Our Little *SECRET* Up On the Hill

~Where we'll walk every step of *forever*, together.

To His Glory.

fredag 19. september 2008

Another week, countless blessings

I won’t count them either, at least not for anything else than to praise God He gave them to me.
So, I’m now in my third week as an au pair in a country far far away from home (or so it seems, even though home is here, God is my home, God is here, I am here; I am home).
For two weeks and four days I have not heard my name (except in the phone) prounounced properly (it is one of the three things I miss the most),
I have not got a single real hug (most people who know me know what I mean, don’t you?), that’s the second thing.
I miss my sister, she’s the third thing (Ingvild, du er en ting =).
For two weeks and four days I have been wearing skirts/dresses all the time,
I’ve been speaking English every day,
I’ve been in Ireland.
The things that struck me as most strange in this country/my is:
*They don’t understand what I’m saying (American English)
*I don’t understand what they’re saying (Irish English, quite rural accent at times)
*I don’t have any friends
*I don’t have any spare time activities (spear time is funnier, but it kind of ruins the meaning)
My life have been changing so much lately that I am not sure who I am… Not that it bothers me much; I know whose I am. I am God’s. My life have been changing, but it is also changing, so I won’t waste anytime analyzing who I am today. Tomorrow, I might be wrong. I will be His, today, tomorrow, forever, as I was His, today, yesterday, last year, forever.
It is, all that matters.
The important thing is that He have a plan, not that I have a plan. My plan is mostly, first ridiculous, then desperate and in the end, always failure. His plan is always perfect. Even if in the middle of it all it’s tempting to think of better ways. In the end, His plans are success.
Today I have been making two apple cakes (one with a two year old, the other with a five year old).
I’ve been changing nappies (this feels kind of like a prayer routine in a monastry, by now). I’ve been bottle feeding a baby (big one! =) cradled in my arm.
I’ve watched him fall asleep,
I’ve adored his sweet face, and before he fell asleep looked deeply into his eyes, finding so much I had forgot excisted: joy, purity, peace, contentment, faith.
I’ve felt his soft hand hit my face when I lifted him up from bed (his hands just place themselves around on things and people and stuff, quite coincidentially), and in the evening, clap to my mouth (I suspect that one incident to be a way of stealing a blown kiss =).
I’ve been baby sitting. Me sitting on the floor with a cup of hot chocolate and apple cake, baby a yard away.
I’ve had a wonderfully warm, almost awaken, still very tired child in my arms.
I’ve met a new girl, an au pair, as me.
I’ve given out a whoop of delight realizing that the fellow in the Uncle Ben’s ad, boiling his rice in a geysir (all scandinavians do this), was speaking Norwegian. It is the second time I’ve seen that ad since I came here, and I could never have dreamed of before getting here how precious the words ”Perfekt ris, hver gang” (perfect rice, every time) would be to me.
I’ve sewn two, or more like, six buttons in a suit jacket. Sewing buttons (or repairing clothes in general) is quite a personal thing, emotionally loaded and a act of service, love (to the person) and worship (to God). I couldn’t have done it for any fellow, I’m quite sure, without risking to respond to the emotional load coming with it (this was my host dad’s jacket, so it was okay). It’s something about the old times, and the overwhelming amount of time and effort to make clothes. All the love laid in every stich and each folding. It’s precious.
I’ve seen a postman (he looked like he had come out from the mighty forest, walking for days to deliver our post. He had a grey beard and green clothes and is the wildest looking postman I’ve ever seen. I liked him.)
I’ve been outside, tasting the wonderful autumn air, feeling the wind caress my face, with a smile to Heaven, thanking.
I’m tired.
I’m having a bad conscience about not writing any letters home. I might e-mail a link to this post. It’s by far good enough. I’m sorry. The new me, seems to be a lazy me, or a constant sick/sneezing/light cold me, or even a very preoccupied me. All the me’s are sorry.
I love you and I miss you.
It’s tempting to give in to self-pity or homesickness. But I won’t. I’m here for a reason (which I don’t know, since I’m not the one who sent me). But I am here for a reason. I am here, my life is here. And it’s an immensely beautiful and blessed life.

Lord, I am so thankful. I am so thankful.