How Long Will It Take...

This summer my family is moving to a foreign country. It's called "America." My son has never lived there, my daughter has lived only 4 of her 11 years there. So it's going to take some adjustment.

When you live in Europe but belong to the military you get used to two sets of everything. (Currency, electricity, measurement, everything. It’s crazy, really). We have jokes in our family about how long it's going to take before we stop asking certain kinds of questions. Like these:

"Is that 110 or 220?"

"Is that in dollars or euros?"

"Is that in Fahrenheit or Celsius?"

"How many kilometers is that on the autostrada?"

"Doesn't that close for riposo?" (Half the stores in Italy close for three hours at lunchtime. We have to adjust to this NOT happening.)

"Did you remember the gas coupons?"

And then there's these questions:

How long will it take before I stop referring to everything off post as "on the economy"?

How long will it take before I stop greeting the gate guards in Italian?

My family says "You'll be fine, you grew up in America, this is home for you." And it is. I will ALWAYS consider myself a citizen of Texas. (hahaha) But when you live in a country outside of Texas (ok, fine, outside America) for seven years, you wake up one morning and realize it's not a foreign country anymore. This is "where I'm from," too. And leaving my other home country will be very hard. (pausing to search for tissues).

The city, state, country, and CONTINENT we live on is about to change, as well as the languages of the people around us. Kids will go to new schools. I may have to get an actual “job”. We will probably live in a house that isn’t connected to the one next to us. Absolutely everything about our lives will be different. 

Except our family. And our faith. God remains the constant in our lives, the reason that I don’t completely fall apart when paperwork gets the best of me (I’m choosing to ignore the 5-minute breakdown I had yesterday). 

When I start getting weepy over this (and it’s happening a lot) I remember that Moses and Abraham had once been “strangers in a strange land” (Exodus 2:22 KJV). I also remember that God is going before us to prepare the way. He is with us at all times. There’s even a verse that tells us “the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard” (Isaiah 58:8). These verses speak volumes of comfort to my heart.

But I’m not quite sure whether it’s in liters or gallons.

Does This Post Make Me Look Fat?

Well, it’s Spring in Italy (WHOO-HOO!!!) which means it’s time for The Great Wardrobe Switch. All the winter clothes go away, and all the spring/summer clothes come out. (Usually it happens in two phases, but we’re moving this summer and I just wanted to get it all out of the way.) 

By the way, “winter clothes” is a phenomenon that I never experienced until moving to Italy. In Texas we wear pretty much the same thing year-round: jeans and t-shirts. It gets cold? (This means, like, 70 degrees) Then you grab a windbreaker. I have seriously never had this many different kinds of coats in my life. So weird.

Anyway...this also means that the kids try on all the stuff I put away last year, and all the stuff that miiiiight fit next year but probably won’t since they INSIST on getting taller (sheesh...). Things get packed away or put in the yard sale pile.

And then there’s my closet. Sigh. Now, my husband learned long ago that there is no safe answer to the question “Does this make me look fat?” And, being fairly intelligent myself, when we had to do this first Great Wardrobe Switch I decided to COME UP WITH A DIFFERENT QUESTION. It’s some variation of “How does this dress look on me?” 

Is this dress still flattering?

Does this dress still highlight my figure?

Etcetera.

Now I have one skirt in particular that I LOVE. It’s purple (need I say more?) and twirly (apparently so). But, well, it’s not the most flattering thing I own. Even I admit this. When I came downstairs this time SSG OPSEC got a funny look on his face. “That skirt...is less forgiving.” Translation: You’ve had two kids, and that skirt does NOTHING to hide it.

The good news is that we’ve been through this so many times that I know he is criticizing the skirt and not my figure. 

So...deep theological meaning? Nope. Big Important Point? Not really. Just a Hint for a Happy Marriage:

Hint: Keep the comments about the clothes and not about the person. Ladies, you know  before you ask whether or not that dress compliments your...eyes.

The Lenten Experiment, 2012

So this year I couldn’t decide what to give up for Lent. I was also reading Jen Hatmaker’s gut-wrenching book 7 (yes, the number is the title) about seven areas of excess and the importance of cutting back. It’s no accident that God had me reading that book at the beginning of Lent. So what did I give up? 

A little bit of everything. 

I will be giving away something to someone outside of my house every day. Without bringing something back in to replace it. (Exception: outgrown kid’s clothes which actually need to be replaced). And I pray that each item can meet a specific need. Yesterday it was muffins for my neighbor. Today it will be a bag of (gently used) crayons for a friend. We have a bazillion and I was not about to throw them away. Tomorrow? I have no idea.

So why am I posting this? It’s not so I can say “Look at me, I’m doing good stuff!” Because this will not be easy. Giving away your things--when you would much rather have a yard sale and make at least a few bucks--is not fun.  Finding someone to bless with specific items, making that match, will not be easy. But I have a feeling God will send specific needs my way. He has a way of doing that.

I’m looking forward to the journey. But not looking forward to what He may ask me to give up. Especially if it’s books (just being honest).

The Lenten Experiment, Parts 1 and 2

The Lenten Experiment

What happens when a Baptist gives up chocolate for Lent? Why would a Baptist do such a thing? (What woman in her right mind gives up chocolate for 40 days?) These were all questions I asked myself when I prepared to give something up for Lent for the first time ever, three years ago. The first week was the worst. When I walked down the aisles at the commissary, all I could see was chocolate. It was EVERYWHERE! My husband (dear sweet man) walked to the shoppette and bought two candy bars “One for me, one for you” and then two seconds later realized that he had forgotten. Fortunately, we could laugh about it.

After about a week, it began to wear off. There were a few days in the middle where I didn’t actually want chocolate at all. (I know, weird, right?) That wore off. As I walked down the aisle at the commissary and chocolate tried to jump in my cart, I thought, “Really, what is 40 days without chocolate compared to 3 hours on the cross? Christ’s sacrifice was so much greater.”

One time I did slip. We were at a farewell dinner for a friend and the one-menu-fits-all dessert was chocolate and I ate it, not wanting to cause a stir. I felt bad, though, because I had promised God I would do this thing and I messed it up. The next day I got up, renewed my promise, and followed through...until 00:01 Easter morning.

I was at the chapel every evening during Holy Week running the sound board for Catholic Mass, including the Midnight Mass on Saturday. Afterward Father assured me that Lent was indeed over, even if it was just 00:01 on Easter morning. We had chocolate cake. It was delicious.

The Lenten Experiment, Part 2

Last year I gave up Facebook for Lent. At first, I would just sit and stare at my computer screen, hoping to get an email. It was really rather pathetic. But I had been spending WAY too much time on FB and needed to cut myself off cold turkey so I could learn to function in the real world again. Lent seemed like a really convenient time to do this. So...I had a 40-day Facebook fast.

Again, after a few weeks it got better. Towards the end I looked forward to the return of Facebook in my life, with a focus on not letting it run my life. This is still something I struggle with, especially now that we have wireless internet in the house and I can sit on the couch and be on Facebook and ignore my family. (Bad Laura! Bad Laura!) I don’t do this very often. I hope.

This year? I haven’t decided. One of my friends adds a spiritual discipline every year (spending more time reading the Bible, praying more, etc) instead of giving something up. Don’t know what I’m going to do yet. I’m thirty...something years old, and I’ve only participated in Lent twice. So I don’t know if it’s going to become a regular thing. Whatever I do, the decision won’t be taken lightly. 

I’ll keep you posted.

The Lusby’s Annual Christmas Letter

I sat down to write this and realized how silly it was. I mean, Facebook has pretty much made the Christmas letter obsolete. And my five real-life friends who aren’t on Facebook are here and heard me talk about this stuff all year long. Why write what happened over the past year? EVERYBODY ALREADY KNOWS!!! (I’m not even mailing this. It’s a blog post. The world has changed, my friends.)

So what to write about at Christmas? Well, it’s pretty simple--duh, Santa and the reindeer. (Just kidding, Mom.) What do we (edit--what SHOULD we) focus on at Christmas? 

Well, “it came to pass” two thousand years ago that a teenager named Mary had to tell her fiance that she was pregnant. And oh, by the way, Joseph? The baby is the promised Messiah, the son of God. (Sure he is, Mary. Sure he is.) Angelic messengers set the record straight, and in the face of serious opposition Joseph married her anyway. They went down to Bethlehem for the census and to pay their taxes (because the government has never made anything easy for anybody) and while they were there she gave birth in a barn. And put her baby in the box the where the cattle had their food. 

Smelly shepherds barged in, straight from the fields. The poor girl must have been terrified! Wise men came later bringing such strange gifts as gold, frankincense, and myrrh (which is used to anoint the dead--did they know more than they were letting on?). Joseph took his wife and child into Egypt to escape the madness of a jealous king. Finally, they arrived home safely in the little village of Nazareth. Baby Jesus had a rough start, no?

Some of my friends will say that we celebrate Christmas because 1700 years ago Christians needed a feast that would compete with Saturnalia, or the feast of the Winter Solstice. This is true, and they have a valid point. But that’s not why we celebrate Christmas. That’s just why we celebrate it on December 25. 

The reason why we celebrate Christmas is that a baby was born with his eyes on the cross; Baby Jesus would grow up to die, and then to rise again, to bridge the gap between God and humanity. To seek and to save that which was lost. To bring deliverance to the captives. To return in glory with trumpets and a mighty shout.

People complain about the commercialization of Christmas. Well, it’s really always been commercial (see previous paragraph referencing Winter feasts). Let the world have its presents and reindeer and fat men in red suits breaking and entering every house on the entire planet. We celebrate our Savior alongside them, just as we always have.

Oh--watch the Hershey kisses handbells if you can. It’s still the coolest commercial ever.

Merry Christmas!

12K

milling around the princess is checking out the competition 

wow, she’s doing this? yep, that’s my girl.

let’s get behind the running groups, ok? there’s the gun! off!

whoo-hoo! i made it running all the way out of the gate! ok i can walk now

the princess is still running--she’ll be fine 

there are 700 other people in this race she won’t get lost

i gotta feeling, that today’s gonna be a good race, that today I’ll have a good good time

i just got passed by a 6-year-old, that’s embarrassing

why am i doing this again?

because i can can can--and that’s one mile down

really? 2k already? i must be doing better than i thought

ooh my legs should stop hurting soon

see that girl, watch that scene, I am the walking queen!

and i can can can--three miles! whoo-hoo!

almost 4 miles? it’s only been 50 minutes I AM FLYING!!!!

water...over halfway...i am going to beat my time

i wonder how princess is doing?

life is an autostrada...i’m gonna walk it all day long

this is a really pretty walk i wonder what mountain range that is?

I’ve got a dream, i’ve got a dream...i just want this race to be over I want to scream

are we there yet? oh, there’s the pisa city limits sign

i can do this, i can do this, i can do this, i can finish this race

down the hill, up on the sidewalk, OUCH down on my knees--i’m ok i’m up

yes i tore holes in my pants

i can’t quit i’ve only got 2 kilometers left

oh this sidewalk goes on forever

it’s been a hard day’s walk...

i want to laugh i want to cry stop thinking and move

is this the last turn? YES

into the corto di miracoli...i can run just a little...ok maybe not

walking...walking...almost there...

GO LAURA!! GO LAURA!!

GO MOMMY!! GO MOMMY!!

oh, that is the sweetest song I have heard all day

shall i finish rocky style? yes

hands in the air i will run across the finish line

yes i beat myself by four whole minutes

where is the princess?

where is the husband?

where is the water?

where is the bathroom?

i am done.

The Year of Last Things

Just over a month ago, I took my son’s picture on his first day of kindergarten. He was standing on our front porch steps, under the Texas flag (were there any doubts?) in the same place I have taken his sister’s first day of school picture every year for the past six years. As I took the picture, I started to cry. Not because it was his first day of kindergarten--ok, partly because of that--but because that is the last first day of school picture I will take on those front steps. Next year on the first day of school we will be Somewhere Else. And I have no idea where that is.

This year will be full of Last Things. The last opera in Verona. The last PWOC Fall kickoff, during which I was gratefully so busy I forgot to think about it and therefore did not spend the whole morning in tears. The last Christmas here--hopefully I can FINALLY get to a midnight mass, because it’s my last chance. The kids will have their Last Day of School--and that will be it for Vicenza. There will be one last trip to Venice--and then we will be off to a new adventure.

Why am I spending all this time crying over this? The military life is very transitory; people move ALL THE TIME. We will probably move every three years for the rest of our foreseeable future. Why does this one move affect me so much? Probably because we’ve been here so long. My daughter has lived here more than half her life. This is the only home my son has known (the United States is a foreign country to him.) I have lived in this place longer than I have lived anywhere since 1987. 

Italy has become my home. And while part of me looks forward to the next great adventure that God and the Army have for us, part of me will be looking around sadly as I treasure my Year of Last Things.