The letter R

Regulars may recall that nursery have a 'letter of the week'. (Well, fortnight, actually, but let's not be picky).
Having been away, we'd somewhat lost track of what letter it might be, but I thought it was probably R. We discussed this, and Joshua wanted to take his sword (he's still not too hot on the whole letters thing - I said maybe next week). As it happens, he was clutching a frisbee as we left the house. Said frisbee had the words 'flying ring' emblazoned upon it (ok, it wasn't a frisbee, it had a hole in it - more like an aerobee, if you remember them).
We got to nursery (him still clutching frisbee) to discover that it was, indeed, the letter R. I asked what he was holding and he said 'a frisbee'. At this point, I assured him that it was, in fact, a Ring. A flying Ring if you're going for accuracy, but a Ring nonetheless. This threw him slightly, and I suspect he was left slightly befuddled as I hastily departed.
On the journey home after pickup, the whole frisbee/flying Ring topic resurfaced. I explained that if we called it a Ring, then it could count for an 'R' and thus earn him a sticker.

"Sometimes, you can call something more than one name", I concluded.

He piped up, "Yes, I can call it Ralph, or Frisbee, or little throwing thingy".

Wet Wales.

We've been away. But I'm always reluctant to say we're going away before we actually do, just because all you have to do is look me up on Google and hey presto, you can come and rob me blind while I'm sunning myself in Spain (or Wales...). But that's probably just paranoia... Especially as we have on site security... Anyway, I digress!

Just thought I'd upload a couple of shots of our most recent trip to Wales. We were there for a few days, hosted by some fabulous friends of ours. Joshua's big passion was the swing.

As you can see, he got some 'good air', as they say. It was on a slope, which meant that you could walk backwards up the slope and then propel yourself off, giving the impression of having gone further that you really had (though you were definitely high up!).
Just out of shot, to the left is this:

Which, for the uninitiated, is Snowdon. Well, it's dead centre, a long way away...
Fantastic views. There are better pics on the camera (these were 'phone) which will come along in due course. Just thought you might like to see a wild boy on a rope while you wait.

I have a goodly heritage.

Well, some time to reflect.
I was invited to an MK retreat this week. Specifically, I was invited to be on the panel for questions on the last day - I was there as a 'survivor' - an MK who'd 'successfully' made it through what for many of us is a long and painful transition. (Forgive me if I sound melodramatic) When I think of the phrase 'burning up on re-entry' (spaceships and the earth's atmosphere) I often think of being an MK and the process of 'coming home'. Though that's a bit of a weird phrase for it, because all of us MKs know that, when we return to our passport-country, we haven't come home - we've just left it. Anyway, the retreat this week was in some ways quite an emotional time for me (though I didn't cry ... in-joke ...). I remember going to MKOasis back in '92 and onwards. What an awesome support that was for me. And I owe such a great deal both to those who led me through that period, and those who walked the same road with me. You have my eternal gratitude.

And for those who don't quite get that, bear in mind that when you're speaking to a Missionary Kid, or perhaps any Third Culture Kid, who's just returned to their 'homeland' (normally the place where their passport hails from, and often the place they were born and visit from time to time to raise more money!) that you're likely to upset them with the question: "what's it like being home", or, sometimes even worse, "you must be so excited about being back home". You see, when an MK returns to their passport-country, they may well think that they've left home, not returned. And it's often not a sort of romantic, 'that chapter is over - a new one can begin'. No, it might well feel more like the book of their life so far has been slammed shut, and put to one side. No more pages to be written - the story's over. And the temptation for the MK is often to stick with that old book. Maybe it's because we feel that if we keep re-reading it, it won't really be over, and of course there's the fear that if we put the book down, we might begin to forget: and for many of us, there would be little worse than that.

Now, I guess maybe I should point out the obvious at this stage - it's not going to be the same for all of us. I guess it depends somewhat on the reasons for leaving. Some MKs are, I guess, the reason for leaving themselves. The most obvious reason would be, like Tim (my older brother) coming back to complete education. We came back as a family to England for his A levels, so maybe it's slightly different for him in that sense. He'd also graduated from school, so had perhaps had a fuller 'closure' that removed some of the reasons for wanting to return to Pakistan. (Feel free to comment on this Tim!!)

But the fact is, if the country (or countries) where you've lived as an MK means anything to you when you return to your passport-country, it'll always stay with you. It's a part of you. You can't lose it in one sense. It's secure in your heart. It might be over, but it's not gone, and it won't be forgotten. Some of the memories will fade, but that would happen anyway (we all get older!). I guess the difference is that new memories won't be made there any more. But the book that was written there is your story. And the new friends you make will want to learn about it. Ok, I'll be honest and say they probably don't want all the details. Comparing this country to the other one, the weather here to the weather there, your new friends to your old friends, and so on, will eventually wear thin for them! Think of it as a wedding photo album. In the initial period after a wedding, the bride and groom (ok, usually the bride!) love showing their wedding pics to everyone who can spare the time. There's the relatives who couldn't make the wedding, and the friends who didn't make the guest list, there's the old lady down the road who loves that sort of thing, then there's the postman who delivered all the cards, the milkman who just happened to come with his bill when you had the album out... But as the time passes, the album is more and more likely to stay on the shelf. Is that because the wedding stops being important? No, of course not. And every time the album comes out there's a flush of excitement, and the memories of that special day. Maybe it's the same with your memories of the home you've just had to leave. In the early days, it'll be at the forefront of your mind all the time. But as time goes on, it might fade a little. That's not something to worry about. You aren't betraying your heart - it's still perfectly secure. And there will always be times when the memories will be brought out again amidst smiles and feelings of longing to be there again, just for a little while.

I prayed a lot about what to say at the retreat, (mainly because I was scared!) and there were two particular verses that really stood out for me. The first was the 'old' version of Psalm 16:6 which includes the phrase: "yea, I have a goodly heritage". (For you young'uns, 'yea' there means 'yes', not 'yeah' or 'yippee')
This is a verse that cropped up for us as a family when we came back to England. The house we ended up buying was called 'The Heritage'. And it was called the Heritage because of that verse. I said to the young people on the MK retreat that they do have a goodly heritage. It's an awesome start to life. It's a huge privilege, I think, to be an MK. (It's also lifelong - your parents might stop being Missionaries, but somehow you never stop being an MK). Obviously, many people have found being an MK a burden more than a joy. But for me, I'm immensely proud of the heritage that God had granted me and my parents have forged for me (thanks mum and dad!). As MKs, the past we have is a good gift from God, and one that we can cherish. However, we shouldn't live there. If the past doesn't let go of us, or, more to the point, if we don't let go of it, we'll never have the chance to turn and look ahead to the future. It's a huge wrench for many of us. And it's not a decision as much as a process. For me, I think it involved both untangling myself from it, and plucking up the courage to release it as well.

And as I've already alluded to, the second verse is to do with the future. It's my favourite verse in the Bible. The reference (Jeremiah 29:11) is engraved on the inside of our wedding rings. And it's this:

"for I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

I'm not sure I'd be able to think of a more appropriate verse for Mish Kids. It's a message that's brought at a time when God's people are at an all-time-low. They've been uprooted from their country, the country where God had placed them, the country that they love, the country where they feel secure (sounding familiar?) and brought to an inhospitable place. They don't belong, they don't fit in, and they don't really want to either. And God makes this extraordinary statement. It seems too good to be true, but it actually isn't. It is true. It comes just a couple of chapters before that spine tingling bit in Jer 31:31 - '"the time is coming", declares the Lord, "when I will make a new covenant"'. This promise is the start of something pretty major. I think it's a promise that can equally apply to MKs. God knows the plans he has for you, and they're plans for hope and a future.

And then, of course, there's the whole question of where home is. I'm not gonna say much about that (I've said plenty already about everything else!!). But I will say, hard though it has been for me to accept, I didn't really leave home when I left Pakistan. Neither did I come home when I returned to England. The Bible tells me that, in fact, I haven't got home yet. And my longing shouldn't be for any home I've left, but for the home that God has prepared for me with Him. The thought that I'll feel more at home there than anywhere on earth is both staggering and exciting.

Needles are smaller than they used to be.

Seriously, they must be. I went for a tetanus booster today (a garden related accident prompted me to check and sure enough, I was due...) and I barely felt a thing. I'm sure jabs used to really hurt when I was little ... but maybe I just fussed a lot. As mentioned previously, Joshua didn't moan one bit about his, so I was glad that I didn't break into sobs, or collapse, or anything like that. Just took it like a man.
Having said that, playing the piano tonight (in a somewhat vicious fashion) did suddenly cause my arm to go very achy. I was practising for church on Sunday (my piano debut in this 'new' (been here two years) church, which is scary) just before Joshua's bedtime. I finished and asked if there were any songs I could play for him. "Baa baa black sheep, and Wheels on the Bus, but baa baa first." So I played through them both (he wandered off during Wheels, but did come back before the end, which was jolly decent of him). Then we had a crack at Twinkle Twinkle little star. I asked if there were any others. He sort of mumbled something, and I asked what he said. "Can you play ... uh ... moto the goat?"
Me: "I don't think I know that one sweetheart, where do you sing it?" (I figured it must be from nursery or something)
J: "Nowhere - just practise it and then you'll know it"
Me: "Uh ... so in order to know the song, I just have to practise it?" (Can you see the flaw in his plan?)
J: "Yeah."
So we had a go. This is as far as we got:
Moto the goat had a very shiny coat, (that was my line)
He lived far away down the lane (Joshua's)
Then I played those lines a couple of times (he was right - it did need practice) I then asked what came next.
"The goat fell into the lock" (Joshua's line, but perhaps you'd guessed)
I needed clarification on what sort of lock we were talking about - a canal lock might have made some sense, but I couldn't see how a goat could fit in the door type lock.
Me: "What type of lock was it sweetie?"
J: "It was the locky thing with a key - the goat fell in, and that's the end of the song"

So there you go, now you know the song too. Except the tune, that is, which is pretty much made up as you go along. Hope everyone's summer is going well (unless you're on the bottom half of the planet, in which case I hope winter's going well).

A close shave.

Well, we finally did it. He went for a hair cut. Not just a 'lets-remind-ourselves-of-what-your-eyes-look-like' trim, but a full-on, 'hair-more-appropriate-for-a-few-days-in-Spain'.
So here he is before the shocking deed. (I'll explain the transport later!)
That was taken last Friday. As you can see, flowing locks and very little face on display.
Then, on Tuesday, we decided we'd walk to pick him up from nursery, and on the way home, Anna suggested we pop into the hairdresser to see if they could fit him in for a 'quick' cut.
They could.
This is most of the way through the job. (Check out the very cool kiddie cape he gets to wear - he's actually quite a fan of having his hair cut, which is odd, given how infrequent it is!)
There was a lot of hair that came off...
This is the finished article.
Looks very different indeed! But more suited to a few days in Spain. Needless to say, everyone has commented on it. Nursery this morning was a round of, 'oh, who's the new boy?' comments. Of course, the comments will carry on into the new term, because no doubt everyone will have something to say about it!