My friend Natalie says these are the best days of our lives, when our kids our little and our homes are full. I’m thankful for that reminder on days like today that are bookended with poop.
It started too early, just as the sun was peaking between the dark curtains of our hotel room. Benaiah climbed into our bed and with a sleepy huff, Jonathan left ours for the bed Benaiah left behind. We barely fit in the short, twin bed and no matter how small the third person is, three people is just too many.
So Benaiah snuggled in next to me and started to sing. I was glad for the extra minutes of precious sleep. It’s winter here and there’s no indoor heat, except the heating blanket sandwiched between the sheets and the mattress. A serious stroke of genius to be sure, however it makes the already difficult task of getting out of bed in the morning even more daunting. Benaiah’s volume increased with the beginning of each new song and I knew it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the family would rouse, grumpily, due to lack of adequate sleep.
I rolled over to face him and whispered, “Want to go downstairs and have a breakfast date, just you and mommy?” I was hopeful that a hot cup of coffee would taste half as good as my warm bed feels, not to mention the sweet time with my little mighty man. He’s a morning person and these early hours have become some of our sweetest moments together. “Yes!” he replied, “but first I have to go potty.”
I closed my eyes again for one second only to be jolted awake by a crash in the bathroom. I found him picking up used toilet paper off the floor. “I ‘cidentally knocked the trash can over.” He said remorsefully. I smiled with deep sympathy and tried not to gag while I took over picking it all up. Used toilet paper goes in the trash can here not the toilet and the scene before us is one of my worst nightmares. When everything was back in it’s rightful place, a chubby hand appeared inches from my face accompanied by a matter of fact statement about “poop on my hand.” Yes, indeed. Again I tried not to gag while I washed and re-washed both of our hands.
I got him dressed and fumbled for my own clothes in the dark while he hopped up and down in the doorway. I couldn’t seem to find anything remotely adequate and found my mind wandering back to the day I packed this suitcase full. “What was I thinking?” I’d spent most of the day sitting on the edge of our bed with my head in my hands. Everything felt foggy and I struggled to get stuff done in between cartoon theme songs and admonitions from Jonathan to stop being so discouraged about being discouraged. It’s been a pretty brutal month that just hasn’t seemed to get better.
Six days since I packed that bag and still no leads on decent apartments in our new city. Six days in hotels and restaurants and wandering from street to street. Six days of internet searches in a language I can barely read. Six days of trying to text in characters and doing our best to find addresses in cities we know nothing about. Six days of being hung up on when they hear what we want and how much we want to spend. Six days of asking and wondering and waiting.
We looked at two more apartments in the morning and then stopped for lunch at a roadside restaurant. I asked about their specials. The waitress wore a black shirt with puffy sleeves and kerchief embroidered with a big pink rose, the traditional dress of the people group whose food this restaurant features. She seemed to know what she was talking about so I took her recommendations. We ended up with delicious ground beef wrapped in tofu in a yummy sweet and sour sauce, a thin soup with lots of spinach type leaves and stems, stir-fried Christmas tree leaves which I will probably never order again (at least not intentionally), white rice, and my favorite flavor of hot tea for a grand total of $7.
We looked at another apartment in the afternoon and came back to the hotel for the kids to sleep. After talking through our options we were amazed to realize that although the day before we had no real leads, today we felt as though we had a few legitimate possibilities.
J vetoed the first one for safety reasons. Although the second one is in our well within our price range, it’s a bit of a mansion and we’re not quite sure what to make of that. The third one lacks indoor plumbing. After much thought, we decided on the third one with his promising me that a toilet would be installed. It still wouldn’t be inside but it wouldn’t be an outhouse either and that’s good enough for me.
Having gotten less than 6 hours of sleep, I opted to join the kids for the rest of their nap time with plans to contact the landlord when I woke up, while J went to figure out why our truck engine was smoking.
I awoke to him tapping my shoulder saying, “Read this.” It was a text from our almost land-lord saying they’d changed their mind about renting the apartment we wanted and had a counter offer for a different unfinished apartment. I squinted trying to make out the blurry characters and their impact on our seemingly bright future. I texted her back and then tried calling to no avail.
The unfinished apartment is also a mansion, at least the shell of one. It has nothing besides concrete. Concrete walls and concrete floors. No electric outlets, no lights, no toilets, no sinks, and no kitchen. “Maybe we’ll just have to use all the extra space to bless somebody,” J said optimistically. I frowned, thinking I might rather have an outhouse than a string of random people living with us.
I decided then I’m done with this house search. It’s turning up too many idols in my heart, like just how much I value convenience and my own space. Knocking down idols is always uncomfortable and I’m not a huge fan of that which simply reveals yet another of my idols: comfort. Ugh.
The kids woke up and we made our way to supper. We’d promised them a treat at one of the local bakeries and I was secretly very excited at the thought of western food. We split a pork bbq sandwich, a quesadilla, and a piece of chocolate cake four ways. It cost a whopping $20. In this part of the world tortillas cost more than stir-fried Christmas tree leaves and cheese costs more than just about everything, including ground beef and tofu. We’re were happy to spend the money though. This bakery is run by the local community of likeminded deaf men and woman. The food is yummy and we love to support such a great cause. Our kids love the employees and they seem to like our kids, too.
We rushed home to get kids in bed, still hearing nothing from the landlord. I’d already mentally moved into the house with no indoor plumbing. I tried to tell myself that this turn of events is a blessing in disguise, but somehow I still feel disappointed. Jonathan is also very disappointed and we find ourselves asking the Father out loud once again for wisdom and provision for our family.
From his carseat in the back, Benaiah starts singing “oh, oh, oh, oh” and I think back to what Natalie says.
When discouragement threatens to drown me, when I’m paralyzed by doubt, they remind me to find joy in the little things.
“Look, mom, it’s a SPOON STRAW!!”
“Mom, I saw a wedding car. A WEDDING CAR! did you see it?” “It has a heart shape on it. I love heart shapes. Do you love heart shapes, mom?”
“Sometimes when I feel sad I just think about heaven and then I don’t feel sad anymore. Is that a good thing to do, Mom?”
What will I do when they aren’t around to remind me that the Giver of all good things hasn’t given up on me yet?
By the time B’s nearing the end of the chorus, we’re all belting it out with him, “Find faith in the battle, stand tall, but above it all, fix my eeeeeyyyyes on youuuuuu. Fix my eyes on you.”
It’s been our mantra for these six days. Quite possibly the best $10 I have ever spent.
We’re back at the hotel now and some food from day isn’t settling well in one of the kid’s tummies. It’s a relatively small mess and this is the first time any of us has gotten sick on this trip and for that I am infinitely thankful. My husband takes pity on me and deals with it while I bathe our babies and corral them into bed.
I’m not sure what tomorrow holds, but if I had to guess, I’d say probably some more idol bashing. The perfect house for my kids to make memories in? Something that our teammates would view as appropriate? Somewhere our local friends would feel comfortable? a clean kitchen? a flushing toilet? sunshine, great views, maybe even a yard? All good things. And we are confident that the Giver of good things has good things in store for us.
But we are also confident of what Jonah reminds us, “Those who cling to worthless idols forfeit the grace that could be theirs.” (2.8)
Anything that prevents me from fixing my eyes on Him, robs me of the grace that could be mine for today. And when I think about it like that, I’d take grace over comfort and convenience any day.