Fireworks in Manhattan

I was just reading a great article over at Focus on the Family's Plugged In Online called "Let the Jones' Win" by their newest writer, Meridith Whitmore.

I appreciated and even related to much of what she wrote here. It brought back some fond, and not so fond, memories of returning to life in these United States after years of living and traveling overseas. I wasn't even in Africa or Asia as much as she was, but in central Europe of 20 years ago, and still there was culture shock.

Even as an exchange student back in 1985, our organization had all of us teenagers participate in a week long orientation at the end of our stay, just as at the beginning. Most of us laughed about this. We understood orientation to going to a foriegn country, but an orientation for going back to your own country? It seemed absurd.

You'd be suprised. The return to my home country was not as easy as I thought it would be.

Returning to America, I felt overwhelmed by opportunities, freedoms, color (you would have to visit Eastern Europe pre 1990 to get that one--everything was monochome), advertising, and choices. At the store, there are just so many choices here. A friend living in Ireland said she was overwhelmed when she walked into our area Walmart and tried to just buy shampoo. We have a 40 foot long, 10 foot tall shelf of just shampoo choices. Even in other western countries, this is not so.

I remember being in what is now Slovokia in 1990, and walking into a grocery store to see if I might find a snack for the train ride up to Prague. I had a layover for 3 hours, and time to wander around this small industrial town that looked the same on black and white film as it did on color: everything was monochrome as was most of what I saw in Eastern Europe following the fall of communism. The exception was Prague, which seemed lively and delightful (I'm mostly fond of Prague because I accepted Christ while there in the middle of my wanderings). As I walked into this grocery store, I was greeted by an older woman, with a scarf on her head, standing behind the counter with a scowl on her face, her arms folded across her chest, glaring at me, and throughout the store, empty shelves. It was a strange feeling. I remember ackwardly making my way back to the door, a little confused, and feeling uncomfortable. Have any of us ever gone to an empty grocery store? I get a chill whenever I think of it.

I've traveled to North African countries like Morocco, and Middle Eastern countries like Jordan (I went to Petra...very cool place to visit!)....and though we were in a group of young people, each of us girls had a guy travel with us posing as our husband for safety when we went out in public during the day. Women simply don't travel alone in Muslim lands. I could go into details about some very scary things I experienced while traveling around the Middle East with my Muslim friend -- things that gave me nightmares and anxiety for a while, I tell you, and I was in the "moderate" areas wearing Middle Eastern clothing, and not advertising my citizenship. We take this sort of freedom for granted. Women's studies professors rant about men and about glass ceilings and so forth but I don't think they really grasp what the rest of the world's women endure while they are whining about their so-called unfair life. We girls have it good here in America.

While in places like Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary, and the various parts of the former Yugoslavia, I met Christians who faced persecution, and people who lived with war and violence. A few of them actually said they thought growing up in the Detroit area sounded pretty scary too (maybe they were trying to make me feel better, as I felt like such a wuss talking to them), and I had to explain to them it was a different kinds of scary, and really we had things pretty cushy in Clawson, vs. Sarajevo during the siege. I didn't grow up in the city of Detroit, but one of it's white-washed suburbs.

While in Berlin, I listened to some woman tell me in detail about what happened when the Berlin Wall went up, and also how she felt the night it came down, while I chipped off my own piece of history before it was gone. She was envious of me being American...and that affected me profoundly because at the time I was as snotty American college student who was on an America hating rant, embracing multi-culturalism. Most people I met found many American tourists embarrassing and maybe irritating, but still loved the idea of America, what it stood for, and still stands for.

I don't think we appreciate our freedoms. I don't think we appreciate what we do have. I don't think we realize what we have, actually. I know I am considered lower to mid-middle class, but I still have a lot more than most of the people I met on my travels and my time living and working overseas, including opportunities and freedoms they have never had.

I hope my kids and grandkids will still have the same freedoms when they grow up.

In the USA, today is Memorial Day.

Growing up, I didn't really know what that meant. To me, it was that weekend when we broke out the barbecue, and had Monday off school and work. Actually, Memorial Day is to remember those who have given their lives to secure our freedoms in our country, and who have served in the armed forces. I only learned that around the same time I discovered Wikipedia...and that's sad because the whole idea behind a Memorial is to take the time to remember something.

Just a quick heads up. There's a spring gathering and giveaway at Titus 2 At the Well blog going on, with many great raffles and prizes for you, and loads of encouragement in articles for Christian ladies. Check it out!

Every year around the season of Passover, I can't help but hear echoing in my head the words of my friend Deborah, from nearly 18 years ago now. I was a fairly new Christian, and working afternoon shift at a graphics and printing company, and Deborah was one of my co-workers. She was a non-observant Jewess (she had a pot-bellied pig as a pet. When I asked about it, she replied, "Oh, the pig eats kosher" -- and then laughed. The pig's name was Jezebel, by the way. I laugh at the memory of both of them), and very outspoken about many subjects, though we also became friends. Especially since becoming a Christian, I have had a heart for the Jewish people, the apple of God's eye.