The Telling of my Life

 People tell me I've had an interesting life.

And finally, I've begun to believe them. But here's the thing: I was taught that talking and writing about myself was a form of self-centredness. When I was younger, I used to talk about myself and my life and experiences and stories quite freely. But likely some of this was excessive. And along the way, with certain ones giving me negative input and reprimanding me over this issue, I became more cautious. Now, likely some of this negative input was valid. Maybe I was self-centred. Maybe I did talk about myself too much. And well-meaning others meant to help me learn to interact better. And I hope, these many years later, I have learned something of the value of limiting the telling of my life. But I'm not sure the shaming and reproach were exactly helpful to my soul in this matter. And I've had to overcome a lot to even begin to tell some of my life here on my blog. 


Joseph in the Bible comes to mind. He had dreams and visions, given him by God. And he seemed happy and excited to tell about them. But his brothers were not so keen on his sharing. They resented him, and scoffed at him. Perhaps they rebuked him for over-sharing and being self-centred. Maybe they interpreted his dream-telling as a pathological grandiosity. We don't know the attitude Joseph had when he shared things from his life. Maybe he was simply being plain and matter-of-fact. Maybe his brothers and family were merely projecting their own insecurity onto him and rebuking him unfairly. We don't know for sure. Perhaps it was unwise of Joseph to be so forthcoming about his dream-life. 

I find these biblical narratives fascinating and strangely comforting.

I got told off for talking too much about my experiences, my sufferings, my pains, my losses, my adventures. But woven throughout each of these parts of my life is the unmistakable presence of God. It takes eyes to see and ears to hear Him in the telling - and perhaps I have missed highlighting all the very subtle and bold ways He shows up in everything. But I do believe that if I have over-shared in my life, it is likely from a place of a simple relaying of facts, rather than an obsession with my own importance. If anything, I want to get out of the way so as to reveal God's importance: He must increase; I must decrease.


I wanted to share this here so you will know that the telling of my life doesn't come easy. It comes from knocking down hurdles - mostly inner hurdles: writer's block, insecurity, and lacking a sense of purpose, but often external ones, like fatigue, and many people and distractions keeping me from the work of writing. These inner barriers arise from a lifetime of trauma. Without a willingness to go into these past experiences, I doubt they'd resurface in my memory.



Life trains us somehow, doesn't it? In my early teens I was depressed and shared my woes with friends. Some were kind. Some ran out of patience - understandably. I learned the hard way that even if "Nobody really cares - no one wants to hear it!" was said to me, and even if I wanted to reject it as true, there was still a shred of wisdom in there for me, if I could get over the stinging barb. I learned to hear criticism with different ears. "You just want attention!" was told me often, as if wanting attention was inherently bad. And I learned I shouldn't want attention. And what kind of attention might I be wanting in the first place? I didn't know. And I thought long and hard about that line: "You just want attention!" No, in fact, I wanted love. Plain and simple. To be seen, heard, validated, understood. But my younger mind couldn't put all that together, so I did wallow for a time in wondering what was actually wrong with me.


The stories of my life are indeed wild, crazy, almost unbelievable. And I haven't exactly chosen them. I didn't write my own life story. It seems God is doing that just fine without my help. And so I show up to witness my own journey and to share it with select others (I suppose that selection includes whoever reads this blog). 


This weekend I was invited to this epic party - I had no idea what we were in for! A crab boil and a talent show. I once had lobster when I was a kid at my Aunt Lydia's house, and we dipped it in melted butter. This was similar - giant crab legs were served in huge trenches in the middle of the table. It was incredible. But then, the talent show...

I need to be clear here: though I am a pianist, I am not exactly a performer. Some say I'm talented with music. But I didn't know how to demonstrate this talent on this particular evening, so I simply began to share stories from my life - like the time my mom accidentally grabbed a can of beer instead of juice and put it in my preschool lunchbox when I was attending a Baptist kindergarten.

I didn't tell about going exploring near a beach in Hong Kong around 9 years old, and getting stuck on a cliff and having to jump off into shark infested waters to swim back to shore, per my dad's instructions. (Of course we didn't know about the sharks until much later). 

 I then went on to tell about the best field-trip ever, when I was 10 and we got a train from Hong Kong to Beijing, and while we were staying there I fell into a man-hole and a huge crowd gathered to watch this funny-looking freckled red-head stuck and wedged in a manhole. I told about getting to Ulaan Baatar in Mongolia and my parents getting a birthday cake for my brother and the train starting to pull out heading to Moscow with us three kids on it and my parents running as fast as they could to make it to the train. I told about getting into Russia without visas in 1987, and my parents wiggling their way around that so they could take us around to the Hermitage, The Palace, and the Kremlin. I forgot to tell them that there was a grand piano in our hotel suite and that I had to practice the piano every day we were in Russia. Our suite was overlooking that beautiful river in Leningrad (which is of course now St. Petersburg). I skipped through the rest of the countries we went to on that trip: Finland, Sweden, Austria, Germany, Switzerland, France, Leichtenstein, England, Scotland. 

Then I told them how my life has had a number of twists and turns: we moved to the U.S. so my sister and brother could start college and when I entered public high school, they put me in as a Junior. But then they got my transcript from Hong Kong and I was called into the office: 'You've already completed high school according to this,' they told me. I agreed and said I knew that but I'm 15 living in America so I thought I'd go to high school here. They thought on that for a while, and pulled out some papers. They switched my status to a senior, enrolled me in American Government and Economics, and said I'd have to complete those to graduate. I was the only senior on the school bus, as I hadn't begun to learn to drive. 

Then I went to Moody Bible Institute, and was the youngest student there. 

Some of coming to the States meant that I needed to learn to at least try to respect the culture. I noticed most people didn't know Hong Kong existed, and if they'd heard of it, figured they must speak Japanese there. Some liked to imitate the Chinese language saying, 'Ching Chong Ching.' I quickly learned that maybe I shouldn't mention where I come from in the first few months (and maybe never) of meeting people. It seemed to come with a certain weight that I didn't want to encumber relationships. If I told people I was from Hong Kong, they'd always think I was a kind of oddity (and they'd be right). I just figured I should keep it more quiet in the future, and they can come into discovering my oddities more slowly. I considered it a kindness. 

I'm describing things as they were 30 years ago. My current experience tells me people are much more aware of the rest of the world now than they were then. Kind of.

At least I find people in churches to be keenly aware of the rest of the world, actively in prayer for specific needs in various countries, with genuine interest, concern, and even sacrificial generosity to those suffering and in need around the world. Though the church has its struggles and imperfections, on the matter of global interest, these are most definitely my people.

So, there I was at the open mic, and I shared more - about going to Hong Kong in 1999 and how the neighbors assualted me, clobbering me on the head with a brick when I was 22. And how my Dad was enraged and wanted to go after them, but my Mom held him back. It wouldn't look good for a missionary to attack his neighbours. 

And then how a few weeks later we had a houseguest who got stabbed in a random burglary, how I jumped off the balcony to get the police, how they stitched him up in hospital and how we read Psalm 56 the next morning. 

And how we got engaged 5 weeks after that. Due to time and distraction, I skipped the bit about the fire that happened the week after we got engaged. There's only so much an open mic can handle.

I told about getting married and having 5 kids, and how I was hoping to find a certain catharsis during the baby years (and actually, maternal hormones do have a great feel-good benefit, so there's that). But how that didn't actually help me connect to my own emotional state. And then I went to therapy.

And I kinda ran out of time, and mentioned the time we crossed the Zambezi river in a leaky dug-out canoe - 25 feet long, with 12 people, each given a cup to scoop water out as we crossed. And how I was sure the crocodiles were swimming right next to us ready to tip us over at any moment. That was perhaps the longest 20 minutes of my life, and my prayers were very fervent then.

These were just random stories from my life. I could've told about waking up in ear surgery when I was 12, or about coding in surgery when I was 31, or having a pulmonary embolism when I was 20, after a long-haul flight to Hong Kong. I could've told about assisting at the delivery of a baby in Zambia, who never took her first breath, but was perfectly formed in the image of God. 

And I could've told about the journey inward, of the ways I've delved into psychology, theology, biology, and bicultural anthropology. Or how God has undertaken to help me in the monumentous task of parenting, sending helpers along the way to fill in the gaps and meet their needs for education, nurture, companionship, and discipling. How we've journeyed through and with churches in upheaval and calm, how we have experienced the church doing exactly what it is meant to do: being the hands and feet of Jesus, while also proclaiming a message of hope, redemption, and justice.

I didn't tell about having a homebirth with my first kid, how our 3rd fell out of a backpack carrier at 7 weeks old and fractured his skull. I didn't tell about #2 baby getting RSV (a dangerous respiratory virus in infants) at 6 weeks old and spending 3 days in hospital, or how she was 10 pounds at birth and there were some emergencies to get her born and her spending 3 days in the NICU. I didn't tell about our oldest being on a road trip with his grandparents when he broke out in a rash from head to toe and ended up in a hospital in Ohio, and how we had to drive out to get him, and seeing our forlorn 4 year old on a huge hospital bed covered in red patches. I didn't tell about when I was pregnant with Caleb and we traveled in France, England, Poland, Hungary, and Zambia. And how I mark memories by all the places I puked from all-day-sickness along the way. There is a certain kind of intimacy that comes from puking in someone's car or driveway. 

I didn't tell about the time Andrew was in kindergarten and choked on a corn chip and his teacher had just refreshed her CPR training and swiftly took action, and saved his life. How I had to go to the school right away and the firetruck was there with paramedics, and as I entered I wondered what they were there for, never thinking it was for my kid. 

Or about the time I was volunteering at school to help with younger kids doing their tests and there was an intruder situation, and I spent an afternoon with the sweetest little girl, keeping her company while hiding on the floor in a dark corner of a room. How though I was terrified, my job as a protector gave me something to focus on and got me through that long couple of hours. 

I didn't tell about when a child of mine was volatile and broke my nose. 

I didn't tell them about the time we went to Cuba to lead a marriage retreat for pastors - about how awkward that felt since most of them had been married longer than us. And how I didn't feel we were qualified, other than that we had had so many struggles and stayed married. 

I didn't tell them about launching our first 2 kids to college, navigating some special needs amongst our kids (which I must be vague about out of respect to them). Or about the time a guy was murdered and spent his last moments on this earth on our front lawn. 

I didn't tell them about the time a car thief used our driveway as a place to park his car, and how the police were at our door throughout the night while they combed through the neighborhood - and how they thought my son was somehow involved because he was still dressed in his school uniform at midnight (it might have looked less suspicious if he'd been in pj's - but he's refused to wear pjs since around age 8). 

I didn't tell what it's like to begin losing friends and family to cancer or sudden death. How every year since 2014 I've lost someone significant in my life. Or what living with grief while driving kids to school is like. What carrying an ache in my soul while throwing together a spaghetti dinner for a dozen is like. What living with an emotional limp while holding others' stories feels like. What resting in Jesus looks like in the day to day of busy schedules and feeding 9 at dinner every night is like. 

Whew...there were so many stories I spared the audience from. 

And after running through some of these, I think I must agree: I've had an interesting life. 

And in time, perhaps, with increased confidence, and growth that my stories are worth telling, I may write them all. 




Comments

  1. Thank you for writing. I would definitely read your book if you write it! Thank you for being so authentic. You inspire me to pick up my journal again as I walk my own journey…filled with much uncertainty for my own family in this season of life…after uprooting ourselves from “home” but yet also “coming back home” and a
    experiencing a new culture right here in the U.S….and yet not having time to truly process it all (or grieve the losses) because of the busyness of daily life and school and work. Again, thanks for your vulnerability in writing. You are a blessing.

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    Replies
    1. Thank you, 'anonymous', for your kind words. If you live near me, I'd love to hear about your journey sometime in person. Transition seasons are hard for anyone, and those who have more of them in their lives wonder if it gets easier with each new season. So far, my experience tells me, no, they don't get easier, but provide more opportunity for our hearts to grow deeper roots into the permanence of God's unchanging love for us.

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    2. Sweet Sarah, you have, indeed led an interesting life. I hadn't realized when we first met you that you had been in the US for such a short time! Your friendship has been a joy and a privilege, and I look forward to reading whatever you are willing to share. Love you!

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    3. Thank you Lauran, for reading and responding. You've known me over half my life!! Wow! I've learned so much from you over the years. Many blessings to you!

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