Autumn in a desert

The temps are cooling beautifully lately, with chilly (chilly for us lily livers that have been in a temperate climate for years now) in the mornings and evenings and nice and warm during the heat of the day.  Last Sunday, for our first "Sunday fun run day" (it wasn't fun) we ran at 11:30 in 92 degree stifling heat.  That was not wise.  We got smart this weekend and ran first thing in the morning while the sun was still low, and behind a thick layer of gray clouds.  The dew was still on the grass and the smell of the surrounding farms had blown in.  Outside the perimeter we can see high rising mountain ranges, long stretches of desert and farm land that we often get wafts of when the wind is just right.  There's cows and roosters just out the back gate not far from our house, and they are lively and noisy in the mornings.  It feels like home to hear them, reminding me of the island.  The only sound missing is the waves.  We have a pack of wild dogs on base that I've been told have been seen coming out of our back yard early in the mornings - we forget to shut the gate at night sometimes and our guess is that they are feasting on the compost pile we have growing in the corner of our yard.  
We are forming friendships that are meaningful and centered on our mutual love for the Lord and His call on our lives to live the gospel in this strange circumstance that he's called us to live in. 
There's wildlife, there's beauty in nature, and His mercies are new every morning.  

I often look out over the perimeter fence in the mornings when the sun is rising and wish to be standing on the swim platform or on our porch watching the water change from vibrant shades of pink to glistening gold as the sun makes its presence unmistakable.  But wishing to go back will do nothing but blind me to what is right in front of me and create dissatisfaction and ungratefulness.  
There is beauty here.  We are surrounded by it.  There are towering palm trees dotted here and there and tiny palm trees sprouting out between the pavement and the sidewalks in the gutters.  The pines are fragrant after a rain and sound delightfully familiar to my mountain loving heart when a breeze flows through them.
There are relationships being built between Turkish nationals that work on base and those of us who have nowhere else to go.  
We have been so blessed by the new Chaplain that arrived just a few weeks ago.  His heart for the Lord is evident in his teaching and his determination to preach the word, unabashedly and truthfully.  He doesn't preach fluff, he preaches hard but beautiful truths.  He challenges us to high standards - reaching the lost with intentionality and love.  He's been honest and vulnerable about his struggle with not having his family here.  They were told just a few days before their departure that they would not be allowed to accompany him.  None of us understand why this rule is in place.  It's maddening and seems purposeless when we lose sight of God's sovereignty over everything.  It has created an atmosphere that this base is not used to.  This is a family base, that is very quickly becoming a remote tour and deployment station.  It's sad to see.  The voluntary return to the States offer still stands in place, so the rule about no families stands in place.  We aren't sure why they go hand in hand, but they do.  
We are called to submit to and respect our authorities, and at times that is so challenging - especially for those of us in my position, which is the vast majority, where we can't possibly see the utility in some of the decisions made.  
 The gates are still locked and there's no foreseeable end in sight.  And it is strange, indeed.  Being locked in on base in a foreign country feels more or less oppressive.  We have no say in what is happening, the vast majority of don't understand why this is happening, and we know what lies beyond that gates - the exploring and the culture and the history.  It's so frustrating at times, and so beyond our control.  It's created a feeling of desperation in so many individuals here - many who came and were told their families couldn't come with.  I have to constantly remind myself that those that have been placed in authority over us cannot do anything other than what God has ordained.  He is the overseer of all and nothing has spun out of his control or ever will.  He's crafted an environment on this base that is so unique.  People are searching and hungry.  There's so much sadness and desperation.  

He's calling us to action - what that action looks like is the question.

Despite the strange environment we live in, we as a family are relishing our time together.  I've mentioned before that Josh has not had this predictable or light of a schedule since the first year we were married and living in Maryland.  He started medical school during our second year of marriage, and since that it has been late nights of studying, seeing patients and early mornings of the same.  Unpredictable schedules had become common place.  Here we know we will eat dinner together every night, at a normal dinner hour.  I know I will see him most mornings of the work week before he heads to work and we know that we get him on the weekends.  It's such a relief and we are taking advantage of it, for sure!
We are still slowly working our way into getting the house situated and unpacked.  Our carport remains an eyesore, but much less of one than it used to be.   School is going well with the boys.  I still waffle back and forth, as I know every homeschooler does, with wondering if I'm doing enough to thinking I should back it off a bit.  The boys are doing well in the subjects we study and I continue to be grateful for the opportunity to be stretched in this way.      

Here are a few pictures of our last few weeks.  There aren't many of them because I catch myself, often, thinking life is less extraordinary here than it was on the island.  It's not, at all, though.  Living with four little boys is nothing ordinary, for sure.  Living locked on a base in southern Turkey is nothing ordinary.  Having a Turkish National friend work in my home during the week is nothing ordinary.  But even if it were all ordinary, it would be no less beautiful.  Taking pictures of the scenery on base doesn't seem as appealing as taking pictures of the foreign scenes that lay outside the gates.  But I can't access those.  And if I could they would display life that seems very ordinary to those that see those scenes every day.  Instead of longing to be out finding images of things I haven't seen before, I try to focus on loving the ones closest to me - they are my priority - they are not ordinary, each boy unique in incredible ways.
(Well, never mind on the pictures.  We still don't have our own internet access and continue to share internet with our ever gracious neighbors.  The speed at which it runs is not sufficient to upload images.)

  We love the life God has given us.  We love the call he's placed in our lives.  We pray for motivation to serve others and to truly love them, because what have we if we have not love?