NEWS -- (originally published on 5-14-05)

Acclimatizing . . .

Today someone in a neighboring apartment was using a drill or a saw, and I dozed off while hearing it intermittently.  I woke up to the sound of thunder, though -- but somehow in my mind it seemed like it was still the neighbor working.  After four or five thunder boomers, I thought to myself -- "No -- that can't be the remodeler." 

It as very disorienting until I looked out the window and saw the ground of the playground between the apartment building dark black with rain water. Every once in a while the thunder crashed so loudly that it set off several car alarms.  That was interesting.  I saw people quickly pointing their automatic door controls at the cars and the alarms stopped.

It was funny that today was a rainy day like that, because yesterday a few of us were talking yesterday about what rainy days mean to us.  This is a semi-arid area and except for the spring, it doesn't rain much, I've been told.  I said that in Florida you get almost yearning for a rainy day as a relief from the nearly perpetual sunshine.  I grew up used to rain, though, and until I was 8 when we lived in Chicago we walked back and forth to school twice a day -- home for lunch -- no matter what the weather was like.

My cousin, Renee and I were just together at Krista's wedding and she brought up an infamous rainy day we had together when we were little.  It rained so much that large earthworms were drowned out of their holes in the ground and wriggled all over the sidewalks.  I can remember being under the same umbrella and trying to both dodge earthworms.  Keeping dry from the pouring rain and not squishing wriggling earthworms caused us to scream and shriek.  The seven or so blocks home had never seemed so long.

Isn't it funny what you remember?  To six or seven year olds the umbrella seemed very big and hard to maneuver and the earthworms seemed huge and scary.

In between paragraphs a few minutes ago I headed down the four flights of stairs to drop some bags of garbage off in the little shed with the dumpsters in the courtyard.  On the last landing I saw physical evidence of the remodeling noise I heard earlier.  Outside the door of one of the apartments were the remnants of window frames and broken glass of some windows.  I think the people are probably fixing up their enclosed balconies.  All over town there is a great deal of remodeling as well as the new building I mentioned earlier.

Outside the front door of my section of the apartment building -- on the left -- there is a bench and on the bench sat three elderly ladies, chatting together.  The watched the people moving about in a very slight rain fall.  The thunder boomers didn't yield much water, after all.   They were dressed typically in light coats with scarves over their heads.  Of course when we were little we called scarves worn in that way "babushkas".  I didn't know until I started to learn Russian in high school that "babushka" means "grandmother".

Today was so different from last Saturday which was full of the excitement of the commemoration of the 60th anniversary of the Victory in World War II.  That day was so sunny and bright and it seemed like everyone in town was out riding buses, walking along the avenues of the downtown, and especially visiting the big park.  The pathways amongst the trees opened up to small areas where there were children's amusement rides, pavilions with food and drink, and there was a bridge over a pond with six swans on it.  Vendors sold the kinds of things you expect to find at a carnival or the circus -- plastic toys and noisemakers, ice cream, soft drinks and tasty pastries.

I enjoyed being out with friends that day -- and the week since has been filled with getting to know the students I am teaching in the English classes and feeling more and more acclimatized to life here.  In the late seventies when we knew exchange professors from the Soviet Union, we used to talk to them about what it was like to be "a stranger in a strange land".  In each new place you live there is a particular mindset, an adjustment to weather, topography, getting from one place to the other, making new friends and dealing with new acquaintances as you go about your daily life in stores and other public places, at your church, and at work.

Having lived in a lot of different places, there are ways I make myself at home in a new area that are very familiar to me.  People who have only every lived in one place probably don't think about what it takes to become acclimatized to a new place.  When my kids were little, we lived in central Illinois and then moved to San Antonio,Texas, for a short while, then to the southern coast of Mississippi for a bit longer.  Next we lived on the east coast of central Florida near Kennedy Space Center, living there for four and a half years with a three year break three-quarters of the way through that time period.  In the break we lived near Anchorage, Alaska.

In each new place the kids ate the local cuisine in the public schools and learned about state and local history.  We celebrated local holidays and kept our family customs at the same time.  In Texas we learned about Cinco de Mayo because we lived on the edge of the Hispanic Barrio.  In southern Mississippi not far from New Orleans, we found out how important Mardi Gras celebrations are there.  While in Florida we became caught up in the tourist culture of Walt Disney World and Busch Gardens and the other amusement parks.  In addition, our working lives were tuned into the space launches at Kennedy Space Center.

In Alaska the kids learned all about moose -- up close and personal.  During the first week of school for them there, they left a friends' house to walk across the field.  Since it was late January it was still very dark.  Although the other children saw it first -- because they had been taught to look out for moose, my son -- so new to Alaska and not quite awake yet -- ended up nose to nose with a young moose ranging in the area. 

We also had the joy of celebrating the annual winter carnival in Anchorage -- Fur Rendezvous.  When it was about 10 above zero, my kids were riding on carnival rides!  A bit later when we lived in the mountains, our house was not far from one of the first checkpoints for the Iditarod -- a dogsled race from Anchorage to Nome commemorating the delivery of a much-needed vaccine in the days before airplanes.

In all the places we lived we obtained an idea about what was important to the people there.  We learned about their history and their perspectives on life.  So I have been thinking since I came here that everywhere you go there are adjustments.  And even when we are in the most familiar place, spiritually we are still not at home.  We came from God in heaven and with God's grace will return home one day.  This earth is not our home.  We just sojourn here. 

As we continue to seek the most peaceful and loving way to live here in our "strange land", the closer we feel to God the easier it is.  For me really making connections with people and sharing fellowship with them is an amazing way to feel close to God.  However, I find that drawing into a place where I can be alone with God in prayer helps me, too.  It's easier not to feel so strange in a "strange land" if you know the One who loves you and to Whom you belong is with you.

I have been blessed with many reminders of God's presence here.  When I was in an Emmaus weekly reunion group once we asked each other two questions:  "What was it like this week when you felt closest to God?" and "What was going on when you felt farthest away from God?"  This week I felt closest to God when I walked home from having dinner with a friend straight toward a beautiful sunset visible between the apartment buildings.  It was a "big sky" kind of sunset with sweeps of bright magenta clouds and a vault of grey blue background.  I felt farthest away from God one morning when I woke up disoriented, missing my kids and wishing it was easy to pick up the phone and call someone.  I bless God that all I had to do was turn over and open my Bible to Psalm 139 and read it to remind me of God's presence and love.

So when did you feel closest to God in the last week?  And what was happening when you felt farthest away from the Lord?  God was with you every minute.  You can count on it.  The Lord loves you completely and absolutely -- and eternally.  What rejoicing there is in heaven when each person all the way takes that into his or her heart and starts to live it out.