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A Home as Wide as the Earth: The Journey Mama Writings, #3
A Home as Wide as the Earth: The Journey Mama Writings, #3
A Home as Wide as the Earth: The Journey Mama Writings, #3
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A Home as Wide as the Earth: The Journey Mama Writings, #3

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Third in this series, A Home as Wide as the Earth continues the themes of belonging, wandering, and faith present in Rachel Devenish Ford’s blog, Journey Mama. In A Home as Wide as the Earth, Rachel travels on trains, buses, and rickshaws with her husband and children, journeying from the U.S. to India, Nepal, and Thailand, encountering God in the midst of both community and loneliness.

Rachel’s writing is warm and honest, sparkling and clear. She beautifully captures the small ordinary things that make up our days and lives. Candid and funny, spiritual and wise, this third collection of posts from the Journey Mama blog will comfort and inspire.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherRachel Ford
Release dateNov 26, 2013
ISBN9780989596152
A Home as Wide as the Earth: The Journey Mama Writings, #3

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    A Home as Wide as the Earth - Rachel Devenish Ford

    INTRODUCTION

    I started my blog, Journey Mama, in the late summer of 2005 when I was busy settling into life beside a bright river in the shadows of very large trees. I wrote about it all. Three years later, I moved to India with my family, began life in a hot, colorful country, and kept writing. I collected the best posts from these years and they became Trees Tall as Mountains and Oceans Bright With Stars.

    A Home as Wide as the Earth is a pilgrimage of sorts. Our family continued to live in Goa, India, in our meditation community, but for visa reasons, we were required to travel for six months a year. It meant we were only home for the other six months. The time we were not at home was spent traveling with backpacks, suitcases, and instruments, finding places to live for weeks or months at a time. One year we traveled back to North America for a visit, and the next to journeyed to Nepal and Thailand. As we traveled, we became increasingly aware that this would have to be a temporary situation. My writing from this time is filled with musings about what a home is and how we can find one, both outwardly, and in the home of the spirit, the home where God lives. I have again collected the best posts from this time, the ones that tell a little about who we are and a little bit about our journey of faith. I pray that reading these words helps you in your own journey home.

    THE VISIT

    This book begins with a visit to Canada and the United States after two years of being away. It was a long visit—six months long—with many rest stops and gas stations along the way, as we spent time in both B.C., Canada and California, with trips to visit friends in Oregon as well. We met up with many situations that were familiar, as well as things that had become unfamiliar during our time in India. Reentering our homes of origin was not always easy. We felt poor in a rich man's world. We were unaccustomed to simple things like the dollar. And we drove long distances with young children. But we were blessed and happy as well. We had beautiful friendships to continue and clear air to breathe. Before we knew it, it was time to get back on the airplane and go back to India.

    april

    April 19, 2010

    I suppose I will eventually emerge from the jet lag-wrapped cocoon of sleepiness and culture shock that I've been tucked into.  Today I feel a little more normal.  My eyes aren't stinging as much and I respond when spoken to. Which is a good sign.

    Don't underestimate the power of jet lag on children, either. Goodness. We've had a rough few days, but everyone is getting better. Solo is leaving the non-stop cranks for sunny fields of cheerfulness. He seems to be sleeping in a normal pattern again, which is good, because there is nothing like a little voice, shouting through the house at 4:00 am, Can I please have some BREAD?!

    We are adjusting. There have been many hugs and kisses and there has been so much love. My parents picked up all the required car seats and booster seats from their storage space, and they've done so much to welcome us. I have a new baby niece, which is amazing. We had dinner with her parents (my older brother and sister-in-law) on our second day here. And I have a baby niece or nephew on the way.  A little Uncle Matty and Auntie Lara.  It's pretty awesome to have a baby in the family that isn't mine! And we had some Auntie Becca squeezes and hugs.

    The thing about reverse culture adjustment is the understanding, always vibrating through you, that you should be more aware of the differences between two cultures.  But except for brief moments of awareness, you switch back quickly to the normal of what you grew up with.  For example, there are at least fifty-six things in this room that have no part of my life in India. Soft chairs! A stove with four electric burners. A real oven. A microwave. Wood flooring. Cupboards. A fireplace. Ceramic dishes that we eat off of! Light switches that go up rather than down.  Hot water coming out of the faucets.  And I could go on and on.  But instead of being continually in wonder, I click right back into life in North America.  How strange.

    I do have moments when I am aware of how far I've traveled. They are mostly involved with space.  Space on the streets, which seem empty and uncluttered. Too empty. Is anyone alive? And personal space. I stepped up to an ATM to get in line behind a man who was already there. I stood about a foot behind him and to the left, looking over his shoulder without thought, until he shot me an alarmed glance.  ATM etiquette!  At the ATM in the closest village to mine, (we have to drive 20 minutes to get there) there is a security guard. He lives in a cubby behind the ATM machine, which is in a little air-conditioned room. If I arrive in the morning, he is chanting and ringing a bell, burning incense for his puja, shirtless, wearing his nighttime dhoti. He gets dressed soon after, I assume, because the rest of the time he wears his uniform. He's always ready to help should I hesitate in my transaction.  Push this button, he'll say, leaning over me and pushing a button on the touch screen.

    I need to relearn Canadian ATM etiquette.

    Yesterday we wandered around downtown a bit.  We are in Victoria, the beautiful city where my parents live. I paused beside a bus stop to call back to Chinua, who was walking a few meters behind me on the sidewalk. I wanted to ask him if he had something I needed.  I didn't even realize that I had paused with my face just six inches from the face of a man who was waiting for the bus, until he leaped back in discomfort. Whoops.  It may take a while to reset my personal space parameters.

    What do we love? We love cozy, soft couches, grass, grandparents, and fast Internet. We love thrift stores. Yesterday we went looking for some much needed warm clothes, and found that the Value Village in Victoria is like a clothing heaven. There were books, too, more books than I've ever seen in one place in India.  I was too overwhelmed to look for myself, but I happened to catch a glimpse of one of my favorite books of all time, The Mouse and the Motorcycle, so I got it for Kai.

    And then there is the Leafy kiddo. He has chosen to fixate on one aspect of the scenery here that is different for him.  Since he recently watched Over the Hedge, it is, you guessed it, hedges!  We don't have hedges, in India, at least not where we live.

    Every time we are in the car, he is a non-stop hedge tour guide. A Hedge!  A HEDGE! A hedge! he says, over and over.  I've learned that there are a lot of hedges in Vancouver and in Victoria, something I may not have known if it wasn't for my Leafy boy.

    April 23, 2010

    I've been walking around.  I'm looking at things, here in Victoria, where my parents live. There are so many things that are so beautiful—the ocean with its driftwood beaches, clumps of bluebells, trees.

    Beauty feeds and soothes a small, confused space that has been forming inside of me. I don't understand grocery stores and I fumble with money, but I understand this.

    I've been living like I'm in cotton, like my head can't hold belief. I've forgotten how big the world really is, even though I've traveled the length of it.

    I've forgotten that connection is all I have. Connection with God who smiles on me even when my head is fuzzy and I've lost my rhythm.  His open hands giving to me always: love from my children, talks with my parents. Good food. Rest.

    When I was walking outside I gave myself a shake. The cold wind made me squint but I tried to keep my eyes open, letting them fill with tears, just so I could see the sky for real, the very blueness of it, the way you can't touch it, even though it's right there.

    God, I may forget to talk to you, but I know that you never forget me.

    April 26, 2010

    Two years is a long time.

    Kenya: Grandma, what does that thing do? (Over the loud noise of the vacuum.)

    My mom: It vacuums.

    Kenya: "What's vacuums?"

    My mom: It sucks up the dirt.

    Kenya: (Running into the next room to continue her conversation with Kai.)  Kai! Kai! It sucks up the dirt!  It sucks up the dirt!

    They then followed my mom from room to room, pointing as small things disappeared into the vacuum cleaner.

    *

    Kenya: Mama!  There wasn't any trash can in the bathroom, so I had to throw my toilet paper in the toilet!

    Me: You're supposed to do that every time here, honey.

    Kenya: REALLY?  What?  WHY?

    *

    Me: No, you don't suck the water out of the water fountain.  You just sort of hover over it, and let the water flow into your mouth.

    (Next child)

    Me: No!  Stop putting your mouth on the spigot!  Just let the water go in.

    (Time passes)

    Me: Yeah, that's right… but you have to swallow it as it goes in, not just let it flow back out...

    *

    Leafy: Mama!  What are you putting THAT in the cereal for?

    Me: (Staring blankly at the gallon milk jug for a moment.)  This is milk, Leafy.

    Leafy: That's milk?  Ha ha hahahahahaha!  (Lots of laughing ensues- in India our milk comes in 500 ml bags.)

    *

    Leafy:  What are you doing to the dishes?

    Me: This is a dishwasher.  It's a machine. I'm turning it on to wash the dishes.

    Leafy: What?  A machine washes dishes?  Ha hahahaha hahahahaha!

    *

    Lady at the crosswalk, kindly, to Kenya: Do you want to push the button, sweetie?

    Kenya: Button?  What button?

    Me: This button.  It lets us walk across.

    Kenya: It lets us walk? What do you mean?

    Me: Oh, if you push it it the man light will come on... (crowd forming at the corner) Listen, just put your finger here and push.

    Lady at the crosswalk, darting glances at us: ...

    *

    Countless questions:

    Why do you mix that juice with water? (It's concentrate.)

    What are these plates made of? (They're ceramic.)

    What's that thing under the stove? (An oven.)

    *

    And Kai: I was pretty sure we'd never find our way out of that store. (It was a Value Village, a fairly large thrift store.  Here's hoping he never sees the inside of a Walmart.)

    *

    As for me, I'm doing pretty well.  I'm trying to make some decisions, which is never easy for me. And yesterday and today I drove my mom's car for the first time since we got here.  It's been mostly okay, considering that I'm switching back to the other side of the road.  Strangely enough, the hardest part has been the turning signals.  I'm constantly turning on the windshield wipers or signaling the wrong direction.  But I'm getting there.

    Chinua and I went on a date last night, and the kids had a blast with their grandparents.  We had a good time too, eating sushi.  Need I say more?  Sushi!  Oh I love it.

    April 29, 2010

    I am reminded every day that India is just so different from here. Things that work here don't work the same way there. And vice versa.  It is part of the beauty of letting go, to allow things to be different, without so much regret.

    Today I finally got the registration tags for our van, and when I took it to put fuel in it, I had a mind blank!  Where was the latch that released the fuel door thingy?

    I couldn't find it anywhere.  The gas attendant had a go. He couldn't find it.  Then this guy got off his motorcycle and looked all around the van interior.  And another guy. And one guy shouted instructions from the side. And I pulled out the manual. Finally the motorcycle guy said, I'm just going to walk away from this situation, but it was okay, because a few minutes later I found it. Whew.

    may

    May 4, 2010

    The open road. In a way, this is where it all started.

    *

    On the freeway through the Fraser Valley in British Columbia, I was shocked by the deciduous-ness of the trees. They throw these leaves out, so quickly, all by themselves.  Symmetrical, photo-synthesizing, small green sheets burst out of old branches and fill mountaintops like many small, welcoming hands.  They are so green!  So new! And then they only last for a season. They wither and fall, and all of them wait until the next year to burst forth again.

    It seems so extravagant. So prodigious. Prodigal trees, shedding themselves and then growing back new again and again.  It is organic waste, the best kind of waste, the kind that regenerates, that brings life.  Amazing.

    It's crazy how something like being away from deciduous trees can make you see something in such a new way.

    *

    I am on the drug trip of the North American road. I need nothing but the grey ribbon of asphalt, spooling out behind me.  This is where it all started.

    *

    In Kelowna, we met with lovely people. Sweet, encouraging, inspiring people.  We stayed with friends and ate together. We reminisced.  There were clouds racing across the sky. A lake that pulls all the clouds into itself.  One cloud looked like a paper airplane that God was throwing.

    *

    In Victoria, I cocooned with family. My mom and I drank coffee in the morning and I influenced her in bad ways, getting her to pour cream into her coffee when she'd always been able to drink it without adding that dollop of fatty goodness. We talked and talked.

    *

    Now we are in a new stage of travel. We move towards California slowly, like we're in a dream, stopping to chat along the way. We choose connection over convenience, luxuriating in the warmth of the homes where we stop. I look for people to talk with, in coffee shops, in grocery stores, in parking lots under skies filled with swiftly moving clouds.

    May 7, 2010

    Today we climbed a hill, with friends in Eugene. It was a day outside in the fragrance of leaves and mud, fir needles and warm grasses.  We reached the top and sat in the sun.  Chinua sang The Hills are Alive. We walked and talked together, heading upward until it was time to clamber back down and drink the iced coffees that Candace had packed. Carrots and hummus, tortilla chips and salsa.  I may be in heaven.

    I love this reconnection with old friends.  We have seen each other's children born and growing up. We sang at Candace and Jared's wedding. Candace told me that she is so used to me being pregnant that as we climbed the hill she kept feeling that she needed to check to see if I was okay. Jared patted my back with his hand, smiling to let us know how happy he was that we were there. Friends.

    May 10, 2010

    On My Thirtieth Birthday

    We are staying in Humboldt County now, with Tammie and Mark on their beautiful ranch.

    Last night I sat in the wood fired hot tub with my husband. It was overcast, so we couldn't see the stars, but we knew they were there.

    A single flame of a candle, in a glass-paned lantern, bowed to us. It waved, and bowed, and bowed again. I was touched, to say the least. It was the last night of my first thirty years of life. The small flame saluted those years, and looking up and out into the sky, I felt, like I often do, the magnitude and tininess of earth, of the world and all my small years.

    If we weren't held down, we could just fly off. But we are held down, by a force greater than us, and millions of miles away, brilliant orbs swirl and dust the universe with beauty that we will never see.  I am made to be here. I fit this place. Earth.

    Coming here to Humboldt County is another homecoming. I used to live in Northern Mendocino, which we practically considered to be Humboldt, because we drove north, over the county line, for every little thing. We left that land, and that river, not without tears, (many, many tears) because that place was the beginning of a deep healing that was carving its way into my bones. Carving into bone may not sound like healing, but I need Jesus words to be corkscrewed into every calcium-fortified surface.

    Whether I believe it or not, I am made. Breath of God sustains me. I am held up and loved and the hand of God gently cups the crown of my head. I am not too high-strung or sensitive or anxious to be loved by him. I stand on the hill of his regard and the whole universe spins before me. I have been cast down, but I am lifted.

    Soon after we left this place, our house was crushed by falling trees in the middle of the night. We learned then not to doubt the path that God has laid for us, not to look back. We learned also, that dangerous things can happen in safe places.  Do not imagine that you can pad your life, that gentle voice said. We were justified in our faith, in our decision to leave.

    Now we are visiting Tammie and Mark, friends who have made space for us.  It is a second home, a fourth home, a sixteenth home. Being welcome here has eased the sting of leaving.

    I went away and found more healing. I found that I could get through fear and love a foreign place more than I ever imagined. I found that jungle sings inside of me, even as much as forest. I didn't know that was possible.

    I found that the earth is mine in a way that I didn't know before, and it has nothing to do with ownership, with citizenship.  I can't really own anything, can I? I went away and left everything I thought I had owned, and found new life through loving things that have nothing to do with my place of birth. The universe is spinning, and I love the farthest galaxies. I am allowed.

    One thing that my faith teaches is that we are adopted by God. Not only servants (though that too) or devotees (though we are in fact devoted) but adopted children. It means that in loving the farthest galaxies, I am loving something that will in fact be mine one day, loving it in longing, but in the most respectful and honoring way, owning it. Now is the same as later, in essence. This is what the prodigal son did not understand, and neither did his older brother. All that I have has always been yours.

    I own nothing, and even tomorrow is not guaranteed. These first thirty years have been adventurous and fiscally strange. Things are always dicey when you are surrounded by trees in a windstorm. But I love these leaves and grasses like brothers. The flowers in these fields stand on the hill of their Creator's regard. Jesus pointed to them, when he was telling the people of his care for them. Oh, these cherished small things.

    I went away from here, and then I poured my love for this place into a book. My friend told me a story, and that story ignited something inside of me, and I took all that longing for a place of my own and put it into words that immortalized something about the beginning of healing. It exorcised my grief, and taught me that we don't lose things, really, just like we don't lose our childhoods.  The children that we were stay inside of us, and so do the places that we've been.

    May 15, 2010

    On this ranch with horses and chickens, cats and dogs, our animal lover, Kenya, has been in bliss.  The boys have also been in bliss. Kenya is animal-crazy, the boys, in comparison, are only animal-happy, but they all have been having a great time.

    A friend emailed me today, encouraging me to take all the goodness and kindness from family and friends as treasures into my heart, storing them well.  I thought that phrase, storing them well, is so exactly representative of what I have been doing.  Storing up rest, and ease, and peace. The kids are storing up on pet love.  It's a far cry from the beach dogs of Goa.

    I miss India, too. I feel continuous blessing and happiness about being here, but, just underneath, I have a thread of longing for my little house in the village, for lunchtime on the roof. For crowds and dusty hot days and severe, staring faces. But here we have grass and mild breezes and animals to love. Friends and dinnertime around the table. So the longing is just that little thread, put away until it will be time to go back. It is the traveler's curse, I think. The little thread of longing that weaves through everything.

    May 19, 2010

    Do you remember when I said that I thought the book was pretty much finished?

    Ha ha.  Hahahahahaha.  Ha. Sigh.

    Well!  Enough about the three-year-long bout of self-torture otherwise known as writing a novel!  (I'm entering another revision, and that's all I'll say about that.)

    *

    Winter is following us.  This week has been cold and rainy, and we are cozy in the house with a fire going. Sometimes I have to give my head a shake.  It's late May! Anyway. Whatever.

    Solo has decided that he loves the hammock.  Our friends have a hammock bolted into their house, beside a large window that overlooks the valley. Mostly, though not today because it's raining, you can see trees and grassy dales and fluffy clouds over the hills. It's beautiful.  Solo has no appreciation for the view, though.  He prefers to sit in the hammock like a little hedgehog, with the cloth all around him.  Yesterday I forgot he was in there, until about half an hour later he made his presence known. He likes to lie back and suck his thumb, rubbing his ear.

    Lately, if he feels self conscious at all, he gently places one finger inside his right nostril and rests it there. I'm trying to discourage this.  However, I'm encouraging hammock time.  It's like tribal playpen time. Helpful while Kai and Kenya and I are working on school.

    May 22, 2010

    Yesterday was adventurous, and not always deliberately so.

    We dragged ourselves out of the house, because it was sunny.  Or rather, we leaped out of the house, beaming, but rather later than we planned. We drove through forests and fields, exclaiming over the wildflowers. Beauty never gets tiring to us, we are easy to please.  We filled up at a tiny little gas station, in a cute little town, planning to drive the hour and a half to Shelter Cove.

    When we stopped at the grocery store, we saw an old friend in the parking lot. It's always nice to see an old friend in the parking lot!  She pointed out that our tire was getting low.  It has a slow leak. Mm hm! we said, and then headed into the store to stand in the chip aisle for about an hour, gaping over the 800 brands and styles of chip. How does one choose? And then another old friend found us there, and gave us big hugs.  And so we invited her to the coast with us. She said that maybe she'd meet us later.

    I don't know what happened in that grocery store. It was like a vortex.  It felt like we had been there for our whole lives. It felt like one minute we were dipping our toe in the world of food products, and the next we were emerging from a sludgy pool of time waste, gasping and spluttering. I know that I spent far too many minutes staring vacantly at price labels. Part of the problem is that, post-India, I still don't understand money. What is a dollar, exactly? What does it represent? When I look at something that costs $3.00, for instance, I think with excitement, Well, I have three dollars!  I have three dollars right here in my wallet! And then I buy it. But was it a good price? I may never know.

    We did leave, eventually, with bread, hummus, swiss cheese, pickles, salami, and crisp, hard apples.

    And promptly forgot about the tire.

    Which meant... that we drove twenty minutes down a remote road and then had to fill it with our little emergency tire inflater thing, the kind you plug into your cigarette lighter.  (I didn't even know that we had a tire inflater thing!) The only problem was that our cigarette lighter doesn't work. Fortunately, a sweet woman was waiting in her car for her grandson to get off the school bus. And she was more than kind. We used her cigarette lighter and chatted for a while. The kids scrambled up and down the hill, grabbing onto trees and digging in piles of dirt and pine needles.

    With a full tire, we were back on the road.  We drove up hills and down hills, curving around, and then back around the other way. Suddenly, I realized that my brakes weren't exactly working.  I leaned on them with all my weight and slowed down enough to pull off the road. I put the van in park and pulled the emergency

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