Today marks the anniversary of my family arriving to Cardiff, Wales from the United States four years ago. I vividly remember each leg of the long airplane ride from San Antonio to Memphis, Memphis to Amsterdam, and Amsterdam to Cardiff the 18th of May, 2006. I remember with jubilation that my one year old son behaved himself and that my 4 year old daughter pooped in the airport between flights instead of on the airplane. I was ecstatic when all 13 of our bags arrived, and I thought that I was off to such a good start to life in a foreign land, because getting there was half of the battle, right? I remember on the last leg of the flight being offered a cup of tea by a stylish British flight attendant and thinking, “This is so quaint and so British and I simply adore it!” Of course I accepted. Now that I was going to be “British”I would be drinking lots of tea.

But of course, as it always does with me, the rose colored glasses were ripped off and smashed in the coming weeks as I experienced culture shock. Thirty two years of living as an American in America versus 2 weeks living as an American in a foreign country. A big, no, a massive shock. There were countless mornings I woke up thinking, “Surely this has been a dream (nightmare more like it). What have I just gotten myself into?”

And the days past. The weeks past. And now I can say that the years have past. My baby Brooks who was one, wearing diapers (nappies), chewing on a pacifier (dummy), and just grunting is now a fully functioning 5 year old. And he has done almost all of his growing up in Wales.

I too, have done a lot of growing up in Wales. Not that I thought that I needed to grow up, but when you are out of your comfort, your familiarity, your homeland, you just simply do some growing up. The situation forces you too.

I am learning that there is a lot of learning to be done. You may be an expert at getting on in your culture, but when you step outside into something very unfamiliar, you are on a steep learning curve. And where you consider yourself an intelligent, educated person, in your new culture you will feel stupid, especially at the beginning. And chances are you will sound stupid and look stupid at times too. I am learning that to live in a different culture you need to be ok with people stopping and staring when you speak because that Texas twang sure causes interest.

It took me two years to learn that math in school was pronounced “maths” and 3 years to learn that they do sell sink stoppers for your kitchen sink. (One didn’t come with my house so I assumed they just didn’t have those and suffered for years without). And I have learned from experience, that no matter what you think, that red cord hanging from the store bathroom ceiling is not the toilet flusher, but the fire alarm that activates the store alarm and sprinkler system.

I have learned to laugh at myself a lot and have even been guilty of laughing at my husband’s cultural mishaps on occasion. I have learned to love learning information about the culture and people that I live around. I have learned that I couldn’t just get over culture shock, but had to be patient and walk through it.

I have learned most of all, that I when I just want to hurry up, take the fast track through whatever God is trying to teach me so I can arrive quickly with as little pain, His preference might possibly be for me to sometimes take the long route in learning something. Because when this happens, it produces true transformation and true character change.

These four years in Wales have been nothing short of an adventure. I can look back 4 years ago and rejoice remembering the smiles and tears of living in a foreign land. I am so thankful that God has been beside me every step of the way, whether I realized it or not. This experience is something I would not trade for the world.

In Texas I used to teach 3rd grade…kids who were mostly 8 and then turning 9 at some point in the year. I loved that age. Old enough to read and go to the bathroom on their own, yet young enough to give lots of hugs and honest words. I thought I understood that age. I felt like I knew how to “teach” that age. I knew the ins and outs of life with 8 year olds.

I always knew that there would come a day when I had children of my own that my child would turn 8 and that day would be a big deal for me. Today that day has come. My oldest child, Harper, turns 8.

Harper has been lovely from the moment she was born. An excellent daughter to Brad and me, and a fantastic sister to Brooks. She is everything I ever thought having a daughter would be and more. She is a gentle spirit with a confident fire in her about who she is. I love that about her. Even though she is the lone American (along with her brother) in her school, she is fine with who she is. The other day when someone was bugging her brother at school she marched over to that person, looked them in the face, and said, “You need to stop that now because I really care for my brother.” I think she is so strong as I see her thriving in a different culture.

Harper loves organization. She adores taking out old papers and cards and arranging them. She loves making collages out of magazine sweet images. She is the kid who likes to start coloring at the beginning of the coloring book and then goes in order. Harper loves reading, loves copying poetry, and now writes her own (not even in school, but on her own time). She loves traveling and learning about different cultures. Harper asks deep questions, but loves sharing and hearing funny stories from her parents. She absolutely adores dinnertime conversation and reminiscing (if one can do that at such a young age).

We have been so blessed by this little lady since God brought her into our lives in May of 2002. God has given her such a teachable spirit and a heart that loves Him and wants to do His will. So, today we will celebrate our 8 year old, Harper Claire. The most lovely girl we know.