American Samoa: The Endless Possibilities of Discovering and Excavating Our Own Oceans

     Celebrating my birthday on a perfect day in American Samoa at Sadie's Beach

    I have always liked this painting Elias painted when we lived in Doha--conveying all the diverse unseen, undiscovered layers under the ocean. And it is the same with us--so many endless possibilities that are often hidden until we decide to uncover them.

Until I got here two months ago, I had not snorkeled for a long time. Up to this point in my life, the Red Sea had always been my favorite memory to snorkel, but now it would definitely be American Samoa. You don't have to worry about big waves, or riptides (as long as you choose the right beach and watch the tides), and the reef is very close. The fish and coral are different each time you go under the ocean's surface here. The experience of discovery is different every time: a new fish, coral, or seeing thousands of fish at a time feed on fish eggs. On a few occasions, the ocean has been churning and the visibility is murky, but most of the time it is invitingly clear. But isn't life like that too? Cloudy, shadowy, but then wala, a ray of sun suddenly shines through to lighten up the dark crevices all around us. 

   

Last week, I was snorkeling in the late afternoon with my son. After I had only been in the water for about ten minutes, a sea turtle swam past me. I gleefully followed it for a minute or two. It was almost like he was turning his head around, and inviting me to follow him. I thought, "I wish Elias could see one too." No kidding, but about five minutes later, another turtle came drifting by, and I motioned to Elias to come and see my discovery. We accompanied him for about two minutes, as he escorted us to underwater reefs that brought more awe. 

Swimming with a turtle is the most magical experience. But to share the memory, of course, gives you this magnificent connection with another person. We came up, elated, that we had been able to follow this turtle and have an adventure with him. This fun-loving turtle swam like a bird, but playfully glided, back and forth, zig-zag, like he was enjoying himself too as he welcomed us into his underwater territory. 

Every time I snorkel and peer into the layers underneath the ocean, I am reminded how each of us has so many untapped, unrevealed layers to find. And just as we have many possibilities of potential to discover, every person around us, for that matter in the world, has that same promise. Often, we don't see beyond the surface; the layers are often invisible to ourselves and others. But as we are willing, humble, and determined, we can unravel our own potential and even see others' latent capacities. 

One of the things, I think that holds us back is fear. We are afraid of the initial plunge to truly see; sometimes that fear paralyzes us. I remember a young man who was in my semester abroad long ago. One day, he told me he could not swim and was extremely afraid of the water. He was overweight, but desperately wanted to see the world under the surface since he loved drawing landscapes. As an artist, he was captivated by the beauty of the earth and wanted to see the wonder underneath the ocean. 

Several of us encouraged him to learn to swim so he could view the world under the ocean. In those months we were there, he lost weight and learned to swim because he was so compelled to see the colorful fish and coral we all raved about. I will never forget snorkeling with him in the Red Sea and coming up to see his smiles of exhilaration and joy. He was not the same after breaking the surface of his accustomed vision. Immobilizing fear was pushed away so he could excavate new layers of discovery in himself.  

 

If we take the time, there is so much beauty to be seen in ourselves and others. Just like my turtles who occasionally glide by, we also can have beauty and wonder be revealed to us too. It's all about being willing to go under the surface to really, really see. Otherwise, we just keep seeing the same known things.

I believe God wants us to unlock the divine mysteries and awe in ourselves and try to behold others in new ways. The joy we find in unveiling potential in ourselves and others is our birthright if we choose. It is the happy way to live. 

                                  Snorkeling with friends and family. It was a bit murky that day. 

 As beautiful as the seashore is in American Samoa, even boasting a National Park, it is a must to go and see the layers under the ocean--a whole new world to discover. 

                                                               A favorite snorkel beach

                                     Joseph, a kayak surfer, takes it to the limit with the waves.                                       

                 This New Zealand man and his wife own an eco-lodge in a secluded cove that is a marine sanctuary for fish and coral. As I spoke with him, I was fascinated by his life. He trained as a swimmer for the Olympics in the 1980s but then came to this cove and found work and decided to stay. In the past over 30 years, he has rescued 150 people in the small bay near the restaurant and eco-lodge. A few did not make it, he sadly said. His knowledge and respect for the ocean inspire me. He has learned to see when someone is in trouble: he runs down the beach, out to rock, waiting for the right moment to jump in and catch the current under the riptide. And then he holds his breath all the way, to rescue the person who is no match for the sea. Now, he insists if you want to go out to the cove to see the fish, you must go with some floating devices while he accompanies you.  I told him saving 150 people from that inlet was better than saying you swam in the Olympics. 

Happy Mother's Day and a love letter to mothering...

"I know I must have been loved like that, even if I can't remember it. I know my mother must have loved to comb my shiny hair and rub that Johnson's baby lotion up and down my arms and wrap me up and hold me all night long...so I'd have enough love in me to know what love was when I saw it or felt it again."   --Cynthia Rylant in Missing May

      The day our son, Elias, was born... Little did we know, he would change our lives for the better when he would be diagnosed with autism three years later...

Happy Mother's Day to all! On this Mother's Day, I am spending it in London with my first grandchild--a  new season of wonder and awe in the journey of life. Observing my own child become a parent, I am filled with memories of who I was when I became a mother long ago. Of course, there were anticipation, fears, and apprehensions. But perhaps more than anything, there was a willingness to plunge deeply into unknown territory--to give this unchartered work everything I had. Deeply, I knew it was a new sphere of understanding how to love outside of myself--in a way I had never known. 

Suddenly, with unexpected abruptness, I was content to be enclosed in a new world with my little daughter. Outside of our cloistered circle, the world outside continued to beckon. But I remember being content to stay wrapped in this newly formed cocoon with her and my husband. There was nothing I would not do for this new little babe. As I looked out of my New York City 24th-story view and heard the noise and rustling of the city, I wanted to crowd out the world for a while. Of course, I knew this exquisitely beautiful cocoon of time would not last long. There was so much newly-mint joy in that space of time. I suppose that is why we had six more children. 😀

Every child is a journey. They come with their own passport of where they will eventually go. Each of them has an unmistakable and individual divine nature that comes to imprint on your soul. Sooner or later you learn they were never yours to tightly hold on to and sequester. In fact, they cannot be endlessly protected; we are not our children's shield of safety. They were meant to fly away from the sheltered haven we tried to lovingly build for them. Yet, I have learned they will migrate back for you to hold and love again-- teaching us new things of their own journeys.

A few years ago, I met the mayor of a small village in Normandy, France. He was an older gentleman who was painting on a hillside overlooking his village. As we spoke to him, he told us a story I have always remembered: During WWII, his parents who were part of the French Resistance Movement, were caught and imprisoned in a camp. His mother, who was pregnant with him, was later delivered there by a very kind, compassionate doctor. On that night, she begged the doctor to save her baby's life and bring him clandestinely outside the camp to freedom. The doctor, knowing full well the parents could never see the child again, agreed. He knew of their impending death sentences. That night, in the dark, under a long trench coat, he swaddled the child under his cloak. He risked his life for a baby whose parents would never know their child.

A few minutes later, our French friend took us to see a picture of the mayor's parents. As I looked into their faces--so young, hopeful, and beautiful, I was and continue to be moved by their story. A young mother, knowing her fate and wanting to keep this child safe from the world gave him up to an unknown stranger--a doctor who happened to be on call that day in a prison camp. Perhaps I am further moved by the story because my own husband has delivered about 25,000 children and I know he would have gladly done the same deed on that night long ago in the early 1940s in France. But as I said, mothering takes you to places, both literal and figurative, you never thought you would or could go.

Here are a few thoughts on mothering I have had over the years:

--Give yourself a break. Mothering, especially in the first years, can be almost all-encompassing. When you daily try to fill the needs of little ones, carve moments to reset. And that means giving yourself permission to take a nap. That was always my own mother's healing balm of advice. Recalibrate. Rest. Relax. Every. Day.

--Reach out. Recently I heard of a young mother I know who has been having a difficult time because of the pandemic. Lift, encourage, and say a kind word. People so desperately need affirmations. We don't know the wounds or the current state of mental health of others, but we can connect and help out. Today when I was walking into Herrod's Department store in London, not one, but two security men opened the door for me as I pushed my grandson's stroller through the door. They smiled, nodded, and just made me feel better. We might think it is a small and inconsequential act, but kind gestures have a long shelf life. 

--Build on your interests, both former ones before children, but also be brave and bold to learn new things. Everything you know and love can be shared with your children. Hold onto those passions you have always cherished so you can inspire your loved ones. Those are some of the tender gifts they will always remember and connect to. Books, nature, swimming, tennis, music, art, and cooking are some of my interests. For example, I love art museums. When we lived in Baltimore, we would sometimes trek down to the National Gallery. By the time one of my daughters was seven, she could give family and friends an amazing tour. Blog on My Cello Love Story

--Gather. Become a part of a community of mothers who help one another. Many parents do not live by their families. It does not matter if women are much older or younger than one another. In my younger years, I had sage counsel from women who I looked to for advice. Now I am older, I try to do the same for others. We can always learn from one another--even if we initially think people are not in the same "stage of life" we are in. Learn from unlikely sources who can teach you how to think in different ways and give you new perspectives. I will always remember what my Muslim neighbor told me when I first moved to Qatar, "Don't make boundaries with me, Maryan." She said it lovingly, and I knew she meant it. I learned so much from a mother who wore a burka. My life would be so different if I had not been her friend. Learn from others who are different than you. Blog on Spilling Love and Celebrating International Women's Day

--Have fun! Be creative. Give lots of hugs. Have a fun game, art, and/or music nights. Laugh a lot and go out and see the stars or a sunset or a firefly.  Carve holy moments of time. I remember celebrating St. Patrick's Day with a friend. We all went on a picnic with our kids and dyed our hair that day. As we tromped through a park in Los Angeles, we sang and told stories with our green hair. We came home exhilarated, breathless with happiness to be outside laughing and frolicking with our children.

--You can do harder things than you realize because you have learned to love with no bounds. Being a mother of a child with autism has stretched and blessed me. Blog on My Autism Mountain Having a young baby die taught me to be outside of my skin. Blog on Traveling Through Time in a Day

Some of my South African friends are in China. The little girl told me, "You have taught me how to be brave and kind" on the last night before I left China. I teared up and told her I would try to live up to her estimation of me. Children's words, so pure and unfiltered, spark me to be better.

                                                                  A mother in India who I met

             A Cambodian mother who I often visited in the refugee camps when I worked there in Thailand and the Philippines in the 1980s. She was so grateful to be in a refugee camp and to have boxes for furniture and a hammock for several of her children to sleep in. At least now she knew they were safe from Pol Pot's genocide.

                                      A very special single mom with her triplets who my husband delivered 18 years ago. They have been like family to us. 

One of my best friends, Yoyo, is in Tianjin, China with her son. She told me, "I think my children choose me to be their mom before they came down to be on earth with me."

                                       A grandmother with her grandson at Ikea in Tianjin, China

The ongoing restoration in all of us...

Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to build that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on, you know that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably. You see He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of... You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage, but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.    --C.S. Lewis

                        Our old house in St. Louis, MO--that took so many years to restore 

On account that my grandmother lived in an old house, I was always drawn to the possibilities of making what was once dysfunctional or dilapidated become useful and extraordinary again. I loved every crevice of her house as a child. It was not only a beautiful, stately old home, but it had layers of family history where I could almost hear the whispers. There always seemed to be a new, intriguing corner to discover. But it was usually in an ongoing restoration process. In her mind, she was constantly thinking about how to blend the old and new together--for the best effect and beauty.

        My grandmother's old home that I tried to duplicate--more the feeling than the structure...

Consequently, when it came time for us to buy a home, I voted for the old house that had "potential." In my mind, an old home could become what my grandmother's house had been to me--endlessly fascinating and beloved. Long ago when no one wanted to buy our future St. Louis home because it lacked AC, I saw the bones of something wonderful. And I was right. 

Shortly before we moved to the Middle East, we remodeled the last bathroom in that dear St. Louis house. The long overhaul process of remodeling for many years was long, arduous, and painful. Did I mention expensive? Walls were pushed out. A new stairway was made, and an old one was removed. We built a bathroom and bedroom in the basement for my father-in-law who came to live with us. I kept thinking, "Is this house ever going to be the way I want it?" But it did. Ironically, we unexpectedly moved a few months later when it was supposedly done. We all laughed at the timing, but the lesson is not lost on me. 

Blog on the story of our old home

Lately, over here in China, we still work on projects. Our projects in China are smaller but equally ambitious. Every day our creativity is challenged as we work on various art projects. We have gessoed some paintings--meaning put on a special covering to coat the old parts we no longer like or not applicable to our current art journey. My son who has autism and I paint a lot together. You could say we have learned how to "do art" together. But sometimes we don't want the old canvases anymore. They take up room, and we know they can be remade, redone, restored, renewed. 

               Elias is busy completely revamping an old picture into a new one--and we can do that with ourselves too. Blending the old and new is a loving act of ongoing restoration.

Even the world starts anew again every spring. The verdant life that has been invisible to the surface comes again to the surface each year. Depending on your timing and where you are, spring can almost be a Northern Lights experience that does not fade away quickly. With all our senses, spring can explode in our life in all the colors that we forgot existed. The monochromatic, dormant life we knew only weeks before is transformed into a vivid explosion of color.   

The process of becoming, changing, and restoring is hard, painful work. Yet, there are many reasons not to give up on ourselves or others. Soon just like the brilliant, bright tulips are undetectable when they are bulbs in the ground, we will see the restoring in ourselves and/or others. Just like my house. All the right bones are there for the extraordinary to happen. Spring is coming soon...

                       Bright tulips by Diane Antone

Who are the unknown, unseen, sometimes invisible people who have helped you in the pandemic?

It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember the dullest, most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw them now, you would be strongly tempted to worship... All day long we are, in some degree helping each other to one of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all of our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit--immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.     --C.S. Lewis

When you are an ex-pat, far away from familiarities, you frequently depend on others' kindness and cheer. You don't expect or demand it because you know it is not always there to give when you need or want it. Sometimes you get lost or disoriented. Other times, you need someone who is willing to talk to you--even when they have never talked to a foreigner before. You know they need to be willing to leave their own comfort zone so you don't expect their cooperation or assistance. But when it comes, and often, so often, it does, there is a lump in my throat or a tear is brushed away. All these people, in some way or another, have rescued me in these pandemic times. Each of them, and there are plenty more, have welcomed a foreigner, a stranger in. And I am grateful. They make me want to connect, engage, speak up, and help a little more. They have lit my world with their candle, and they inspire me to carry a candle for another sojourner on my way. 

Who are the people who have lifted and buoyed you up this year during these pandemic times?  Who has rescued you with a smile, laugh, or even forgiven you? Who has reached out or listened to you? Who are those sometimes unknown, unseen, invisible people who are not vying for any credit or notice?  

This is Vicki who owns a scooter shop in Yangshou, China. In the summer of 2020, we came to Yangshou, one of my favorite places in China. At the time I came, I was sad since I could not go home to see my family that summer. But Vicki, in her natural and characteristic way, had me hop on her scooter. We spent two or three days together laughing and chattering away--with me on the back. Her cheer and happiness spread to my heart--something at the time I needed badly. I cried when I left her, and vowed we would be back. And then fast forward to...

November 2021... We came back. She still has her trademark smile and jokes. Again, she welcomed me again into her heart and home. How I love her...  Pandemics need friends to come back to...

              This is my friend who comes to my house. She is super funny, sweet, almost childlike--very devoted to her Buddhist religion. Around her neck is a voice pendant that repeatedly chants her Buddhist prayers. She loves to tell me how she goes to her Buddhist temples, but cannot go now because of Covid. She spreads cheer and is always laughing. Pandemics need cheer.

My friend, at Elias's opening ceremony for his art exhibit, is always supporting me by helping my Chinese improve, and Elias's art. I so appreciate her openness to talk with me--on a deep level and practice all the words I have been saving up for her. Pandemics need friends who you can speak about substantive and deep things. 

            Here is my friend who assisted Elias and me through our Shanghai quarantine. You can read the blog I wrote about him: Quarantine angel blog He recently traveled from Beijing to come here for Elias's art exhibit opening ceremony. Honestly, I owe him a lot. I always called him "our angel." Pandemics need angels. 

           

Often, very often, I marvel at the ability of children to love so freely without reservation. We met this little girl in a restaurant in Yangshou. She came to our table and started conversing with us. Her parents pled with her to join their table again. But she insisted on talking to us--showing off that as a five-year-old, she can speak French, Chinese, English, and a little Arabic. We were only too happy to oblige her because she was so adorable. Later, we talked to her parents and were shocked to discover that we had both lived in Doha, Qatar at the same time period. We did not know one another, but had a marvelous time conversing about our old home together. Yet, it took a little child to make that bridge or link. We adults would have never known without her reaching out to us. It was hard to leave her when the time came. Pandemics require us to still reach out--even to strangers. Who knows what back history you will discover?

            This was our driver on a recent trip to Guangxi province. He grew up in a small village in the middle of these iconic mountains. He knows their beauty, but he said as a child, there was not much food because the village had no arid land. He said, "Beauty does not feed the stomach." Pandemics need honesty. 

        Just last week at another one of Elias's art exhibit openings. The woman in the green is one of my best friends here in China. She owns an art school, and the other one is Elias's current art teacher. Their school is one of my favorite places in China--so much love and creativity in that space. You need some creative friends in a pandemic. These are some of ours. Their reservoir of creativity has made all the difference. 

                                  This little guy in the market just brought me joy with his panda suit on. Pandemics need cuteness. 

We were stumped on the Beijing subway, and this young woman came to our aid. She insisted on riding the train with us--even when she did not have to go to our destination--to make sure we arrived where we needed to go. Pandemics need helpers. 

           My neighbor, pictured here, is a famous photographer. She offers her help to Elias every time he has an art exhibit. She doesn't have to, but she freely offers her expertise each time. Pandemics need people who offer their help. 

          This man offered for us to come into his yard because he could see I was interested in his persimmon tree. He just opened the door, and let us walk into his yard Pandemics need sharers.

           We found a restaurant walking through a village about a month ago. That day happened to be the first day they were opened. They insisted that we eat a fine meal for free. It was kind, generous, and very unexpected. It made me want to do an unexpected kind gesture too. Pandemics need generousity.

                   Elias's first art teacher in China. She could say so much with so few words. Pandemics need efforts to communicate, and the realization that silence can is bonding too.

This man makes the best jyanbings or crepes in China. Our city, Tianjin, is famous for jyanbings. Always grateful when we can buy a jyanbing from him--with one or two eggs spread around on top. Pandemics need good cooks. 

This guy was so excited to teach me how to make dumplings. Little did he know, I have made them many times. But with him, it was my most fun time to fill the dumploings. Pandemics need fun times. 

        I met this older woman in a small village in Guangxi province. The surprising thing was that this group of older women invited us into their community space. We, dressed so differently, unlike them in appearance, but their inviting kindness really touched me. I sat next to this older woman. She told me she was ninety and then grabbed my hand to warm it since it was a cold afternoon. And then she grabbed the other hand to hold it. We sat there for about fifteen minutes, while we held each other's hands by the fire. She spoke a little Mandarin, but mostly a dialect I did not know. She did not want words. She just wanted to know someone was close by, and to warm their hands by her fire. Pandemics need warm hands. 

      These two lovely ladies invited us into their homes on a walk around their village this autumn. To not be afraid of a foreigner and be willing to speak to someone who botches their language is dearly appreciated here in China. When I am on the inside, how do I treat someone who is on the periphery or outside my own box? Pandemics need people to think out of the box. 

This wonderful young man is always full of hugs, smiles, and gifts to us when we come to teach art at his school. There is no guile, hypocrisy--just pure love that he delivers. And the other one with the ginger hair, well, he is just the same. They make a great pair! Pandemics need good friends. 

Have you ever met a person who you crossed paths with for a few hours that changed your life? It is likely I will never see her again. But when I think of cheerfulness and unconsciously reaching out to strangers, I will think of her. On a shuttle bus in Hainan, China, she turned around with a smile when she heard Elias singing. She knew I could speak Chinese, and then asked him if he could sing a Chinese song. He answered, "No." So she lovingly taught him one. Later, she told me she had taught kindergarten for 30 years. She was older than me, but was climbing through rivers and up mountains--always with her trademark smile. She unreservedly loved us. Later, she wanted to show us some dance moves and to sing together. I have to say she was irrestibley adorable--so full of spunk, fun, and energy. I thought to myself all the years of learning Chinese is worth it to meet certain people. We had an immediate love for one another. Her smile and cheer will always be with me. She made me want to go and spread some cheer myself. Pandemics need music, dancing, and spunk. 

I love this girl, this young woman, who I have spent countless hours with. She has taught me how to make videos in my yearning to be more tech-savvy. One of the important things in life for an older person (like me), I am told, is to hang around younger people. Instead of having a fixed mindset, younger people help us to have a "growth" mindset. The pandemic would have been very different for me without her. Pandemics need people to teach you new skills. 

Quarantine lessons learned in a China hotel...and meeting some angels...

                       Angel #1 (Robert) in Detroit who helped us get the codes. 

       Thanks to Rowyu, (Angel #2) we survived quarantine. 

                                           The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.

But I have promises to keep.

And miles to go before I sleep, 

And miles to go before I sleep.    --Robert Frost

When I returned to China this fall, I realized there are not many of us ex-pats still here in China. Many ex-pats left when Covid began. More departed after months of prolonged travel restrictions and plane cancellations to see loved ones. A large portion of people are unable to return. We have definitely witnessed an exodus of people who have migrated to other homes.

For the few of us who left and returned, we had to quarantine in a hotel for two-three weeks--most of the time alone. I dreaded it all summer, but being willing to do it because I wanted to see my loved ones. There was some pain knowing I would have to pass through much-complicated health surveillance and codes, tests, and eventually quarantine. It gave me angst every time I thought about it--even a few tears of desperation when I heard many people whose codes and applications were not accepted. With my husband still in China, I knew I needed to return to be with him. To add more complications, I would not only be by myself but with my 19-year-old son who has autism. And I knew quarantine somehow had to be palatable to him.

                                                          Arriving at the Shanghai airport

Previous to leaving the US, I kept remembering a solo experience I had long ago as a 16-year-old. As teenagers, my sister and I went on a month-long survival trip in southern Utah. As part of the survival course, we had to spend about five days by ourselves. One of the university instructors came to check on us once or twice in those days to make sure we were safe in our overhangs, nestled alongside the muddy Escalante River. The entire group of us were perched in small caves or overhangs several hundred feet apart so that we could experience a solo time. Our only companion was a little smoldering fire.

In that time, I read, journaled, and mostly just thought about who I wanted to become when I returned to high school after that summer trek. I made solemn promises to myself. I learned many lessons in that month that I still refer to today. But the solo experience, more than any other lesson in that month, launched me to leave my younger self in the sand when I came home. We were given time as a precious gift to mull over our decisions. We reflected on who we would be when we went home. I came as a young adolescent on the survival trip and returned as a fledgling adult (at least I liked to think so 😃). This summer, I tried to reassure my anxious fears that I could make this quarantine experience transformational like my solo time so long ago.

True to my apprehensions, the China quarantine was tough-- at times, seemingly insurmountable. Once we passed the gauntlet of tests that I knew many who could not, we were finally able to board the plane.  After our 16 hours of flights, we landed in Shanghai,  We were relieved to get to our designated quarantine hotel room. 

                                       Every day we got our food delivered to us three times.

After a few days, I began to throw the food away because I could not bear to see any more soggy white rice and oily vegetables that were left at our door three times a day. However, I do acknowledge someone was thankfully leaving food. I did not have to fix, find, or hunt for it. No one was going to starve. This was not a prison camp or survival ordeal. We had few pleasures and welcomed every phone call with elation and joy.  Surprisingly, I even heard the healthy cry of my first grandchild who was born during my quarantine!

                                                             Our room for two weeks...

A large, but ordinary window (that opened...an extra gift) became my window to gaze at a Shanghai suburb park. This would be the only lens to the outside world for a few weeks. We were not allowed to leave the room. As I peered down to the street below, I imagined where people were rushing to as they briskly walked the streets. I envied their mobility and any destination they had to go. How I ached to be outside again, feel the wind, and just walk on a normal sidewalk with a crowd. 

                                                        A view that kept us at least a little sane. 

Slowly, the days passed one by one. Sometimes I even forgot what day it was. We passed the endless hours in quarantine by distracting ourselves from small tasks. We danced, wrote, created art, read, wrote, and watched some downloaded movies. 

Trying to move every day made it bearable to be in a room for weeks...

My quarantine experience for the most part made me realize that I enjoy a very blessed life. I have (for the most part) not only had enough food but I can choose what I have eaten most of my life. I could move and walk where I wanted. I have never been sentenced to jail before, and quarantine gave me increased motivation to keep it that way. 😀 

                                                                       Doing art...

Beyond the happy birth of a grandchild, our time had some shocking news as well.  Indeed, it proved to be a time to reflect when I heard a young professor who I had loved since he was a child had died in a tragic accident. His death made all of us who had known him ponder on what made a good life. His life had been cut short, but he left indelible, undeniable lessons for countless people.

Perhaps all of these realizations are expected. But my biggest surprise during quarantine was not what occurred in my own musings and reflections; it was in meeting two strangers--two angelic Chinese men who helped us get back to China. One in Detroit helped us get our Chinese health codes, which can take many hours to finally turn green--if at all. It might sound benign, but anyone who has had to do it knows it is like a test that was designed for exclusion and failure. 

The second angel  I met getting off the plane in Shanghai. He was a young graduate student who had lived in the US for nine years. He quickly told me many people had helped him when he was in the US for school, and he wanted to do the same for us. He cheerfully helped me navigate the maze of tests and regulations. 

Although my oral Chinese is quite good, I felt like I had been dropped off in the middle of Finland to figure out how to start a business. It was a time of feeling lost and bewildered, almost like being blindfolded. Two strangers, unknowingly and without a desire for any compensation, came to rescue us. Sometimes people come into your life and you honestly have to admit you could have never succeeded without their help and friendship. And that is who they became to me--instant friends. 

During my quarantine, I intently contemplated what constituted a good life. If I cannot repay or give these strangers/friends anything for what they have done for me, what can I do? How can I give back to others or in other words, be someone else's angel? Who are the others who have assisted me before? Did I even realize and acknowledge I was being rescued? 

Hopefully, I left again an old part of myself in the sand like long ago in the deserts of Escalante. I learned anew: it is in those relationships, both known and unexpected that we are rescued. God sends angels to us--like a new grandchild, but also strangers who come into our lives at crossroads when we get lost in Finland. Sometimes everyone needs an angel disguised as a kind stranger. 

Amanda Gorman: Raising hands and voices...

 

 There is always light if only we're brave enough to see it, if only                        we're brave enough to be it.  --Amanda Gorman 

                 "Lift where you stand."  --Dieter F. Uchdorf

At the recent United States Inauguration, the Youth Poet Laureate, Amanda Gorman galvanized a wounded nation with her poetry and oratory skills. We stood, as a country, transfixed as she raised her lilting voice, reciting her own poetry to try and heal us. No matter what aisle we see ourselves, in blue or red, or a mixture of violet, her words shone in our hearts. She taught some sermons as she strung together her rhythmic syllables. Those who struggle with speech impediments or other fears of inadequacy can look to her for inspiration. Someday with work (and let us not forget encouragement from others), they can raise their voice too. Hers was a call to reach over hurting divides and give hope to our unfinished democracy. 

At the beginning of her delivery, I was surprised to see one beautiful hand raise, and then her other hand gracefully lifted. Together, her hands and words became her voice--moving seamlessly together. Her hand gestures beckoned me into her world and message. She drew me in, and I wanted to hear every word to see how it rhymed and fit into the beat. But more than anything, the words and hands soothed, taught, and encouraged us, her listeners. Her hands reminded me that progress not only happens with our voices: hands are needed too to accomplish visions. Combined together, words AND hands are necessary for action. 

When I read about Amanda Gorman's young life, I am struck by how her voice almost did not happen. She had a speech impediment until she was a sophomore at Harvard University. She not only wanted to pen words, but she also wanted to deliver them. Yet, she knew her slurred words would invite criticism or misunderstanding. Her soul-felt words would be misconstrued, perhaps ridiculed. What was her solution to casting off her speech impediment? She listened to the song "Aaron Burr, Sir" in Hamilton.  She wagered if she could sing along at the same rate as Leslie Odam Jr. in the musical, she could forever erase her "r" speech problem. And then? Everyone could clearly understand her poetry that is calling them to action. There would be no mistake or mocking about it. 

When I hear Amanda's poetry and witness her beautiful delivery (Let's not forget the gorgeous canary yellow coat she wore at the Inauguration), I can't help but think of millions of others who have voices that are still blocked. There are many children out there who need a paintbrush, camera, pencil, or a musical instrument to bring their soul to fruition. As I view people (especially children and teenagers), I want to more frequently ask myself, "What is his/her voice that is begging to come out? What can I do or say to unleash all that may be trapped inside of this beautiful soul?" 

I would not want to miss out on one voice that is aching to emerge on the canvas, paper, stage, or screen. Not one single one. Amanda Gorman is a testament to that. 

 

China: Embrace Wintering...

We have seasons when we flourish and seasons when the leaves fall from us, revealing our bare bones. Given time, they grow again.

That's the gift of winter: it's irresistible. Change will happen in its wake, whether we like it or not. But we can come out of it wearing a new coat.                                             --Elizabeth May

                One of the group of "wild swimmers" that comes to Meijyang Lake every day at 4:00

                                                  Getting the ice broken for the swimmers

            Elias with some of the "regulars" that come every day. Believe me, we know them all now. 😀

Last week was the chilliest week for fifty years in Beijing and Tianjin, China--about 15 below Fahrenheit. Also, in a sense, almost everyone in the world has been "wintering" for the past year in the global pandemic. Over the past few weeks, I have been wondering: How do different people winter? When it is bleak and gray outside, how do we become alive again inside of us? What triggers our souls to feel the warmth when we only see fallow, frozen ground? How can what we do in our hibernations to rejuvenate us? I have learned a few things about wintering from the Chinese here in Tianjin, China: to go outside and hear the silence of winter speaking to you.  

We often come to Meijiang Lake at exactly 4:00 pm when retired men meet together daily near a specified pavilion. One by one, they arrive on bicycles and scooters in every season to be with their adventurous pals. (They are mostly men because the women are doing synchronized dance near another bend of the lake. I, too, enjoy watching the elegant motions of the women, like a flock of birds gliding across the sky in a perfect rhythmic flow). But it is mostly the men's group we come to cheer on in the winter as they break the waves of kitty-benders in the ice daily. Their aim? To brave the frigid waters and plunge into the inky shadows of cold. To see the counterintuitiveness of someone breaking the ice to take a polar bear plunge and then an ice skater glide behind him is one of our forms of entertainment these days. 

They come as fellow comrades and friends, eager to bend winter, to subdue it for a few moments. I bring my husband and son to watch them swim. No, I do not follow them into the icy waters, but their courage spurs me to plunge into other shores that are challenging for me to enter. I watch and listen to them as they give encouraging words or funny jokes. This is their time and place every day to feel a community of people who support their adventurous spirit. You cannot help but feel the infectious cheeriness of their smiles and laughter. I like to come here because they make me laugh and show me how to winter in China. You could say we are friends now. The other day I heard someone who was breaking the ice say, "Well, the Americans are here now so it is time to get in the water." Curtain call. 😀

A Chinese friend who teaches history in Beijing tells me these are the last generation who are "the wild swimmers" in China--at least in the urban areas. They are the generation who grew up swimming in lakes, ponds, and rivers. Pools at the gym or community center were not available in their youth. Therefore, these retirees represent a tradition that will likely soon be gone in the cities. Elizabeth May, in her book Wintering: How to Flourish when the Ground is Frozen, says, "The cold has healing powers. After all, you apply ice to a joint after an awkward fall. Why not do the same to a life?" This philosophy has led her too to plunge daily into frigid water, gradually building up a tolerance.  She suggests, "We let the cold unburden us of our own personal winters, just for a few minutes." These Chinese men are ardent followers of May's approach to wintering. Embrace it--every moment. 

In these "wintering" times, what are you doing to invigorate your soul? And just in case you need some more ideas for winter, here is one of my blogs that has three ideas from Sweden

This is a video that was all over TikTok in China in November--before the ice. Someone was filming us as we talked to the swimmers and divers. I had just had shoulder surgery, and they jokingly encouraged me to jump in the river. The Chinese characters say, "May America and China always have good relations." 

              Many of the men were about 80 years old. Gingerly and slowly, they walked into the icy water, with glistening shards of ice all around them.  Each time, I notice that the swimmer is quiet, reflecting on what this entrance onto the icy shore will bring--eager to completely blast his comfort level. To plunge into icy waters is to switch to another world where instincts and nerves are alerted.  Perhaps, it is a grasp for long-gone youth, for a clap from the enthusiastic Americans, and a nod from their friends. Yet, more than anything, I think it is a cup of joy that is refilled every day at 4:00 on Meijyang Lake. A feeling of conquering the frozen waters keeps them coming back. 

                                 Everyone pitches in to help remove the layers of ice. It takes about an hour every day for them to get the ice ready for them and their friends to swim. 

One man was getting his muscles warmed up with another friend who had already taken the plunge.

One man took off his shirt to wave a banner and then do some yoga.  

An outing at the lake for one grandfather to teach his grandson how to ice skate 

The grandfather brings a chair, and then scoots him around to get him accustomed to the ice, and then pulls him up to begin to ice skate. 

Here, the grandfather is with the chair and letting his grandson try the ice. 

My husband and son standing on the river near our house