Those wise men from the East traveled far in search of the glory of God with lavish gifts and hearts of worship. Jesus came for the children of Israel AND for those in the East. He came for you. He came for me.
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Grace enough for this mom, too.
It is easy and fun to post pictures of our accomplishments when we are “ahead of the curve.” Like in 2019, when we dug in and worked hard to finish all of our homeschool goals in April before leaving for China to meet our Tallulah. Or 2020, when COVID shut downs left our homeschool days virtually unscathed. Or 2021 and 2022, when Selah set us a family goal to be done with school before her May birthday and we willingly complied with her request. It was an easy goal, we were on track to do so anyway.
It is now 2023. It is November. And we only just finished up the coursework that we’ve typically wrapped up in April or May. That is 6 months behind schedule for us, so it seems strange to take a picture…let alone post it for anyone to see. But in the spirit of #keepingitreal, here it is:
In a discussion I had about homeschool curriculum recently, it occurred to me that I have experience teaching all grades PreK-8. I’ve used the same Language Arts curriculum all along the way for every one of my kids (including various editions of the coursework as they were updated along the way). I suppose that means I’m your girl if you are looking for “mom who has experience homeschooling her kids using The Good and the Beautiful Curriculum.” Granted, that is a pretty specific niche of the world to claim expertise in, but I have found that I do indeed have plenty of advice to share as a part of a Facebook group or two.
Something I like about the homeschooling Facebook groups I am a part of is that people are genuinely asking for advice and help. When someone posts a question about the fourth grade concept they are struggling to understand themselves so that they can help their struggling child, others jump in within seconds offering exhaustive explanations, even posting pictures with steps written out or correct answers highlighted. There are always others who chime in with words of encouragement or at least a little huggy heart emoji, and rarely do you see any condescension or accusation. It is such a beautiful community of mothers who are taking responsibility for every aspect of their children’s education.
I am not on Facebook often enough (or in the right time zone) to be a part of most of those conversations, but I have chimed in several times when someone is asking for thoughts about the schedule they have put together for their day or sharing the list of curriculum they are about to purchase and the big question: “Does this cover everything?” I often have relevant input to offer regarding their specific schedule or curriculum selections, but most of my comments also include something along the lines of: “…but that is a lot, so be sure to give yourself plenty of grace if you can’t get it all accomplished each day!” Sure there are some who might seem not to be doing not quite enough regarding their kids academic development. However, what I see far more often is get-it-done, do-it-all homeschool moms like myself who pile too much on the plate and are in danger of forgetting to leave time for conversation, creativity, and the breaks that are sometimes needed for emotional processing when things just feel hard. It is easy to forget the WHY of homeschooling when we get caught up in the HOW.
I chime in when moms ask what do to at the end of the school year: “We aren’t done with level 1, can we just move on to level 2 so my daughter isn’t behind a grade level?” My advice is always DON’T SKIP it! There is so much good stuff at the end of each academic year: like wrapping up word lists, conducting final comparative assessments, the bigger creative writing assignments, and the sense of accomplishment they feel when finally getting through the “Personal Reader” that seemed so thick when they first cracked it open. I might say, “Sure you have the option to wrap it up early if you are just really burned out…but please don’t do it just for the sake of perception regarding grade level!”
I’ve also been known to comment on questions like: “My son is in second grade but reads at a 5th grade level, can we skip ahead a few levels to be sure she is challenged?” My advice, based on plenty of experience, is again DON’T SKIP! There are so many age-appropriate things to learn through the educational process besides just reading more advanced books. We’ve always just chosen more advanced literature for the personal reading time of our school day and taken confident baby steps when the concepts came easily.
Anyway, I say all of that simply to tell you that I decided to heed my own advice this year, and we didn’t skip a thing when we got colossally behind. We plugged away when we could, let life derail us when it insisted, and then plugged away again. I know that if it were some other homeschool mama living my life, I would have told her to relax and take the breaks needed for all the “life” that is happening. I might have said to her, “Give yourself some grace for the time being and jump back in when you find some semblance of normal that allows it (even if it is only a few days at a time).” And so, this time, I gave myself that grace as well. And I continue to do so daily.
We needed an extra 6 months, but I am glad we did not skip anything and I am also glad we took the time. We are all grateful to finally be moving on, though, too! Jeremiah shared one of his final writing assignments from Level 3 the other day, which you can read here. As a part of her Level 6 requirements, Selah practiced all kinds of prewriting strategies in order to create a series of autobiographical sketches then compile them into an autobiography. Part 1 is available here now and she plans to post the rest in pieces as she is able to add photos and re-format her writing for the blog.
Josiah actually finished his 8th grade curriculum before we moved to Thailand which is why he is not in the photo above. He has been working on high school language arts for the past several months, and I’ve asked him to share a recent “Insights Essay” he wrote on the blog as well. Potato chips and animal humor are more his M.O., but his talent is multi-faceted and deep. I pray his short essay will bless your heart as it did mine (I’ll try to remember to link it here when he publishes it). I do hope Tallulah will be included in our next photo as well: she is working hard on her letter sounds and may soon be ready for an adapted approach to this classical curriculum.
Homeschooling is not always easy: it involves so much input with very little recognition. But there are also days when these kids bless my socks off with the people they are becoming, the work they are producing, and ways they are thinking. I have the best seat in the house from which to watch it all unfold…but I am happy to give you all a glimpse as well 🙂
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Moving To Thailand
This personal narrative was originally written by Jeremiah Keim as a requirement of his coursework for The Good and the Beautiful Level 3 Language Arts.
The day mom and dad told us we were going to move to Thailand, I was scared because I thought I wouldn’t be able to see my friends again. I was sitting on the couch and it was dark outside when mom and dad told me and my brother and sisters. After I calmed down, I felt really excited about it. It took several days to pack and we made our house into a place for other people to stay. Finally, the week before we moved we went to spend time with our family. Personally, I felt really sad that we would have to leave them but also really happy because they said they would sometimes visit us.
When we went to the airport it was really early in the morning. When we got to the airport we said goodbye and then loaded all our stuff onto the plane. Our first plane ride, I took a nap and when I woke up we were nearly to Detroit. The next two flights were nice and comfy because I got to watch movies and wear soft, warm, fuzzy slippers. It was longer than I expected, but then we finally got to Thailand. I felt really happy because we met all the ZOE people and I finally got to breathe fresh air again (the air wasn’t really fresh it was actually smokey, but, hey, at least it was air that wasn’t inside the plane all night).
First, one of the missionaries took us to the house that we chose to live in. It was OK, but I was really scared of the geckos and of the snakes that might live here. Luckily, I haven’t seen any snakes. Eventually, I started to like geckos. I like to catch them and release them outside.
Next, the missionaries took us around to all their favorite restaurants and stuff. For example, we got to go with a missionary to a plant market. It was pretty fun. I saw lots of cactuses and Elephant Ear plants. Another example is that another missionary took us to this really cool art gallery where the paintings look super realistic, like you were holding a hammer in the painting or like you were fighting a dragon.
Also, one of the families took us to the zoo with them. It was really fun because we got to rent a golf cart and we saw a whole bunch of cool animals that live in Thailand and other places. Afterwards, we went to this awesome restaurant with an big pretend boat outside and we played tag on it.
I am really happy we live in Thailand now because my dad is helping ZOE stop child trafficking. I think my dad is doing what God made him to do. I want to support him and do what I can do to help raise money for ZOE so that we can give help to the kids who have been trafficked. My heart makes me feel like I want to help and give them a normal life again, because after being trafficked it would be hard.
THE END
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Airing our Dirty Laundry
Last time I lived in Thailand, I failed to take pictures of the “normal things.” In the years since, I discovered it was difficult to explain the basin of water in the bathroom that we used for bucket showers and flushing the toilet, and I wished I had taken pictures. So every once in a while I am the crazy person who takes pictures of the most uninteresting things I can think of: like laundry drying on a rack. I am also the person who documents the trip to the laundromat with photos of my children. Because there is a story of what God is doing in our lives even there.
When we renovated our home in America, I REALLY wanted a laundry room upstairs. It was one part of a huge process of reworking our home. See, in order to fit a triple bunk bed in the boys’ room (Eli was supposed to come home in 2020), we needed to move a wall and take over some space in the bathroom. This meant reworking the bathroom. The bathroom was sort of awkwardly large (we think it was originally the entire maid quarters of our 1890s home). We had knocked the exterior stairs out at an earlier phase of the renovation, so the bathroom wall included a second story exterior door to nowhere and I thought that wall should be occupied by the washer and dryer. This was totally possible if we also moved the shower and the door to the closet. And rerouted plumbing through 130 year old floorboards. And also rerouted wiring, which meant replacing all the old knob and tube kind (eh, details). A huge benefit of this idea was that by moving the washer and dryer out of the back entryway by the kitchen, we could gain mudroom space for shoes and coats. And since we were redoing that, we could also take over some space from the main level bathroom to create a pantry…as long as we got all new kitchen cabinets in a new arrangement so that we could cut a pantry door where it would need to be. Cutting into all these walls was helpful anyway so that electrical and plumbing could be correctly routed upstairs (yep, details 🙂 ).
My dad and my husband were amazing and worked so hard to accomplish this feat! It was certainly no small task, but I truly loved the finished product SO MUCH! Seriously, it was a game changer EVERY day. I could get a load of laundry done each morning while also aiding Tallulah in getting herself ready. And it was easy to stay on top of getting it all put away because it was seriously only a few steps to each person’s closet. Laundry never had to be toted up and down the stairs and the dirty laundry baskets were right there next to the shower, so it was almost as convenient to put dirty clothes where they belonged rather than leave them all over the floor! It was every bit as wonderful as I hoped it would be.
Then we moved to Thailand. My washing machine is now outside and we don’t have a dryer at all. At first, I had no regular laundry routine. The laundry on the line was never dry by sundown (around 6 pm) so the laundry stayed out all night. In the morning, it housed THOUSANDS of mosquitos who were taking refuge from the smoke and breeding inside our damp clothes. It felt like an accomplishment when I realized that getting the first load of laundry in by 7 am meant I could get two loads on the line in the morning AND they would be dry and ready to be put away at 4 pm. If I did 2 loads a day each weekday, I could stay on top of my family’s laundry needs. I also discovered pretty early that if I took over the front porch with drying racks, I didn’t run the risk of losing my progress to an afternoon rainstorm. Sometimes things need to be rewashed due to the droppings from the birds who nest in this grate thing on the porch ceiling…but not nearly as many as you might suspect based on the number of birds that swoop over my head while I hang the laundry each morning.
That worked through the hottest season and into the early rainy season…but then the truly rainy phase of the rainy season came. Now the laundry can be on the line for days on the porch and not ever be dry, because the air is just wet. All the time. On a sunny day, we can move the racks to the driveway, but it is so difficult to tell when the rain will come: it is a regular occurrence that without a moment’s notice it is pouring–even though the sun is still shining–and we are scrambling to run through the rain to pull in the clothes that are once again drenched. So instead, the laundry often takes over the living room and we use a fan to aid the drying process. This works alright.
There are still details we haven’t figured out. For example, I am still working to figure out how to get some of the funk smell out of dry-fit fabrics, but I think it helped the other day when I boiled a pot of water and soaked the worse offenders in a bucket first (we don’t have a water heater so most of the laundry is washed in cold water).
There was also the glorious day a rogue gecko slithered out of the bundle of socks and underwear I had just brought in to put away in my drawer. And so my boys got to dig around in their mother’s underwear drawer to find it and take it back outside since that gives me the heeby jeebies. Every day brings a new adventure around here.
We have another line strung between two poles under an awning outside where we dry towels. Bed sheets, though, are another challenge. One bed set takes over all the racks… and the sheets get covered with lint residue worse than the clothes do (you know all the stuff that you collect in the lint trap of the dryer? A lot of that ends up on the floor of the porch from shaking each thing out before hanging it…but with sheets it just stays stuck). I have declared that the best way to wash bedsheets is to take them all at once to the Otteri (the name of a chain of laundromats here) and to take advantage of the wall full of dryers!
Tallulah is a grand laundry helper and especially loves to help with the coins.
While it is a whole new system I had to learn and a lot of convenience we left behind, I really don’t hate it. I’ve found a rhythm that sort of works most days and have developed a lot of patience for all the mishaps. Dirty laundry is just one of the many little things in our lives that is both the same as always and also so very very different.
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Get Used To Different
It has been over a month since my last post and a quick scroll down the homepage would say it is my “turn”. But words are coming hard for me. Everything is. Life just feels hard right now, but it is difficult for me to explain just how or why, beyond anecdotal examples of the small daily frustrations I encounter here and there. I think it is because everything is different. Not all bad. Not all good. But very different.
As a homeschooling mother, my main job right now is to re-establish the routine of the homeplace: basically doing the same things I’ve always done in a new place. But it is hard to do the same thing when everything is different. Knocked out of my rhythm, I feel a bit off-balance and even small daily tasks require too much attention and decision. Right now I struggle to think of a single thing I do each day that is the same as it has always been. EVERYTHING is different.
The sounds are different: different birds, different bugs…bigger. Different words and voices and songs.
The smells are different. I hear the rain and open the windows: but can’t find the smell I always knew. A smell I fail to even remember well enough to describe: help me friends…was it grass? soil? With something sweet? I don’t really know how to describe it here either, just different.
The flavors are different. We might find butter, chocolate, avocados: but in your mouth they aren’t familiar. There is a subtle nuance in flavors such that basic comfort foods fail to deliver. I am working to adapt to new staple ingredients, but new ingredients mean new recipes, new utensils, new pans, new methods. For some that might sound fun. For this cook and grocery shopper, I admit it is mostly daunting. Probably because the food is different, my body feels different, too. It is exhausting to have no respite from all that is unfamiliar, even inside myself.
I sit here at my desk a stack of papers and notes next to me. It is printer paper, but a different shape (My PDFs run off the page on the long side and also leave a huge margin on one side along the short side…an annoyance to this recovering perfectionist and her like-minded children doing school on lopsided worksheets). Also, the pens have smaller ballpoints, so my handwriting looks a bit like someone else’s. That is supposed to mean something. Am even I so very different?
I brought the most important pieces of the life we left behind with me: they are different, too. Rod has more confidence and purpose than I have ever seen in him and that changes my role in his life. We moved here with three “littles” and one very tall eighth grader. Now I am the mother of mostly high school and middle schoolers. Even our youngest will be hitting double-digits this month. All these new life phases are bombarding me each day without my permission. So much that is so different.
The kids and I are working on putting together our own synoptic gospel as we study all four gospels together during our school day. As a part of that process we are re-watching The Chosen. If you’ve been following with this amazing show, you might recognize the bumper sticker phrases #LookUp or #ComeAndSee. During Season One, it was #GetUsedToDifferent. That is the part of the story we are in right now. And so I am. We are. We are all getting used to different.
I fear my tone is–once again–desolate, sad, even whiney. That isn’t how I feel.
Sometimes a fog sits heavy around me, yes. Sometimes I feel I’m just spinning my wheels trying to do the same things I’ve always done (cooking, cleaning, and working to develop and find meaningful outlets for my children’s amazingness)…even though that same thing I’ve always done is different here, harder.
Still we plug away and find new blessings when we look for them. I’m certainly not doing it perfectly, but God loves me anyway. When I can see clearly, I am overwhelmed with gratitude.
God is too good,
his world too wonderful,
his work too astounding
to stay in the fog when the sun is shining.
Here are a few things that have me feeling blessed beyond measure recently:
#1) Have you ever heard a seashell orchestra in real life? The way the waves catch the shells and then send them clinking together on the way back out is such a uniquely beautiful sound. I’d never heard it before, and it took my breath away. The whole earth sings praise. (The video doesn’t do it justice, but we tried…)
#2) Baht are PERFECT for illustrating borrowing. Such a fun blessing as we wrapped up 3rd grade math and reviewed all the sticking points!
#3) I caught these two spending quality time making music together. I was able to sneak the phone around the corner just in time to catch this. They are both shy to share these talents, but I pray they do this together more and more!
#4) Isn’t this symbiosis of life so pretty?
#5) These two American girls brought up the rear in the three legged sack race.
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The Snack Shack
Our kitchen has the coolest window. It slides open and it slides shut. On one side of the window, it is the kitchen and on the other side, it is the dining room. I came up with the coolest idea: what if I served snacks from the kitchen to people in the dining room?
From there, it became “The Snack Shack.” First my sister, Selah, bought a cash register. Then my dad put shelves in so that we could pass things out from there. Now I sell candy, and Oreos, and Beng Bengs (which are candy bars that are like rice krispies with chocolate on them). And now I am partnered in association with a business called “Keim Café.” Selah can tell you about that.
For a couple of days, during math time for school, mom and I figured out how much everything should cost. We took the total price for a box, counted how many things were in the box, and then divided up the price. In my head I could estimate how much each thing cost. We have 5 baht treats and 10 baht treats. That way people could pay for it with the money we get each week for snacks.
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Bloom where you are planted.
There is a tree growing in the empty lot next to the home we are renting, and I love it. It has more flowers than leaves, and the color is striking against the blue sky.
Trees like this one are growing all over our Muubaan (neighborhood), standing here and there to bless me each day on my morning “walkabout”. Last month, there were yellow trees in bloom. With the onset of rain and the appearance of blue skies, these orange ones now shine.
I have always been drawn to the simplistic beauty of the adage “Bloom where you are planted.” I like the idea of a master gardener placing each seedling right where He knows it will do best. I like that a tree’s job is simply to put down roots and keep reaching up. I like that the tree reaches for food, sunlight, and water but can do little more in the way of providing for itself.
When Rod and I bought our first home, one of the things I remember stood out to me about the older neighborhood we moved into (as opposed to the newer subdivisions we visited), was the trees: they stood tall above the homes and shaded the roadways.
When we moved to the ranch, I fell in love with the ancient tree in the yard…
…the one with the baby raccoons and the tire swing.
When we moved to town, there was an old tree to greet us there, too. This one blessing us with seed pod helicopters in lieu of the cotton that “snowed” each summer at the ranch. It sheltered a fairy garden and held the tree fort that became the water slide.
Each home gave us a tree, each tree, a blessing.
The trees around me now inspire me because of their resilient growth.
They bend, adjust: growing around power lines and avoiding snares. Always beautiful. Still blooming bright.
I love that these people bent their wall around the tree. And the tree, in turn, bends out from their home, leaning over the road to provide a canopy of welcome shade.
And then there is this one. While standing tall and strong, it still finds a way to lean toward the water: drawn to its refreshing stillness and abundant source of life.
In each place I have lived, I have worked to put down roots, reaching deep and holding tight. Torn up, replanted, pruned, I admit I feel lost some days. I have been busy reaching, growing, dreaming in one direction: but if that way is cut off, I too must grow in another direction. Like these trees, I am doing the slow work of bending. Like these trees, I lean into the still waters where I find refreshment for my soul. Always, forever, finding new ways to reach up.
