Begrudge Not Joy

There is nowhere more beautiful than Northern Ireland in the sunshine.

The flowers all abloom, the daylong-morning sunshine lightly brushing against your cheeks, gently swishing air. That's how I met her two years ago. It was in that garb that she entranced me, gave me something in which to fall in love.

So I get it, I do, when my groups of Americans come and spend the majority of their time taking selfies and gushing, "OMG I could like totally live here. That's it. Seriously. I'm coming back and living here. No question. OMG."

I was one of those people. Minus the OMGs and the selfie taking (mostly). But I absolutely did say, even then, that I was coming back.

And you know what? I did.

So my disdain for those comments isn't in their frivolity really because I know that it's possible.

Rather, I detest the ignorance. I detest my own ignorance, not that anyone could have really prepared me for here.

The emotions that run through my head:

-annoyance: They meet NI in spring. Not winter when there is no sun. They see her at her very best.
-pre-anger/jealousy: If they do move here, do as I did, and out-do me, succeed where I failed, thrive where I survived, it will rub salt and lemons into my wounds.

Two years ago I was that girl. I came in a wonderful group, bonded with the country and its people alike and, essentially, had a wonderful honeymoon period.

Last semester, was the statistically awful first five years of marriage when the highs are high and the lows are low (that's a joke. There were no highs.) and it takes very nearly everything you've got not to throw down the pot of gold and get a divorce (you'll need that gold for the divorce. Don't throw it too far).

Then, after that, you learn the rhythms of what it means to live with one another peaceably and joyfully. You made it past the culture shock of marriage. You can do this.

I firmly believe that if I were to have stayed another year or two, I would be so okay with it. I may have even had the capacity to thrive. But that wouldn't have been possible without those first few months.

I, unlike past Jamie and present student teams, am not infatuated with Northern Ireland. I am in love with her. Love is a choice, a devoted, daily, obedient, faithful choice.

At the same time, I want those kids to love my adopted country as I love it.

This is a resilient place with its nooks and crannies full of strange and wonderful humans and sheep and cows and green, green grass and wet rain and gale force winds and universities that look like castles. and tea.

The kids to whom I will promote the NI studies trip to will need to hear those things.
About the rest, I honestly just need to bite my tongue.

Because they will come with a group and be dazzled off their toes. They will leave with clovers in their hearts and tea in their veins.

And to the person who will become the next Lord or Lady of the Manor, I can hold no vindictiveness if they assimilate into this country better than I did. Ain't nobody could have predicted what happened to me in any of those insane categories. I learned and grew and am thankful, but it will still be a challenge not to wish upon them pain and throw a childlike tantrum if they get off scot-free (Why me and not them???).

That answer is not important. The Why really doesn't (rather, shouldn't) hold much ground. Ever. I'm not called to know, I'm called to follow.

Again, I find myself in a state of discipline, practicing grace, practicing how to rejoice with others when they rejoice and not just hurt when they hurt.