It wouldn't be understating to say this season is challenging. My emotions are buzzing around like all these dang bumblebees and wasps. Unaware the beginning of the strangest season of my life had begun, I left for Thailand in February, with an underwhelming snow on the ground. It forced me to leave for the airport earlier than expected and I spent three wonderful weeks with family, while a global pandemic unfolded around me. Then being forced to return earlier so I could get ahead of airline shutdowns, and border closings, I dashed through a 48hr travel marathon to once again set foot here in North Carolina—only to be told I would spend two weeks in quarantine, and another four weeks on a ‘stay-at-home’ order from the State. And now, sitting here with a pleasant, warm sun overhead, a cool breeze moving through the tress, I know summer is coming. But I’m in shock. No work for six weeks! And possibly more may follow. What is happening? Time is a precious commodity. I never have enough to accomplish my goals. So be careful the things you wish. Some days are bad days, with moments of depression. A paralyzing fog robs my motivation. This isn’t a place I can stay and I know that. I’m discovering how beneficial it is to my writing, to visit this dark place, to gain perspective on all the blessings—and just let it be. Most of my life I was told what to do, how to feel, and how to act. Coupled with being told who you are and where you’re from—and all of it based on a lie, it’s weird to embrace my own emotions, allowing them to spring out honestly… with no prejudice. My devotion and meditation time this morning talked about an enemy. How he throws a tiny lie in among the truth, and little by little it grows, eating away at the truth. For a while now, I’ve pondered the lie told to me. How it robbed me of a big part of my life and placed a shame on me never meant to carry. The weight of the ones who wanted and needed to save face was powerful in my American family. Many times I’ve heard, “It was the times—they were different back then.” I suppose. Doesn’t make it less painful. Looking at my life from a birds-eye view, it’s clear the path He set before me, before I was in my mother’s womb. I was my Dad’s seed. I imagine my Dad playing on the streets of Bangkok as a little boy. It thrills me to hear his childhood stories about our family. My heart aches when the Toigeebee’s reminisce about life together in the big house. I would have been lost in a of a string of cousins a mile long. Loving every minute of it. The family lived together, as they do in Thai culture. My cousin Say, who’s a year older, shared a funny story of our family, full of musicians, all playing American Rock-n-Roll. He said the house was often known as “the place with all the handsome men.” LOL—Have you seen my family? It’s no surprise fans were always hanging around, walking the streets trying to catch a glimpse. I would have fit in perfectly.
Instead, loneliness followed me everywhere growing up—believing I was someone else, from somewhere else, from someone else.
God knew my future. He knew one day He’d give the gift of my Dad. He knew He would call me to write (which is a miracle if you knew me as a student). With my colorful and checkered life, I’ve always been a good storyteller, just never knew it would be words on a page. Forever captured.
But I want my Thai family to know who I am. Not one of them has ever denied or questioned my authenticity as a Toigeebee—a family dynamic I’ve never known. Acceptance.
Identity.
It is refreshing and liberating.
Some reading this will never know or understand the bondage I’ve lived. That’s ok. I don’t want or need a pity party. I need the freedom to feel every emotion, to move forward in this amazing journey. It has paralyzed me for days with no words. Today the floodgates opened, and I purged.
Thank You God for your perfect timing… and for being "My Bridge Over Troubled Water.”
Sail on silver girl
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are own their way…Songwriters: Paul Simon
Bridge over Troubled Water lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
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