care, he does.

i got on here the other day reading some friends amazing blogs and realized that i have not posted anything since august. so much has happened . . . most of it hard, ugly and painful, not really blog worthy.

coming back after the summer was exciting and dreadful all at the same glorious time. i love the land and the people. but knew that this was going to be tough in other ways, in me. the Lord in his sovereign will knows what i need, to become who He wants me to be. that alone is my priority. my life is not my own.

my mother always drilled into us as kids that if we had nothing nice to say then to say nothing at all. i have carried this into adulthood and further found value also in the idea of idle words being of no use. and a source of invited judgement upon ourselves in times to come. the spirit of the rule she taught us is true, self control to hold your tongue. the letter of the rule though was done to avoid saying something hurtful and impulsive.

all that said and life with the Lord being the journey that it is . . . there are many layers to this idea. while i am "practicing" the discipline of purity in all things but specifically in my heart and mind, as much as one can (a whole other matter and discussion). i have had the amazement to watch the Lord move and speak on my behalf. this side of holding your tongue, allowing the Lord to be defender, is something that puts me in sheer speechless amazement. our father and his love and protection over His children. this, i did not expect. it makes me more devoted, more loving, more adoring and feel more safe in Him. might be carnal to say that it takes proof of his love. yeah it is, but honest. sometimes in a love relationship, even with the creator and redeemer of the world, you want to feel protected, guarded and watched-over.

some might say that idea makes the Holy Lord, too human-like. those people would be missing something that makes him more Holy to me. He is so aquainted with my needs as a human that he would think to show himself strong on my behalf in such a way, baffles me. it's seemingly so insignificant of a situation and circumstance. why would a Holy God care? But He does, so much.

so again i am humbled to find a reason to say, thanks mom, probably not said enough. you've laid a foundation that the Lord is making sure and strong. because the author of time and love cares, He does.

love letter of trust

I love you with all that I am. I trust you when my mind is foggy, when there is a threat of danger, when my heart is a mess, when I feel as though I could lose my mind, when nothing goes my way, when all I hear is no and do better, when my best is not enough . . . in all that I will still trust you, I trust you, I trust who I have always known you to be, I trust that the plans you have for me are good and are for your glory. I trust that you know what is best for me and that I will hear you behind me saying “this is the way, walk in it”. I trust that you are not looking only at my faults. I trust that you have put me together in a way that pleases you alone, even if the whole world hates who I am. I trust that you love me and that you will never stop loving me, ever. I trust that you will speak to me in a way that I can hear; because you know I want only the things that you want no more and no less. I trust you alone with all that I am, all that I can possibly pull up from my feet and deep within the places that shake when I am afraid, I will push past the fear and the unknown and see only you and focus with all that I am on you and your glory, being seen in these eyes though they cannot smile, in these hands though they cannot touch, through this mouth though it cannot speak, through these feet though they cannot go many places, through this heart that longs to love all regardless.

My heart with in me is distressed.
I remember the days of old; I meditate on all Your works; I muse on the work of Your hands. I spread out my hands to You; My soul longs for you like a thirsty land. Answer me speadily; My spirit fails! Do not hide your face from me, lest I be like those who go deep into the pit. Cause me to hear your lovingkindness in the morning; for in you do I trust; cause me to know the way in which I should walk, for I lift up my soul to You, alone.

a surprise guest

so as i previously said many things are different here. well today a funny thing happened. i had a guest, a man. this in the states is really no big deal, but here it is different. many ladies here have stories of "guests", luckily there is mounds of grace lavished on us khawajas (foreigners). our fridge has been broken (parts strewn around the eating area) for about 2 weeks (as i said thing are different) so there have been a slew of men to "fix" it, with varying opinions of what the heck is wrong, finally the actual fixing is happening (a new part at last; we could have had it done if we knew refrigerator repair). however, i was inadvertently sequestered to my room. the men did not check that i was here and i did not volunteer it as i am not dressed appropriately. in the state a "wife beater" is OK, here it is not. so there i am stuck in my room, with no access to more clothes, as they are kept in the other room. i had to laugh at this. i love to laugh. hope you do too!

Life is an adventure.

There are two things every westerner must remember when planning an outing with Africans: 1) Time is irrelevant 2) Be fluid. The day started for me early, departure was set at 8:30am. Running fashionably late I arrive around 9am. People are milling about, men are sitting in the corner cutting meat, and the ice delivery arrives on a bicycle, in chunks probably measuring 3 feet by 1 footish. It gets broken in to pieces on the edge of the foot wash basin in the courtyard rinsed off and stored in coolers. We depart no earlier than 10:30am.

Traveling in three buses that traditionally seat 30, it is now housing upwards of 55 people each (sitting mainly six to a row, with many standing). There are containers of fuul simmering warmly at my feet and chairs, coolers, cooking equipment, propane, speakers, more chairs and of course the meat stored in various places among us and on top of the bus. As soon as the bus moved the music begins Ethiopian tapes get passed forward, a cappella Bob Marley and of course Celine Dion ballads are sung and re-sung, some even get creative and start clapping making up their own words.

Upon arrival everyone sets to tasks. Unloading, moving in for the day, ladies start the morning meal of fuul, tamiyah and noodles, all eaten with bread. We are served on large trays, sitting 10 to a mat and eat collectively from the tray with our hands. The day’s program begins with an endless line of games, skits, songs, games, prizes and “interviews with the khawagas” (the two of us foreigners). The ladies work all afternoon, preparing the sheep meat, over a very small fire, it was amazing to watch the resourcefulness of these young ladies. Using cleaned sticks to stir, hand mash the seasoning, making the eggplant salad (cooked) and cutting mounds of vegetables.

The picnic area amounts to shade as the only qualifier, kind of significant in 100 and something degree heat. So we are sitting all under huge mango trees. The largest tree I have seen here by far. There are no pavilions or toilet facilities, no power sources or water fountains and certainly no filtered water for the foreigner ( filtered water: highly over rated i think. I drank about a gallon of fresh water, we'll see how that goes in the coming days). The generator we brought doesn’t work, one of the countless other family groups brings theirs over for a small part at the end of our program, right before our afternoon meal. The food was amazing! All afternoon we sat around and chatted about various things, many trying out new words in English, but mainly just being with my good girlfriends, a reunion. Just chatting, going for walks, meting people and relaxing.

About the time my brain was mush (trying to keep up with Arabic conversation and failing to stay less that 4 sentences behind), or asking “what are they saying?”, “what does this ___ mean?”), and posing for more pictures or videos than i care remember, it was time to pack up. The “park police” with their semi-automatics came around telling us to leave, “it was closed”. We all crammed back into the sardine can and headed south. All the familiar things happened again, the tapes get passed forward and back, the clapping starts, the singing began, and the laughter and celebratory tone that pervaded the day continued all the way home. We passed over the same rickety bridge, that I pleaded with God to hold up one more time, as the Nile (high, swollen, fast and dirty this time of year) travels quickly a mere feet below us. We arrive work as a team to unload, greet each other (ladies hand to hand and kiss on the cheek) and separate.

It was as we passed over the bridge that I thought of you, those that I hope read this. The ones longing to come back here or those of you in your particular areas. These little treasures are everywhere, grant it they are more fun, more colorful and loads more delightfully unpredictable here. Clearly life is an adventure or it should be. Live it out, own it, for that one purpose to seek those that might be brought back to him and to love all you come before fully and deeply, that is all this day was essentially. This is one of those days for me, hard and full, delightfully spent. Live hard and full.

Thanks for taking the time to read.

time and more time

The visa dance. Which means i am waiting and praying . . . praying . . . waiting . . . so while i wait . . .

Enjoy the Black Raspberry Season; the picking and freezing for the Fam.

Doing some reading. Loving the time to do this!

Enjoying the sites and often rain storms and clouds.

And of course quality time with the parents and close friends.

coming "home"

home, when i looked up the definition there were 31 ways to describe this one word and its uses, 31. i take great effort in checking my head and heart to make every attempt at not clinging to things or places. i have come to believe that home has very little to do with a place, it has more to do with a feeling and the people, at least for me. i have lived a very transient life in the past 8 or so years. i have used the term "home" to label many of the places i have lived. not because they were where i was raised or because my blood family lived there, but instead it was a place i could breath deep and find a certain amount of rest.

for me the trick to making any place feel like home is peace. the peace i receive through the presence of our holy God is something i pursue with a fierce tenacity. i believe it is His gift to us and its what keeps me sane. His peace is pervasive in any situation and can make any place feel like home. we can take this where ever we go, it is the constant equalizer in a shifting and trying world. may you enjoy the peace that comes through heavenly and earthly fellowship.

living a wet ground life

it was about 4:30 this morning and i was awakened by pounding wind. dogs were howling and lighning lit up the sky in front of me. i did not know weather like this happend here. it reminded me of storms back home, minus the deafening thunder (so glad of that). as i sat on the pourch enjoying the wind and the lightning, the rain began to fall, filling the potholes on the street and wetting the ground around me.

there is a common practice here to wet the ground in the morning, i guess to keep the dust down. in the end in ends up packing the dirt more and more. so then when water falls from above like last night it just sits on the road. i was thinking about that this morning. what areas of life am i packed and hard, what areas do i need water to saturate and make soft again?

a friend of mine here has a wonderful way with words. i often put him in the position, by my free expressing, to tell me to "quit whining". he usually frames it in a kind way such as "when you let your disappointment run for too long and start to dictate your mood and what comes out of your mouth- it's whining". this is so true. the hardness in my heart, a lack of child-like faith and trust.

Uncut . . .

"They" (people, others) say to take all your pictures in the first 6 months of arriving in a new place, after that everything looses its zeal and becomes "normal". I had to grin to myself today as thought passed through my head. There are somethings better off not photographed, try these on for size:

I think I saw at least 4 grown men launch snot rockets today, on the street in broad daylight, in mid-step (very impressive). I often wonder how it doesn't get all over their pants or shirt. Then there is the "wall peeers" (my personal favorite, because I have to watch for them carfully, they will "drop 'em" at a moments notice), this is the practice of relieving ones-self, well basically anywhere, some can even manage without a wall. If you see a man squating you better walk on the other side of the road. This next one is very common. It's nothing to walk down the street and see men holding hands, with their fingers inter-locked. It's not as comical, but is quite stunning to your senses the first few times, coming from the west we have an immediate "other" ideas about such actions. Then there are the spitters. Again this is common practice and at times you might even wonder about their aim. They could be spitting seed shells, tobacco spit, water or well snot again, I personally have never had anything spit land on me, but others have, very unique.

Hope you got a little laugh out of this, I know I did/do.

no words needed

the 2 weeks or so have been a little on the stressful side for me. so many unexpected and some days unwanted responsibiblites, he uses this though, i am finding to purify my heart and thoughts, so i am trying to say more please, "bring it on", whatever to make me what you want me to be. today i feel that i might be looking at the other side of it.

now to my new friend: across the street from where i live there is a IDP family squatting in an abandoned property, VERY common. there are some children in this family, in the night you can hear the youngest crying before bed. i have given candy and tried to talk in my broken arabic. but yesterday, the little girl who i shared a book with the other day came running over when i pulled up. it was so sweet, she wanted to talk and looked at me yearning to share, her eyes smiling and face excited, but could not.

language is the heartbeat of a people, no doubt, but in this case it was not necissary. there was no feeling of i want something from you whether it be money, candy, clothes, food. just I want you, your time, your attention, your smile, just you. moments like that while they are fleeting and short are what make weeks of yuck, twisting, challenge, conviction, strain, stress and sleeplessness worth it all.

1 down millions and millions to go

I have never really been one that is squeemish, however, I have a real intolerance for mice, rats and snakes. And I understand living in Africa one is going to see them, often. However, it is one thing to "know" something, it is quite another thing when that truth meets you or is chillin in your lunch bag . So far my last few weeks here I have seen and expereinced more rodents=rats and mice than I have in the last 10 years in the states.
Today I had the very rare priviledge to bear witness to one such rats demise and I rather enjoyed it! It invovled a screaming teacher (not me), a LARGE rat, a metal cabnet (its shelter) and two grown men with sticks, Oh and me on a table (a safe view)! It was glorious rat running here to there and grown men trailing close . . . sticks flew and evenutally broke from the great force and BAM dead rat, well really bam bam bam bam. Sort of grafic maybe, but wonderful. This is the first rodent I have seen killed in anyway, it's something I am finding that is on the rare side. This was my friends visitor (Hector). My unwelcome visitor is still out there lurking, waiting again to get into my lunchbag. I call him Herbert.

Imagination

The air is full of make-believe sounds. Sounds that only little boys can decode. Make believe crahes, hovering planes, swords slashing at one another and robots transforming. These are the sounds that fill my floor tonight. I can hear them making the bed into a launching pad, feet running the porch even racing; wisely using their last puffs of energy before bed. They are transformers tonight . . .

A wonderful gift: imagination!