Before we moved to Spain, I had never considered living outside the US. While I knew it was always within the realm of possibility as a military family, we were never actively pursuing it.
Our move to Spain was unique because it would put us eight hours from the nearest base, fully immersed in the culture.
Well, almost fully immersed. I didn’t anticipate fighting the battle of living with one foot in America and one foot in Spain.
The military allowed us to move all of our belongings, except for major appliances like our washer and dryer. So, once our stuff arrived, inside the walls of our house felt like America, minus the bread drawer and jamon slicer in my kitchen.
The first few months, I fought to make my surroundings feel like I had never left America. Wal-Mart and Amazon shipments filled my pantry with peanut butter, Kind bars, Triscuits, and even Bounty select-a-size paper towels. We kept our online homeschool classes and piano lessons in the US, giving us afternoon and evening classes. We stationed multiple transformers around the house to use things like our keyboard, TVs, and Instant Pot. We bought what felt like hundreds of plug adapters for dual voltage electronics like our phones, computers, and sound machines (a necessity in every Monroe bedroom). Even outside of our house, we screamed “American,” driving the only Honda Odyssey on the streets of Valencia. The discomfort was tangible as we sought to squeeze our American life into our new Spanish reality.
As we began to meet other non-military Americans and ex-pats, I realized that our situation was unique. All of the ex-pats we knew rented furnished apartments, only bringing with them clothes and other essentials. They stepped off the plane and never got to escape into an American cocoon. I began to look at them with a bit of envy.
Living with one foot here and one foot there isn’t wrong; it is just my reality. While I do love my monthly Amazon shipments, there have been times it would be nice to not have to reach back to America for so many things to operate day to day. I have to order print cartridges, schoolbooks, printer paper (if I want the paper to fit in a three-ring binder), stamps, oil, filters, and parts for the cars. While we did buy some European items like a coffee pot, hairdryer, fans, and a space heater, I hit a point several months ago where I refused to buy anything else with a European plug. (Our nomadic lifestyle tendencies kick in as we start to look ahead to the next place, months before we actually leave.)
I wouldn’t change our circumstances. I’m thankful for the experience of being immersed in a culture. And I am grateful I could order my kids a box of cheerios to give them a little piece of home when everything around them changed so quickly. Nothing gave me the comfort of home when I needed it most than when my van arrived in Spain. However, some moments parking a European car into tiny spots would be far easier than my Odyssey. I love the oasis of our house in the suburbs, but I know my Spanish would be far better if we lived in the city and I had to interact with more people daily. Our kids being in school this year has at least provided more interaction and language skills for them.
One foot on either side of the ocean was what I needed for this move. We have adopted some Spanish ways, learned the language…all while eating off American paper plates. While we will miss so many things about our lives here when we move back to America, looking for a plug adapter when we need to charge a phone will not be one of them.
During our sixteen-year nomadic journey from one home to the next, we have lived in everything from a cookie-cutter three-bedroom two bath, to a 100-year-old apartment, to a sprawling Spanish villa. The highs and lows of each house have given us a clearer picture of what we would like in our “someday house.” From big-ticket items like a basement to small things like plenty of outlets in strategic places, we have begun to determine what matters to us and what just doesn’t.
We typically live in military housing, which isn’t always known for its innovation or frills like sitting rooms and basements. Contrast that to the past three years where we’ve been incredibly fortunate to have an overseas housing allowance that has afforded us things we’ve never had in our houses in the states – a spacious backyard, swimming pool, a collection of fruit trees, five bedrooms, and garage that could fit six cars if you parked them just right. It even has a stone tower worthy of Rapunzel. We would love to incorporate the basics of this floor plan, a five-bedroom, one-level house on a basement, into our future home with some American updates, like central air.
In preparation for our return to the US this summer, we recently put a contract on a new construction house in South Carolina (sight unseen, which is a bit scary!). Since military housing wasn’t an option, we had the opportunity to look at many floor plans in new construction neighborhoods in this growing area. Floor plans, 3D models, and virtual walk-throughs gave us a crash course in what appeals to buyers in our demographic.
We noticed one thing repeatedly in each house we looked at: the square footage spent on the master suite. When did master closets become the size of football fields? Why exactly are master bedrooms so enormous compared to other bedrooms? I totally get that the people paying the bills should not get shafted in the deal, but why have so much square footage in a bedroom?
All of this comparing and contrasting over the last few months have cemented in our mind our Dream House Wish List.
Basement – this is our biggest dream to have a basement complete with a kids’ hang-out area, dedicated schoolroom, and home gym.
Open Floor Plan – you don’t have to have a huge house for it to be functional. We value square footage in open living spaces. Instead of a master bedroom big enough for three king-size beds, we would use the square footage for a loft or office.
Custom Closets – I know walk-in closets are all the rage, but we have built-in custom closets in our current house, and we never want to go back! Closets with built-in drawers and functional storage areas reduce the wasted floor space of walk-in closets and can completely eliminate the need for dressers. I know this is a far-fetched dream for an American house, but check out my Instagram story for a detailed look, and I promise you will want to abandon team walk-in closet!
Kitchen – this is the hub of our home. I would prioritize money for the kitchen over anything else. Plenty of storage, functionality, a garbage disposal, gas range, double ovens, a refrigerator with water and ice (a luxury we’ve rarely had), and a walk-in pantry are all must-haves.
Outdoor space – area for a trampoline, green space, outdoor kitchen and dining, and a pool all make the dream list for outdoor space. We have been incredibly spoiled with our outdoor space and the climate to enjoy it here in Spain. I was hesitant about the pool at first, but with proper safety measures and a pool maintenance man, it has been amazing! Living in a climate where we can spend a lot of time outside has become a big priority. With stone terraces, fruit trees, and walkways wrapping around most of our house, the green space in the back leaves just enough to enjoy without owning a tractor to manage it all.
Central Heating and Air – when you have lived without it, it makes the list.
Bathrooms with a separate door for the shower and toilet. When kids are sharing a bathroom, this is such a game-changer!
Mud Room – I love this area to organize shoes, snow gear, backpacks, and sports equipment.
Carpet in the bedrooms – We have lived in several houses with hardwoods throughout. While I love hardwoods, I enjoy having carpet between my toes in my bedroom.
Storage – at least one large closet is important for things like luggage. A walk-up attic or space in the garage for shelving for seasonal items.
Our list is constantly changing as our priorities shift and our family needs change. Only the Lord knows if we will ever get to incorporate any of these into that elusive someday house, but for now, it is fun to dream. What is on your dream list?
From the outside, military kids’ lives often look like a page out of Oh the Places You’ll Go. From riding camels in Egypt to surfing in Hawaii, to field trips to the flight simulators and seeing the northern lights in Alaska – on any given day, my newsfeed can be filled with military families’ highlight reels of adventures. While they have some fantastic opportunities, like everyone else in life, the newsfeed doesn’t always capture the struggle. While struggle isn’t unique to military kids, they have many opportunities for growth built into their little worlds that they may not have otherwise.
When we decided to move to Spain, our kids were 10, 7, 4, and 1. While we consulted the older kids in the decision, none of them were old enough to truly understand what a move like that would mean in their lives. Packing up and moving was so typical that it didn’t really feel any different…until it did.
They were shielded from much of the initial jolt of living in a foreign country due to homeschooling. The real estate agent or the cable guy didn’t expect a response from them. They didn’t have to navigate roundabouts or the grocery store or find a church. Their daily routine had the same rhythm it always had. Not to say they didn’t struggle at all. Finding friends felt impossible for the older kids in a neighborhood with walls around every house and a church where our kids made up 90% of the children’s church. However, they did have a foundation of normalcy.
During a Thanksgiving dinner with friends in 2019, a native Spaniard asked where our kids went to school. Since homeschooling is a foreign concept here, that is not always an easy question to answer. He replied, “That’s good, but what a pity they will walk away from living in a foreign country for three years without learning to speak the language.”
Over the next several weeks, I couldn’t shake his comment. We had lived in Spain fifteen months at the time, and our Spanish was weak. (It is totally possible to live in a foreign country and not learn the language, especially when you speak English to each other every day at home, you homeschool your kids, your husband speaks English at work, and almost all of your friends are Americans.) Chad and I prayed over the decision for the next several weeks, and both came to the same conclusion – we wanted to send our kids to school. Not only were they not learning the language, but they were also lonely. We usually have a network of homeschooling families and activities, but there was nothing of the sort in Spain.
We saw the opportunity to do something for our kids that would benefit them for the rest of their lives. Beyond just learning a second language (which is a big deal), going to a school in Spain would forever give them perspective and empathy of being the new kid. It would provide them with the confidence (we hoped) to know that they could do new things even if they seemed hard at first. They would get a deeper appreciation for Spanish culture and have the opportunity to make new friends. They would also get to ride a school bus, which is every homeschooler’s dream.
Other friends who had put their kids directly into Spanish schools without their kids knowing the language cheered us on in our decision, assuring us that while the beginning would be hard, three months into school, our kids would be thriving.
The girls each had the opportunity to say yes or no. We knew the long-term benefits they would gain but didn’t want to force them into the decision. This wouldn’t just be a new school – it would be the first time they went to any school. Throw in a global pandemic, and everything would be taught in Spanish, and you have a big learning curve staring at them. They would have to navigate learning how to go to school, find their bus, balance homework, make friends on the playground and learn Spanish, all while wearing masks. Three out of the four kids agreed to the idea with varying levels of trepidation. Jake, who was three at the time, did not see the value of spending the entire day away from his mom!
Through the upheaval of Covid the following spring, we enrolled all four kids in school and waited for September to come. We bought new uniforms, backpacks, pencils and eight pairs of new shoes. On the first day of school, I’m not sure who was more nervous. Having navigated the entire enrollment process in Spanish, I doubted the instructions I gave to them because I doubted my own ability to fully understand the information that had been given to me. Thankfully they had been to two weeks of summer camp at the school, which gave them a basic knowledge of the layout and some familiar faces.
We pulled up to the school and filed in line behind the closed gate. As the doors slid open, all four of our kids took a step forward. They didn’t freeze. They didn’t run to the safety of the van. They walked through the doors, understanding how challenging the next few weeks would be.
Addison and Mya quickly found their classes, and Chad and I split up to take Lucy and Jake. I walked up to the preschool door with Jake tugging on my arm. After a brief exchange with the teacher, I realized we were at the wrong classroom.
“Mom, that’s not my class,” he had been trying to tell me. He remembered his teacher’s face from our initial meeting with her and knew that lady wasn’t her. We walked around the building, and he knew when we had found the right class.
After a brief hug and kiss, he confidently walked into the room, not looking back for a moment.
I met Chad at the gate to leave, my eyes already brimming with tears, but his face caused me to pause.
“Lucy’s teacher wasn’t at their line. I’m not even sure if she is with the right class.”
With Covid restrictions, we were limited to where we could go in the schoolyard and were asked to leave as soon as we dropped our kids off. Covid or not, we couldn’t leave until we knew she was settled.
I weaved my way through the throng of kids to the second-grade class lines. She stood at the end of the line, her blond pigtails framing her face. Two blue eyes bulging with tears peaked over her pink mask. I inhaled deeply to keep from losing it right there on the patio. She needed me to be strong for her in that moment. I could cry later.
I found her teacher, told her that Lucy knew very little Spanish (shocking that she had not been made aware of that before), and the teacher, feeling my concern, brought another girl over to stand with Lucy and help her navigate the day. I gave her a hug and whispered a prayer into her ear. I wanted those kids to be able to see her beautiful smile. I wanted them to rush to her and make her feel welcome. I wanted to save her from the pain and discomfort she was facing.
But I walked away. I had to entrust each of them to their Heavenly Father, knowing His eyes would be there, even when I couldn’t see them. I had a good cry sitting in my van and welcomed them with hugs and cookies when they stepped off the bus that afternoon.
I have never been more proud of my kids than I was that day. I couldn’t do what I was asking them to do. They faced their fears and continued to go back day after day. Days were hard in the beginning. Their bodies and minds were exhausted by the end of the day. Homework humbled all of us as we were all forced to drink from the fire hydrant of learning a second language. But six months later, we are all still standing. They are each conversational for their age, and they love school, minus the fish lunches. Addison has jumped into eighth-grade work with no remedial classes for Spanish and is passing every class. Mya speaks as fast as a native kid. Our shy little Lucy has surprised us all by loving school more than anyone else. Jake’s teacher says now she would never know he wasn’t a native speaker.
We aren’t perfect parents. We fall short so often, but I am so thankful we took this leap. As parents, we have opportunities to expand our kids’ horizons for the opportunity of growth. Sometimes it is not the right time or season for hard growth, but sometimes it is. We can’t let our fear stand in the way of their opportunities. They are capable of so much more than we think they are. There are times the Lord is calling us to toss them into the deep end of the pool so that we can watch them swim!
PS – I am in the midst of a 30-day writing challenge. You may see a few more emails from me than normal, but know it is just temporary and I promise not to bombard your inbox forever!
Is God good even when He says no to our most desperate prayers?
I am a teacher. Some days my kids probably wish that I weren’t because it makes for longer than average explanations, a sometimes over-enthusiasm for learning, and a high standard for homework checks. I probably go over my daily word limit when I feel passionate about a subject and enjoy pulling threads of understanding and faith into any topic.
A few weeks ago, I was teaching an online high school history class. While discussing the empires of Assyria and Babylon, I dove into a discussion about the goodness of God. Through the pages of Scripture describing this time period, we see a cruel and unforgiving world where cities are pillaged, nations destroyed, people slaughtered, and people starving. By the end of class, my pulse quickened, and I resisted the urge to stand to my feet as I implored them to view all of life through the lens of the goodness of God.
“If we don’t come to these events with a foundational belief that God is good, we can quickly lose our footing theologically. If God is good, then even the worst events in history, from the destruction of Jerusalem to the Holocaust, to childhood cancer and human trafficking, can be seen as pieces of a puzzle that God is ultimately working together for good. Suppose we don’t fundamentally believe that He is good. In that case, we have no basis for how to interpret a God that can allow such atrocities.”
Days after my resounding commentary on the goodness of God, I walked through a tough week of hardship, sickness, and death in our circle of friends. A dear friend died of Covid. A pastor and mentor died after a painful and abrupt battle with cancer. Another friend, a husband, pastor, and father of four lay in the ICU fighting for his life. It felt like the next wave of sadness crashed before I had a chance to come up for air.
It is moments like these that our faith, what we put our hope in, whether that is God or something, is tested. Pain and suffering can shine a light into the deepest parts of our soul, where we learn if the faith we claim to have can handle the harsh realities of a fallen world.
Grief and concern piled on top of the painful reality of being an ocean away and the weariness of a year of lockdowns and restrictions. The heaviness pressed on me like a dark, wet blanket. Even in the darkness, however, I had a bedrock of truth forged years ago supporting me.
If you know me, you probably know how much I love my grandparents. They have been pillars in my life. In 2001, during my sophomore year in college, my parents called and said to come home. My Pa-paw was dying. I drove the nine hours home from Ohio the next morning with sadness, silence, and troubling anticipation as my constant companions.
When the time came to say our final goodbye, my dad gathered the family in a circle stretching beyond the waiting room to the elevator doors. His prayer at that moment stands as a cornerstone of my faith. He prayed the words of Daniel 3:17 (which was spoken by three Hebrew teenagers as they stood up to an emperor in the face of certain death):
“If it be so, our God who we serve is able to deliver us from this and to raise Pa-paw up and heal him. But if not…” his voice cracked with emotion. “But if not, O God, we will still love you and serve you. We know that You are good. You are faithful to us even now.”
My dad’s faith came to life for me that day. It wasn’t just a faith that he talked about or hoped would be there one day. It wasn’t a list of rules and regulations or obligations of service. His faith wasn’t in a church building or a religious system. His faith – my faith – stood up to even the most difficult circumstances because it was based on a fundamental trust in the goodness of God. God wasn’t a vending machine from whom we could demand a particular response. To trust in a God that answers our every demand is to trust in a being subject to our own whims and desires. And to trust in a God that isn’t fundamentally good is terrifying.
A peace washed through my heart standing in that circle. It seared my faith with an understanding that no matter what I saw around me, I could trust in a God who was good and had good plans for me and those I loved.
I’ve had a few “But if not” moments in my own life since then. I’ve stood at cliffs of uncertainty where He was asking me to jump and trust that He would catch me. In those moments, I have had to decide if He really would. Each time I have stood with more confidence than the last that my hope in Christ is real and sustaining. It is what I have when I’ve sat in a puddle with the pieces of my shattered life surrounding me. It is the confidence I can have that He will make all things new one day, even if the answer is not today. One day every sickness will be healed. Poverty and crime will be eradicated. Whether He chooses to answer my prayers on this day or that day, I can trust that He is a loving, good, and kind God. He doesn’t orchestrate evil in the world, but in His kindness, He uses it to draw me closer to Him.
PS – I am in the midst of a 30-day writing challenge. You may see a few more emails from me than normal, but know it is just temporary and I promise not to bombard your inbox forever!
