Author: Sarah Esposito

Due to infrequent and unreliable internet (and travel), I have not been able to post for a while. This post will catch us up to today – my last official day of sabbatical – but it will not be my last post. I am still elaborating some of my thoughts and emotions, so I will share them post-sabbatical.

Tragedy

In the not quite 3 weeks that we were in Italy, tragedy almost struck 3 times.

The first near miss was when our beloved dog somehow got out (the how is still a mistery) and ran off. It was late and we had people form all over the beach village looking for him. This is the dog that twice now we have not been able to bring with us because of the time of year we travelled. He has been keeping my mother-in-law company for the last 2 years and we still hope to get him here eventually. To lose him to a freak escape would have been quite a blow to all of us. Thankfully, we found him and he was unharmed. No doubt he was chasing some girlie dog.

The second almost tragedy was quite a bit more serious. The family beach house is over 30 years old and has sadly not always received sufficient maintenance since my husband’s father died. The electrical is dodgy and since we are dealing with 220 instead of 110, much more dangerous. My husband and I did some upgrades a few years ago and increased the general safety, but if you put a washing machine and a water heater (on an extension cord) together on a splitter on the same outlet, you might have problems. One day, I started smelling a funny burning plastic smell in the kitchen and I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from for the longest time. it got stronger, so I kept following my nose until I found smoke. The extension cord plug was melting itself and the splitter. I immediately shut the electricy off and detached the plugs. On of our neighbors had experience, so he came over and changed out the plugs and we found separate outlets for the two machines. What was the scariest about the plug melting was not the possibility of a fire – the houses are not wood, so you have more time to put out a fire – but that the gas tank for the stove was right there by the outlet. I doubt there was a leak, but had there been one, and a fire had started, it would have been a bomb.

The third event is kind of funny. We were at the beach relaxing one day, but there was what was called “land wind.” I don’t really know what it is called in English, so translated it literally. It creates a dangerous sea and funny air currents on land. There we were minding our own business – Ilaria running around playing, Massi and his cousins standing around chatting, and me lounging on the beach bed thingy (under the nted beach umbrella). Suddenly a gust of wind (that I didn’t even feel) pulled our umbrella off its base, twirled it around like in a tornado, and dropped it on my head. It had whacked Luisa, my husband’s cousin, but she got the broad side of the pole. I got the end of it straight down on my noggin. It hurt like crazy and I iced it, but it didn’t break the skin or knock me out or anything. It was a bizzarre event for sure and I’m glad it hit me and not Ilaria.

Trial

While we definitely rested and enjoyed our time in Italy, I personally felt attacked quite a few times. I mentioned in an earlier post that I suffered anxiety attacks the first few nights. That was only one of the types of attacks I felt. As I studied and read, I begin to focus and make decisions. As we went through our time there at the beach, my husband I solidified communication and proactively discussed our future. We tried to mend strained relationships and build new ones. I don’t believe the enemy liked our attitudes and progress, so we got to ride a roller coaster of trials, gossip, negativity and frustration. That is one of the reasons I am still elaborating some of my emotions. Now that we are back in the States and removed from certain behavioral patterns, I hope to be able to make sense out of “the ride” – if you will.

Triumph

Despite all the drama and emotion, Ilaria thrived and grew. She absolutely blossomed. She began to speak more Italian, she grew in confidence with the water and on the beach. She developed another level of independence. It was a joy and such an encouragement to watch her thrive. She came up against some not nice kids who tried to keep her from playing, and who didn’t know how to share, causing a couple of melt-downs, but we worked throught them and she grew in her social skills. She made friends and had other kids coming to find her to invite her to play. We joked that in another couple of weeks she would have been commanding the kids on the beach.

My pasta-loving little girl also expanded her culinary repitoire. She now eats what she calls rainbow plate: ham, cheese, carrot sticks, tomato wedges and green olives. She shies away from meat, so she has to eat 3 bites of ham to each bite of the other stuff. She loves the idea of the rainbow plate, so she eats it. I’ll take victories where I can find them. Ilaria starts a new school tomorrow, and I hope her food horizons will continue to expand.

There were other triumphs as well, but I am still sorting them out. For now, I will sign off. There is still a lot to do to get ready to jump back into the normal stream of life tomorrow.

P.S. Ladies, if you are married, I highly recommend The Power of a Praying Wife. Read more…

Cousins

My daughter, Ilaria, spoke almost exclusively Italian 2 years ago when we moved to the States. She understood English, but had always spoken in Italian. Now it is the exact opposite. She understands Italian, but won’t speak it. The other day, after she got over her initial disorientation, she asked me, “Mami, does everyone at the beach speak Italian?” She has begun to speak a little and wanting to play and communicate with the other kids at the beach has pushed her to remember her Italian. Today, she was playing with her cousins (who don’t speak English), and she was trying to get them involved in one of her playacting stories, but she kept talking in English. I had to remind her that they didn’t understand. They kept looking at me for a translation. She is doing really well and I hope that we are able to help her continue speaking in Italian when we return. Even though we speak in Italian at home, all she hears everywhere else is English.

Any excuse is a good excuse…

I have always said that – for the people of Naples – any excuse is a good excuse for a party and fireworks. Now, I could live without the fireworks – especially since most of the time they start shooting them off at midnight when I tend to like to be snuggled in bed sleeping peacefully. The parties on the other hand…now those are fun. I am not a huge party person, but the Neopolitans are so spontaneous and alive when they decide to get together. Last night we went to a birthday party. One of Massimiliano’s friends since forever came in to his own family’s beach house to celebrate with his family and a few friends. Food, drinks, laughter and music for hours. The guys pulled out their guitars and sang songs that they wrote together in that very house 25 years ago. They turned water bottles and coke cans into marroccos and had a great time. Every time we turned around, this friend’s mom and sister were bringing platters of fresh seafood out of the kitchen. They told stories on one another and griped about the competing music down the street. (Everything takes place outside in the evenings. Nobody has air conditioning, windows are thrown open and people wander from house to house socializing.) My personality tends toward the perfectly organized party with a specific number of people invited, where I know who is coming and everything is perfectly in order. Yet, I am strangely attracted to the Neopolitan sponteneity – where anyone and everyone is welcome, they can always throw some more pasta on and nothing is ever perfectly in order. (And 9 times out of 10, there will be drama.) 

Relax in the Keeping Power of God

Coming back to Italy after 2 years has been a satisfaction, but we have also had to deal with situations and emotions from which we had been mostly liberated and removed. There is no getting around them while here, however, and for the first few nights, I suffered panic attacks and had trouble sleeping.

The encouragement for August 9 in the Bible Study I am following is entitled Relax in the Keeping Power of God. “Trust in Him. The Bible says that God never sleeps nor slumbers. When you go to sleep at night, He stays up and watches over you. Relax and trust Him to strengthen you and keep you all the days of your life.”

As we also strive to repair relationships and as we search for ways to encourage and help my mother-in-law in her depression and difficulty, today’s lesson spoke to me. Enjoy God’s Grace While You Wait. “Trusting God to do what only He can do always leads to joy, because ‘what is impossible with men is possible with God’ (Luke 18:27).”

Clothes

Who would have thought that helping someone pick out used clothes would be so humbling? I mentioned that I would talk more about my service at the CSC. While I was there, I did several jobs, but mostly I worked with the clothes: sorting, hanging, sizing and replacing. On my first day, at the very end of the day, I was called to accompany a gentleman through the clothing section to pick out some items. I had a list of the items available to hi  and how many of each he could choose. I knew nothing of the man’s story – only that he had a need. I began walking him through the clothing “floor” and we started with jeans and pants. He took a couple of pairs of jeans, but when he started looking at slacks, he suddenly got an insecure look on his face. I didn’t want to pry, but after a minute he leaned close and whispered, “Can a person wear jeans to church?” a myriad of thoughts and words spead through my mind in a brief second, but my answer was firm, “Absolutely!” based on my answer he decided he didn’t need the slacks, but as we moved on I remained moved by that simple question. I have no idea what prompted it, what his experiences are or what he might be wanted to atone for, but I know that my answer was not only right, but what he needed to hear. It was an affirmation that gave hima moment of confidence. As we continued on to the shirts, he asked how many he could have. I told him 10 and he suddenly got a funny look on his face. My first thought was that he was scoffing at the number because it was too low. I quickly learned that he scoffed at the number because he was overwhelmed by our generosity and had no idea how he was going to choose 10 shirts. He didn’t. He took only what he felt he really needed. I did find out that he had “been locked up for a long time,” but I never learned anything else. What I do know about that man was that his gratitude for some hand-me-downs humbled me and his uncertainty about how to dress for church tells me that we too often miss what people really need – unconditional love.

On another day, I was “culling” the clothes racks. (Even donation centers sometimes get more than they need of certains types and sizes of clothing, so they go to other centers or third world countries.) There was a mother there choosing clothes for her and her oldest daughter. She had been there the day before to get clothes for her youngest three. I wasn’t responsible for helping her, but I happened to be nearby and noticed that she was having a difficult time choosing her clothes because of the constant interruptions of her 4-year old (who has been diagnosed with severe ADHD among other things), her daughter (who was supposed to be watching the 4-year old, but has issues of her own) and the 9-month old (who was doing a great job of doing what babies do best). The elderly woman attending the family was trying to get the 4-year old and the daughter situated, but the little one was hungry and had no one to hold his bottle. Here was this mother of four, embarrassed and distracted byt the behavior of her children, trying to hold and feed the littlest AND pick out clothes. She obviously needed help. I struck up and conversation with her. I told her that I didn’t know if I was allowed to hold the baby, but how could I help her? I got her a small clothing cart and we rigged a bed for the baby in it so he could be comfortable and have his bottle propped up. I watched hi  and pushed the cart along beside her as she “shopped.” At one point, I sat with the 4-year old while his sister changed the baby’s diaper. In all of this, I continued to make conversation with the woman. She ran away from an abusive situation in Florida when she was still pregnant with the littlest. I asked her how she ended up in Abilene. She told me the story of her research and hunt for a safe place that would help her get back on her feet and how she eventually found the Noah Project. Two of her children have diagnosed disabilities (perhaps results of the abuse they endured) and she is a single mother raising four children. I tried to encourage her that she did not need to rush or feel self-conscious as she was choosing her clothes. We were there to help her and I did my best to relieve some of the pressure of watching her kids. She laughed and said that it was hard not to be self-conscious. I don’t know if I touched her life in anyway, but I was left with a profound respect for her courage and strength. I pray that her and her children’s future is much different from their past.

Italy

We arrived. Safely.

It is by the grace of God we arrived to our final destination in one piece. Neither my husband nor I sleep well in planes, but we expected to get a little. Nope. Nothing. Nada. Then we had to drive 2 hours from Rome to the beach house near Naples. I had to keep myself awake so I could keep my husband awake. So there I was making annoying, “lalala” sounds because I was too tired to make intelligent conversation. We did stop at a gas station, and my husband went in and I stayed in the car with a blissfully sleeping Ilaria.  Yes I was jealous. First of all, we barely found parking because we had forgotten that it was the first Sunday in August when the first real mass vacation exodus takes place in Italy. The North moves South for a month. I asked Massimiliano to pick me up a Coke to help me stay awake. I fell asleep while he went in and when he came back after a really long time, it was without my Coke. Evidently there was a line to wait in line and so he gave up.

We did finally make it safely and had a joyous reunion with Massi’s mom and the dog that we had to leave here. While we are all still struggling some with jet lag, for the most part we are getting settled in and are enjoying some beach time and some reunions with some dear friends. Oh, and food. Can’t forget the food.

Expectations

Over the years, I have learned to be careful and realistic in my expectations. How many arguments, misunderstandings and frustrations could be avoided by having realistic expectations. We so often set ourselves and others up for disappointment because we have unrealistic (sometimes widly unrealistic) expectations.

Somehow, in planning this trip to Italy, I was not as careful to guard myself against unrealistic expectations. Perhaps I just forgot how some things are. For example, when we went to get our rental car in the airport, I expected a well-organized, speedy line. What I got instead (after 15 hours of travel and no sleep) was a blob that took us an hour and a half to wade through. Not a huge deal, I guess, but it caused me more stress than necessary because I was expecting something different. Then – and you’ll laugh at me for this – there’s the food. I have been dreaming about my mother-in-law’s linguine with fresh tomatoes for weeks. I make it at home, but it is not the same as when you have tomotoes grown in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius. The other day she made linguine con pomodori freschi…and I looked at it and was confused. I asked what tomatoes she used, and she said regular tomatoes. Now, in the ten years I’ve known her, she has never used “regular” tomatoes, so I have no idea why she did this time. She has always used cherry tomatoes. It was still good, but I was disappointed because I was expecting something different. Since being here, I have had to adjust my expectations. Nothing earth-shattering, but an adjustment here and there all the same.

My husband has also struggled with his expectations. He has experienced disappointment due to his expectations of people more than events, though. In the end you tell yourself that you knew it would be that way, but you really had hoped that something would be different this time.

My husband lost a cousin to cancer a year and a half ago, and we knew that his aunt has had a particularly difficult time since – as is only normal when losing a daughter, of course. What we did not expect, however, were the rancor and disgust on her face when we greeted her. She was like a statue except for her facial expressions. My mother-in-law says that she is that way with everyone now, but we found out that she and her husband (and vicariously, one of their daughters) have been holding against us a specific event involving the daughter that died. The details don’t matter to anyone but us, and who is right and who is wrong matters little as well. We had left relations strained for other family matters 2 years ago, but we certainly did not expect this level of hostility. We had hoped to repair those relationships to some extent, but another brick has been laid in the wall. Anything is possible, especially through prayer, and we still have two weeks to make more attempts. My husband spoke for a while with his uncle yesterday and who knows what seeds where planted.

Drama

I would (lovingly) say that drama is the national passtime of the Italians…especially in Naples. Neopolitans are like the volcano they live near: they are constantly letting off steam, but they’re not happy if they don’t have a spectacular explosion every now and again. Then everything returns to normal – as if nothing ever happened. Have you ever watched a soap opera? That’s like everyday life for a Neopolitan. Italian soap operas and movies are ridiculously cheesy because they already have so much real-life drama that they have to crank it up on the screen.

My husband’s family is no different. Thankfully, since it is just us and my mother-in-law right now, we are able to keep things to a minimum, but there is always that “something” that is there, waiting to cause an explosion. We made a choice, however. We are here to spend time with my husband’s mother, to rest and to visit friends. We have no time or place for drama.

Beach
It’s time for our afternoon outing to the beach. I’ll close for now and try to include some pictures next time.

Letting Go

Letting go is always the hardest part.

Our lives are filled with so many people, activities and responsibilities. When it is time to take a break, it is hard to let go of it all. Realistically, we can’t; it is not possible. I can’t stop feeding my four year-old simply because I am on vacation. However, I can let go of some things. I thought letting go of work was going to be a problem. Thankfully, it wasn’t. Well…not too hard. It did take me a couple of days and I did forget to turn my work alarm off on Monday.

What I have struggled with has been letting go of months (maybe more) of physical, emotional and spiritual stress. I’m not there yet, but I am working on it. Maybe I’ll be perfectly relaxed and ready to enjoy my sabbatical about the time I return to FD. (insert picture of me smiling ironically here)

Serving

This past week I spent several hours volunteering at the Christian Service Center. I remember as a little kid taking our “give-away” clothes to a one-portable Christian Service Center. Now, this amazing organization is housed in the same building that once housed the congregation I grew up in. Woodlawn church of Christ donated its building to CSC a few years ago and just a few months ago, the CSC reopened its new facility. Having grown up at Woodlawn, I felt led to volunteer at the CSC during my sabbatical. It was a fascinating experience and I will definitely try to volunteer there again in the future. They are open one Saturday a month, so even with a “day job,” I will have the opportunity to work with them again. (I will tell more about my experiences in my next blog, but it is late, I still have other things to share and I have a plane to catch tomorrow morning…but I digress.)

Serving can take on so many faces and be perceived in so many ways. Not just this past week, but over the last month or so, I have been blessed to serve a friend in a way that working at FD has uniquely prepared me for. A dear friend lost her brother recently to suicide. He was terminally ill, and the family knew that their time with him was limited, but I don’t think anything can prepare you for the shock of suicide. My friend has not had an easy life. I cannot imagine going through the trials she has gracefully overcome through the years. We have known each other since college and, though we have drastically different personalities, we get on great. My husband and I have been ministering to her and serving her these past weeks by simply inviting her into our home, feeding her sometimes and listening. Sometimes we talk about her brother. Sometimes we talk about the future. Sometimes we talk about the past. And this week, I made her watch Moana. Because really, not having seen a Disney movie since The Lion King is just wrong. That and since we have a wrestling past (please don’t ask), I felt like she just had to hear Dwayne Johnson (aka: The Rock) sing. Anyway…the point is that though I am neither a grief counselor nor can I take her pain away, I can be there for her. Every time she needs me. And I am blessed by loving her.

Flying

So, my daughter (who should not even still be up) just asked me, “Mami, will I share your ice cream with you?” She said it with the sweetest look on her face. She is the same child that told my mother one morning at breakfast that her yogurt was “repulsive” because it had fruit pieces in it. Yep. She’s 4. She’s never met a stranger. And we’re flying across the ocean tomorrow. She’s either going to be a hit with our neighbors on the plane or she is going to drive them insane.

Many of you know that my husband is Italian. We moved here two years ago (yes, I know…everyone asks the same question: WHY?) and this is our first opportunity to go “home.” That we are excited is an understatement. I consider it no small miracle that we are even getting to go. All the necessary elements came together, however, and the day as finally arrived. We are packed up, checked in and – after checking about 14 times to make sure we really do have our passports – I can go to bed peacefully, safe in the knowledge that 5:30 am is going to come entirely too soon.

So, I salute you all for now. Next time I write, it will be from a tablet with no separate keyboard – in Italy.

Buonanotte, amici.