Monday, September 13, 2010

The Act of Serving


[This picture is of the wonderful women I had the privilege of serving with in Artavaz and Pyunik village]

I remember the day: June 16, 2003.

I was 24, and Nick was 26. We had left our jobs, sold everything, moved out of our apartment, and packed a few possessions and our ENTIRE lives into 12 suitcases.

That was the day we left for Armenia, beginning our first commitment to live and work for three years.

I was very hesitant. I was very scared. I remember taking off from our last stop in America, watching the sweet American soil that I love slowly disappear as the clouds began to drown out my last look at MY country.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE to travel. I had left my country countless times, and was always very happy to do so. However, on this flight, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of dread. This time, I knew I wouldn’t be returning home in two weeks.

I didn’t know WHEN I would return.

Chicago to Washington D.C.
Washington D.C. to Vienna
Vienna to Yerevan

36 long hours of travel and waiting.

I remember vividly my first descent into Armenia. It was 5 am and completely dark. I mean, COMPLETELY dark. Usually, I love to look at the beautiful clusters of city lights that mean that we are finally leaving the skies and setting foot into civilization again.

But, when I landed in Armenia, I hardly saw ANY lights. I saw one light here, two lights there. I remember feeling a bit of panic. This is Yerevan? This is a capital of an entire nation? Where, in the world, am I moving to?

Those first few months were horrible. I remember waking up every morning and looking out over the city from our balcony and just WISHING I could go back to America, back to my job, back to everything familiar.

I remember being so completely frustrated with trying to get my tongue to do gymnastics in order to make Armenian sounds and to learn this language. Why in the world was I spending all this time learning a language that only 9 million people in the ENTIRE world speak? Couldn’t I put this time and effort into learning something more useful???

Fastforward: September 10, 2010

I am standing in one of those villages that I’m sure I passed over on my initial descent into Armenia. There are very few lights. The main road is completely broken apart and filled with the waste of the neighborhood’s sheep and cows that pass by.

I look up into the sky, and I THANK GOD, that I am here – in an Armenian village, sitting with their women and children, breathing deep and letting my clothing absorb that special village scent. In my mind, I find myself just saying quiet thank yous to God in my heart and mind

Thank you that I was able to learn this language; that I can sit and talk with every single person I come in contact with.

Thank you that I am in a place where I don’t just have to hear a news story or see a video that show needy people. I can DO something about it.

Thank you for this wonderful team of 12 Armenian women who have left the major cities and who are with me, serving this village.

They gave of their personal, limited money to pay for all of their expenses to come and serve.

They left their children and families behind and gave three days to come and serve the most needy in their nation.

We, Armenians and two Americans, have come to serve and love these women. We want to meet their needs, be with them, and expose them to the love of God.

We went into their fields and dug and picked potatoes out of the ground. We brought in three families’ Fall harvests.

We went and deep cleaned an elderly, sick woman’s home. Her best crystal was finally able to shine again, and she could live in a place that she was no longer ashamed of.

We sang songs, played games and taught lessons from the Bible to a group of children that were STARVING to do something other than run through the fields or help with chores.

We had cake, tea and coffee with the women of the village who just wanted to come together to learn and experience God’s love.

My prayer is that we did something during our three days there that truly brightened or changed a life.

But, my prayer is also that each one of us who came, American and Armenian, will be changed through our acts of service.

I came to Armenia to help; to make a difference.

I hope, and believe, that something that we have done here has made a difference.

But, as I look back on the last seven years spent in Armenia, I realize that the biggest change has occurred in me. I am not the same person that boarded that plane in Chicago on June 16, 2003.

Thank God that as we serve others, He changes us.

I treasure that last seven years in Armenia. I will never be the same.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

To Be or Not To Be a Stay-At-Home Mom?


Having the opportunity to be a mother is a great privilege. Since the age of sixteen when some health issues arose, I always doubted that I would be able to have a family. The doctors told me it could be a difficult road for me.

But, if I fast forward to today, I find myself in a house that definitely shows signs that it is greatly inhabited by kids.

As I sit at my desk and look around the room, there are immediate, noticeable signs:

A permanent handprint stains the light tan paint near a light switch.
My bed’s baseboard has two parallel scratch marks that trace the wheels of one of Oliver’s toy cars during a heated race.
My end table is dominated by a toy cash register that Ava also transforms into a phone.
A coffee table has what appear to be permanent sticky finger prints that glisten in the sun.
A pink crooked, hand-made streamer hangs near my desk as a reminder of Oliver’s first self-planned hosting engagement – a Back to School Hot Dog party.
Ava’s high chair beckons me from the corner of the room as it drowns in a coat of chocolate pudding left over from her first, self-fed pudding experience.

I AM a mom.

I am a working mom.

I’ve never counted how many hours I work per a week, but one time I was reflecting on my current work load, and I said to Nick, “I bet I work at least 20 hours a week.”

It’s always been difficult to count since I don’t hold strict office hours.

He looked at me, in disbelief, and said, “I KNOW you work 40 hours a week.” I thought about it, and it was true.

I always thought I’d follow in the tradition of my grandmothers and my mother and be a stay-at-home mom. They devoted one hundred percent of their time to their children, and we’ve all been thankful for that investment.

But, now that it’s my turn to be a mom, I know that I am wired different. Or, maybe I’m not.

My grandmother talks about being a stay-at-home mom in the 1950s. She said that those years were very difficult for her as she went in and out of depression and feeling useless. After my mother went to high school, my grandmother re-entered the job force, got her Master’s in Counseling and became a principal of a high school for pregnant teenage mothers.

She once told me, “I shouldn’t have waited so long to re-enter the work force. I think I would have been a better mother if I would have given myself an outlet; a purpose.” I feel the same is true for me.

I am so glad that she did make a difference in my mother’s life and the lives of all of those struggling young mothers.

She is famous in Niagara Falls, NY. She can’t go through a grocery store without being stopped several times by former students who thank her in the bread aisle for heading up a program that gave them the support they needed during those difficult years and gave them a new start and vision for life.

I’ve always felt guilty for needing an outlet. I’ve always admired those mothers who have so much energy to do crafts, arrange play dates every day, and dedicate every thought and every moment to their children.

I’ve dealt with extreme guilt for feeling that I just cannot stay home, focused on my children, all day, every day. I need to feel like I’m contributing to a greater purpose outside of my family. I need to feel like I’m following one great dream that intertwines two strands: family and the world.

I know I love my kids immensely. I know they love me. I know that I would give up anything, if I had to, for the health and success of my children. I know that they are my number one priority.

But, I, like my grandmother, have to say that I am a better mother to my kids, and more energetic about my role as a mother, when I am allowed to truly be the person God created me to be; to pursue the dreams He has given me.

I love the fact that I have the freedom to be me. I still feel a tinge of guilt in writing this, and already envision stay-at-home moms scolding me in their minds.

You know what? I am finally ok with that.

So, for those moms out there who are like me: Be free! For those of you who feel like you were created to be stay-at-home-moms: Don't let working moms intimidate you. Be free!

I think that sometimes when we love ourselves enough to stand up and do what we, as individuals, need and are gifted to do, our kids also learn to love themselves more.

Someday, they will also have the courage to dream bigger.
To discover who they really are and what makes them “tick.”
To value themselves and stand by their values and dreams no matter what the cultural norms say.

I am here for my kids. I spend time with them. I know them.

But, I also finally truly know and accept me.