Christmas in July

It was Christmas in July in the Stroud household last Thursday; our shipping crate finally arrived! It got to the house just as I left for the airport (to go to Germany for my Opa's funeral). When I came back on Saturday, I returned to find that Daniel had emptied the rooms of the borrowed items, unpacked nearly all of the kitchen boxes and put all of it away, and set up the couch, tv, and dining room table (I knew I married well). Now begins the long process of unpacking the rest of the boxes. 

The past two months living without most of our things has been interesting. In some ways, it made me realize how attached we are to material things and how little we actually need in order to be comfortable or happy. This experience of comfort we felt before our things arrived was only made possible by the generosity of the people in the community. As I mentioned in another post, we were lent kitchen items, dining room table and chairs, couches, tv & stand, towels, sheets, and mattresses. And lots of toys for Charley. 

In other ways, it made me realize how much having your own things helps you to feel settled and at home. I feel as if I have a new appreciation for what refugees experience when they travel to new lands. Now, I'm not saying I understand what they've gone through, by any stretch of the imagination, but having had to depend on others for basic household items, for rides, and to help navigate cultural differences has definitely opened my eyes. We had the privilege of knowing that our things would almost certainly arrive; we didn't have to limit what we brought with us to only what we were wearing and what we could carry. We also knew we were going to a country where we would be welcomed, and even though we did not choose our home, we were confident that the diocese would provide us with, at the very least, adequate housing (it exceeded our expectations!). Finally, we knew we had jobs before we moved, and weren't having to move because our country was at war or we were being persecuted or our lives were in danger. 

Going through our boxes has been an exercise in reclaiming my identity. Almost every item has a memory attached with it: a gift from a friend, a picture of a family member, a purchase from our honeymoon, etc. Homes should be places of safety, where we can rest, recharge, and remember who and whose we are; this is what gives us the strength and courage to go out and do our jobs. And as much as I try to eschew materialism, I've come to realize that our possessions do matter, at least to us (although not so much to other people or when looking at the big picture). I think this is why humans are drawn so much to rituals and traditions; when all else fails, when our possessions have been taken away or left behind, we still can rely on our rituals and traditions to remind us of our identity and that we have a purpose in this life. This is why the Israelites continued to follow the mitzvot (commandments) when they were in exile. This is why refugees and expats seek out communities that speak their same language. This is why at the bedside of a dying Christian we recite the Lord's Prayer and the 23rd Psalm. 

This is why, as grateful as we are for the hospitality we have received and as comfortable as we have been these past months, we are thankful to have these things that make this new place feel like our home, and that we truly belong here.

Yay!

My view as the crate arrived.

Now picture every room like this and you have an idea of what our house looks like :)