“Chaos may live there, but so does great beauty.”
—Elizabeth Vahey Smith, The Practice of Processing
Recently, a friend of mine stayed the night while my husband was still away on a month-long visit to the States. As we pulled out our own crafting to do while watching a movie, she realized her brand new ball of yarn was a tangled-up mess. Whenever she pulled one place, she noticed the tension of another area. After a minute or two of trying to avoid the long and impending process of unwrapping the yarn and rewrapping it herself, she set down her knitting needles on the arm of the couch. I watched as she slowly and methodically began to do the work necessary to make the rest of the evening’s project a productive and relaxing endeavor.
There is a tension I have held for years, perched up high and pushing down heavy on my shoulders. It’s there in the pit of my stomach, there in the inability to fully relax, and in the anticipation of the next uncomfortable thing that’s bound to happen.
It’s unseen, but felt.
It’s ignored, but unrelenting.
It’s quiet, but also quite deafening.
I have lived and served overseas for over eight years and, due to our unfinished adoption situation, we haven’t been able to freely leave our host country for the past five. What began as a traumatic beginning has slowed into a life lived continuously overseas. As our adoption process proves to be an uphill battle, I’ve felt the weathering and wearing away over the years of waiting. I’ve run out of answers when asked: How’s life? When will the adoption be finished? When are you coming “home”? It feels too complicated to unpack in a Facebook message or an impromptu video chat.
Experienced and vicarious trauma has packed itself down inside like a hardened soil—difficult to break through, dig up to unearth, or make sense of. Life has happened at an insane speed, leaving me breathless and gasping for air at times. Trying to make peace with the hard and lingering things has left me feeling rather overwhelmed as I brown meat in the frying pan for dinner, listen as my kids sound out letters on our sagging couch, retrieve the sunbaked laundry hanging crisp on the line, and sit down to type up ministry highlights in our monthly email update.
Life has carried on and, at times, dragged me along.
I’m realizing there are things I’ve put off, packed down, or neglected to untangle for fear of falling apart in an unrelenting and unknown season. I’ve been holding out for the space needed to tackle the deeper things. I’ve been waiting for the closure our family longs for, so I can focus on all the heartache that’s been stacking up over the years. Desiring the space and resources needed to take the time to gently untangle the chaos that has become an inner tornado, continuously swirling over the past number of years. Tugging on one thread or memory, I find it’s entangled in another, and another, and another.
The trauma, fear, uncertainty, disappointment, loss, discouragement.
It’s all there.
As I carry on with daily life.
As I celebrate the milestones.
As I post ministry updates.
As I write to encourage others.
I’ve recently been reading through The Practice of Processing by Elizabeth Vahey Smith, a fellow expat who is passionate about the benefits of emotional processing. I’ve realized that even within these hard and painful moments and memories, there are also moments of profound beauty intertwined.
I’m learning to acknowledge and journey through the uncomfortable situations found in my overseas living, instead of blindly accepting it as something that’s normal for this life or in the adoption process. I’ve been pausing when something feels heavy or causes me to feel peace. I think I’ve struggled to unpack the past few years, while still living in the chaos, because I know I somehow have to keep moving forward.
Even while all I feel is stuck.
I’ve slowly been discovering my own rhythm of intentional processing that is finding margin in my current season with young, vibrant children, full days of homeschooling and household responsibilities, ministry involvement, and a growing homesickness for family across the world.
Little by little,
Gently, but intentionally,
Among the flickering of a black currant-scented candle lit in the evening,
When the busyness of the day comes to a long-awaited pause,
As the house becomes still and the cicadas begin to sing,
I’m beginning to notice a tender beckoning to embrace all that has patiently waited to be acknowledged, unearthed, and untangled.
I still don’t have answers and I still don’t have an end date to the uncertainty. But as a verbal processor (who still has so much of life to process), I’m beginning to find safe ways to handle both the broken and beautiful moments of this incredibly interesting overseas life.
Where in your day, month, or year could you make space for intentional processing of the complicated (and incredible) things in your life? In what ways do you intuitively process your life?
