Things Remembered - Day 4 - A Stitch in Time...

Over last week and weekend, I was at a conference in another part of the continent and managed to finish a baby blanket over the course of the week, stitching as I listened to different sessions and letting the crochet hook mindlessly do the work while my brain focused on other, far bigger in the moment, things.

While waiting for one of the sessions that I attended to start, I was chatting with a few folks at my table and one of them commented that it seemed as though I had been crocheting for a long time.  27 years, to be exact.

I still remember the first time I held something crafty.  I was sitting on my bed in Rwanda with my Grandma Hammond by my side. I don't remember exactly what we were doing, whether it was cross-stitch, petit-point, or crocheting, but I remember watching her strong, weathered hands carefully attend to the task at hand.  I was mesmerized by the fact that from something so simple, something beautiful could be me made. Later I learned that my Grandma could do just about anything when it came to crafts.  She taught me how to paint (a skill that never quite stuck), got me started on hardanger, showed me how to frame prints, and was always willing to try something new.  She has such beautiful hands that have made such beautiful things.

My Grandma Teusink was also incredibly crafty.  She always had a bag with her knitting somewhere close-by.  I was mesmerized with what her hands could make as well. She would take something as simple as a ball of yarn and turn it into a blanket that represented her love and prayers and hugs.  I loved watching movies with her on Sunday afternoon, both of us with a craft project of some sort in our hands and chatting the days away.

 I remember the first time that I watched Anne of Green Gables or something similar and there was a sewing circle.  That was the life!  Can you imagine sitting around doing crafts while talking with your friends all afternoon? What a treat!

There were, of course, other people who helped me along in my craft endeavors along the way.  I’m so thankful for Julie, who taught me how to make delicate snowflakes for Christmas gifts. So many trees have little Teusink creations because she took the time to inspire me in something new And then there was Carol, who was shocked that I didn’t know how to make a Granny Square when I was 12, so she taught me how.  Countless baby blankets have been made and shared with love and prayers because she took the time to help me figure out something new.

I’m thankful for hands that can hold a crochet hook as if it was a natural extension of those hands.  Every stitch is a reminder of people who have poured into me, and a prayer for the lives of the people I am able to pour into.

Now I must be off…it time to make myself a cup of tea, cuddle up under my blanket from Grandma, and stitch away.

Things Remembered - Day 3 - My History with Pets

I’ve always liked the idea of pets, but I think it’s time to admit that Bekah Teusink on her own should not be a pet mom. 

Growing up, my family always seemed to have a pet of some sorts. In Rwanda, we had dogs and chameleons and rabbits, oh my. So many memories from those first few years revolve around trading hot wheels cars for reptiles or naming yet another little of bunnies. (Is it litter of bunnies or is there some other fancy name I’m supposed to put here? Please advice, those that are wiser than I!)

In other exciting news, all of the bunny babies were always named Bekah. Little did I know they all eventually turned into dinner. Some day I’ll probably need to hash all that out with my therapist! (They renamed each bunny ‘Chester’ before they became dinner...Hoosiers, anyone?)

When we lived in the US between countries, our miniature schnauzer, Winston, was my dearest friend and confidant. Thank goodness he couldn’t talk...the secrets he could tell!  In Ethiopia, dogs were a part of our norm as well, but they were outside dogs, so it was different. I still loved time laying on the lawn with them and watching them grow. 

When I went to boarding school, my roommate and I decided that fish would be a good idea. Heath, Orlando, Zeus, and Cupcake became our scaled friends. We loved them well and even managed to transport them between countries in water bottles during our long vacations. I don’t know how they survived. One break, Cupcake committed suicide. The bowl was too full and he always was an adventurous little thing. The day after we gave the other 3 away to a 9th grader, a few weeks before graduation, they were eaten by a cat that came in an open window. Oops!

In college, I had two goldfish: Manuel and the Dread Pirate Roberts. Manuel ended up eating the Dread Pirate Roberts and then lived for 6 more years. He was an impressive little thing!

About a month ago, I decided to get fish again. They cost about $1 and, after much consideration, were named Joe and Kathleen. They were beautiful. 

Joe died a week ago while I was in another city for a soccer tournament. Kathleen died Sunday while I was at a conference. 

Anyone want to buy a fish tank?

I’m not going to be a pet owner again anytime soon...

Things Remembered - Day 2 - The End of an Era

I’ve spent a lot of time on planes. There have been smooth flights and ones that required extra measures of prayer, ones that had exciting adventures on the other end and reminders of sorrow throughout.  Growing up overseas, flying was never anything all that special, just a reprieve between places or a vessel to move me from one life to the next.  Sometimes the next was something exciting.  Sometimes it was something daunting.  But it was always something.

One flight in particular stands out more than the rest.

It was July (or maybe early August) 2005.  I had just graduated from high school and my family had spent 10 days after my graduation in Rwanda, the land that held my first memories, first friendships, first crushes.  But I couldn’t fully engage in that trip to Rwanda because I was fully in the between.

Up to that point, half of my life had been spent in Africa.  9 of my 18 years I had been at home on a continent where my skin colour meant that I would never fully fit.  7 of those 9 years in one of my passport countries, the United States, had been spent longing for the day that we would return ‘home’ to Africa. When we wouldn’t fit, but would feel so much more comfortable.  Where my friends wouldn’t necessarily look or talk like me, but would be so much more familiar in our thought processes and our understandings of the world.

And I was leaving.  We boarded the plane in Nairobi, heading to Europe and then to the US, where college was on the horizon and the unknowns were piling up.  Would I have friends? Would I be understood?  Would I ever return? What career would I choose? So many who’s and what’s and when’s and where’s…all overwhelmed by a why that was beyond my control.

And so, we got on that plane at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport.

I know I had a window seat.  I don’t remember which family member was sitting next to me.  All I could see what was outside the window.  Africa…Kenya…one of my many homes.  But in that moment, it all blurred to be the continent that I was trying desperately not to let go of.

The plane pulled away from the gate, then taxied to the runway.  Usually that trip seems like it takes forever, but that time it didn’t take nearly long enough.  Suddenly, the engines sparked into action and the wheels pulled up from the runway.

And I looked through my window, back at the tarmac that we had just left.  I swear I could see my heart beating there are on the pavement, disconnected from the human that it had once inhabited.  My heart.  My African heart…it was ripped out of my chest and left beating in the marvelous dust of the continent that I called home.

I’ll never forget that moment.  That loss and sorrow and grief.

Life went on and eventually I started to feel whole again…but that moment is one that I can still close my eyes and see.

Oh the joys of Third Culture Kid living…

Things Remembered – Day 1 – I’ll take ten please…

I’ve always loved markets, but I tend to hate shopping.  Give me a set price and I’ll buy what I have to, but put me in a place where I can barter and haggle and I’ll spend all of my money in the pursuit of getting the most deals.

No one needs a pair of fake fancy sunglasses, but tell me they cost 80RM in a market in Malaysia and I’ll name my price (20 RM), walk away, and be thrilled when eventually they meet me where I started.  True story…the sunglasses won’t last but the story I will wear with a smile for quite some time.

My favorite shopping experiences will always be from the open-air markets of Kenya. There was that one time that several of us from my dorm senior year convinced someone to take us to Toi Market in Nairobi to do some back-to-school second hand shopping.  We wandered those stalls and went through piles of clothes to find things that would add something new-to-us to our wardrobe rotations.  I was so proud of the bags of clothes that I came home with that day, all for a wonderfully small amount of money (something like $10US). The memories of bartering and trying things on in sketchy, market stall, curtained off areas isn’t one that I’ll forget anytime soon.

Or that other time on a Friday during a trip to Kenya in 2007 where I was determined to expand my earring collection at Maasai Market.  “1 for 250KSH,” they told me.  I scoffed and walked away.  They stopped me, saying, “Sister, what is your price?” “Eh, me I am thinking 50 for 1.”  They laughed, raised their eyebrows, and knew that I was there ready to play the game; ready to play my part in the exciting and delicate dance that bartering can be. “Eh brother, me I have an idea. What if I buy 10 and give you 500?” They smiled, told me to pick out what I wanted, and it was a deal.  Victory never looked so good in my earring collection.

Of course, there have been many failures mixed in over the years and my need for trinkets from my travels continues to decline.  My purchases tend to be more about one magnet for my fridge these days, and one magnet is not so easy to haggle over.

But if you’re ever in the area, and you want to make my day, let me be your personal shopping buddy.  It’s so much easier to haggle and shop when the spending isn’t burning a hole in my own pocket!

Things Remembered - Introduction

Apparently people write a lot in November.  I have never been one of those people, and by no means am I trying to write a novel, but I'd like to write more and a 30 day challenge seems like a good way to start.

Side-note: I'm in the midst of a 30-school-day earring challenge.  I'm pretty sure today is basically day 1000 (it's day 20), but I've made it this far and I'm determined to see it through.  Hopefully the last 10 days don't do me in...

Anywho, November is a month where people write and I'm going to be one of those people this year.

The goal is to write between 400 and 500 words each day in November, telling stories from my life (past and present). Some will entertain.  Some will not.  All will be as accurate as they can be when they are based on my perspective and less-than-fantastic memory.

Enjoy :)

Oh Singleness...

I’ve been toying with the idea of writing something on singleness for a while.

What’s stopped me?  Well, here are the thoughts that I have going through my head every time I want to write but don’t:

1 – Writing something on singleness, putting the words to page, seems like an announcement of singleness.  It doesn’t define me, it’s just a part of who I am…but will other people see me as a would-be poster child for singleness if they read my words about it?  I certainly hope not!  (In other words, please don’t put my name in Urban Dictionary as a synonym for ‘single.’  K thanks.)

2 – I am not an expert, although I certainly have experience.  Do I really have a right to share?  Do I want to share?  Please don’t make me share…

3 – It’s a painful topic for some, a badge of honor for others, and a great big question mark for the rest…although there are probably 500,000,000 other ways to look at it as well.  It’s highly personal, it’s highly painful, and I don’t like showing/sharing pain with the world.  I don’t like needing support.  I hate when I can’t be self-sufficient. I hate when I’m not enough.  Hello life, the name’s Bekah.  What’s that? Another slap across the face?  Don’t worry…I’m awake now…

So here I go…

My name’s Bekah and I’m single.  There have been three seasons in my life (well more like fifteen if you count good guy friends starting in the 8th grade that I thought/hoped might transpire into more, but that’s another set of stories for another time) where I thought my singleness might be nearing an end.  None of those relationships lasted long and I’m the one that bolted when things got tough.

My counselor tells me that’s something to think about.

So, of course, I try my best not to acknowledge or face it.  Me = Picture of Mental Stability (said no one ever).

Anyways, I digress.

My name’s Bekah and I’m single.  At the age of 32, I’ve gotten to be fairly good at being single.  I know how to make a meal that lasts all week (but even the best recipe is redundant by day 4), I’m completely comfortable traveling alone, “Table for 1, please” doesn’t scare me so much anymore, and I’m not afraid of hiring someone to do maintenance around my house.

I own a tool kit, manage my own finances (well…that is a work in progress…), order myself back to school gifts, and unashamedly buy myself flowers when I’ve had a bad day.

If you want to read what twenty-six-year-old Bekah thought about her singleness, here’s one from the archives.  Read it with a grain of salt.  Twenty-six-year-old Bekah, bless her heart, had some big lessons to learn.  Thirty-two-year-old Bekah still does.

Let me be honest and transparent for a moment…

I would love to be married someday.  I would love to have a husband and kids and in-laws and fights about where to spend Christmas.  My ‘plan’ was never to be 32 and single. 

But here I am.

And sometimes it stinks.

Let me wallow for just a moment...

It stinks on days when I just want to be around someone to debrief the day with and there’s no one there.

It stinks that, as a leader in a school, I have no one that is completely safe for me to vent to.  Married people have a spouse that they share everything with…the good the bad and the ugly.  If I tell family about my woes, they might try to solve them.  If I tell friends back home, they tell me it’s time to move. And telling coworkers is a no-go for a plethora of obvious reasons.  So, there are many a day where I go home, sit on my couch, and stare at the wall…trying to think through what I need to do to make amends for a wrong I’ve done or reasoning how I need to change my communication style to better fit the needs of my staff.

It stinks when I have big decisions on the horizon (as anyone living overseas…or anywhere really…so often does) and while people can give me input, at the end of the day it’s just me who has to decide and then carry out that decision.

It stinks when I think about 10 years from now and where I’ll be.  I am the only constant in those plans…well, me and Jesus. :)

It stinks when I reflect on the boundaries that I’ve had to put in place to be a healthy single woman in community…and it also stinks that those boundaries are oh so necessary.

So ya, I wallow.

I get sad.

I have bad days where being single bothers me.

But there are good days too.

In the interest of making this post semi useful to someone else rather than just a rant as I finish up my dinner (alone in a favorite restaurant…go single me!), I’d like to leave you with five thoughts that help me get through this solo life I live in community overseas.  Take them or leave them. :)

1 – Find family.

Sure, traditional family involves genetic or legal connections, but you can choose people to invest in who eventually become family.  Family is pivotal for survival for me.  Having friends with kids has been a key to having a place to unwind and pour into people that I love outside of school.  Can this be hard?  Oh yes, but for me it is why I am on year 8 in a city not my own.

Be warned – families leave. Families make decisions that are based on what’s best for their family and not on what’s best for you.  That’s okay…that’s right…that’s necessary.  They don’t leave because they want to get away from you or because you did something wrong.  They leave because it’s their time to leave.  The delight eventually can come again in relationships that last past just sharing a location.

I’ve had more families than I can count leave since I came to Chengdu.  More families than I can count that I dearly love and miss every day.  I miss those kiddos whose diapers I changed and homework I helped with and whose tears made puddles on my shoulders.  I miss those couples who became like siblings to me and who opened up their home and their family to me.  Huge chunks of my heart are elsewhere with those families that I adore.

Even as I write this, tears are streaming down my cheeks as I allow myself to mourn those families that I have “lost.”

But they are still family.  And you should find some. It’s worth it.  Open up your heart to them…you’ll be glad you did!

2 – Set Boundaries.

I’ve struggled with this aspect of singleness.  As a young twenty-something, I saw it as men’s responsibility to guard their relationships and had no qualms about being friends with a male coworker but not necessarily enjoying the company/friendship of his wife.

And as a young twenty-something, I didn’t understand why a few coworkers’ wives really seemed to detest me.  Their husbands were great.  We worked together, enjoyed chatting about random aspects of school or random other topics, and were amazing teammates.  But then on Sundays or around town when I would say hi to their wives, a look of what seemed to me like hatred would come across their faces.  I would take that as a cue not to pursue friendship and eventually would convince myself that they were just one of those opposites attracts kind of couples.

But then I realized something.  I was spending hours each day at work with their husbands, having fun and getting things done, becoming friends, making investments…and their wives were hearing about it at home.  I was THAT girl.  The fun young blonde at work who brought laughter into the job again.

I was THAT girl.

And I’m so not that girl.

So now I have rules for myself.  If I work closely with a married man, I pursue friendship with his wife.  If his wife and I aren’t all that compatible, I keep pursuing. I get to know their kids and offer to babysit so they can have time together as a couple.  And you know what happens?  I generally end up being friends with the whole family (see point 1).

And what a blessing those families are.

But if I work with a man closely and don’t have opportunities to get to know his wife, I am a different coworker.  I don’t ask questions beyond what I need to know for the job we’re working on.  I don’t let inside jokes become a thing.  I don’t talk about me.

Maybe that seems a little cold…but I refuse to be THAT girl ever again.

So, figure out what boundaries you need…and remember you are responsible for your boundaries…don’t put the blame on anyone else.  And be smart. You are human, and so is everyone else.

3 – Find your rhythm.

Just because you don’t have kids at home doesn’t mean you should be working late every night and all day every Saturday.

You need time with friends.  You need time to invest in families.  You need time to watch an entire season of a show on Netflix.  (That last one isn’t a need.  Turn off Netflix and get a book...says the girl who watched an entire season of the Great British Bake-off on Saturday...)

And you’ll have to figure out what works for you.  It won’t necessarily be what works for me.

For a few years, I was taking classes online and working full time while I pursued my Master’s degree and then an Educational Specialist degree.  For a year or so, I would do everything last minute and then my Sunday afternoons became catch up time for my left til the last-minute homework. (For a deeper understanding of my procrastinating brain, this is an excellent Ted Talk which I adore!) 

For the last two years of my studies, I would make Saturdays my homework days.  I would go to my favorite coffee shop, claim a table, work all day, and then head home knowing that I was done and nothing was lingering.  Sundays then became a day of rest.

But rest doesn’t look the same for everyone.

For me, rest was a video-chat with my former roommate in the morning, followed by fellowship, lunch/afternoon festivities with one family, and then dinner with another family.

I would tell my friends about how I spent my Sundays and they would give me a pained expression and tell me that I was crazy.

But I loved those Sundays.  They renewed me in a way that nothing else had for a long while.

Find your rhythm, and then don’t forget to change it up if it’s time for a change.

4 – Don’t be afraid.

Don’t be afraid of the label of “single.”  It’s not a projection of some major failure in your life or personality.  It’s just a part of a much bigger whole that is you.

Don’t be afraid of other people’s expectations of your life, and definitely don’t let those unmet expectations impact your successes and joys and goals and dreams.

Don’t be afraid of saying no to things that don’t fill you up that you feel like you “should” do because you “have the time.”

Don’t be afraid of trying something that you’re not sure you’ll be good at.  You never know until you try.

Don’t be afraid of falling in love and realizing that it’s not a good fit.

Don’t be afraid of putting yourself out there online.  You’ll find some gems to talk to…and maybe Mr. Right.  So far, I’ve found a whole lot of Mr. Not Right’s and one Mr. If Only…and I’m thankful for the conversations and connections that I’ve made even if I’m still somewhat hopelessly single.

Don’t be afraid of your singleness being a disappointment to your parents.  They love you.  They will always love you.  And they just want you to be happy and cared for.  They want to know that when they’re gone you’ll be okay. Don’t get frustrated by their hopes for you…but don’t be afraid of forging your own path and inviting them to be a part of the adventure.

Don’t be afraid of friends who want to set you up.  Go on those dates.  Meet those guys.  Or at least tell your friends that you’re open to it…you never know what unexpected blessings (or amazing stories of dates gone wrong) that might come your way.

Don’t be afraid of a few tears in a restaurant while you write a list of don’t be afraids. (Still here…still writing…still in the zone and now needing to rehydrate.)

5 – Enjoy this season.

I don’t know if my years as a single are coming to an end anytime soon or if they’re only just beginning, but I don’t intend to let sorrow or frustration define me.

I intend to enjoy the season that I’m in.  To acknowledge pains and frustrations, but not to let them become the seeds of bitterness.

I intend to celebrate my successes and growth and failures.

I intend to have great guy friends and great couple friends and great family friends.

I intend to be the best friend that I can be to the people that I am blessed to have in my life.

I intend to be me. The joyful, over-caffeinated Bekah that people around me seem to enjoy for the most part, or at least tolerate…

I intend to travel and explore and live every day of this journey of life with gratitude for the freedom that it has given me to do the things that I’ve done so far along the way.

And I intend to be open to whatever may be around the next bend on this crazy journey of life.

And with that, I need to stop writing. Thank you for wandering around with me in my random thought processes on this far too long post.

Side-note: I didn't plan to have two posts with lists of 5 back to back, but maybe that's my new thing? We'll see...

What about you?  What has been helpful advice on singleness that you’ve received that maybe I (or others) need to hear?  Would love to hear from you!

I've added a picture of part of my view so that something other than a pencil shows up when I share this post.  It's the little things!