the giving circle

i'm sitting her on the porch feeling again - so blessed.

last night- we had our 'giving circle' meeting.  this is a near monthly event- a gathering of interesting, intelligent women who care about the world and making a difference, who've decided to get together at someones home- to eat and drink and talk and share and hear about a cause, about a group, an organization or a person, making a difference.  and then we all give to that cause- so that we can make a difference too.  last night we ate home-made pate, and bread with goat cheese and onion jam and bacon and arugala, and tea cakes with elderberry and lime.  last night felt fancy and homey and funky and full of love, and i was 'the cause'.  i got to tell all about uganda- about what we're hoping to do- about what we want to do there- and people got excited and i did too.

it was so good to be reminded of my larger community- of the passion that so many people have for helping- of how people want to connect - of how much love and care there is- how it can be harnessed and utilized and powerful.  i left feeling full.  of good food and wine and conversation and encouragement and support and, hope.  because if in every neighborhood there was a 'giving circle' the world would change.  i know this.

today i had the added blessing of having 7 kids with me for the afternoon.  this was fantastic.  i had my godson luke and three of my friends kids and my three.  and it was great- partially because they are all great kids- but also because there is strength in numbers and i switch gears.  this is why i think i'm actually meant to have more than three kids.  i do better with more- i handle things better with a little more chaos.  it breaks me- and then i give it up.  i become more patient- i become, even, kinder.

i also realized that i must be out of my flippin' mind to try decreasing zoe's medications in the midst of the greatest change in our lives.  take her dog away and move her around all summer- landing in africa- and choose now to go down on her meds?  crazy!!  so i've resumed the normal doses, and i've reminded myself that too much change at once- is not a good experiment. 

tonight i have book club at my house.  i haven't even bought the book, but i can't wait to see these women- to sit on the screened porch and be inspired and again, thankful.

it will be hard to leave these people.  all of them.  their goodness, their laughter, their beauty.  but, the world is much smaller these days- and i will know they are here and with me- watching and following along- supporting.  and we all look up at that same moon.

life is beautiful

it's been a day of ups and downs and kids struggling to just 'be' in the midst of craziness.

yesterday clover went to her new home.  it was sad- really sad.  after she left- zoe bawled on the couch- bryn tried to cry but kind of couldn't and jude said he was crying in his heart.  i cried because i felt so badly for the kids losing their dog- especially zoe, as it was mostly her dog- and for this monumental step towards our move- our new lives- and because i'll miss clover too.

so i guess i expected that today would be out-of-sorts and it has been.  everyone is mildly giddy and picking at each other and whiny, all at once.  today the boys went to 'vbs' (vacation bible school) and zoe and i had 3 hours to ourselves- just us- like old times- it was nice.  recently i've started decreasing the doses of her medications.  i did this for two reasons- one was admittedly financial.  her medications are expensive and hard to get in uganda and so when i realized that we could leave here with a years supply if i cut her dose down- i thought it was worth a try.  also, i'm curious.  she's been on them for two years - there is not a lot of data on these medicines in children- maybe it's time to try lowering the dose.  the problem is- i feel like i'm looking at her through a microscope again- i'm in data collection mode- science experiment land- and that doesn't feel good when it's your kid you're examining. 

is she stickier than normal?  is she struggling to regulate?  it she better? 

and really who knows?  because life happens.  kids get older- they mature- they change- they have pre-teen hormone drama- and i've been lax about gluten- and dairy- and we are moving to africa and losing the dog and pretty much turning things upside down.  i guess it's not a great experiment after all- too many variables.

but i was impressed with her letting go of clover.  i was impressed with her ability to allow herself to feel it- to cry- to be sad- to not just turn it to anger. this was big- this is progress. 

and it's these times that i realize that it's all so subtle and variable, and out of my hands and we just do the best we can- but really, that is all. we just try.  we do our best.  and hopefully in all of it- we try to love each other- hold each other- protect each other and be gentle.  then we mess it up and start again. 

i think that is why i struggled with the movie 'the tree of life'.  i think i felt the danger and the subtlety of all relationships. i think i saw myself in both the character of the father and the mother.  i saw my potential for abuse and passivity.  my ability to be a victim of my nature and my attempt to embrace the grace.  life is big- i am small.

that is it.  but- life is beautiful.

blue suede shoes and maple bacon whoopie pies

last night we went to a cool function thing called "atlanta underground market"- not to be confused with "underground atlanta".  the atlanta underground market is a social event held at random locations where local cooks and kitchens prepare food and set up  and sell it together in obscure places- and you go and sample and eat and drink and talk and experience.  last night was at an urban goat farm- pretty much abandoned factory buildings from the late 1800's - used by artists, where there are also a lot of goats and chickens.  it was fantastic.  the kids ran around and made a massive mud playground.  we got to just hang out and talk and eat and drink.

zoe and i got all dressed up- well not really- but we wore dresses and necklaces and hung out together.  i was also wearing a fabulous pair of blue suede chunky heels.  i'd spent the morning out with my mom shopping for things for uganda.  things like shampoo and toothpaste and razors for the year.  things like  ibuprofen and kids pajamas and running shoes to replace my ones from 8 years ago.  but these blue marc jacobs shoes were on a huge sale and they were so cute- and i tried them on and walked all over the store thinking- "are these good uganda missionary shoes?"  "do i need these shoes?"  "what purpose will they serve?"  and i realized that they are not great uganda missionary shoes.  that i do not need them.  that i might slide on those little red pebbles on the dirt roads.  but that they do serve a purpose.  the purpose of not being completely transformed into someone else.  the purpose of holding on to parts of me who are with me no matter where i'm living.  and that there will be times when i will want to go out and look nice - even in uganda- even if i'll be walking part way on dirt roads.  times when i won't want to be 'practical' or 'missionary'.  the purpose they serve is maintaining flexibility- of not living in an extreme place- of making it all sustainable.  because that is how things are going to happen- that is how change and work will make sense- if we are able to make our lives in uganda- sustainable.


back at the goat farm, the food was so good- all ethnic and flavorful and fresh and interesting.  beet-basil-lemonade.  ethiopian tarts. tortilla-pineapple- caramel-chocolate crepes.  but the most amazing thing i tasted was a maple bacon whoopie pie-  can you imagine such a thing?  and yes- it was that good.

zoe took one look at that whoopie pie- and said she didn't care that it was mostly gluten and dairy- she needed to eat it.  i had to agree.  because that is the place i'm in right now- letting things not be so extreme- letting things be more gray- and more fluid- and more flexible.  i can't be married to the rules- it won't work well in africa- and it doesn't work that well here either.  a few weeks ago- i decided that it will be hard enough to be in uganda with out demanding that we stick to some restrictive diet- but that i'd better try her out with gluten and dairy before we go so we're not faced with too much change all at once. and so far it's been fine- no earth shattering events have happened.  a good lesson for me.

on friday night there was one of those huge southern rain storms.  lots of thunder and lightening and power surges and tree's falling down.  mike was supposed to be flying home and his plane kept getting delayed so i put the kids to bed and watched a sad- sappy- but good movie called "listen to your heart".  it has a terrible name- but it had one quote that i loved and found very applicable to many parts of my life.  the main character has fallen in love with a girl who is deaf, and says to his friend who is very discouraging of the relationship, " i'm not going to miss out on something that might be great, just because it also might be hard."  i cried.  (the ugly cry.  the movie was really sad in parts!)

but that quote seems to sum up how i feel about my life sometimes.  the greatness mingled in with the hardness.  it all screamed - don't give up.  don't just choose easy.  search for the greatness.  strive for it- even when it's promising to be hard too.  they often go together. 


that is where the weekend leaves me- sweet shoes- a sweet dessert- and working on flexibility.  learning to be OK with hard- because hiding in there is also, greatness.

zoe means life in greek

yesterday mike and i went to the movies and saw  'the tree of life'.
it is intense.  it's a beautifully done, artistic movie about human nature vs. grace, about God's presence in the creation and in the suffering in the world- it is this seen through the eyes of different family members as they process their life with each other and their place in the world- as they question the why's of life- as they find their peace.  mike loved it.  i want to say i loved it too, but it messed with my head.  it some how pushed my buttons- made me feel like i'd just had a really rough therapy session- and needed another one but wasn't going to get one.  it made me acutely aware of how complex- how complicated each person is- how we have no control over other peoples interpretations or perspectives on  life- on how they interpret our lives- or our lives together.  and i think all that scared me- especially as a parent.

i haven't been writing much about zoe lately- about living and loving and learning with her.  i've been writing more about me. about my process. about our lives through my perspective.  that movie reminded me that my children are each as much a person as i am, they've just been around for fewer years. and it made me wonder- what life looks like for each of them.   about their perspective.  how they see and hear things - what words are weighted more heavily - about what visions they hold on to- no two people see a scene the same way- or hear exactly what the other said in a conversation.    i wonder especially how zoe sees it- how her life is right now.  what is her perspective on what i've been writing about - and living in- this change, this move.

*
'things are changing.  i don't think i like it.  first my toys- my stuffed animals- my dolls- then my dog.  don't they know those are my friends? don't they know what those things mean?  they make sense to me.  they are reliable- people aren't.  they have the same face- they have faces that don't change- i know them- i can trust them- i feel safe with them- i'm not confused- i'm not left behind.  my dog knows me- she gets it- she doesn't care if i flap my hands when i'm excited- or if i laugh my crazy loud laugh.  she is there when things don't make sense and when i need a friend.  she never tells me to be quiet.  but she's going to someone else and i'm left with my self- with my brothers who have each other- with my parents who have each other.

what will it feel like in uganda?  it will be so different.  it will be so far away.  what if i need my ama?  she gets me too- she loves me even if i'm silly and sticky- she doesn't get mad at me because things are scratchy and because the clock ticks too loudly.  and what about my friends?  what if i can't make new friends there?  what about my old friends here? it's already different.  it's already changing- my dresser is gone- my old books- and the porch looks different and i'm supposed to stuff things into one pink bag.  why are they doing this anyway?  why can't we just stay here?  what is wrong with here?  why can't it just be the way it is- why do we have to move?  i don't understand.  life is confusing enough the way it is now.'
*

is that what it looks like from her eyes?  is the light different? and the sounds of the world? and the feel of it all on her skin?

today we went to the doctor.  the kids had their yearly physical- everyone needed shots.  "be careful! i'm extra sensitive.  my skin feels things more."  and it does.

today we made cards for ama (my mom) because it's her birthday.  zoe drew a garden- flowers, trees, butterflies, the sky, the sun and the ground.  the tree was very complete- leaves and trunk and roots- but the roots floated up above the ground- like fingers reaching down to find the earth.  all the parts there- but not connected with each other.  her world looks different- it feels different from mine.

but doesn't it for everyone?  don't we all see it differently?

the sky is brilliant right now- glowing orange from the west- reaching through the trees.   it's pink and blue and purple on the top.  the tree frogs tonight are not their usual constant hum- they are alternating between loud and eager with brief silence- like they have a story to tell.  what sounds and colors am i missing?  what things would zoe hear?

i love what her name means- life.

ζωη(zoe) n. - greek "life". Life in the absolute sense, life as God has it.

zoe- in the absolute- zoe- as God has it.

who am i?  i am just one.

ponder it

"never doubt in the dark, what God told you in the light"

it's funny.  i was writing last night about this process of stripping things away- of standing there metaphorically naked and being ok- of knowing yourself with out the things we think define us- of knowing what matters- what doesn't.  and i got to take it a step further.  because right after i posted, our realtor called and told me that our buyer - the couple going to buy our house- had bailed.  terminated the contract- no go.  and so began the tailspin dive of defeat.  the pendulum swung wildly in the other direction- became unhinged and whacked me in the face.  what??  after all that?  after the bank approval? after all these months??  after i've sold our dressers and our porch furniture?  so we're back to being on the market?  showing it every weekend? hiding trash cans and putting out the never used towels? 

yup.  that is where we are.

i didn't cry, (but i did swear- in a text to my friend who i knew would get it). and i went to bed and i said a little prayer that went something like this:
ok God.  i'm a little confused... this seemed like it was working out... and now we're back to where we were 3 months ago and i don't get it- but i'm going to trust you anyway- because you are God- and that is enough. 

this morning i woke up at peace- even excited- because when God shows up- it's always better than my plan.  and here is what i'm learning as my hands are once again being pried open from their clenched position.  it's really not about the stuff.  at all.  it's not even about the getting rid of the stuff- or the selling of the stuff, or about the money i can get from selling the stuff- in a certain time so that i can buy other stuff when i get to africa. 

it is about preparing my heart for what we're about to embark on.  it is about preparing my kids and helping them feel safe and secure in this transition.  it is about relinquishing my control over things.  it is about being ok with living in a semi- empty house, or a house full of furniture that i might end up giving to salvation army in the end.  it is about letting go.  it is about trusting God with the details- even in the 'dark spots'.  it is about not running away when things don't go according to plan.

so i'm on the back porch sitting on a piece of cloth instead of my wicker love seat- that it thought i'd really miss.  and i'm looking out over that spot of morning light on that tall oak and i'm just as happy sitting on the floor- maybe happier- because i can now see more of the sky.

naked we stand

last day to sit out on the back porch on this porch furniture- because i've sold it and someones coming to get it in a few hours. it will be weird, watching the house grow empty while we're still here, but it's also kind of freeing. 

when my friend abby was visiting from uganda, she asked what i'll miss most- what will be hardest for me about moving to uganda.  i told her i'd have to break it down into what i'd miss most, and what i'm most anxious about.  i'll miss my family and friends the most- hands down- fo' sho'.  miss being known- miss people not trying to interpret me- or figure me out- because they've already done that.  miss people just hearing the tone of my voice and knowing what kind of day it's been. 

and what i'm most anxious about? zoe. 
the good thing is, that is the same thing i'd be most anxious about if i were staying here too.  which is where the lesson is in all this. 

selling things, moving away from what's familiar, leaving things, losing things, letting go-it's then you realize you don't really have anything anyway- or you are not these things that surround you- these bits are just bits.  you are not your nice rug or your prada shoes or your grill or any of it.  you are not your child- their potential- or their seeming un-potential- you are just you- stuff is stuff- and your child is their own person.  so be very careful. tread lightly.  when you peel that stuff away, you are what is left standing naked and you better know what you are with out that stuff.

someone is burning something-somewhere there is a barbecue- but it smells more like wood and less like meat- it smells like africa. and it's making me smile.

owning the slippers

i love to travel, but i hate airports.  they stress me out.  people seem annoyed- things are delayed (like my flight yesterday) the food isn't good and it's expensive, and there is elevator music. but with a coffee, a biscotti and an assigned seat-  i can sit and write-alone.  ahhh.

yesterday i woke up early and sat out on my porch watching the sun light up one side of this super tall water oak in the woods behind my house.  it's the same every day- that light- on that spot.  and i thought, 'i will miss that when i'm gone'.  that is where my head is- it's on 'going'.  so i wasn't very excited for my airport trip that morning to head up to my family reunion in grand rapids.

i love my family- all of them- really.  this was an extended family reunion- some of my cousins and all of my aunts and uncles from my mom's side of the family- but many more people that i barely know or haven't even met- my cousins cousins.  and, given the pace of life these days, what needs to get done in the next few weeks- i almost didn't go.  i was dreading flying, packing, being away another weekend, losing that time to "do" stuff- to "get done".  but mike was great.  he gently reminded me that people are way more important than getting "stuff done".  that relationships matter most. that you don't get another chance to see people all together like this.  he is right, so off i went.

and i am so glad.   it was a day of reconnecting with really good people who i haven't seen in years but know me- people who've prayed for me- prayed through the seasons of my life.  people who know the value and importance of family and of relationships.  people who've had brokenness, people who are going through hard times right now.  people just like me, and just like you, because we all know broken and we all know hard.  but what do we do with it?  our brokenness?  other peoples hard times?

on friday, at work, i had one of those days where the system gets in the way of the people.  that really gets to me because there are so many times when we do things in medicine because the patient said the 'right words' even when we know it's unlikely to be  the medical entity that classically goes with those words.  but then sometimes- you know what the right thing to do is- you know this guy needs serious IV pain control to be able to sit still for the radiation to his bone metastasis- which will then bring him relief- you know he's failed it as an outpatient - but the system balks at his admission diagnosis- at the hassle of how to categorize him.  and this gets to me.  the right thing to do is get him comfortable enough that we can radiate him and help his pain - even if it means an admission.

i know soon in uganda i will have many struggles between systems and people's needs.  very different struggles.  the medicine is too expensive, the person is too sick to come into clinic, there is no MRI machine.  and like my friday situation- you do what you can- you think outside the box- and you always give the treatment you administer by ear, "words of comfort".  (another gem from cutting for stone- abraham verghese)

and that is what we do with our own brokenness- ours and our families- you ask- you listen- you give words of comfort- even when it might be easier not to.  because it is right.  because we are made of the same stuff.  because we want that when we are in the hard times.

today i was back at the Gerald Ford International Airport in grand rapids michigan.  sometimes in the airport you can look around at other peoples lives and wonder.  you can easily and quickly make assumptions about them- what might be easy- what might be hard about their life.  you can even try it on your imagination- what if i'd made 'that' choice or what if i wore 'those' kind of clothes.  usually from my eyes- somehow most peoples lives in the airport seem simpler- easier and i romanticize them because of this.  i'm looking at this tan guy, wearing a polo shirt with his wife and baby- they look like they're going on vacation- they don't seem stressed out by their lives- by there one, young healthy child.  i see the guitarist from a popular band who i'd sat with the day before when i accidentally got first class with a frequent flyer ticket- he seems to breeze around- no luggage- first class- no kids- no major ties.  i see some business guys - calling home- telling someone about the convention- kind of bland- it's a job- can't wait to get home.  i see a dad with his daughter.  she's about 12, carrying two crimp haired dolls and a bedazzled backpack,  she's asking where her brother is- she's reminding me of zoe, she's smiling- she has downs syndrome.

nothing is easy.  it's just life.  tan and polo-ed, rich rocker, business guy, dad of a child with a chromosomal anomaly, girl with her dolls and pack.  all beautiful and all broken.  just like me.  just like zoe.  just life.  the secret is knowing your life- owning your life- not wanting to be the rocker- or the business guy.  we are who we are.  what we do with it, or don't do with it- that is what further shapes us.

"The key to your happiness is to own your slippers, own who you are, own how you look, own your family, own the talents you have, and own the ones you don't. If you keep saying your slippers aren't yours, then you'll die searching, you'll die bitter, always feeling you were promised more. Not only our actions, but also our omissions, become our destiny."
abraham verghese - cutting for stone.

now i'm home.  on the porch but it's evening.  the light comes from the other side now - from the west.  and instead of lighting the bark- it lights the leaves- all of them- each of them.

going through stuff

today i chewed my last piece of ethiopian gum.
well- it was just trident peppermint- but it was from ethiopia- from our hotel gift shop- 40 birr.  and it brought me back.  i found it going through an armoire that held many old bags- and inside the canvas purse with the red and blue seahorses on it- was the gum, and my ethiopian room key, and my lip balm and the address of the guy on the plane who gave me my first money for our uganda move - making it seem real- way back last october.

today, i had to divide things into three piles- bring it to uganda, give away/sell, save in limited storage with parents.  zoe was tasked with being a "dj" and going through our cd's so we could choose what to keep in that department.  i was looking at my marc jacobs black leather bag that i use all the time, and this sassy red patent leather hand bag, and a cole hahn one i bought last summer and i'm thinking- am i going to use these in uganda?  and if not- should i hold onto them?  what will they look like in 5 years? and i'm realizing how much i have and how much i don't need and how much i won't use- really.

so i'm sitting on the floor of the hall, listening to norah jones with zoe, and i find judes asian silk diaper bag.  that thing was with me through all of those early doctors appointments, all those MRIs, all those tests, all that waiting.  that scent of the bag and a lavender sachet i'd put in it so long ago.  and i'm sitting on the floor holding it, the smell bringing me right back, surrounded by my piles, with zoe beside me and i just got teary.

"this is hard zo." i said, "letting go of this stuff."
"i know mommy- do you understand how i feel now? having to get rid of my things?"
"yes."

yesterday, i was home with my boys- zoe out with my mom.  it was a nice break, but i missed her.  yesterday i went for a run- early enough that it wasn't hot and early enough that i ran out of thanks, not frustration. and yesterday, my boys got to meet their new friend from africa- an american living in uganda, back here for summer break.  he will be their neighbor- their commute partner to school each day and jude's classmate.  and i had some time with his mom, my friend, abby.  i had time to ask about logistics - like whether or not i need rain boots or fleeces or plastic baggies.  and i had some time to just sit with someone i'll spend a lot of time sitting with over the next few years.  we got to talk about books and mothering and how we spend our time and about our identities and what will be surprisingly hard and what might not be in this move.  and it was a complete gift- almost like a dream- when you are visited by a vision of your future that answers your questions- that gives guidance- that brings a piece of comfort- and that is what yesterday was.  a respite.  a break from the 'todo list', a moment of the meaningful 'stuff'.

the day before i had brought my clothes into a consignment store- and this was kind of funny and kind of humbling.  it is a high end consignment store- designer- high end cool- not business attire- funky high end.  so it was funny to get so many things rejected.
"sorry, we don't take 'old navy'"
"now... how old is this piece?"
me, "umm, i dunno, ummm (oh yeah i bought that before i had jude) i guess 6 years?"
her, "yeah, we don't take stuff older than 5 years."
"this is missing a button and this purse isn't in the best condition."

what was funny was after all my hemming and hawing about parting with these items, they were now rejected!

meanwhile i had zoe with me.  and she was having a hay day with the other woman who'd arrived to sell her jewelry wears.  this woman was young and beautiful and had tried on a mermaid-esque gown which she was planning on purchasing and zoe was talking her ear off.  i was hearing snippets like,
"so i was born with non-verbal-learning-disorder. it's kind of like aspergers or autism- do you know what those are?"   blah blah blah.  and then "i have really good hearing." blah blah.  "do you want to know how i remember things?"  and this woman had her undivided attention.

so i'd finished with my part- left 18 worthy pieces for sale, and was about to leave with my 30 consignment failures, when my phone rings and it was work.  i finished my call and returned to zoe who was now decked out in this woman's jewelry - yes the stuff she was selling.  two necklaces and a ring- all really nice.

"come on zo- lets put that stuff back and go."

"no!" says the beautiful mermaid lady-"zoe has made my day! she is so interesting- she reminds me of me when i was eleven!  i want her to keep those pieces of jewelry."

really?  again? what is it with her? she must have some magic spell that she casts on people.  but what was so great was that the interaction totally regulated zoe.  she went from mildly irritable and agitated to happy and calm and using language like.,  "oh no worries mom!  it's fine!  we're friends!"

a story of zoe in her glory again.  i've got to remember this- find her interested, patient adult and all will be well!  meanwhile i promptly wore one of those beautiful necklaces- looks like we all scored a goal.

so today i put two of my leather bags in the 'needs more time to decide' pile that i'd desperately created, and put the red patent leather bag and jude's old baby bag into the 'goodwill' pile.  but i took one small piece of that asian silk fabric from the inside of the bag and i took the lavender sachet-  because i don't need the stuff, but i do need the memories.

woohoo!

that's right.  woo hoo!
the bank came through.  we are under contract officially- financially the offer was accepted.  we're are a huge step closer!
praise God.

i woke up today with a really good feeling. about everything.  i woke up with a vision of Out of Africa playing in my mind- the scene of karen blixen selling her belongings - all of them - from her porch and yard in kenya.  and i was reminded again of this great privileged- this great adventure- of the history of what's behind it- of what's beginning.  today was a day of feeling the newness and the excitement and not the sadness of the leaving.  today i looked forward and not backwards.  and i realized that i'm so ready!!

it has also been a day of remembering how beautifully orchestrated this has all been- symphonic. i couldn't have written or played it better- all of which is affirming- confirming- soothing- reviving-and bringing peace.

tomorrow our dear friend from uganda comes to visit with her son- who is judes age- who will be in his class in uganda.  he will have a chance to connect and to know a friend- i can't wait.  it's all so good- and i sit in the hotness of another 90 degree day and feel wrapped in the love- in the promise- not consumed- but blessed.

is there a word for mammogram in lugandan?

i was waiting for my annual mammogram in the women's health area of the cancer center- reminding us that even though it's a 'screening' - what we're screening for - is cancer.

the only reading material was 'auto week' and 'golf' magazine. nice.

and it was  reminding me of what women go through in the world of medicine - because we are women.
we can start with mammograms and pap smears- good times. no really. then there is the business of baby making. this weekend while mike was recovering from his procedure, and mentioned feeling a little sore- i found myself having some sympathy, but also, maybe even- dare i say it- mild satisfaction? you see the guys get the 'feel good' part of the whole deal. we get years of monthly discomfort - and all that goes along with that. we get the 3 months of morning sickness, the 20# weight gain (with out drinking alcohol or eating sushi), that awful glucose tolerance test, and then the joys of labor- followed by a year of sleepless nights and wetting ourselves with milk if someone else's baby cries or we think of our little precious one for too long.  and  if we have to really work at getting pregnant- we get shots and scans and probed- joy.  so for him to step up to the plate, with his three kids in tow, and have some pain related to reproduction,  i'd say- good deal, but i'll add 'thank you'.  (and truth be told- i wouldn't trade it for anything! i loved being pregnant- the whole thing- even the labor- what a miracle! and if nursing hormones were a street drug- i'd be in trouble.)

i was thinking all this and feeling pretty good about my morning of accomplishments having posted the furniture for sale on craigslist, and the dog on craigslist and facebook- 'free to a good home'.  i'd cleaned out zoe's toys and clothes and had a massive pile for goodwill, emails were sent- things were happening. then my name was called and i moved from that waiting room into the actual waiting room- the one where you sit in chairs with 10 other women in robes- silently waiting.  at least they had some girl magazines- (but no cell service).  i pulled out my 'learning lugandan for tourists' book and started mouthing the words in lugandan for 'i'd like something to eat please', and trying to change 'i need a doctor' into  'i am a doctor'.  and as i sat there  - cold and robed and mildly anxious about my impending test- i began to panic.  for some reason, reading this language that is so not romance-languaged based,  that is so foreign from the languages i do know, i felt the enormity of it all.  like this language was a metaphor - that everything will be new and not romance- languaged based.  i had a moment of "maybe i'm too old for this kind of thing'.  then i began my recite my mantra- which then turned into just 'help!'  and then i began to envision the mammogram- the finding of an abnormality- the findings of cancer- that maybe i'd have to stay home and undergo radiation maybe even some chemotherapy- but it would all be in english- and i could go to starbucks afterwards..... what?

i took a breath.  i put down my phrase book.  i pick up the phone in the waiting room- the old-school black one with the curly cord and i called mike.

hi mike
hi- what's up?
oh nothing.
why are you whispering?
because i'm in a waiting room- um.... and i'm kind of freaked out.
about the mammogram? i'm sure it will be fine.
no.....are we crazy?
ooohhh.  do you want to talk?
no.  i want you to talk- i just want to listen. 
ok- yes we are crazy- but what we're about to do is not crazy.
(i bit my lip and my eyes got glossy)
silence
do you want me to keep talking?
yes.
ok- i'll read you this thing i was just writing.
thanks.

it was what i needed.  my other half to pull me back in.  i'd gotten out of orbit for a minute.
God showing up in the words of somebody.

this is ok.  this is good. this is exciting.  i'm not too old.  i will learn lugandan (eventually).
and i became thankful.  thankful for him reigning me back in.  thankful that i'm able to get mammograms and have babies and thankful that i'm getting to move my life to africa. 

"ms. reid?  come on back."
thank you.

(for those of you in uganda reading, i'm really not this nuts- don't worry.  i'm just transparent- overly transparent.  and if i do fall to bits- i'm easily re-assembled :) i promise)

clover

we got clover, for zoe.  it was that season, way back when, when life was pretty awful and hard and she was miserable and lonely.  she has always connected with animals- she feels she understands them and they understand her and she's probably right.  it was that time when she was in private school, a private school for kids with learning differences, and struggling- which is never a good feeling for a parent- because you are already at your "last resort".  we were grappling for what to do, what could help her manage her anxiety- about life- about her life.  after many conversations we decided we'd get a dog- in the spring- so mike could build a fence in our yard for the dog.

when we went to the humane society we looked at many dogs and puppies.  dogs who i thought were cuter than clover, but they were more frisky or nippy.  zoe got a bad headache while we were there and sat down on the ground with her head in her hands.  that is when it happened.  clover picked zoe.  she calmly went over to her- began to lick her and climbed into zoe's lap- even though she was a puppy.  zoe said, "this is the dog".  and she was so right.

there was no 'after-school special' experience where the special needs kid is 'cured' or totally transformed by the dog.  in fact there was a lot of cursing as i had to feed her, walk her (because it took a month for the fence to go up- a month of daily rain!).  but, as the year went on- clover really became part of the family.

 'clover' was the name she came with and when we got her we assumed we'd change it.  so we all thought about what that name should be.  there were lists- but none were as fitting as clover. 
it's gentle, it's mild mannered, it's subdued, and it can be lucky.
it really fit her- so we kept it. 

that was 2 years ago. 

now we're packing up our lives and it's going to be too hard to bring clover.  too hard, and not very good for her.  she'd hate the flight- the water is different, and most foreign dogs get sick (really sick), and she could never run free where we'll be living.  so we need to find her a new home.

i didn't think i'd find this hard.  i'm not much of an animal person.  i was as a kid- but not anymore.  but i do love clover.  and i love clover twice- once for me, and once over for my kids.  i remember how hard it was- giving up a pet - and i hate it for them.  i get teary when i think about it.

i'm also scared to let her go.  scared for zoe- losing her alive security blanket.  what will she do- in a whole new place with out her clover? and what will i do with out giving her 'clover time' as a reward for school work completion or as an 'engine helper' when she's a little out of whack.

it makes me realize how attached we can get to these things- these insertions into our lives. 
there will be zoe- in africa- away from her grandparents- away from the friends she does have- away from her therapists- probably having to let go of her gluten free- dairy free diet- and now with out her dog. 

insert mantra.

it points to my grappling.  my attempts to help control her life- to cushion it- protect her.

be still and know that i am God.
because of the Lords unfailing love, we are not consumed.

that includes zoe.  she will not be devoured- lost- emptied.

so clover.  dear clover- we thank you for the many tears you've licked dry- the tolerance you've had for being whacked by a 2 year old- or wrestled by a four year old- for the hugs and smothering you've allowed.  for adding love in some very hard times. we will miss you- all of us- even me.

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nonsense and a mantra to frame it

today, i'm coming here quietly.  a thousand thoughts have sprouted, a thousand conversations started, bits- strung together- no pattern- no sense. nonsense. 

yesterday was a friday of goodbyes- to patients i've come to love as people.  people i will miss caring for.  people who are so different from me- who have shown me another slice of this pie we live in. people who ride harleys and build additions onto their houses with their own hands, when their 2nd wife's kids and grandkids  need to come home to live.  salt of the earth people.

today i was feeling the heat of what we're doing.  the push and pull of the oceans, the magnitude of this move- of how differently we do things- how differently we process things- after 20 years together- how kindness is so important- and gentleness- but how the tides can send those out to sea and we are left with salt on our skin, clinging to driftwood.

today i woke up and realized that i need a mantra.  other than 'help' which is more of a desperate plea.

mantra - a sound, words capable of creating transformation

that is what i need.

transformation.

awareness of the beauty in it all. because sometimes i forget.

a mantra would help in those times when i'm cleaning madly and the thoughts are flying and crashing into each other.  a mantra might bring calm- might bring me back to the center.  sometimes i can get a piece of a song in my head- a few words that will hold me still.  but maybe there needs to be more purpose to it.

i think it should be a piece of the old testament that i stumbled upon a years ago.  a piece of the book of lamentations:


'because of the Lord's unfailing love- we are not consumed.'

unfailing- without error or fault; reliable, consistent
not consumed- not done away with completely, not used up, not squandered, not devoured.

a reminder.  a promise. a gift.  a giant piece of driftwood.
for days when i feel slightly swallowed.  to say those words of peace.
 
the night is here now- cool and glowing and humming.
because of the love.  not consumed.
and the sweetness of the man i love- despite our differences in managing anxiety and change, there is no one i'd rather cross that ocean with.
because of the love.

waiting for the rain

it's cloudy and hot and the leaves are barely moving and i so desperately want it to rain- rain hard- or even a whispering rain- just let moisture fall- bring on that scent of the old earth to remind me that none of this really matters -  that we are small- that it will all go on.

i'm overwhelmed.  i'll admit it.  i wish i could hire someone to do the logistics of my days and i could just focus on the leaving of them.  selling this house.  selling our furniture.  the clothes.  the cars.  finding a home for the dog.  somehow doing both- feels too hard- at least today.

how do you package up your life and fit it into 10 suitcases?
how do you know how many towels to bring?
we take surplus for granted.
we take access for granted.  

 it started with another bad night sleep- last night dreaming about duffel bags and packing and reuniting with people from my past but who i'd never really seen before.  one of those nights when you keep thinking you haven't even fallen asleep yet- but you've been dreaming.  one of those when you're glad to get up- even though exhausted- because at least that attempt at sleeping is over.


but getting up was hard, because it was early, because zoe had an 8am orthodontist appointment.  and the friend that my boys were going to hang out with for the hour- was throwing up- so they had to come to the appointment too.  and then i forgot to feed the meter and got a parking ticket.  and everyone was whining and carrying on about their opinion of what they wanted to do for the day or didn't want to do- and of course no one wanted to do what the other ones wanted- and i just really wanted to go back to bed.  and i just really wanted to shout- 'what about what i want to do today?  none of which is possible- because i'm going to have enough trouble trying to do what i need to get done- with you three yackity-yacking!'


how do you package other peoples little lives into duffel bags?
how do you forgive your own overwhelm but have no tolerance for their anxious carrying on?


because that is what this is all about.

it's not them.  it's not even the whining.

it's that humans get stressed when we face big change- even very positive change.  and some humans- who prefer order and a plan and time to prepare- to process, and things to move according to that plan- get stressed when all the balls of life are up in the air.  when there is little control over any of it. when we, the main character of our life, has our hands tied and must just sit.  still.


perhaps this is all of our life's lesson.
it's like that corrie ten boom quote:
"Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open." 
will i ever learn to stop grappling for control?
will i ever accept my limitations?
will i ever be at peace in this?
how many times do i need my fingers pried open before i get it.  before i am able to live it- to loosen the grip.


the sun is peaking around the trees now, the wind has picked up a bit.
it's cooler.  there is a rustling, the knock of holly berries falling on the deck.
it's ok if the sky stays closed.  it's ok if it's dry and it doesn't release.
i will.
i will open my hands.

the snip snip

we are "done".
finally.  permanently.
there will be no more little kris and mikes.
our time of making babies is over, or will be on friday.
why this is a big deal follows........

when i was a little girl i wanted lots of babies. i had notebooks full of baby names.  my favorite show was 'eight is enough'.  i loved the idea of a big family- shared bedrooms and shared clothes.  piles of soccer cleats and flip flops beside the door,  and something always going on.  i just assumed i'd have at least four or five kids.

mike and i never talked about the specifics of having kids- like when or how many.  we both knew we really valued family and he'd mentioned something about seeing himself as a grandfather someday with a great white beard and hoards of children and grandchildren all around.  so - i figured we were pretty much on the same page.

when i turned 25 and we had been married for two years, i told mike i was ready to have a baby. but, he wasn't and really, neither was i.

when i was 26 i started medical school and sometime soon stopped birth control. we weren't "trying",  we were open. but when that seed had been planted (the one in my mind- that getting pregnant is an actual possibility) it was hard to not pay attention to my body and it's every rhythm.

a brief comment on "trying".  it can have many different faces depending on the season of life. sometimes 'trying' was "not trying".  sometimes it was taking temperatures and charting days and planning our sex life accordingly.  sometimes it was giving shots and having ultrasounds and procedures and we felt a huge separation between making love and making a baby.

but after about 18 months of 'paying attention' and not getting pregnant we went to the doctor who ran some tests and told me to eat lots of ice cream and start clomid.  i got pregnant with zoe that month.   i remember thinking- 'wow- that infertility thing isn't so bad!  you can fix it.'

when zoe was almost 2 i started internship and went off the pill.  i was really ready for baby number two.   but between the stress of it and being in the hospital every 4th night- it was not a good time to get pregnant.  i think my body was saying "girl- we can barely sustain you - let alone grow another life right now!"  so after my intern year, when several friends had 'accidentally' gotten pregnant while "not trying" i was frustrated, sad and went to the doctor again begging for some clomid.

but this time- i found that infertility can be really bad- and not so fixable.

and this is the point where i became obsessed.
really.  i ate, slept and breathed wanting to be pregnant.  i was desperate.  i was bitter and resentful of every pregnant woman i saw (even though i already had a child it almost didn't matter).   i should have bought stock in 'Answer' and 'First Response' because i took so many pregnancy tests.  i was an emotional roller coaster wreck depending on when in the month it was.  patient for a few days- timing it- controlling it- hopeful- hopeful- convinced it was good- taking a pregnancy test too early- waiting those painful 2 minutes- going blind trying to convince myself i'd seen 2 pink lines- looking at that damn stick at every angle- in every type of light- trying to believe it into being.  then the painful- agonizing truth.  tears and anger and isolation.  then it would begin again.

poor mike- poor all men out there in this situation- it's so hard! he tried to understand, to be hopeful and supportive, to reassure me that somehow we'd have another child.

i remember an absolute low point was mike telling me that his brothers wife, my lovely sister-in-law was pregnant with their third.  i literally, threw a baguette across the house and began to cry.

"but they will have had three in the time i'm still trying to get pregnant!  it's so unfair!"

and then began the "what's wrong with me?"  "i'm not a 'real' woman."  "why can't i conceive?" i read books to uncover the psychological issues that might be preventing me from bringing forth life.  i read about diet, and vitamins and exercise and meditation and tried desperately to try to not try- to let it go.  i read books about miracle babies- i signed up for adoption seminars.  i must have been really boring- and selfish- and slightly crazy.

who ever said that trying to have a baby is 'fun' (yes mom- that is you :) was dead wrong- those years were bad to the bone- bad on the marriage, the bedroom, the friendships- all of it.  dark, dark times.

finally, my last month of residency- i saw 2 pink lines!
but miscarried with in the week.

after a dark two weeks of crying and writing awful and depressing poetry, and drinking wine- we started our last round of "injections and IUI".  (lots of shots to make many many eggs, followed by a doctor squirting mikes sperm at the right time).  that month i had made so many eggs that the doctor didn't want to go through with the IUI.  i told her i was desperate- i didn't care how many babies i had- i just needed one more!  (like raising arizona - "Hi - Get me a baby!!!")  i told her if she didn't squirt his junk up there i would grab it, do it myself and still have sex all weekend long.

that's how i got jude.

when jude was one and i was 37 we began planning when we'd start the monkey business again for number three.  and at that point, i had let it go- i knew it was possible, but figured we'd go straight to IVF.  then God stepped in and with out intervention, with out drugs, with out 'trying'  - i realized i was a few days late and i saw the 2 pink lines!

i fell to my knees and began to cry and sing- and never doubted that this pregnancy was anything  but a blessed gift.

bryn.

so we had three.  but  i wanted 4 remember- at least.
i also knew that i was 38 and i couldn't handle the stress and expense of more fertility treatments.  i also had this new idea that maybe, just maybe it could happen again...... naturally.

and it did.  when i was 39.  again i was on my knees- crying- singing.  but, 8 weeks later - no heart beat. this confirmed things for us.
unfortunately they were different things.  mike realized he was 'done'.  and i realized how desperately i wanted a 4th.  how i couldn't imagine my uterus ending her last race like this- leaving on this bad note- finishing her days as a life giving muscle with a 'failed pregnancy'.

so the following year we didn't do anything about 'trying' or 'not trying'.  instead we tried to understand each other- we tried to respect each other.  but i have to admit- i somehow felt i'd been wronged- i'd been duped. in a cosmic way, and a little bit by mike.  and each month i'd go through a micro drama of hoping and buying more pregnancy tests and looking at them until i was cross-eyed- and then feeling a bit of a loss- but moving on.  it was nothing like those dark years.

i began to wonder if the rest of my life was going to feel like i was on some crazy lunar cycle- if every month i'd be disappointed- if i maybe really should buy some stock in e.p.t. 

then i went to ethiopia with lisa to meet her beautiful yoyo. and on that trip, two things happened.  i saw myself as someone other than a mother- as someone who might actually enjoy a stage of not being pregnant or nursing. and i realized that i love kids- even kids who didn't grow in my body and that i don't 'need' a baby.  i found that i was hanging out in the 'pre-school' section of the orphanage more than the baby section.  i found that there are children already here who need homes and that my body doesn't need to make anymore.

and i began to reach peace.  i began to - dare i say it- feel 'done' from a biological baby standpoint.  and i have to say, i never thought it would happen. mike never thought it would happen either.

so finally- and now that we're moving to africa- where i really don't want to be pregnant and delivering at 41- we are doing something about it- we are making a decision and we are DONE- in a permanent way.

permanent- lasting or enduring without change.

i still love the little babies- but not in that desperate, needy, jealous way. i still have such good memories of my big pregnant belly years.  but i don't wish they were back.

and i still think there might be a number 4 or even a number 5- and i can't wait to meet them.  i wonder what they're doing right now.

transition

today as i cleaned the toilets and the sinks and got great satisfaction from making something look pretty again, i thought about things that i wanted to write about and i got all excited and scrubbed harder.  but now that the bathrooms are cleaned and the kids have chalk painted the driveway and watered the yard with sprinkler play and are covered in band-aids from yellow fever and typhoid shots- and i'm outside in the 90+ degrees sweating and loving the quiet- i've forgotten-  all that i wanted to say.

that's ok.

i used to crawl to this space.  like on my hands and knees.  so showing up with out the drama is a very good thing. 

oh- and i solved the "SHUT THE *(*&))@$$ DOOR!!!!" problem.  i turned off the air conditioning and i turned on the fans.  a simple and cost effective plan- everyone is happier.  hotter, but happier.

today the boys got their necessary shots.  today i started booking airlines tickets.  today i loaded up my clothes that will not be needed in uganda but are sooo very  cute!! wow- didn't know i was so attached to faux fur vests and vintage channel.  do i sell them?  save them? or take them and wear them anyway- i could be 'that crazy american!' right?

omgoodness it's becoming very very real!
and everyday we are closer.
we are in that 'goodbye' place.
we are in that 'it's the last time i'll....."  place.
on monday the kids and i made a list of things we want to do once more- places we need to see one more time before we go.

when we went to get the shots today- we were in this travel clinic waiting- for 45 minutes- the boys anxious and looking at a giant anatomy book- we met a vet- sober for 27 years he informed us.  of course i loved this- he got down on his knees and looked at the book with my boys- "see, i'm a grandpa" he said.  it was awesome. smoking pall mall menthol's (details are important to me- i'm not advertising!)  he was telling us all about his life, his smoking habit, his mental health- my boys sat there on the floor- looking like they were trying to figure out if their grandfathers would ever be like this guy- but loving attention and sharing with him all about our move- our plans.  it's nice to see them embracing with pride what we're doing- embracing this move- this life changing experience. 

then we found out the yellow fever vaccine wasn't in yet- they'd have to call us later when it arrived, we'd have to come back.

poor boys. waiting -for nothing.

the clinic called a few hours later and we returned. 
i love seeing my kids grow up.  seeing them amaze me in their own little ways. 
jude- " i'll go first"  "i want one in each arm"  so brave!
he takes it all in- he listens to everything.
"mommy, are we going to be in uganda for a while?  when we come back, will we live in a different house?"
"yes- honey" smile.
"ok"

they wrap their little minds around it, as i wrap my little mind around it too. 

last night when we sat outside- watching that amazing sun that heats and colors our days slip away- watching that moon light up our nights- always smiling- fill in for the dark hours- we talked about this thing we're doing.  we recalled the process- the hands bigger than us that have guided- molded- shaped it.

i had forgotten about 'the hole in the gospel'.  forgotten completely.  a book- given to us by my parents- given with the awareness that reading it-would most likely result in us moving to africa- but given anyway.  given it despite grandchildren being pulled away- given despite the threat of ebola and malaria and all those other hidden bugs waiting in the dark jungle to eat grandchildren. given because it was the right thing to do.  given because they know their child.  given because it's just part of a process.

last night my dreams were scarier and darker than they've been.  in my dream, i watched from a far as there was a coup- as people fled- as an army dominated- as a city was emptied by violence.  in my dream i kept thinking- we've got to remember to not book our tickets yet!  we've got to reconsider!  we've got to make plan B! 

but i woke up this morning and looked around and oriented myself.  i remembered the dark hours of the night- when all is lost in the drama of our greatest fears- when we lay there uninhibited.  the sun was shining and i remembered the good stuff- the reality- that life is life and it is what it is- where ever we are.

i'm outside again tonight.

the moon is already high- it's almost half full- smiling again.  the sky is still pink and pale and ambivalent.  the tree frogs are out- trying to call in the night.  bats are out and the trees are motionless.  a firefly alights beside me.

this is transition- i'm in the thick of it- day turns to night- light to dark- sun to moon- bird to bat- color to shadow.

the world here tonight is still- what does it know? 

just a little more

because i was inspired  by this.

and i got to have dinner with her.

and we laughed and laughed.
and i got to come home to children quietly sleeping in their beds.
and sit outside on the lawn with mike watching the sun set and the world grow dark and bats eat insects and the sliver of a moon rise.
and i came inside and ate 1/4 of a chocolate cake and a lot of milk.
it was a good day.

shut the door

i keep dreaming about scary dangerous things.  a giant african pond fish eating zoe.  a broken railroad bridge high up on a mountain that i'm traversing.  all of them have a foreign flavor- and the feeling (which is i think what they tell you to pay attention to in a dream) is a complete mix of fear, anxiety over how to handle the situation and a curiosity- like i'm watching it from afar waiting to see what will happen.  i guess it's kind of obvious why i'm having these dreams- we sort things in our sleep.

today has been scrumptious- well, except for the absolute mental block that my children have about shutting the door- when it's 96 degrees outside and i'm air-conditioning the house.

the front yard was shady, there was a breeze and my boys set up a lemonade/watermelon stand.  they sat out there trying- one of them eating the watermelon- the other one holding up the sign- we get very little foot traffic- and it was a monday morning.  "A" for effort.

on the front porch if i look up, the wooden ceiling is painted a very light blue and there is a white ceiling fan and it gives me the feeling of being at a new england beach house.  i love being able to mentally step out of one place and into another- i will miss things like this- the blue chipped painted ceiling.

two ladies in electric wheelchairs scooted by and happened to have a craving for watermelon- and they gave a 50% tip.

jude and bryn were joined by zoe, then lily and luke.

kids just hanging around on a summer morning.  it's so good to just let them be- with out agenda or plan- with out the jam-packed extracurricular schedule.

before they got the idea for the lemonade stand- jude was planning on selling himself singing a justin bieber song for the bargain of $600- i suggested he reconsider the fee,  he lowered the price to $5.95, but i think the lemonade for a dollar was the right choice. 

we had a lunch picnic on the front lawn.

and in between all that i must have screamed "SHUT THE *(&JI(&*(#) DOOR!!!!"  9 million times.  i mean i just don't get it.  how hard is it? you opened it, so why can't you shut it?  and it's not just the door- it's the toilet seat.  again- you opened it, why can't you shut it?  fo' reals'?

then we went to the pool.

today i got to play in the pool- like i did when i was a kid.  i did hand-stands in the shallow end- and forwards and backwards somersaults and just floated on my back- listening to the hum of the pool and the splashing and kicking all around.  it was fun- like kid-fun.  then i went to the deep end- i went off the diving board- front dives and back dives and again- so much fun.  it had been way too long since i've gone off a diving board and it made me think- what is wrong with me?  why have i been just hanging around the shallow end with a child on my arm- or talking on the phone or chit-chatting with someone and not playing, not doing those things i love?

has life really become just sunscreen applying, snack fetching and screaming about toilet seats and front doors being left open?

no.

but then i remembered why.

the past few years at the pool- i've had my hands completely full.  i had two little boys who didn't swim and a zoe who did, but was derailed by most things.  my anxiety meter was on high alert- my need to focus on their needs was 150%.  i was lucky if i remembered to breath. 

so today, as i played and floated and actually considered doing a flip (but in a different swimsuit) i realized how much better this summer has been.  how much better zoe is doing- coping- handling her days.   and the fact that the most annoying thing in my day is shouting "SHUT THE DOOR!"   is really a praise God moment- because believe me- i know- i remember- it could be so, so much worse!

scraps and caps

mike has given me this nickname, 'scraps and caps'  because i leave bits of myself everywhere.  i leave caps and gum wrappers in different places.  i write important things on scraps of paper and then loose them.  i  frantically go looking for the torn part of an envelope that has a phone number i need, which pile did i put that bill?  at home, i'm very disorganized. and i will admit, this is one of my bigger flaws- high levels of disorganization.   but, i know this- so at work, i compensate.  at work i have one notebook with everything in it- not organized- but at least in one spot. at home- i just can't get it together.  the real  problem is- that i'm actually highly functional despite my disorganization- so there is not a lot of impetus to change.  but it drives mike nuts - and it actually drives me nuts too.

it's representative of the way my brain works- i think i function in a systemless world.  stuff just floats around up there and the important things are weighted a bit more heavily or colored brightly so they somehow stick out or get noticed and remembered.  maybe this is why i make lists- in a grand attempt to order that 'stuff'.  

this process of packing up- moving so dramatically- is forcing the organization issue.  i can't just shove my life in a box and open it again in africa.  i actually have to go through and sort - i have to make decisions- i have to throw out- abandon.  i need to make choices and i need to create a system.  

but i think it's almost hopeless because as i uncover boxes of scraps i have the fondest memories!  the scribbled notes here and there - the subway ticket- the braided straw wrapper from denny's- whatever- it's the randomness that i love re-encountering.  or the mystery in it- why was that thing saved- who is that scribbled name.  memories hold tremendous value to me- way more than the 'stuff' that holds the memory.  i have this necklace made of seeds from a little village in peru- it's one of my treasures- monetarily worth nothing- but it has such value and meaning to me.

so i think instead of getting more organized- i'm just going to have smaller boxes of scraps- it's just what it is and that's OK.

cork-wedge heels and my favorite patient

it's late but i have a little story to tell.

today i escaped my house for an hour to go to a shoe store- called 'shoe center' where they sell discounted, styly comfortable shoes- emphasis on the word comfortable.  clogs, birkenstocks, etc.  i love shoes- have loved them since i can remember.  i used to sleep with my new shoes when i was 4. i love really cute shoes, different shoes, shoes that stand out.  but over the years i've realized that i need them to be comfortable also- cute is no longer enough.  on friday, someone i work with  (who also happened to be wearing a hand made, super-cool superwoman belt) told me about 'shoe center' so i had to check it.
i ended up buying a pair of cork wedge heels that rock and are comfortable. 

the shoe store happens to be around the corner from the VA hospital where i work.  and my favorite patient- my african american dad- is there and i know how much he and his wife appreciate a good pair of shoes, because they always comment on mine.  so i called up his wife intent on telling her about the 'shoe center' and their sale- in case she wanted to hop over while he was napping.  but i also wanted to check in on them- i was having the stirring. 

i asked how things were going- how he was feeling - how she was handling everything.
she told me she was alright- that she hadn't yet come in to the hospital- but she'd be in soon. 

and then she asked me if she could ask me something.  when someone asks to ask- you know it's going to be heavy.

"is this it?  is his body shutting down?"

i didn't want to answer that- even though i'd sensed it coming.  i didn't want to answer it because i wanted to talk about shoes.  because i don't want to think about his body shutting down- because i don't want him to die- because i'm not ready.

"yes. it's starting to.  we're moving into that stage- his liver isn't working well- he's getting all full of fluid- there isn't any more chemo that we can give to help fight the cancer back."

i paused. 

she was quiet.

"OK.  i thought so."

"i think he knows too" i said.  " when i spoke with him early yesterday morning i told him his cancer had spread- that's why his pain was worse- that's why he'd turned yellow in the eyes- that's why he has 10# of fluid in his legs- and he'd nodded- he said he knew."

"i'm OK.  really, i'll be OK"

"i know you will.  i'm hear for you both.  i wish we weren't in this place- i wish things were different."

"you go and enjoy you're weekend."

and then it slipped out.  i didn't mean it to, but it did.

"the thing is, i really care for you guys.  i feel like you are my other set of parents."  that darn transparency- that holey filter that lets things slip through- things i'd rather keep to myself.

she laughed.  "i know you do.  we know that.  he cares for you too- and you know i 'preciate you-
you go on- i'll call you if i need you.  i thank you for calling.  'preciate you- i do."

last month, when i told them i was leaving, moving to africa- we were all sad. i remember wondering who'd be leaving first- who should leave first- would it be easier if i headed out while he was hanging on- or would it be better for me to be there in the end- for him, for his wife.  i don't know- but the closer you are, the harder it can be to give the bad news, to speak it- to give voice to what you don't want to believe or accept yourself.  but that is part of caring for people- taking on the hard stuff- the bitter reality - being willing to 'go there' with people- because pretending it's not there- is isolating and wrong.
 
i was glad i'd called- that i'd listened to that stirring- even if it was for the wrong reason- even if slightly misguided- even if i was trying to make it all look pretty and talk about shoes.  even if i needed her to bring up what i think i knew she needed to ask.  she didn't need shoes- she needed to know if her husband is dying. and she needed to ask it when he wasn't within earshot -at least my shoe call gave that opportunity. 

and it's hard to find that balance - between the heavy and light- between acknowledging a life- acknowledging death and also knowing that life goes on.

and it brought up for me, how hard it can be to live inside part of other peoples lives- how hard it can be when you know your patients as people- when you think about them outside of hospital walls, even while buying shoes on a  saturday morning. 

listen to the stirrings

today i was woken up by a text from my amazing friend kim asking me to check our her blog today- because it was about me . this woman who is practically a celeb- literally on CNN weekly, an incredible doctor- a superb award nominated doctor blogger- and a beautiful soulful friend- felt a stirring in her heart to write about me and my family and our move to uganda.  wow.  i mean- wow.

this left me feeling so humbled and so blessed.  it also made me take pause and reflect on the past several months of our life in transition- in preparation- and again, i felt humbled and blessed.

let's back up a little.

last spring, when we decided to take the plunge and seriously consider moving our family to africa, there was a lot of excitement and a lot of logistics to figure out and a lot of peoples feelings to consider and a lot more logistics to figure out.  we pretty quickly figured out the 'what' we'd be doing, and the 'where' we'd be doing it, and the 'why' we'd known for a while.  the 'when' became as soon as possible, but the 'how' was a big question mark.

because we are professionals, we knew we had options.  for example- we could move to uganda as a physician and architect with an ngo/ or the with the cdc- or on a fullbright- to do full time doctor/ architect/ research work.  but that didn't feel right- because we're not moving to uganda just because we think it would be cool to live in uganda.  we're moving to uganda because we believe that we should be giving to this country- that we should teach what we've been privileged to have been taught- that we should be less concerned with our comfort and our salary and more concerned with helping raise up this country- to give the little that we can- to bring change- to embrace education as the tool to bring this change- and to practice it with love and justice.  we decided to listen to the stirrings of our hearts.  and we decided that we need to be dependent ourselves in order to really serve the people of uganda.  that we need to live in a way that kept our focus on being right where we are- in the moment- that we need to live in a way that requires us to know what dependence feels like- to lean on others, to lean on God.  we decided to do this by going through a missions agency- where we are required to raise our support to live.  that's right.  we have to ask other people to believe in what we're doing and then to give us money in order for us to do it.  let me say- this is hard to do!  and yet- like most things that are hard- i've been blown away by what i've seen and heard and learned in the process.

the other day, i was googling 'be still and know'  and i came to a sight focusing on teaching hebrew to christians and it had a meditation on psalm 46:10 "be still and know that i am God".  it said the hebrew words for 'be still' are translated as ' be weak, let go, release', stressing the importance of surrendering and leaning on God- on trust- on dependence.  and this spoke to me about the 'how' of what we are doing.

by depending on others for our basic needs to be met- we are being weak- we are forced to let go- to release- to lean on God.  and as we've begun this process- hard as it's been- we've been amazed.  people have literally come out of the woodwork and given generously- people who we've asked and people who we've not asked- but who've responded to the stirrings of their heart.

this state of dependence has changed me already.  i have opened up more- i have begun listening more acutely to the stirrings of my heart- perhaps more importantly- i have begun responding to the stirrings.  the little things. emailing someone who is on my heart.  calling someone i'm thinking about.  being thankful.  saying a quick prayer.  writing a note.  as i've begun to depend on other people for my future- it's freed me to become more relational- to make more time for other people, to think of other peoples needs as more important than mine.  i don't fully get it- but, i'm seeing the world as bigger and smaller all at once.  i'm recognizing how much we do need each other and how much we can give each other. 

so kim- thank you for responding to your stirrings.  thank you for giving your words and your support and your encouragement- thank you for sharing in this- for believing in us- for sending us.  what if we all did this?  what if every time we thought of someone- we let them know it.  what if ever time we had that urge to let the car in front turn we did it, what if we called more, wrote more, gave more, hugged more, said 'thank you' more-- i think this crazy spinning world would be even better.

that place

i'm in that weird place of getting ready to leave a place. that place of feeling time.  it's hot outside- sticky, stagnant heat and i want it all to slow down- to make time do what the weather feels like- i want the world to mosey.  to slow dance.  to stretch out and just be.

i have that feeling of leaving a place like you want to savor it.   like you can see ahead and you know what's coming and you want to remember what you're leaving- what your loosing-not in a bad way- but in a real way.

today is friday and so i was blessed to be at work.  blessed to be able to care for others.  blessed to feel it as a blessing and not as something that consumes me.

two of my favorite patients are in the hospital- sick.  one is like my african american father.  he is.  i'm trying to be objective- but i'm finding that i'm advocating for him like i would for my dad.  this is probably a good thing.

today i gave my letter (email) of resignation.  i adjusted pain medications. i called the airline and inquired about flying pets.  i discussed prognosis.  i looked at the budget. i gave someone a hug and told him his cancer was progressing.  i am in two places.  here, and there. 

these are the snippets of my day. 

yesterday, was good but especially in comparison to the years before.  yesterday we were at the pool for hours with various friends entering and exiting and zoe did very well.  i was remembering where we were years ago- one year ago, two years ago- and how hard it was.  how a vacuum could ruin everything.  how a sticky thought could send her flying.  and those things were there yesterday.  and there were some sticky thoughts- there was a vacuum.  but she did it.  i did it. we overcame.  we saw small victory- we saw diffusion.  and it makes me breath a sigh of relief- a sigh of thanks to God. 

right now, i'm listening to paul simon, to 'graceland', and it reminds me of being 17 and feeling the heat of that african sun on my left arm as i sat in the front passenger seat of the SUV bumping along the dirt roads of kenya.  my two-tone tan- my first taste of that land that i love- the scent of the burning leaves and trash- the dust on my feet. 

trying to wrap my mind around this upcoming newness. 
place and time and here and there- now and then and to be.
it's all good.

seeing it differently

i must have been having some intense dreams because it's almost noon and i'm still trying to wake up my brain. maybe it's just the good old georgia heat - but on i'm not on top of my game.  or maybe it's because i'm alternating between making toast and calling embassies and airlines, putting toothpaste on toothbrushes and responding to emails from banks requesting more information about our house sale, responding to blog comments about my need to 'grow up' and not drag my children to uganda. 

yesterday we bought some rubber stamps and ink to make thank you cards.  the stamps were little alphabet letters so we can spell "weebale" which means 'thank you' in lugandan- then each kid picked an animal stamp for the note cards and today we began stamping.  after a while bryn and zoe decided to draw their animal stamps- bryn did his lion and moved on to draw zoe's zebra.  (jude was busy doing a math workbook at his request).  zoe got really frustrated.  she said that her lion was awful- that it wasn't as good as bryns- and wondered why she sees everything differently. 

zoe has always struggle with this- she has always wanted everyone to see things exactly like she see things- at the exact moment- even when metaphysically impossible. 
like on the phone.
"isn't that a cute cat?"
"i don't know- i can't see it- i'm talking to you on the phone, not sitting near you."
"but you have to see it!  i want you to see it.  why don't you see it?"
as if not sharing it made what she saw less real.  as if she was unsure of her reality. 
it took years for her to know that our lives, our senses are not inextricably linked - to understand she is her own distinct person- that she is only one person with one persons views- that the whole universe doesn't share her perspective.  i think this falls under the category of ego-centrism- an immaturity that kids on the spectrum sometimes have- lacking an awareness of "other".  
now she gets it- she knows that i don't see what she sees exactly how she sees it- but i think it still bothers her a bit.

i told her it's beautiful that we all see things differently.  that art is about seeing it and expressing it differently.  that individual perspective brings something new to an object or idea. how art is special because of the artists unique way of seeing. how we might connect with something, art, or an idea or the written word, because we resonate with the expression that someone else captured- and we become connected. 

seeing things differently can create division or unity.  i know for zoe and i- in our little world it does both.  we drive each other crazy and we learn from each other.  perhaps the connection is that much stronger and more meaningful when it happens despite such differences in how we see the world- i don't know- but i'm glad there is alternative perspective, and glad there are many mediums for expression - and thankful there are many ways we can live out our lives uniquely because we see things differently.