Fresh Perspective

  The empty nest isn't too bad with this guy by my side, amazing Lebanese food, and friends. This week I had the enormous privilege to be on a zoom call with a group of local Iraqi refugees and ones that have recently been graced with placement to Australia. It was like a reunion (except bound and freed by Zoom, as wonderful and as limiting as it is)! Also, present was a psychologist from California who meets with the group once a month via the internet.  The group sessions with her are ALWAYS outstanding.  Each time, I marvel at the concepts she draws out of each of us and the points she sends home. I was quiet and observant as at least 10 ladies participated in the activity that the doctor was asking us to do. Then my turn came.  I admitted that I needed to allow space to process.  Tears leaked out of nowhere, with no warning and no ability for me to hold them back. Much to my embarrassment, I will admit.  I mean, who am I to cry compared to women ...

Kaboom. The plane wheels slammed into the cement. The plane jeered from side to side, as we abruptly landed into Beirut, Lebanon. It was far from smooth.  I will give the landing a 5 out of 10. It jarred me from my 24-hour traveling slumber and awakened me to the thought that I was “home”. Home changed while we were away. Experts reckon that the 2 nd largest urban explosion in history happened on August 4, 2020. We were retuning to a city that not only was struggling with a revolution, but also an economic collapse, Corona Virus on the rise, and now this explosion.  To further make sure we were awake and welcomed to Lebanon, we received the PCR test again as we cleared customs (we had to prove that we were negative to COVID, prior to boarding the plane in the States).  The test is an unpleasant nasal jarring sensation, that would awaken the deepest sleeper. Honestly, at our apartment one could pretend that nothing had happened. Other than a badly cracked bedroom...

With the cries of baby boy #1, 22 years ago, my world took on a blue boy hue.  From firetrucks and stick guns, to Lego’s and robotics, motorbikes, and surfboards our home leaked blue.  There was little femininity in the Boyd household, as boy #2, #3 and #4 wailed their way into our tribe in seven rapid years. In many respects it was easier to not upset the mix with a girl.  We knew boys.  We knew what to do with boys.  We had boys down.  We had the clothes, the shoes, the toys, and apparently the “boy only” mold. We would not have it any other way. Change block type or style Move Image block from position 3 left to position 2 Move Image block from position 3 right to position 4 Change ali I would strive to keep girly moments in my life. Whether it be a shopping trip (alone), a girl’s weekend away, flowers on the table, candles lit, or a tea party here and there. However, the reality is, with 5 guys in the house, I was clearly outnumbered a...

 Many people are asking how the recent explosion in Lebanon will impact us returning and our lives there and our work?  These are questions that we don't have answers to.  However, there is one thing we do know, that one year settled looks and feels so much different than two months settled. The spaghetti like roads, with mazes in between apartment buildings are now familiar pathways. The flowers planted and the ivy growing give root to the word, home. The church bells that ring just a block from our home remind us that we are in a new land, with the call to prayers from the mosque in the distant background. The friends we have become more special as we begin to form a foundation of shared memories and experiences together.  I am grateful that my heart is finally at peace with over a year of great transition. My graduate class work is pushing me to know what is going on in the Lebanese nursing world. I had the recent opportunity to meet with the head of the Order o...

 The mask hid my crying face. Well mostly. The tears still tattle-tailed my feelings, but for once I was grateful for the mask to hide the rest of my face. Let me tell you the story behind those tears. It was supposed to be an ordinary errand. I was looking for some specific needle work items for a refugee project idea. I had a friend (Lucia) who knew the Beirut downtown area better than I.  So, she had agreed to accompany me to this sewing supply store tucked in-between tall mazes of buildings and hard to find parking spaces. When I awoke the morning of our planned errand day, Lucia had sent me a text message. There she asked if a foreign housemaid could go with us and I could drop her off at her country’s consulate. I agreed with the stipulation that I had to be home by a certain time because I was expecting guests. Picking up Lucia and her new housemaid friend, my heart was warmed to be introduced to Happiness (her real name). Happiness’s complicated story unraveled as ...