For someone who has spent their life in the communications business, this "going off the grid" has been quite a challenge for me.
My accounts on Facebook, Twitter and all kinds of social media are now drastically different. Even this website has endured some serious alterations. But by far, the most difficult aspect of this transitioning process has been giving up my cell phone. Well, I still have a cell phone for two more weeks, but my smartphone is no longer smart. It's just for talking and texting.
I can't tell you how many times I've gone to eat at Azteca and wanted to "check-in" on Facebook, but couldn't. I just don't have that capability anymore, and I feel a little like I've lost connections with my friends and family.
A little funny... this week while we were visiting family in South Florida, my kind brother-in-law, Joe, would periodically hand me his cell phone and say, "Here. Tweet something. I know you want to."
At the end of this month, my cell phone will go away altogether.
Oh, CJ will still have his cell - at least through the end of September (while we're in Virginia.) And ironically enough, so will my oldest daughter since her phone is part of his account. But not me...
I know this is just all a part of a process, and when I look at the bigger picture, I think, how important is having a cell phone really? There are more difficult challenges endured by people in the world for sure.
Lately, I've been trying to think of it this way: An ice sculptor first starts with a block of ice. He chips away a little piece here and there til he creates his artwork. Likewise, I know that in order to be used for the Master, I have to have pieces of me chipped away. The goal is to become what my creator wants me to be so that I might be used by Him. I'm not melting, I'm just changing.
I know there will be many more changes in the near future as our family learns to live within a completely different culture. And I know that not being able to communicate like we do in this country is just the tip of the iceberg.
Speaking of communication, we'll be in Virginia for eight weeks and we'll be able to receive mail there - the old fashioned kind - and we'd love to hear from you! Cards, letters, care packages (hint, hint) can be sent to us at:
CJ, Julie, Zoë and Miá Johnson
c/o International Learning Center
16492 MLC Lane
Rockville, VA 23146
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Ride a bike to work
A few weeks ago, I wrote a column about my kids playing in the neighborhood and how their experiences reminded me of my own childhood. Well, maybe it’s the warm weather and the end of school approaching, but those thoughts of my younger carefree days have stayed with me. That’s why when my girls recently asked me to go riding bikes with them around our subdivision, I jumped at the chance.
It was just a month or so ago when we had our big, family yard sale and I had sold my bike… the one that sat in the garage unused for a whole year. When approached by a friend who wanted to purchase the bike from me, I gladly relinquished the fancy bicycle which was relatively brand new. I had purchased it originally with good intentions of riding it for exercise, but excuse after excuse cropped up, and before long, the bike was forgotten.
So when my two children invited me to tag along on their youthful excursion, I borrowed my dad’s old, beat-up bicycle for the short trek.
The sight of me on this bike was, I’m sure, quite comic. My dad’s bicycle is a boy’s bike (of course), and when I sit on the seat, my feet don’t touch the ground. If I need to stop the bike, I have to slow down, lean to the side and basically jump off. The padding on the handle-bars is falling off and the gear shift no longer works. The tread on the tires of the bike is also completely worn smooth from the many years of use.
But there was something about riding it that warm evening on the heels of my two girls, laughing, singing and racing that made it so much fun regardless of the spectacle it created. It was just pure joy.
As I sat in my office on Monday morning, I was reminiscing over the bike-riding fun I’d had with my girls while reading a story in another community’s newspaper bemoaning the high gas prices we’re currently facing. That’s when the thought struck me, why not save some money, get a little exercise and ride a bike to work?
I toyed with the idea while I was home during the lunch hour, and decided, why not? I live less than two miles from the office, the weather was beautiful outside, so I thought I’d go for it.
It only took me about ten minutes to bike from my house to the office, but those ten minutes were the highlight of my day. I must have driven this route along Church Street more than a thousand times in my car in our fourteen years of living in Columbia, but biking the street, I observed things that I have never noticed before. Flags flying, pretty flowers lining the sides of historic homes, kids playing ball on empty side streets… and as I rode by, people on their porches or in their yards would wave or shout out, “Good afternoon!”
It was exhilarating! So much so, that I rode the bike again to work on Tuesday.
I know some people might think I’m crazy, including my dad who just knows that I’m an accident waiting to happen on the dilapidated bike. (But it doesn’t make sense to buy a brand new bike when I’ve only got six weeks left before moving away.)
So for now, I’ll stick to riding the shabby bicycle as much as I can til it breaks down. The happiness that it brings is so worth it. My only regret is that I’ve waited til now to discover this enjoyment that was at my disposal for years.
So let me encourage you… don’t let this opportunity pass you by. It seems like each day I have left here, I grow to appreciate some new aspect of this wonderful community that we live in. Make sure you take advantage of each and every one!published in the Columbian-Progress 05/12/11
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Monday memories
From my weekly column:
It’s the end of a long and weary day. Mondays always are, but especially after a tiring, yet fun holiday weekend, getting back into a routine is challenging.
I make the short drive home from work. Home is now at my parents’ house on a quiet, little cul de sac just around the corner from where we were living before. As I near the house, I’m expecting to see the driveway full of cars, there’s four usually parked there between all of us — it takes some serious manipulation in order for everyone to get their cars out in the morning as we all go our separate ways. But on this day, I was the last to arrive home in the early evening, so I anticipate that there will be strategy involved with pulling into the garage between the other vehicles already present.
I become even more frustrated when, to my displeasure, as I approach the driveway, I discover about ten bicycles all heaped up on the ground blocking the entrance.
Exasperated and too tired to get out and move them all, I maneuver my car to the curb in front of the house instead. As I get out of the car, I notice the tall, wooden gate to the house across the street is open, and I hear peals of giggles and laughter coming from within. Curiosity got the best of me, despite my desire to just go inside and go to bed. I couldn’t help but walk the few steps required to peak inside and see what was going on.
Just beyond the gate, I found the owners of those bicycles, about ten kids of varying ages including my own two precious daughters, all piled up in a king-size hammock, swinging and laughing, obviously telling stories and sharing secrets.
I felt the fatigue of the day fall away as the sight reminded of the glorious days of my own childhood, playing with my neighborhood friends.
Riding bikes, swimming, creek-stomping and volleyball with make-shift nets. Those were days without care or worry, just kids living life to the fullest. It may sound silly now, but we called ourselves the Stratford Scavengers. Stratford Avenue was the main thoroughfare through the neighborhood and the street I lived on then. Everyday during the summer, all of us kids would gather at the meeting tree at some point after breakfast. We surmised a mystery each morning that we had to figure out by the days end like “Where did Mrs. Cathey from the house at the corner go everyday in her big blue Caddy, driving in her bathrobe and slippers?” and “Why did Mr. Tall Man (we didn’t know his real name) wear all those keys on a key ring on his belt?” We theorized brilliant and sometimes funny stories for every situation. We played like we were Tom Sawyer on mysterious adventures, and we created completely new sports in the empty field behind a row of homes.
As the sun diminished late in the day, lights would start popping up on the street lamps, and we knew it would soon be time to go. My parents would flash the lights on the front porch when it was time to come home for dinner, and our group of comrades would part ways until the next morning would dawn with a new day and a new escapade.
As I stood there watching my own kids with their friends, my memories flooded back in such detail that I could almost smell the honeysuckle and the fresh cut grass. I could feel the wind whipping in my hair as we raced down dirt roads on our bikes, and I could hear the songs playing on the radio as we laid on a blanket in the middle of the solitary field watching the days slip away.
Those days were so sweet and I immediately felt so grateful that my children have the opportunity for similar experiences. I’m so glad that we live in a city and a neighborhood where they have friends nearby, and it’s safe to roam the streets and play.
All of a sudden, it didn’t matter to me that I couldn’t pull my car in the drive or that there were bikes in the middle of the road. The angst from the day seemed like a distant memory, and I felt my frown fade away.
Through the windows of our house, I saw my mom wafting through the rooms turning on lamps, and I could smell something cooking in the kitchen.
I know it must’ve been my imagination, but I could’ve sworn the front porch lights flickered on and off saying, “It’s time to come home.”
As I called to my kids from across the street, they came running over to meet me.
“Did you have a good day?” my youngest daughter asked.
“I sure did!” came my heart’s reply, cause in that one moment, nothing could’ve been any better.
I make the short drive home from work. Home is now at my parents’ house on a quiet, little cul de sac just around the corner from where we were living before. As I near the house, I’m expecting to see the driveway full of cars, there’s four usually parked there between all of us — it takes some serious manipulation in order for everyone to get their cars out in the morning as we all go our separate ways. But on this day, I was the last to arrive home in the early evening, so I anticipate that there will be strategy involved with pulling into the garage between the other vehicles already present.
I become even more frustrated when, to my displeasure, as I approach the driveway, I discover about ten bicycles all heaped up on the ground blocking the entrance.
Exasperated and too tired to get out and move them all, I maneuver my car to the curb in front of the house instead. As I get out of the car, I notice the tall, wooden gate to the house across the street is open, and I hear peals of giggles and laughter coming from within. Curiosity got the best of me, despite my desire to just go inside and go to bed. I couldn’t help but walk the few steps required to peak inside and see what was going on.
Just beyond the gate, I found the owners of those bicycles, about ten kids of varying ages including my own two precious daughters, all piled up in a king-size hammock, swinging and laughing, obviously telling stories and sharing secrets.
I felt the fatigue of the day fall away as the sight reminded of the glorious days of my own childhood, playing with my neighborhood friends.
Riding bikes, swimming, creek-stomping and volleyball with make-shift nets. Those were days without care or worry, just kids living life to the fullest. It may sound silly now, but we called ourselves the Stratford Scavengers. Stratford Avenue was the main thoroughfare through the neighborhood and the street I lived on then. Everyday during the summer, all of us kids would gather at the meeting tree at some point after breakfast. We surmised a mystery each morning that we had to figure out by the days end like “Where did Mrs. Cathey from the house at the corner go everyday in her big blue Caddy, driving in her bathrobe and slippers?” and “Why did Mr. Tall Man (we didn’t know his real name) wear all those keys on a key ring on his belt?” We theorized brilliant and sometimes funny stories for every situation. We played like we were Tom Sawyer on mysterious adventures, and we created completely new sports in the empty field behind a row of homes.
As the sun diminished late in the day, lights would start popping up on the street lamps, and we knew it would soon be time to go. My parents would flash the lights on the front porch when it was time to come home for dinner, and our group of comrades would part ways until the next morning would dawn with a new day and a new escapade.
As I stood there watching my own kids with their friends, my memories flooded back in such detail that I could almost smell the honeysuckle and the fresh cut grass. I could feel the wind whipping in my hair as we raced down dirt roads on our bikes, and I could hear the songs playing on the radio as we laid on a blanket in the middle of the solitary field watching the days slip away.
Those days were so sweet and I immediately felt so grateful that my children have the opportunity for similar experiences. I’m so glad that we live in a city and a neighborhood where they have friends nearby, and it’s safe to roam the streets and play.
All of a sudden, it didn’t matter to me that I couldn’t pull my car in the drive or that there were bikes in the middle of the road. The angst from the day seemed like a distant memory, and I felt my frown fade away.
Through the windows of our house, I saw my mom wafting through the rooms turning on lamps, and I could smell something cooking in the kitchen.
I know it must’ve been my imagination, but I could’ve sworn the front porch lights flickered on and off saying, “It’s time to come home.”
As I called to my kids from across the street, they came running over to meet me.
“Did you have a good day?” my youngest daughter asked.
“I sure did!” came my heart’s reply, cause in that one moment, nothing could’ve been any better.
published in the Columbian-Progress 04/28/11
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Rocky Mountain High
Our actual anniversary was nearly four months ago, but we're just now getting around to celebrating. Fifteen years is definitely worth celebrating in this day and time.This little mini vacation also could not come at a better time. Home has been chaos the last couple weeks, and we needed a break to clear our heads and just breathe for awhile.
So to celebrate our milestone, we decided to do one of the things we love most - SNOW SKIING!
There are so many ways that snow skiing illustrates marriage. There are ups and downs, there are challenges and smooth rides. It also takes great effort but the payoff is so worthwhile. So here we are skiing...
CJ adds: Ok, he didn't want to add anything. After fifteen years, I guess he's wisely learned that fewer words are better.
As I'm writing, we have just arrived in the Denver airport, and we will soon make our way to Steamboat Springs - one of the most beautiful places on earth! We hope to ski, relax, eat, ski some more, eat some more. You get the picture. :)
I'll try to upload pictures as possible, so stay tuned!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
My parenting report card (C-P 03/31/11)
Have you ever wondered what’s going on with your children, below the surface? On the outside they appear happy and stable, but what’s going on underneath that cool exterior?
This past weekend, I experienced just one of those rare opportunities for insight into the depths of my ten year old.
It all started as my family was preparing for our massive yard sale. I’m not sure where it came from, but one of my journals from when I was in college appeared out of nowhere. (We discovered lots of things that had been stored in closets that we had long forgotten about.) Now we all know that diaries and journals are highly confidential. You should never ever ever read another person’s private thoughts, right? :)
Sometime late Saturday afternoon, Zoë came down and plopped in the chair next to me. She had a small book with a pink, floral cover in her hand that looked vaguely familiar. She wisely asked first and said, “Mom, can I read this?”
“What is it?” I responded.
“It’s your diary!” she exasperated.
“Are you telling me that you’ve not read any of the pages in that book already?” I smiled.
“Uh… well…. I may have read a page or two,” she said.
“Let me look at it first to see what’s in it before I agree,” I compromised with her.
In the end, it was ok. It was a journal I had written when CJ and I were engaged. It was filled with endless details of our wedding planning and other lovey-dovey mush that only someone could write before their wedding.
“Sure.” I said. “You can read it.”
I’m not sure what happened to that journal from that point, but the next day, Zoë came and got in bed with me before the alarm ever went off. She had a spiral notebook in her hand which she quickly told me was a journal that her teacher had asked each student in her class to write in each day at school.
Zoë said, “I figured since you let me read your journal, it’s only fair for me to let you read mine.”
“Ok. I’ll get to it a little later.” I said because I didn’t want her to know what a big deal it is for a parent to actually be given permission to read their child’s innermost thoughts.
Of course as soon as I had some alone time, I sat down with a cup of coffee to study my baby girl’s written words.
It started at the beginning of the school year. It was easy to see that her teacher gave them an open-ended statement to finish each day that would provide a topic on which to write. It began with: “My goals for this school year are…”
Other topics included: the happiest moment in my life, something I would change about my life if I could, what I want to be when I grow up and the most important things in my life.
My favorite entry is from last September when she wrote about, “If I could be like…” and she said she wanted most to be like her mother. Well, you know that made me tear up. She wrote in her journal, “I wanna be like my mamma because she made all A’s in high school (not sure what makes her think that), she has a good job and she’s got a good daughter which is me!”
Her journal was full of things a normal kid would talk about - enjoying friends, playing sports, eating chocolate and more.
Honestly, though, I was most anxious to see if anything changed in her writing from after CJ and I told her we would be moving our family to the other side of the globe. I was worried that there may be some pent-up frustration there, or some bad feelings about the process.
I quickly jumped ahead in the journal to late October, around the time we had our big family meeting, but to my relief there was nothing there. All her writing continued to be about normal things - well, normal for a ten year old.
Quite on the contrary, I was excited to read about ideas she is having about different types of ministry she hopes to do, herself, in Southeast Asia.
I’ve said it many times, parenting is the most difficult job. You always wonder if you’re doing the right thing and making the right decisions in rearing your child. You love them and discipline them and try to raise them in such a way that they will have happy and successful lives.
I have no idea the way my children’s lives will turn out. All I can do is pray for them and try my best to follow what I feel is God’s directions in parenting them.
It’s not easy, but it is so unbelievably rewarding.
Zoë’s journal kinda felt like my report card on parenting. And while, I might not be making the “All A’s” that my child is giving me credit for, it’s nice to know that I’m not flunking out either.
Now, I just have to make sure my children don’t find any of my other old journals… :)
published in the Columbian-Progress 03/31/11
This past weekend, I experienced just one of those rare opportunities for insight into the depths of my ten year old.
It all started as my family was preparing for our massive yard sale. I’m not sure where it came from, but one of my journals from when I was in college appeared out of nowhere. (We discovered lots of things that had been stored in closets that we had long forgotten about.) Now we all know that diaries and journals are highly confidential. You should never ever ever read another person’s private thoughts, right? :)
Sometime late Saturday afternoon, Zoë came down and plopped in the chair next to me. She had a small book with a pink, floral cover in her hand that looked vaguely familiar. She wisely asked first and said, “Mom, can I read this?”
“What is it?” I responded.
“It’s your diary!” she exasperated.
“Are you telling me that you’ve not read any of the pages in that book already?” I smiled.
“Uh… well…. I may have read a page or two,” she said.
“Let me look at it first to see what’s in it before I agree,” I compromised with her.
In the end, it was ok. It was a journal I had written when CJ and I were engaged. It was filled with endless details of our wedding planning and other lovey-dovey mush that only someone could write before their wedding.
“Sure.” I said. “You can read it.”
I’m not sure what happened to that journal from that point, but the next day, Zoë came and got in bed with me before the alarm ever went off. She had a spiral notebook in her hand which she quickly told me was a journal that her teacher had asked each student in her class to write in each day at school.
Zoë said, “I figured since you let me read your journal, it’s only fair for me to let you read mine.”
“Ok. I’ll get to it a little later.” I said because I didn’t want her to know what a big deal it is for a parent to actually be given permission to read their child’s innermost thoughts.
It started at the beginning of the school year. It was easy to see that her teacher gave them an open-ended statement to finish each day that would provide a topic on which to write. It began with: “My goals for this school year are…”
Other topics included: the happiest moment in my life, something I would change about my life if I could, what I want to be when I grow up and the most important things in my life.
My favorite entry is from last September when she wrote about, “If I could be like…” and she said she wanted most to be like her mother. Well, you know that made me tear up. She wrote in her journal, “I wanna be like my mamma because she made all A’s in high school (not sure what makes her think that), she has a good job and she’s got a good daughter which is me!”
Honestly, though, I was most anxious to see if anything changed in her writing from after CJ and I told her we would be moving our family to the other side of the globe. I was worried that there may be some pent-up frustration there, or some bad feelings about the process.
I quickly jumped ahead in the journal to late October, around the time we had our big family meeting, but to my relief there was nothing there. All her writing continued to be about normal things - well, normal for a ten year old.
Quite on the contrary, I was excited to read about ideas she is having about different types of ministry she hopes to do, herself, in Southeast Asia.
I’ve said it many times, parenting is the most difficult job. You always wonder if you’re doing the right thing and making the right decisions in rearing your child. You love them and discipline them and try to raise them in such a way that they will have happy and successful lives.
I have no idea the way my children’s lives will turn out. All I can do is pray for them and try my best to follow what I feel is God’s directions in parenting them.
It’s not easy, but it is so unbelievably rewarding.
Zoë’s journal kinda felt like my report card on parenting. And while, I might not be making the “All A’s” that my child is giving me credit for, it’s nice to know that I’m not flunking out either.
Now, I just have to make sure my children don’t find any of my other old journals… :)
published in the Columbian-Progress 03/31/11
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Whew!
Ok, ok... I know it's been awhile since I've updated the website. I've heard from several friends asking what's the hold up? Well, it's just been a really crazy busy week. And I've got lots of thoughts to put down in print, and lots of updates to share with our friends, but it's going to be just a smidge longer.
The good news is this week should be back to normal (Thank God!) so I promise to get something up here soon.
And... I'm even trying to talk CJ into writing something for the website - ya know, his perspective. I'm dying to hear that myself. So stay tuned...
A few quick shout-outs from the yard sale:
Thanks so much to Carol Davis and her FBC GA's for making our Yard Sale signs. We had a bunch of people tell us they came because of all the signs. So Carol and girls, you rock!
Thank you to Emily Knight who answered a Facebook plea for help and showed up at our house to do a little manual labor. Just when I thought I was give out, her showing up encouraged me to keep going. She not only provided physical assistance, her act of compassion renewed me when I needed it most.
Mucho gracias to Martha & Dr. Tom Whitehead for bringing us doughnuts for the morning of the yard sale. Since the shoppers started showing up at 5am and didn't stop coming til late in the afternoon, it was our only sustenance. What would we have done without your sweet (yummy sweet) gift? Not to mention, your coming to visit us several times throughout the last week just to check on us and show us a little love. Thank you so much!
None of this would have been possible without my parents, so my biggest debt of gratitude goes to them. They have been there with us through this transition every step of the way. Cooking meals, babysitting, letting us use their washer and dryer (since we sold ours) and so much more... Most importantly they have kept us calm and laughing through the whole process. I know this is just as much a challenge for them, but they never show it. I am so blessed to have such good and Godly parents.
So, yes, we had a great yard sale and it feels so good to have it behind us. Now on to the next project :)
The good news is this week should be back to normal (Thank God!) so I promise to get something up here soon.
And... I'm even trying to talk CJ into writing something for the website - ya know, his perspective. I'm dying to hear that myself. So stay tuned...
A few quick shout-outs from the yard sale:
Thanks so much to Carol Davis and her FBC GA's for making our Yard Sale signs. We had a bunch of people tell us they came because of all the signs. So Carol and girls, you rock!
Thank you to Emily Knight who answered a Facebook plea for help and showed up at our house to do a little manual labor. Just when I thought I was give out, her showing up encouraged me to keep going. She not only provided physical assistance, her act of compassion renewed me when I needed it most.
Mucho gracias to Martha & Dr. Tom Whitehead for bringing us doughnuts for the morning of the yard sale. Since the shoppers started showing up at 5am and didn't stop coming til late in the afternoon, it was our only sustenance. What would we have done without your sweet (yummy sweet) gift? Not to mention, your coming to visit us several times throughout the last week just to check on us and show us a little love. Thank you so much!
None of this would have been possible without my parents, so my biggest debt of gratitude goes to them. They have been there with us through this transition every step of the way. Cooking meals, babysitting, letting us use their washer and dryer (since we sold ours) and so much more... Most importantly they have kept us calm and laughing through the whole process. I know this is just as much a challenge for them, but they never show it. I am so blessed to have such good and Godly parents.
So, yes, we had a great yard sale and it feels so good to have it behind us. Now on to the next project :)
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Whose gift is this anyway?
The girls wanted so much to do something special for me for my birthday so they pooled their money to buy me a gift. We're obviously still working on the "what's mine is yours" characteristic...
It was a great birthday - in the best city in the world, with the best friends and family in the world, eating the best cake in the world (well almost - it wasn't strawberry, but it was very good) :)
Thank you all for your sweet comments and well wishes. You have made my day very special.
It was a great birthday - in the best city in the world, with the best friends and family in the world, eating the best cake in the world (well almost - it wasn't strawberry, but it was very good) :)
Thank you all for your sweet comments and well wishes. You have made my day very special.
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