seek

the beginning of the celtic morning prayer starts with a series of questions that reference how we are to love God.  they reference a command from the old testament about how we are to love God- with our heart, our soul, our mind, our strength.  these are questions that i read almost every day. they are repetitive, they are routine, they are easily brushed over by me.  but today for some reason they stood out.  they called to me.  today was different - it was like someone really wanted to know my answers- today, i asked them of myself.

who is is that you seek?
we seek the Lord our God.

to seek- to desire, to request, to try to obtain, to inquire

these lines start with the most important question- Who.  who do you seek?  they don't rush in and assume it is God. 

i sat in darkness before the sun rose and thought about this- who is it that i seek?  what is it that i seek? because we are all seeking something.  we are seekers.

i thought about what gets me up in the morning.  a hot cup of coffee?  my children? my desire to check my email? to read the headlines in the news? even to write here? or to see who is reading, or to read the comments?
"who" requires a specific answer- it is not a yes or no question.  "seek" is a verb.  it's an action.  i like action- but who am i seeking- and how.

do you seek Him with all your heart?
do you seek Him with all your soul?
do you seek Him with all your mind?
do you seek Him with all your strength?

it's asked four times if we seek- it asks about each part of ourselves. and it asks how much. all.

all?  all is a lot.  all is everything.  it's encompassing.  it leaves no room for other things.  i should be seeking Him in everything- with all of me.  it is not compartmental, it is not convenient, it is not only on sunday morning or reserved for people who preach.

this sat with me, as i sat on the couch in the dark of morning with a cup of delicious coffee.

the daily reading was from edith schaeffer- of the l'abri fellowship.  it also spoke of seeking- but seeking in stillness.  it spoke of the pondering and prayerful parts of seeking- and the allowing and waiting parts.  those parts that i'm really bad at.  those parts that require me to 'hold the pose',  to live in the unknown and to be okay there.

to be honest- the reason i was sitting there on the couch before the sun was up- the reason why those words about seeking stood out today- was because i was in need.  i was about to have my first day an clinic here and i wanted to start it off with the right focus- so i was purposeful in my seeking of God today.  and this is so often how it goes.  i seek out of need. i seek when it's easy or convenient or i'm reminded, or the internet is down so i have nothing else to do.  i seek out of my extra not my all.  out of my mind but not my soul.

the sky is incredible right now as the sun sets. and i'm reminded that God is a seeker too.  He's good at  seeking in stillness- in a night full of stars, or the light finally breaking into day.  He seeks now in the light and clouds and color and sounds as day ends.  but sometimes he seeks us in our pain as we question how he can love us and allow it.  but i go back to "all".  in sorrow or joy, or beauty or poverty.  all these moments.
who do i seek? 

skin deep

we celebrated expat halloween today. 

pirate, skeleton, power-ranger and two of three powerpuff girls- zoe as blossom and i'm buttercup.

we celebrated today because we can- and actual halloween, tomorrow,  is on a school night and following a school day.  today i was reminded that i also like m&m's and plain old hersey's bars, as well as the reeces and snickers. today i was reminded of how quick and fun the prep-time is and how long and slow is the clean up.  face paint. easy on, painful and slow to come off.

we also decided to have a first annual halloween party after the trick or treating.  it was our first time hosting a party here and it was good except for running out of drinking water and making the guests drink sprite despite being high on sugar from all the candy. 

the decor

so this morning, we needed to go into kampala to get the last items for the costumes, the food, and the party. our adopted weekend son cyrus, showed up early and ready to join us and we headed into town.  we got some gas, refilled the tires with air and were back on the road.  after about 30 minutes mike noticed the car was driving strangely.  everything was shakier than normal, noiser and we felt wobbly- especially on my side.  i rolled down the window and looked out at the tires- they looked fine but i agreed something wasn't right.

can you see the lopsided tire? it was like a tire aneurysm. the wall of that part of the tire had thinned out and enlarged- the next step would have been a blow out.  i was so thankful that we'd felt it, and that mike was driving, and is good at changing tires and knowing what to do.  seriously, another example of provision.  i pray every day as i head out on that road- for safety and protection- it was given again today.

i couldn't help but imagine what if this had happened on the way to school with the boys tomorrow in the early morning.  would i have pulled over?  what if the tire had blown?  what if we'd wrecked? do i remember how to change a tire? would i have known i needed too? damsel in distress. 

so much of life is like this- unknown.  so much of the time we are unprepared- or think we are.

about a month ago, i saw my first patient since arriving in africa.  it was one of those non-formal patients- the son of someone who works here.  someone called and asked if this guy could stop by with his son, if i would look at a rash.  a pediatric rash.  a pediatric rash with a fever.  now.  i'm not a dermatologist, and i'm not a pediatrician- so i felt a bit out of my league.  but i am a doctor and there are expectations and i think generally, i ought to know what to do.  but i was, nervous.  it felt like a test.  it felt like my first opportunity to show people that i knew something- that i could do something- that i had a contribution. but it could be my first opportunity to show them the true idiot i am, that i actually know very little and can't do much of anything for anyone.  so i wanted to get it right.  but why couldn't it have been an adult with chest pain?  or a bad cough, or diabetes or pain management?  really God?  my first patient, a pediatric rash?  thanks.

he showed up with his dad, his mom, his little sister and his twin brother.  it was late afternoon and the power was out so i had to meet with them on the front porch where the light was best for looking at rashes.  it was a nasty rash , in many places on his body, and the little guy looked sick- he was warm and scared.  i went through my questions- those ingrained questions that have walked me through years of medical investigation and always lead you through the process of ruling things out, and ruling other things in.  the medical history, the history of present illness, chronic medications, new medications, new foods, onset of rash, associated symptoms, sick contacts, treatments so far, efficacy, etc.

and while i'm listening to the mom answer these questions, i'm thinking that there must be 10 infectious diseases that this could be, that i don't know, that i should know since i now live in africa.  and i'm thinking of how sick they all could make him, and i'm thinking this isn't just some random kid i don't know, but this is the son of someone i see all the time, and i'm thinking about how different things can look on dark skin compared with pale white skin and i'm trying to remember what medicine i brought and if any of it will work and what i should do??  and as the time wore on- i felt indecisive and pressured and that hot under the collar feeling.  finally, i pulled it together.  i reminded myself that i probably did know what this was- that i needed to think clearly about what i thought, what was most likely, and to trust myself, even with a pediatric patient, even with darker skin, even in africa. 
i put my dollar down on impetigo- honey crusted lesions, infected, and i rambled through my luggage and dug out the antibiotics i'd brought for bryn (figuring the dose would be closest) and knowing it should cover staph and strep.  i handed them the medicine, wrote out how to take it, and the name of some topical medicines they could buy at the pharmacy, and my phone number and told them to call me the next day so i could follow up.  then i said a prayer that went something like this-
'please God, heal this little guy, and let me have done no harm."

the next day he was better- and it continued.

it's amazing how much a new situation can still throw me, almost 10 years out of medical school. it always takes getting used to.  it takes remembering that most of the time, we know it- it takes trusting yourself- trusting your knowledge, and experience and your ability to think.  but it also takes caring and follow up.

tomorrow i begin to be a doctor again formally.  tomorrow i start at Reach Out clinic.  tomorrow i'll be reminded of it all over again. why we came, why we are here, what we're doing, and probably that feeling of how little i think i know.  the 'transition' will be officially over.  this life here, will be more here than perhaps it has been.  

i have no idea what tomorrow will hold.  what crazy thing will walk through that door, or curtain, and how it will stretch me to learn more, to try harder, to understand in a new way.  but i'm ready- to jump in- to expand my days. and i'm thankful for the opportunity,  and for a replaced tire, and that the face paint is mostly off. thankful for a new day tomorrow and a goodnight of sleep right now.

morning poem and our life in photos

Morning Poem

Every morning

the world

is created.

Under the orange

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches ---

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.

If it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere.

And if your spirit

carries within it

the thorn

that is heavier than lead ---

if it's all you can do

to keep on trudging ---

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth

is exactly what it wanted ---

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered

lavishly,

every morning,

whether or not

you have ever dared to be happy,

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray. 

-mary oliver

our friend cyrus with bryn

more monkeys but with out tails

typical ugandan meal at the library opening.  chipati, pumpkin, fish, potato, nut sauce- delicious

mike and i meeting the USAID representative at library opening

bryn in action

the pool in jinja

jude at UN day at international school (39 countries represented)

bujugali falls

our painted glory

it's about to be a beautiful storm.  the wind is cold and there are a few leaves blowing- like the fall in new england.  the far sky is a dark smokey grey and the left over light close by looks like the light in winter- filtered and quiet and about to be overtaken.  i love these transitional moments most of all.

there is something about being outside that i need.  something in the sounds and the space - it's life giving and freeing, even in the heat, or cold, or the rain.

today was filled with more good things.  bryn got a reading award at school,

we celebrated the opening to the library mike designed,

and zoe and i had a good morning at the orphanage. (oh do i love those littles).

the library opening was a big deal.  it is a project that has been in the works for 5+ years from beginning to end- and it came with much work in both fundraising and design.  it is mikes biggest and best work, but what's more, it's what he's most proud of- because it's where his heart is.

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” buechner.
this project exemplifies this.  being here, is the place.

there were many 'big wigs' at the event, and in typical ugandan style it was full of food, pomp and circumstance, and ceremony.  i love this about uganda.  i do.  at every celebration or even meeting it seems there is a formal opening, by a designated MC.  the beginning includes announcing several people and welcoming several more and not leaving anyone important out.  people matter more than time (not a very US concept).  there are many speeches, much applause and a formal closing.  often things start and end late- and that part was a little hard to adjust to, but today, everything ran on time.

it was lovely- the building is fabulous, people were impressed, all were happy and thankful and mike felt very appreciated and honored to have designed such a major building at the university.  i would guess it was a high point in his career.

and then we came home. to a funny, but low point of our parenting career.
the boys had spray painted orange everywhere.  on the porch, the porch furniture, each other's hair and arms, zoe's shoes, judes shoes, even my new boots!.  the side of the house had a giant line of orange paralleling the ground- it was on the posts, on the bushes- everywhere.  it looked like that scene in 'the cat and the hat comes back' when they get pink everywhere before their mother comes home.

let me explain about the orange paint.  to be fair, it is washable, water based and meant for temporary costume hair color.  because this weekend is halloween and i have three eager american children who are bound and determined to celebrate it, even though they live in africa where no one celebrates halloween.  zoe and i are going as two of the three powerpuff girls.  she'd decided to be blossom who has orange hair. now the problem with celebrating halloween in uganda is the costumes and lack there of. but, i must pause to share some halloween baggage.

when i was growing up, i trick-or-treated every year since age six, with one of my best friends, erica.  in general this was a great experience except for the few years there were rumors of razorblades in candy bars or injected poison and we had to painstakingly check all the candy for small holes in the wrappers prior to indulging.  the only problem with trick-or-treating with erica was the costume differential.  erica's dad started working on their amazing homemade-better-than-store-bought costumes, in august- fo' reals'.  i mean, these things were incredible.  a giant dole banana costume, a TV set, a robot.  these costumes were large and complicated and had harnesses inside.  i had my fair share of planned costumes, one year i was a caterpillar- made of felt, once i was a bag of chocolate chips (a painted 30# dog food bag)- but many years i was whatever i could scrounge together that week or even that night before we went to get our candy.  i'll never forget the year that we went house to house and were greeted again and again with "OH! a Heinz Ketchup bottle! how cute!! and what are you dear?"  "i'm a hobo" i said.  my costume consisting of a hat, some mismatched clothes and rouge on my cheeks. 

you might think the appropriate response to my inferior dress up experience would be to retaliate with my children's costumes- to make them the best ever, the most well planned, but instead i seem to prefer the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants approach.  this might have something to do with the fact that the only thing i really like about halloween is the candy- and even then, really , only the reese peanut butter cups and snickers.  i mean, if i'm honest and willing to be unpopular, i don't like being scared, and i don't like carving pumpkins.

this halloween bryn wants use his power ranger costume from last year (score!), jude says he thinks he wants to be a vampire, and zoe wants to be blossom, the powerpuff girl with orange hair.  i was in town trying to buy vampire teeth (no luck), face paint (yes! located) and hair color spray.  i eventually found it, but it was ~$12- which i thought was outrageous.  ps- it was really the only thing i was purchasing for halloween.  anyway- i couldn't buy it, but then in typical fashion- regretted it when i got home.  today my friend was in town and picked it up for me- sending it home with the boys after school.

cut to scene arriving home from highlight of mike's career, library opening.

so there we were- one boy covered in orange paint- another one who had clearly eaten the canary- and the hairspray paint can now empty.  that was the part that got me mad.  mike jumped into full dad mode and talked about vandalism and consequences and while the boys were scrubbing the walls and shoes and everything else insight and lamenting loosing their friday 40 cent cinnamon bun allowance for the next 10 weeks to pay for it,  mike and i had to laugh about the highs and lows of our days.  about how quick are the moments of glory- and how fast the reality of life in all it's painted glory settles on us.

but all those moments, like the darkening sky before the storm, are beautiful just because they are.

vistors are fantastic- hint hint

tomorrow my parents leave africa. and even though the last week they've been in ethiopia not uganda, it feels that they are about to be much farther away. because they are.  and i will miss them.

tomorrow the library that mike has been designing and working on for the past 5 years is being 'unveiled' - revealed- fully opened.  and it is beautiful, really beautiful.  i'm so proud of him.

so the pictures are of these things from the past few weeks.

mom and dad on the nile

trying out chairs in banana boat

monkeys wanting food

bryn and jude on vacation in jinja

the kids drumming at bujugali falls

getting a tour of the university

so lucky to call her mom!

meeting steven who brings us delicious eggs

zoe in the church

zoe and mike in the courtyard of the new library

getting the library tour while it's being cleaned

how beautiful is this?- (go mike!)

inside of the library again

bamboo ceiling panels

on yoga and life

i just went to a yoga class.  the first one in a very long time. and it was really good.  i went for two reasons- to feel my body again, to open up those closed spaces- and to meet people.  the class is taught by one of the mothers at the school and on thursdays it meets at one of the other mothers houses.  it was a beautiful house, up on mbuya hill, with a beautiful and enormous upper level porch.  that is where we did yoga- on this tiled porch up in the trees.

i felt many things.  a little sore and tight, very 'at home' in a familiar way- other expats, the typical 'yoga music' playing, and also i felt very thankful that i could feel this while looking out over the wild lushness, knowing my feet are planted on african soil.  and as i listened to the calming voice of the instructor telling us where to move which leg and hand, i was reminded of how the routines and rituals of life, keep that steadiness, give that safety.

it was a very different class then what i'd been doing in atlanta.  it was more hatha flow than iyengar.  there was more movement, the poses went from one to the next and i was so happy that i'd spent that year focusing on the slow learning of poses, the alignment.  i was surprised how it felt like getting back on a bike- my body remembered where to go, what to do, what to think about.

there was a point when we were doing a variety of pigeon poses- where i was feeling a lot of tightness in my left hip.  that sore ache like there is air trapped, or something clenched that won't release.  and as often happens when we feel pain, i began tense up everything, to get the other parts involved in solidarity, as if the held breath and the active legs and arms and mind could bear through it together until the pose was over.  but, our teacher said some very helpful and wise things.

be okay with the discomforts of your body, and your life.  they will always come.  breath into the tightness.  give your bodies permission to open up in the specific spots that seem closed. give yourselves permission to open up to the areas that are shut.  and that is what i needed to hear again.  stop controlling it.  release.  use your mind, yes, but use it to direct your body not to distract your body. and the situation reversed. the permission was given from the top down and it worked.  my leg let go, the hip opened, the pain slowly left and i was able to reach a new place. 

after class the teacher asked what type of yoga i'd done before.  i'll be honest, i was totally psyched that she could tell i had at least a basic idea of what 'downward dog' is.  i told her it was iyengar yoga.  she seemed interested but said she couldn't do it- not enough movement.

i get that.  if yoga has personalities, mine is not iyengar- it's probably more bikram (the hot yoga).  iyengar is focused and precise and all about learning the correct alignment.  it is slow and patient, spending 90 minutes on a few poses- doing them again and again with the slightest correction, listening to our teacher who would explain which muscle to listen to in order to balance the pose.  i learned a lot.  i learned the poses, but i also learned about being still.  i learned in a complicated season of life, the value of being patient, of holding the pose even when i felt i would tip over or the burn of a muscle that couldn't take it anymore.  i learned that sometimes you have to stick with it, even when it hurts, even when it's boring, even when everything in you wants to move, to change, to go on.

it made me think again of the seasons of life.  that there are times for each, and in each there are lessons to be learned.  times to be still and patient, and times for movement.   because in both, we need to breath, we need to release, we need to create space, to let go, we need to be okay with the difficult things.  we need to give ourselves permission.

rain snaps

more rain!! but the light was nice and i got an umbrella for two dollars- so now my rain gear is complete!

jude with his best smile yet

the kids in the hood playing on our porch in the rain

bryn always with his hood up

had to put the boots in again

it's in the bag, no really...it is

the other day my friend abby wrote about her purse and it's contents.
it got me thinking.  she had a neat display of things- it was well ordered- there wasn't anything weird in there- it seems like exactly what you put in a bag if you were thoughtful about it.  i was mildly terrified to look in my bag- which is the holder of a great many things- and often it's own black hole- as things in it- disappear.

so i took a look and this is what i found:

a wallet
keys
an iphone- (used for music and camera purposes)
a 'ugandan cell phone' (aka- basic cell phone with no data plan)

a notebook entitled "notes to self" and half full of lists- (ranging from topics i need to bring up with the pediatrician next time, to groceries, to what activities i wanted to do in boston this past summer, to a party list, a prayer list, and of course a 'todo list') the other half full of kids drawings

a group of 3 by 5 cards, binder clipped together with more lists and 'important' information

a pair of +1 reading glasses from the drug store
a pair of earings
seven pens
two emergency pill containers- with everything from alleve to intense migraine medicine to benadryl.

four hair clips (and a fifth broken one)
18 receipts loose in the bottom of the bag

a paper encased wooden toothpick
the address of the random guy from the plane when leaving ethiopia who gave me $100 (the first money for our uganda missions fund)

two burts bee's lipbalms
one pink sparkly juicytube

one dime
2 ugandan coins
two paper maps of kampala
a luganda phrase book and my lugandan class papers
a journal

the room key to lisa and my hotel in ethiopia (what?)
two peoples business cards
and a folded up page of notes i'd taken on zoe's last social group phone conference in atlanta.

i think this is a reflection of my constant preparedness in life (ha) and my state of random disorganization which typically works for me- unless i'm under time pressure to dig one of those things out of that bag.

i also carry my computer bag with me when i go to kampala for the day.  i figured i pretty much knew what was in that one- a computer and the cord/ power converter.  but i also found....

four books-  'the help' (yes atlanta book club- i'm still reading it!)
                  -'how deep is this pothole' (written by a doctor in uganda)
                  - my bible
                  - 'riding the bus with my sister' a book about a woman
                      and her sister with downs syndrome

a flash drive
three more pens
another lipbalm- strawberry sparkle
a migraine pill

and a bikini and sunscreen (just in case?)

and it all left me thinking i might be even crazier than i thought.

it rained!

here is the world

today is my last tuesday to gallivant around town.

i woke up this morning and didn't feel like coming in to kampala after dropping the boys.  i thought about returning to mukono, back to the beautiful campus, but then i remembered that i'll be at home with zoe for the next 2 days and will be mildly stir crazy,  and i remembered that next week i start work at Reach Out clinic and will soon be craving some time alone- craving reflection.

life in kampala, at least the places i go, seems very expat-y.  very muzungu.  the coffee shop is filled half with ugandans and half with expats.  the market and the "mall" are the same.  banana boat- is all muzungu.  but getting to kampala, watching all the thousands of people walking and riding to and from town, is fully ugandan.  so the drive is much more real and much more interesting.  i love to read the matatus (as i've shared before) and attempt to translate the luganda writing some of them have on the back.  and i love the women in heels in the mud, and i love the random tee-shirts people wear.  today my favorites were:  a woman in ' i (heart) china'  and a man in ' got DSL?'

but i'm craving seeing patients again.  craving doing what i came here to do. i'm ready to stop gallivanting and be thrown in and use what i've been trained to do. i'm ready to struggle to understand luganda in real time and to understand the concrete needs and think about the best way to help meet the need.  i'm ready to live in some different 'needs of the day' and to have my feet take me back to the other parts of me. i'm ready to begin to see and feel the world- this world- here.

i've been reading buechner and thinking about these things- about need, God, our places in the world, our connectedness.  last night after the kids were in bed, we sat and discussed theology by candlelight, mike and i, his parents and our friend/visitor.  we talked about the differences in liturgy and church doctrine and the place/ role of priests versus parishioners in confession and the definition of 'the church' and the relationship between community and the individual and God.   

theology: "the systematic and rational study of religion and its influences and of the nature of religious truths" (wikipedia)

it was a good conversation, we shared, i learned some things from some very wise people.  but, i don't like talking about 'theology'.  looking around at creation and the world, i'm sure God is very systematic and things are rational, but there has been very little system, order or rationality in my experience of God.  my life has been full of beautiful messes- flowers blooming out of cracked pavement- experiencing the divine in the darkness of a hospital basement with my infant son swallowed in an MRI machine.  my experience of God has been his showing up where i wouldn't expect, his joining in the ugly of my life, finding his answer to a prayer very well disguised in a gay antique dealer, or a formerly homeless poet veteran.   so talking about theology is like watching the previews or only eating the salad.  i want the feature, the meat- the life changing realness that comes from following God in the disorder, because it's not rational, because it often bucks the system.  i crave the sharing of these things, and less an orderly discussion of which is better the 'smells and bells' or the 'Gad, we just...' forms of worship.  because really, i just don't think God cares.  He loves us whether we go to him through a priest or on our knees in the shower out of pure desperation. and for that,  i am so thankful.

my african tea is gone.  the coffee shop is half full.  the people here are all shapes and shades and languages- all made, all loved, all full of needs, all with feet taking them to the different places that they are. here is the world.

“Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid.”
(buechner)

hunter boots size 8- plum

it's raining.  hard. hard rain like a good southern storm and i'm missing my good old southern porch from where i often watched the rain.  rain here seems to get everything wet- even porches.  but because it's monday morning, i'm not at home, but on the road taking little people to school. i drove slowly watching streams of orange brown muddy water add to the activity on the road- another obstacle- people, bota's, matatus, trucks, goats, bikes, potholes and now streams.  it's like the next level up on the video game of kampala driving.

of course when i left it was warm and cloudy but since i have a meeting, i threw on a summer dress and ran out the door- thankfully grabbing a little sweater, but not a raincoat, not an umbrella, and worst of all... not my new rain boots.  let me pause and share my story about the rain boots.

a few years ago, we adopted our dog clover from the atlanta humane society.

it was the 'rainy season' in atlanta- somewhere between winter and spring- it was march.  it rained everyday. hard rain.  the yard was muddy, the sidewalk puddled, and clover was not trained.  clover needed to go outside and go to the bathroom- often.  we had planned to build a fence before getting a dog- but it had been winter and the ground was too hard to dig out the post areas.  we could have waited- but zoe was struggling and i was convinced that having an animal friend would help- and so i made the deal with mike that if we got the dog before the fence was up- it would be my job to take her out- rain or shine- early or late.  now you can tell how desperate i must have been- and how deeply i'd convinced myself that a dog would help her.

after we'd had clover for a week- i realized i was having a shoe dilemma.  i needed rain boots.  now, i'm not a great planner.  i tend to purchase when needed- not just in case- or even, not before the obvious need arises.  like rain gear.  pretty much anywhere i've ever lived- there have been very rainy seasons- but somehow, perhaps out of denial, i never have the appropriate gear for me or my family. in fact i think about rain gear as something i'd like to get away with not having. and maybe this is where my sensory issues come in.  raincoats are cold, in a clammy sort of way.  and they stay wet.  and so do umbrellas- and i don't like the way they look generally. so my kids never have rain coats- they never have umbrellas- and only one year did they have rain boots that fit them (and they'd begged for them).   all the other children in the neighborhood walk to school in matching aquatic animal themed rain gear, frogs, ducks, dolphins, etc.  and their moms this year had on some very cute, very patterned rain boots.  i'm always the lady run,skip, jumping to avoid large puddles and low hanging wet branches- while pulling the kids behind me- and getting annoyed that i'm getting wet- as if i should be surprised.

so now that clover had presented a need for rainboots-  i set out to find some cute ones.  but i couldn't. they were all gone.  bought up by those prepared mothers. target was out.  the mall was out. it was one of those typical situations where something is only not available when you finally need it- but before, you couldn't figure out why they'd stocked so many flowered rubber boots.  anyway, i finally ended up at a department store trying on a fabulous pair of pumpkin colored hunter boots.  these are the old english wellies but in new funky colors.  they are well made, and they actually fit (vs the typical boots that have enough room in the calf for your snow pants and your other leg).  i loved them, but.  they were crazy expensive.  they were twice the price of the adoption fee we'd paid for the dog.  so i began to go down that path of mental tricks that i often use make decisions about whether or not to buy something- but that rarely results in a decision other than the one i'd made the moment i became aware of my ethical spending crisis.  the mental games include:  'the cost divided by how many times will i wear this item'- so if i wear these boots to walk clover 100x (over the next month- which is a little more than 3 walks per day) it will cost me only $1 per wearing!  but that didn't work because they still cost $100- and i just couldn't do it.  so after walking around the shoe department in those glorious boots, doing my calculations for about 30 minutes, i left empty handed and drove to a hardware store and bought a too-big-but-sufficient pair of small men's rubber boots for $10 and felt that i'd made the right choice.

and they were fine.  they weren't cute and they were too big, but i had dry feet which i believe is the point of rain boots.

when we were packing to move to africa i didn't have room for the boots- and thought that was fine as i couldn't recall many rainy days when visiting before.  but we landed at the beginning of the rainy season, and pretty soon i was back to my spastic pinball walk to avoid puddles and mud (which of course is impossible when you are walking on unpaved paths).

i began to have intrusive thoughts about those pumpkin boots.
i began to obsess about how i could get myself some pumpkin hunter boots.
so when we had power and internet- i was on line looking for them.  well, it was two years ago, so pumpkin is no longer 'a color'.
there is always ebay- but apparently no one wants to part with there pumpkin size 8 hunter boots.  and i can say that for a fact because i checked craigslist in every city in the US and england.  this is an embarrassing fact about my personality, i have a slightly obsessive side.  but when i realized that there were no pumpkin boots in my future, i let it go.  okay, i let go of the pumpkin part.

my parents arrived last week heavy laden with gifts and 'necessities'.  peanut butter, chocolate chips, batteries, rain coats for the boys, and an early birthday gift for me.  they brought me size 8 hunter boots in plum.  and they are beautiful. they know me.  they give good gifts.  they even brought a pair of fleece socks that match to avoid the cold clammy rubber feeling.  above and beyond.

today would have been perfect- today would have been a fabulous rain boot day.  i could have put those boots to good use, i could have been a vision in plum.

but now i'm home.  and as often happens, even during the rainy season, it's become a beautiful sunny day.  the sky is blue, the dirt has dried, the puddles are gone.  until next time- i'm hoping, tomorrow.

the needs of the day

“Thus, when you wake up in the morning, called by God to be a self again, if you want to know who you are, watch your feet. Because where your feet take you, that is who you are.”
― Frederick Buechner, The Alphabet of Grace

there are some books that i just need to read, and re-read and keep near my bed, because they hold truths that i seem to continue to forget.  my many moments can steal away the things i need to remember.  to not just remember, but to live in. the words of Fredrick Buechner, especially The Alphabet of Grace, are some of those words- poetic wisdom- truth- faith- but real real. he's not afraid of messy- he doesn't need packaging- he's not scared to leave us in the gray spaces.

today my feet took me down the path to church with my children following behind and mike and his parents and a visitor beside us. today my feet wore high heels and i had to watch them so i wouldn't fall.  today i was watching my feet for the wrong reasons- damage control- not reflection- not self-awareness.

today my feet walked with my children to sunday school, each with their own selves coming out.
bryn eager to please, announcing he didn't need me to accompany them.
jude concerned that if i left i'd never be able to find him after the adult service.
and zoe.  appearing fine.


but after a few songs and a definite sense of overwhelm- lots of kids, small spaces, echo-y voices- the unraveling began.  zoe began folding her hands inside out and stretching her arms and wiggling her feet and loudly whispering that she needed to go home.  the more i whispered a refusal, the more agitated and adamant she became.  and then i began to unravel- subtly- but  none the less- unraveling on the inside.

i have a desire for order, for dependable, for no surprises.  i don't want to have to go to children's church- i did that for 18 years- i want to go to the adult service- but zoe seems to need a helper. and if i have to make this sacrifice- then i want it to be rewarded with success- zoe being able and engaged in her class.  i don't want her to not be able to handle it- it reads as failure- it reads as messy.  and i don't want to have to leave in the middle with a trail of blond heads bobbing behind me.

but we did.  we left.  and our feet took us right out of the children's chapel and straight up the path to home. i was quiet as i hiked up in the blue suede heels- no longer watching my feet to avoid stumbling- now instead, watching where my feet were taking me.  very aware that this is my life.  that where my feet are taking me, that why my feet are taking me, this is who i am.

i began to think about what that means.

" 'What's to be done?'  and the answer that life gives is: live in the needs of the day.  What's to be done? Do what you need most to do this day and what is most needed of you. Where your feet take you today is who you are.  Guide thou my feet O Thou invisible, manifest thyself, clack-clack, in this visible day." 

the needs of the day.  the needs of all days.  they are dependable- they are the six feet wandering the path beside me.  some more needy than others.  some days more needy than other days.  and thank God they are full of surprises.

the needs of the day are to let my feet be flexible in their path.  to let them get up and walk out of sunday school if the need this day is to be with God outside- is to let zoe's feet lead her in who she is.  because really what i want is more than sitting in church, it's more than 'normal', it's bigger than sitting still because she's supposed to in class.  really what i want is to wake up in the morning, called by God, to be self again.  really what i want is for my children to each wake up in the morning, called by God, to be their selves again.  different selves from each other and from me.  really what i want is for our feet to walk in Grace- to walk us together- to who we are- even if it's right back up the red dirt path to home.  even if it's messy. because life is and so is faith.

"Faith is disorderly, intermittent, full of surprises....faith is homesickness.  faith is a lump in the throat.  Faith is less a position on, than a movement towards, less of a sure thing, than a hunch.  Faith is waiting..."

so here i will wait.

thirst

the water of lake victoria lapping.
the night bugs are like snow flurries in the light.

the stars of the southern hemisphere are mapped out before me- gigantic and foreign,  rich and glorious. 

it's hard to believe i'm here.  

and this is where i am- (thanks lilian)

Thirst
Another morning and I wake with thirst
for the goodness I do not have. I walk
out to the pond and all the way God has
given us such beautiful lessons. Oh Lord,
I was never a quick scholar but sulked
and hunched over my books past the hour
and the bell; grant me, in your mercy,
a little more time. Love for the earth
and love for you are having such a long
conversation in my heart. Who knows what
will finally happen or where I will be sent,
yet already I have given a great many things
away, expecting to be told to pack nothing,
except the prayers which, with this thirst,
I am slowly learning.

— Mary Oliver, Thirst,
  

new rules

i am a good driver.  i am.  but i have been pulled over twice in two months.  the first one was legit.  i was 'over taking' a slow car, but doing it very carefully.  unfortunately i was quickly flagged over by the traffic police, told i'd committed a traffic offense by crossing over a solid line and told my fine would be 50K shillings which i would have to pay in court.  but after looking in the back seat at the three boys on their way to school, he let me go with a warning.  it all seemed very appropriate and official and i was glad to know that someone was actually paying attention to the rules of the road.

yesterday, i was pulled over again, but it was not so legit.  i was a bit lost, and realized i was heading in the wrong direction, so i pulled into a driveway and turned around.  about two kilometers down another road i was  pulled over by a guy in the ugandan police blue camo uniform riding on a civilian motorcycle.  he told me i had committed a 'very bad crime'.  i apologized, but said i wasn't sure what i'd done.  he told me i'd made a U-turn and this was illegal and 'very serious' and in uganda such a crime would require me to go immediately to court and pay 2 million shillings.  now.  i know this is a bunch of crap.  and when i heard 2 million shillings (which is about half the yearly mean income here) i got annoyed and i really didn't mean to argue but i had to tell him that i hadn't exactly made a u-turn but had turned around in a driveway and that i didn't know it was illegal here.  he went into a long explanation about the system,  stating that there are no bribes allowed or anything like that, but asked what we thought he should do.  i told him i thought he should forgive me and then help me get to where i was going, since i was lost and since he'd asked.  then he asked how he should forgive me.  my dad, who was riding shotgun and getting most of the eye contact during the conversation, said 'out of kindness'. but the officer laughed and replied that if he were going to forgive me, i should reach into my pocket and give him something.  i told him i didn't understand what he meant.  "oh, you don't understand my accent." he said.
"no, i understand what you're saying, just not what you mean."  again he turned to my father, "what do you think i mean?"
my father said, "i think you are saying that because you are giving us a gift of forgiveness, you 'd like us to give you a gift too."
"yes!" he smiled.
i was furious.  a- because he's not even a traffic cop, so i dont' think he can give tickets.  b- i don't think what i did was illegal.  c- because even if it was, i'm sure the fine wasn't 2 million shillings.  d- because he was asking for a bribe.  it was extortion!

but, what was i going to do? this isn't america.  i can't jot down his badge number and report him.  so i reached into my wallet and pulled out a 5000 shilling bill and handed it to him.
"i can't even buy sugar with this!" he complained.
i was still furious and not about to be extorted for anymore than what is equivalent to 2 dollars.
"yes you can", i argued, " maybe two weeks ago you couldn't have, but now sugar is 4000 per kilo."
i think he wasn't going to push his luck, so he let me go.

as i drove away, i just kept thinking about the complete injustice of it all.  i didn't care about the 5000 shillings, i cared about the corruption of the police force.  i cared that i now live in a country where instead of reporting him,  i have to be careful to not  piss off some guy with a gun.  i also felt targeted because i'm a muzungu (reverse racism). i appear ignorant and fearful and wealthy- all of which are probably true.

my parents and mike kept reminding me that i was indeed not in the US anymore and that i'd better simmer down.  they reminded me that i wasn't going to change any system by defying it- that while it was wrong, i needed to pick my battles, this was a traffic ticket situation, not a violation of human rights, and not worth great risk.  but still it just sat sour in my stomach.  i'm just supposed to give in to this?  i thought of all the options -  i could just refuse and tell him to give me the ticket- that i'd deal with it in court.  but he's the guy with the gun- he could tell me that i needed to go with him- he could tell me that i was under arrest and who knows what would happen to me then.  i also thought about him- he probably gets paid almost nothing and relies on this for his income- like Robin Hood- stealing from the rich to support the poor. 

then i thought what would Jesus do?  i thought about loving your enemies and praying for those who persecute you, but that seemed too abstract for the situation.  i was looking for an answer- a response for the next time i get pulled over and a bribe is requested.   and what came to me was the story of zacheus.  he was that short tax collector guy who kept ripping people off and climbed a tree to see Jesus over the crowd that had gathered.  Jesus called up to him, acknowledged him and asked him if he could have dinner at his house.  Jesus, engaged him, he related to him, he didn't judge him or ignore him or reject him, he chose to eat with him. and just this was enough for transformation.  zacheus gave back what he'd taken- four fold. 

i thought about that a lot.  what if i'd asked that camouflaged military police guy to dinner.  what if when he asked what i was going to give him in return for his kindness, i'd said a nice hot meal.  what if i'd invited him to our house.  what if i'd asked what his life is like- what if instead of 'giving in' to the system or fighting the system- i was relational. 

at the rate i'm going i'll have an opportunity to try out my new plan with in the next month.  and i'm sure if my response to a request for a bribe was, "please come for dinner at our house"  it would be met with a giant laugh and a smile and maybe it would at the very least, defuse the situation.  or maybe it would be an interesting evening and slowly, the system would begin to change.

life goes

it's raining a soft rain, and i was really hoping for sun.  but that is life, isn't it.  one of my dear friends is back in the hospital for something like the 10th time this year- he wanted even less, just to not feel so sick- just to feel normal.  one of jude's classmates just wants to be a six year old boy, but he has cancer.  that's life, it shouldn't be, but it is, it's the suckiest part of life.

driving into kampala today, written on the back window of the matatu in front of me was, "life is struggle".   it stared at me for many kilometers.  for some reason, leaving out the "a" made it more firm.  more definitive.  it wasn't "life is a struggle" as in, life is also many other things.  it was just "life is struggle"- it is- no way around it.  i thought about how deeply true that is and how much more i notice that here as i watch people collecting firewood, going for water, carrying small children on their backs and large bundles on their heads.  i think about it every time it rains all night and i hear it pounding down on our tin roof and i think about the majority of people here who's roofs are made of much less secure material- who have to tolerate a very wet night, a muddy floor, often with concurrent illness.  i think about it when i hear people talk about the death of their family members- not as a life altering event- but as a normal life event.  life is struggle.  it is and it will be.

so why are we always so shocked?  in africa, people seem to tolerate it more- all of it- the big struggles and the little struggles.  i can get myself completely worked up over almost nothing- at the injustice of it all- showing my true muzungu-ness.  florence will say, "yes, the power, it has gone."   not, "i can't believe the power is out again! how are we supposed to get anything done around here when the electricity is out.. blah blah blah."  she says it as if it's like the weather, something we have no control over, which is pretty much true.  i think about it like it's broken and needs to be fixed.  and while i envy this calm approach to life's challenges when it comes to things like power outages, it seems troubling to me, when there is such acceptance over the larger struggles- the big ones- the ones that stop most of us in our tracks and force us to ask the tough questions- the ones like, "where is God?" or "how can a loving God allow all this tragedy?"

here, there seems to be less questioning and more acceptance. maybe it's a volume issue- there is proportionally more death and sickness and loss and poverty and struggle to just live, that people can't get all worked up about it.  they don't have time to be broken, again, and again, over loss.  it's like after several days with mostly no power, the situation flips and instead of being surprised and annoyed that there is no power, we are thrilled and excited when there actually is power.

it also makes me wonder about our cultural response to "life is struggle".  like when a child falls down, there is that brief moment when they look to an adult before they chose a response.  if the adult shouts or loudly exclaims their concern, the child will instantly begin to cry and carry on.  but if the adult calmly tells the child they're okay, the child will usually get up and continue playing. perhaps the american cultural response to the struggle of life is all about the adult scream factor.

i'm not at all down playing the intensity, the sorrow, or the pain of life's struggles- in america or in africa.  just noticing a difference and wondering about it. and like most of the differences i notice- i think the ideal response lies somewhere in the middle- somewhere between acceptance and rejection. 

i used to be so surprised doing palliative care in the US with the amount of shock and bafflement that almost everyone had over a diagnosis of cancer- or serious organ failure.  not surprised by the sorrow or overwhelm or distress, just surprised by their surprise- as if we won't all get illness, even bad illness, and eventually die.  but i'm sure when i get my diagnosis, when my hour is up, i'll be shocked too- 'how could it be now?'  i've been equally surprised doing medicine here, by the lack of shock over death and dying.  i recall a few years ago, prior to the availability of ARVs (anti-retroviral drugs for HIV), a dying man being delivered to the door of our clinic on a blanket.  the healthcare workers were so annoyed- saying things like, "why are they bringing him here! as if there is anything we can do now! let him die elsewhere- let him die at home."  i remember thinking how callous this was, how awful that the last words this man might hear are words of rejection, so i sat by him, rubbed his back, held his hand.  but that was easy for me- because i wasn't living in a community wracked by death- i wasn't worn thin from burying my relatives.  

life is struggle.  it is, it has been and it will be- no matter what our response.  but maybe we should submit and question, receive and strive for betterment.  hold the tension of the opposites, the yin yang.  there is wholeness.

it's not raining now, it's dark and i'm on my way home.  the matatu in front of me is also full of truth.  "life goes on" it reads.  wisdom on road.