A New Normal

Seven weeks. I'm almost seven weeks into this little adventure called Brussels. How much has changed in those seven weeks! No longer am I quite so wide eyed as I walk down the street and see women dressed like this:

or cars like this: (or the former driving the latter for that matter).

I don't think twice now about the cars loudly honking outside my room or the thumping and scraping of chairs and tables moving in the neighbor's apartment. The sounds of Arabic don't strike me as strange as they did at first. I've even started to forget that I am the white American in the Arab Church.

The smell of the popular Lebanese 7 spices wafting from a dish are still tantalizing, but no longer alert my appetite as they did at first.



The tastes of certain Middle Eastern dishes and delicacies have become easily recognizable now as I walk into more and more homes.





















And so goes life, doesn't it? New becomes old.

New tastes become commonplace. New sights stop turning your head. New sounds become unnoticeable. New smells become unrecognizable. New relationships become comfortable and familiar. New ideas become givens. New ways of doing things become habits.

As much as they may try to resist, things new will become things old.

What do we do when the new becomes normal?

Some people actively search for more new, while others quietly wait for the small buds of change. Some grow complacent with life as they know it, while others manage to simultaneously remember and move forward.

My answer to this question is not a deep or inspiring one. With losing the newness of living here, I've also lost the desperate dependency on God I wrote about before. Multitudes of things still bombard me that I don't completely understand, but even that occurrence, in itself, seems normal. My little bit of knowledge of the neighborhood's layout, Arab culture, English classes, and the dynamics of the church have given me a false sense of control, as if a little more understanding could somehow replace God's sovereignty.

It's been a while since I've gone to sleep in awe of His power. And I can't seem to reconjure that notion of Him being the one familiar thing. I want those things back. Certainly these understandings endure beyond the times we find ourselves like a fish out of water, frantically flopping around in our foreign environment.

--

It was a beautiful, crisp fall day here, which begged for a run in a nearby park. In the middle of my run, the old hymn, God Our Help in Ages Past, began playing on my ipod. With the help of this song, my brain stopped it's scattered thinking and reframed this transition I'm experiencing away from newness.

God is not new. Yes, He does new things, He leads us into new life, His compassions are new every morning, but He is not new. And whether I feel it or not, I am still a child in need of my Father.

I began this blog in August thrilled about the new thing that God was doing by sending me to Brussels. Seven weeks in, I'm reminded of more than the new place I was sent, but of the God I came seeking, the God who is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

--

O God, our help in ages past, 
our hope for years to come,
our shelter from the stormy blast,
and our eternal home.

Under the shadow of thy throne,
thy saints have dwelt secure;
sufficient is thine arm alone,
and our defense is sure.

Before the hills in order stood,
or earth received her frame,
from everlasting, thou art God,
to endless years the same.

A thousand ages, in thy sight,
are like an evening gone;
short as the watch that ends the night,
before the rising sun.

Time, like an ever rolling stream,
bears all who breathe away;
they fly forgotten, as a dream
dies at the opening day.

O God, our help in ages past,
our hope for years to come;
be thou our guide while life shall last,
and our eternal home.