A Tree-House View

Looking out our tree-house view from our 7th floor enclosed balcony – the green-leaf treetops brushed against the window and the view of the mountains was refreshing on any clean, clear day in Almaty.

Life took on a different kind of rhythm than the one we’d only been getting to know back in our quiet suburban, American neighborhood. We’d exchanged that fenced in green back yard (near a beautiful wildlife preserve) for a monolith apartment building, Soviet era, surrounded by pavement, people and cars.

Perched up within the safety of our balcony though, we peered out those first few days – blurry eyed and hazy with jet lag, not to mention completely disorientated from traversing the globe. There wasn’t anything supremely shocking about the culture shock, except that I had never experienced it this way before. I’d never been a mother of two small children in a foreign country and a language I only understood a little bit of.

But here I was, living out the plans and dreams my husband and I had talked about in those long-ago days when we were getting to know one another over hours at a coffee shop or while sitting on a hillside in Singapore – even then we dreamed and planned of wanting to live and work overseas. And then when we planned on getting married, we dreamed of having children and taking them with us – to grow up in faraway lands, learning about cultures and languages and experiencing things we never did as children growing up. We dreamed of the breadth and depth of expanded horizons for our kids.

Yes, and here I was now, the dream feeling much less glamorous than it did that long-ago day in Singapore. The task at hand – getting to know my new home – was daunting. And so, I poured another cup of coffee, and waited a bit longer at my perch, watching my baby crawl around the old linoleum kitchen floor and my toddler build with wooden blocks he had found in his new bedroom. I sipped warm coffee and gazed out the window at people walking by, bits of broken conversation I didn’t understand drifting up from the sidewalk through the open windows. I needed some courage.

These were good, clarifying moments. Breathing in deeply, foreign fragrances coming up from the street to fill our apartment. The hot sun shining brightly on my face.

It’s good to remember that this is what I wanted, not just wanted but dreamed about. It carried me through as the reality sank in. A dream come true. And now it was time to put my feet under that dream and walk out there, down on that sidewalk one step in front of another. Isn’t that really all you can do?

With a deep breath of resolve, we headed outside – our first foray into this new world, now home. Stroller loaded up with a baby and a toddler, we waited for the elevator and then clamored inside the small compartment to head down to the lobby. Waving goodbye to the Babushka who “guarded” the building (to determine whether or not “guests” may enter) we stepped outside onto the worn pavement and joined other people making their way on the sidewalk.

The children’s faces reflected their genuine enthusiasm for this new adventure. Their beaming faces the affirmation of our long-held dream. As we wandered downhill several blocks, we came to a beautiful oasis in the middle of the city and we immediately dubbed it the “Tree Park” – filled with tall trees and walking paths and a little playground situated in the corner. My heart expanded, knowing we were exactly where we were supposed to be as a family.

Jumping off the stroller, our nearly-three-old, ran over to climb on the jungle gym with other kids his size, all talking and laughing with one another. After a few minutes of climbing and playing on his own, while taking in these foreign words (he had only just begun speaking in his own language), he tried in his own way to make a friend. “Blah, blah, blah-blah-blah, blah…,” he said to another toddler climbing near him.

My expanding heart shriveled just a bit as I watched him earnestly try to connect with the other kids. I was tempted to sit down, right there in the dirt of that playground, and cry. But instead, carried by the grace I experienced that morning on my tree-house perch, I gulped back my tears. Bolstered by the dream, infused with faith in the One who gives the grace, I smiled at my son, encouraging me to keep on trying, always keep on trying to connect, believing that those around you will see your sincere heart and extend their hands in friendship too.

Without grace, it’s hard to have the courage to step out there. It’s one thing to dream a dream. It’s another thing to plan for it. And it’s even another thing to take the steps of faith to go out there and live it. And while there are those setbacks or moments of daunting doubt, the grace to move forward is always there. A tree-house view is a perfect place to remember those dreams.