padding provided

today i awoke to the softest rain- a rain that sounded like springtime in georgia- and for a moment i was there.  i fell back asleep and mike got up and helped the kids and my bed was delicious for another hour.

i decided that today, before my feet hit the ground, i would ask for help.  i would ask for gentleness and kindness and to be filled with love and tolerance and patience and that i would be forgiven for the messes that i can make.

so i did- and to help it all along, before my feet hit the ground i decided to read the wise words of God and then anne lamott (whose new book, 'help thanks wow' i got for my birthday).  she is writing about prayer- the three essential prayers- help.  thanks. wow. 

it starts with 'help'.  which is a good place for me to start.  and i came across this:

If i were going to begin practicing the presence of God for the first time today, it would help to begin by admitting the three most terrible truths of our existence: that we are so ruined, and so loved, and in charge of so little.

practicing the presence of God.
admitting truths.
we are so ruined.
we are so loved.
we are in charge of so little.

i get this.  i can feel ruined. defeated. impossible to ever reach to be the person i want to be. and that can feel hopeless and sad and overwhelming.

but.  to be so loved.  not just a little, not sometimes, not conditionally- but SO loved. ALWAYS loved. loved NO MATTER WHAT.  that is hope-bringing and full and joyful and inspiring.

and to recognize that we are in charge of so little? to me that is, when i can wrap my mind around it and say it out loud and actually believe it? that is so freeing! that enables me to let go. that enables me to breathe and to release and to say.....HELP.  and because i'm buying that i'm SO loved, i can believe that help will come.

padding will be provided.

today padding came in mikes gift of that hour of sleep and reading.
padding came in those words.
padding came in my friend jean who reminded me that we were meeting for prayer. 

so i walked up the hill in the the drizzle- thankful for the cloudy closed sky- and we sat together and discussed our ruined-ness and our lack of control and our deep joy for being SO loved.  and together we asked for help for each other and our families and our friends and that they would feel SO loved and not as ruined, and able to lean into the everlasting arms when they bump into their being in charge of so little.

today, in the rain, the padding was provided- as promised.


 

hitting the wall

i just hit a wall. 

i am not proud.

i was reading 'chick-a-chicka-boom-boom' to the three younger kids.  they were perched around me, having already had the fight about who gets to sit where.  zoe presented from the shower, wrapped in her towel and, as she loves this book, she began reciting from where we were, perfectly.  this did not go over well. surprisingly, it was not zoe that caused me to loose it- it was the reaction of the three little ones who all started yelling at her for talking.  i don't quite know what happened, but i lost it. 

first i started reading really fast with no expression at all, then i started going even faster, until.... it turned into me going "chicka chicka BLAH BLAH BLAH!! I'M SO DONE WITH YOU PEOPLE!" and getting up from the couch, leaving the bewildered crew behind me.

oops.

yes.

that is true.

see, i hit a wall.

i'm not exactly sure why.  i'm not exactly sure what came over me.  how is it possible to be so tired of the people i love so much? is it okay to just not want to have to be a parent for day or maybe- dare i say it- a week? 

i'm starting to have fantasy's about escaping.  i'm imaging just getting in the car and driving.

the truth is, it's been building for days, for weeks.  mike left for 3 weeks back in november- and before he left, he was very busy at work and i was needing to 'pick up the slack'.  then when he came back in december, he was sick and jet lagged and i again, needed to 'pick up the slack'. 

that is life.  there are seasons.  there are times when duty calls and life calls and you answer because you can and because you need to and because you love the people that you are caring for.  but it's now been about eight weeks of me being first call- being first pilot parent- being where the buck stops- answering all the 'can i have a.......' and the 'why can't i have a.....' and the 'she is taking all the ......' and the 'why can't we go......'

so.

when you hit a wall, or when i do, i try to figure out a way to break it all down- to regroup- to avoid bumping into more walls, or at least to provide some sort of padding.  but my padding feels far away and tonight as i scrambled to figure out what to do, or where to go, or who to talk it all out with- i just felt very far away and alone and sort of sorry for myself. i wanted to leave- but there is really no where to go.  i wanted an end in sight- but the road looked too long so it blurred into a not helpful vision. 

i'm left sitting on the couch, with the all the house electronics blinking at me as they try to hold on to their power- in brown out mode, listening to the avett brothers and wanting my mom.

i did manage to kiss the kids goodnight and i even squeezed out an apology for being a total nutball.  i closed the prayers with "and please help mommy not lose her cool- in your mercy- dear God- hear this prayer!"

some seasons are thicker and last longer.  some times the road seems to go on and on.  in these times i have to break it down into bits- like- 'what will i do right now?' 

show up here.
listen to good music that brings me back to safe places.
bake the delicious ghirardelli brownies my mom sent.
and watch 'amelie' with mike.

tomorrow- i will remember to say 'help!' before my feet hit the ground.
tomorrow will be another day, another opportunity to break it down, regroup, avoid the walls, or find some padding.

sometimes the padding is in sweet singing

And I came home
Like a stone
And I fell heavy into your arms
These days of darkness
Which we've known
Will blow away with this new sun

And I'll kneel down
Wait for now
And I'll kneel down
Know my ground

And I will wait, I will wait for you
And I will wait, I will wait for you

                       mumford and sons
 

sometimes it's the little white lights still falling down my christmas tree.

sometimes it's remembering the rainbows i saw today- with a dark sky on one side and the bright sun on the other.  

sometimes it's just in holding someones hand, or reaching out across oceans, or feeling the everlasting arms even if they only brush against you.

a poem for today

every day i'm still looking for God
and i'm still finding him everywhere,
in the dust, in the flowerbeds.
certainly in the oceans,
in the islands that lay in the distance
continents of ice, countries of sand
each with it's own set of creatures
and God, by whatever name.
how perfect to be aboard a ship with 
maybe a hundred years still in my pocket.
but it's late, for all of us,
and in truth the only ship there is
is the ship we are all on
burning the world as we go.
             mary oliver
 

have i....

it's the quiet of the morning on boxing day. the day that Christmas is over but the house still holds it's lights and scents and people who are home from work and school. it's the quiet morning before the heat comes and i am outside enjoying it alone.

today begins my week of in between time.  i've come to love this week sandwiched between Christmas and new year- this time at the very end of one year and right at the beginning of another.  it seems the perfect time to stop and think- to look back and lean forward- to be filled with the wonder of what has been and the anticipation of what will come. it's a good week.  a good time to be in all the places- jjo, leero, enkya- yesterday, today, tomorrow.

mike gave me a book of mary oliver poems.  i love mary oliver's poems.  the beginning of the gardener speaks to me today:

have i lived enough?
have i loved enough?
have i considered Right Action enough, have i
     come to any conclusion?
have i experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude?
have i endured loneliness with grace?

i'm trying to hold my mind still and ask myself these questions, and others.

have i walked with God enough?
have i listened enough?
have i done the things that i knew i was being asked to do?
have i avoided the things i was asked not to do?
have i grown? have i practiced hearing that still small voice?
or have i been too busy, too loud, too distracted?

have i lived out thanks? have i lived out gratitude? have i lived the grace that i've been given?
have i been the hands and feet of our God where i am, in this small spot of the world?

i have been in this small spot- mukono, uganda for a year an a half.
0-21-12 n, 32-45-19 e
this is where i am.  where we are.  i gave mike a bracelet with the gps coordinates hammered into a tin plate that was sewn onto a leather band- to remember where we are now.  where we feel we should be.

i've watched things change this year. for me. here. in my head and my heart.  in how i think of this place. of how i think of my place in this place.  it has happened through relationships and through time and it is good.  thank God life is dynamic and not static.

i need so little.  so very little. and i have so much.
caring for others is so important and so is sharing. 
it's better to give more and maybe think about it less.
this life here will always be a about drawing boundaries, erasing them, adjusting them, drawing again, erasing again and trying again. or maybe life will be about arriving at some magic boundary-less place- where we just live with one another.

i have been going to the village of a old woman who is the grandmother of one of zoe's friends.  she has been sick for a while and has a nasty wound on her leg that i've been attempting to tend to.  i've been going everyday- and really- doing very little.  i wash it, change the dressing, check her antibiotics and her pain medications, and lately, bring her things she needs to live- like food and sheets and a mattress.  this is easy to do- i can do it- what i've been feeling badly about is that i can't seem to get her leg healed up.  but.

on Christmas eve, when i went to her, again feeling badly that the wound looks about the same, i was welcomed with an abundance of gifts.  ears of corn, bags of beans, pumpkins and avocados and a live chicken.  it was so generous. it was so full. it was so reciprocal. they were caring for me now. they were giving out of what they had- because they could.

this is what it's about. it's about relationships.
it's not just about big massive change- it's not always about implementing large scale programs.  that is fine.  that can be good.  but it's always about loving each other, and being there, even when it's taking too long to heal and part of you wants to avoid it, even when it's christmas eve and you could be home with your own family.

the change for me is that now- it didn't occur to me to not go on Christmas eve- in fact i almost went on Christmas day. maybe this doesn't make much sense to anyone except me- and that is okay.

but. whatever our gps coordinates are, let us ask:
have i? and will i? and won't i? and should i? and could i?
let us ask: what is enough?
maybe this year- enough will become more- maybe enough will break through our self-protective boundaries and love will pour out. and grace will pour down. and the world will become smaller still.

merry christmas!!

merry christmas! 

it's been too long away from here.  life has been busy and i've been living in my moments and not my words- which is good kind of, but hard kind of.  

today was good.  the day of entrance, of remembrance.  the day when we celebrate God coming down and changing things.  today we got up early, we stood hand in hand and said what we were thankful for, we prayed and thanked God for baby Jesus and we prayed for those who don't have gifts or food or health or loved ones, and then we opened the gifts we gave to each other and watched the joy on the faces of our children, and we were thankful for them- just for their presence.

this afternoon after watching the fabulous teen dance movie that mike gave me, we all played american football. let me say that despite crossfit, i am going to be hurting tomorrow.  the thing is, in the moment, i forget that i'm not ten, or even twenty, or even thirty.  i forget that even though it feels fine at the time- all that running and throwing and pushing and catching and doing handstands on the sidelines- is going to hurt tomorrow. 

why is that?

why are we not given the limitation until it's too late? why are we not held back during the event which will cause us delayed pain? and why don't we remember? but really, would i do anything differently? would i have slowed down? cut out the handstands? sat out? no- because you need to move and play and live- even when it hurts the next day.

today i looked around at our hodge-podge family and i smiled.  this was our first Christmas with Rosie.  i think she is a big fan.

this was our first Christmas with our friend steve. i think he liked it too.

and we have this dog who has decided to call us his family. he is a mangy wild dog- but very friendly. so he sleeps on our porch and barks at anything that might be threatening, and is called either "friendly dog" or "bolt" or "santa's little helper" or just "dog".  sometimes we feed him.  the other day we gave him a bunch of shots for self-protection.  he seems to like us even more now- i think he's figured out that now he might be staying.  mike says he's in an evaluation period.  but the fact is- it's so typical of our life these days. 

these days life feels very lived in the moment.  life sometimes feels stumbled upon.  it often feels messy and busy and very entered into.  in some ways this is great. the moments are here and real and loved.  but.  i think i'm due for a time of reflection and clarity and a little more order and purpose.

so this week- i hope to get some time to transition from this year to the next. to look back at where i've been and where i'm going. to enjoy the moments and the planning and thinking about the moments. 

balance.  stillness in motion. awareness and attention.

this is what i hope this week holds.

light in darkness

it's amazing how life, and i mean the big and important things, can get lost in the living of it.  how you can suddenly remember-- dive back to places where you once were- places that were tight and squeezed and hard to breathe into- places that you wondered if you'd get out of- places that you had no idea how they'd end-- and see that now you are out, you are breathing, you are no longer squeezed by those things, but you'd forgotten to be thankful.

yesterday i accidentally ended up on someones blog who i don't know- someone who has spent the last few months in one of those squeezed, hard to breathe places- a place i've been. i place i should never forget.

a few months ago, her son, also named sam, was born with severe hydrocephalus- more than jude.  he was immediately shunted. she writes about it here. i read through her pregnancy, i looked through her pictures.  i felt her fear, as i relieved my own.  i felt her anxiety, i imagined her moment of getting the news, i felt that cold jelly as the ultrasound probe went on my belly again and i felt invaded- i felt helpless- i felt i wanted to push them away and protect my baby from their judging eyes- i didn't want to hear about their estimates of his head size, or their plans for how to "deliver safely", i just wanted to go under a tree and have my baby.  it all came back and i wept.

but i think i was crying out of both joy for where we are now, but also because of my foolishness for taking it all for granted.

on friday i was tired and complainy.  on friday i got the school report cards. and they were fine- but.  i was reading them through those tired eyes. i was forgetting that i was holding three report cards- all from the same school- all from a typical school- with no one failing and only one with an IEP.  i was forgetting what i thought 8 years ago.  i was forgetting that dark squeezed place when i maybe first understood the depths of God's love for me.  i was forgetting the miracles that have happened - over and over again.

eight years ago, it was advent and i was preparing.  i was preparing for God to enter into a very broken world- my very broken world. 

eight years ago, i had no idea what the next season of life would bring me.  all i knew was that we had made a choice to accept this gift that God had given us- the one growing in me- the one who may not be healthy, the one who could be disabled, or very unable to do, well, anything.  eight years ago, i was preparing to choose joy- despite.  to choose joy and not make it conditional.  to be okay with whatever happened.

and over that year, many things happened.  things got really bad, and darker, and harder.  then things got brighter and happier and more hopeful.  but through all of it- God had entered- and brought that peace we talk about at Christmas time- that peace that passes our understanding.  that peace that doesn't even make sense.  that joy even, that ability to laugh, or just stand up, or just breathe, or put your feet on the ground in the morning.  the strength to go on.

yesterday, after reading her blog, and crying for a while on the couch, i went outside on my porch. 

the sun was so bright and the sky so blue and everything was vibrant and so alive (none of it felt like Christmas time). and i looked and listened for my children.  their shoes were scattered around, their legos and army men and fort remnants, and all i could feel was the complete blessing in it all.  they were far away- playing with their friends, running, talking, thinking, growing, being normal kids.

i had been prepared for shunting and many surgeries and physical therapy and decreased capacity to learn and understand.  then i had begun preparing for him to be swallowed by a growing brain tumor, to be unstoppably sick, to leave me after only months on this earth.  but.  for him, God had a different plan.  for us God had a different plan.

for some reason, that plan included going to a very dark place for a while, a place where we couldn't see much but the path right in front of us, but in that darkness- wow does light shine brightly! it means more.  it gives more. it changes things. forever.

i'm so very thankful for that light- that amazing light of Christ- that light full of promise- full of peace unconditionally, and even joy.  i pray that i would hold on to it. never forget it.  never turn and walk away from it- and that i would especially remember how much it stood against the darkness.

vigilante justice vs. open fire?

when we first moved here, and i heard about the violent vigilante justice that happens, i was shocked and appalled.  the first week we were here, people in kampala had chased down someone who stole a motorcycle, beat him, and then lit him on fire.  i couldn't believe it, who does stuff like that?  where have i moved? this place is crazy!! is what went through my mind. 

there have been several more events like this, and whenever i see a crowd, especially if there is smoke and fire involved, i hope i'm not coming across someone encased in tires and ignited for some crime that the community won't tolerate.

but.

it's not random.
it's not the mass murder of innocent children.
it's not as crazy as the crap that continues to happen in the good old U S of A.

when the denver movie theater shooting happened, we were all upset and saddened.  judes response was, "thank God we live in africa where it's safe!".  mike and i of course laughed at the irony of this, as most of us think of africa as much less safe than america. and it is in terms of illness and traffic accidents.  but in terms of random gun violence? no way. africa is safer.

the violence of people taking justice into their own hands isn't right at all, but it's a whole lot less savage and crazy then what just happened (again) in newtown conneticut.

i don't know the full story.  i don't know all the stories of all the gun violence that happens.  i hear the big ones- the school shootings- and i saw the fall out in the ERs from hand gun violence.  and i remember in med school having a visiting student from germany who needed to come learn trauma surgery in the US because "there isn't enough gun related traumas in germany to perfect the surgical techniques".

i know there is a lot of broken.  everywhere.
i know here the justice system needs work.  i know in the US the gun control system/ laws needs work.  i know that people everywhere are lonely and hurting and confused and sad and scared and that we are all capable of hurting each other badly. i know that the differences between uganda and the US are big, but not that big- really.

this is why God entered in.  this is why the messiah came as a baby, to a poor person, in a barn, not a palace.  to understand this type of suffering.  to know it.  to feel it. as we know it and feel it.  because when you love someone- you feel it together.  i can only believe in a God who understands suffering.  i can only believe in a God who loves enough to enter in.

but where is God in this? i think she is crying and reaching those everlasting arms down to all those families who are weeping with their now empty arms.  i think she is holding them and knowing their pain. i think she is also holding the family of that sad sick one who held the gun.  i think she is telling us to hold each other- to be there for each other- to try- but also, to maybe make some changes that will help stop the crazy.  yes, people kill people, but guns make it a lot easier, and a lot faster.

we need to do something.  about the guns, yes, but also about the broken.


we need to reach each other.  we need to love each other.  we need to hold each other in community.  we need to care for those who are left out.  we need to teach our children these things with our actions not just our words.  we need to prevent the lonely, we need to soothe the hurting, to direct the confused, to walk beside the sad, to comfort the scared, and to be gentle with one another.


it feels out of our control.  we feel helpless.  but we can do these things, we should do these things.

it's Christmas time

the tree is up.  it's gia-normous. it's so big, that a birds nest fell out when we were putting the lights on. it's beautiful and so green and it smells so good.  there aren't enough ornaments and there aren't enough lights.  so i snipped a big branch of bougainvillea and filled in the gaps with the bunches of white flowers- like snow. to me, it's spectacular.  it makes the house look like Christmas.  it reminds me of the decembers of my life.

the other night there was a Christmas caroling evening event at our neighbor and friends house.  we sat outside under a tent lit with tiki lamps and we each held a candle and sang together.  someone played the keyboard, someone played the flute and everyone sang. the sky was so full of stars and the night was so dark-except for those stars and it was again, not cold, but perfect.  my kids were home sleeping because of their two late nights of school peformances, and mike was sleeping because of jet lag, so i was there with my candle and my memories.

there is something about our sense of hearing and our sense of smell that can open that other dimension and let us go back in time.  i sat in that plastic lawn chair, under the palm trees, in the warm air- but as we sang i was somewhere else.  i was sitting in a hard wooden pew in a small church in bryson city north carolina surrounded by my sister and brother and my mom and dad.  i was sitting in another wooden pew in wenham massachusetts in the church where mike and i were married, at midnight mass singing with his family.  i was in our home church in decatur, i was in our old church in san francisco. i was all of those places and i was missing all those people.  i was especially missing the 4 other people i've shared all my decembers with. 

every year since i was born, my mom has given each of her children an ornament.  so i have an amazing collection.  they are in a box in north carolina.  last year i really missed them.  i missed the opening of that box and unfolding the paper around each one wrapped up the year before.  i missed remembering.

i had asked mike to bring them back for me.
but. he didn't. there wasn't enough room.  he said wait until summer.
thank. God.
because they would have all been stolen.  and that would have been like losing pictures. like losing years.
so thankful.

this year again, we will be here with our bougainvillea filled cypress tree and our corn husk and bead ornaments and our little white lights.  we will be here with our same songs that will bring us back.  but we will be sitting under the same dark sky with some of the same stars and that moon.  we will be wondering over the same marvelous mystery- as God enters in.

the yard flowers

i just picked up the old oil paints.  i haven't painted anything since before i was pregnant with jude.  that's 8 years. that is a long time. 

but i got the itch.  i felt like i needed to remember that part of myself.  that creative part that has to look at something, and try to make it.  i felt like i needed to sit and pay attention to the small details of the light and shadows and the colors and the shapes.  the thing about words is that they are easier.  i can write about anything- i can reach all of the senses.  but painting is limited- you can only say something that speaks to the eyes.  i wanted that challenge.  i wanted to remember how it feels to make your hand move in a way that gets the shape, and i wanted to remember how hard it is to keep the colors pure when the oil paint is wet.  so i dismantled a cardboard box, dug some paint thinner out of the shed and began to unseal the old paints.  i sat on my porch and i looked at the flowers in my yard.  they are so beautiful.  i couldn't make them- but i enjoyed trying.

it was hard.  it was frustrating.  it wasn't exactly like riding a bike, not that i was ever very good at it, but it was fun.  and it felt good except that i got a headache.  so maybe next time i'll try acrylic paints, maybe next time i won't use a cardboard box (see the stripes). maybe next time i'll be able to get my hands and my eyes to work better together. 

sometimes we have something inside of us that needs to come out, someway. 
this is how it came out today.

potential

i'm drinking starbucks via coffee and eating mini reeces peanut butter cups in red and green foil wrappers.  mike is asleep in our bedroom.  it doesn't get much better than this.

the other day while driving the kids to school i was behind a very slow, as in, barely moving, old truck.  it was slow and pouring out black exhaust, burning oil, and i was wondering if it would actually make it up the hill we were on.

can you see what it says on the mudflap?

POTENTIAL

yep.

potential- the inherent ability or capacity for growth, development, or coming into being *
                                                                 
i started to laugh and reached for my camera. potential for what? breaking down soon? potential for being sold for scrap metal?  seriously- TIA.

but.

then i thought about how God sees us.  inherent ability.  inherent capacity for growth and development. all of us.  each of us.  you.  me.  that guy on the street with his face on the sidewalk.  that high up business guy who just lost money for his company.  the child who can't seem to make the right choices.  those of us who put 'stop yelling' at the top of our new years resolution list every year- again, and again and yet again. 

i am that old truck.  i'm trying to get up the hill. 
i'm often about to give up, to pull over, to let everyone pass. how amazing that God sees something different.  that she sees intrinsic ability for growth.  that i am made for redemption and renewal.  that i am created for ongoing development.  that it's never too late.  that my life is about coming into being. 

wow.

there is hope in that.  i have faith in that.  that changes things- for all of us.  it changes how we think of ourselves and each other.  what if we saw each person, not as their old skin and their bad choices, but the way we look at a newborn baby? full of potential.  full of options, ability, and capacity.  what if we helped each other come into being?  what if we spent less time judging and more time remembering our own broken-down-ness?  what if we used our potential to help others reach their potential ? what if we were the hands and feet of God here?

we are.
we have.
we can.
lets.









* the free dictionary

today is the day

today is the day.

thank. God.

it is the day that mike returns to us. because i just can't do it alone anymore. i have become ms. hannigan in annie.  wandering around the house complaining about "little socks little shoes everywhere i go i can see them." right now my house is filled with 7 kids- my 4, and three stragglers from the neighborhood and the usual ones haven't even come yet.  there is popcorn all over the floor, they are watching the old shirley temple movie the little princess while whacking each other with light-sabers and, of course, the door is wide open.

i've let it go.  i give in.  i claim chaos.  i'm sure only two of them have brushed their teeth- the bedrooms are a disaster and i need to figure out lunch. 

but it's okay because today is the day.

we finally did "the snowflake project". making sparkly glittery cut-out snowflakes to tape to the windows and the walls.  i was prepared to be fine with glue and glitter everywhere.  i decided that because i love sparkly things so much, it would be fine, even great, to have it everywhere.  but i hadn't prepared myself for the whining, and the impatience and the frustration that comes from small hands and big scissors, and accidentally cutting the snowflake in two, and the refusal to "fix" it, and the lack of interest in my attempt to sooth the situation...."but there is no such thing as a 'perfect' snowflake" or "all snowflakes are perfect in their own unique way!" "they are supposed to be different or crooked".  i tried to use it as an analogy for us.  for people.  for our individuality and differences and that that is where the true beauty lies.  but.  they were too busy ripping the "ruined" one and sticking the glitter onto the glue stick or the floor mat.

but it was okay, because today is the day.

and we are all ready.















we made a welcome home dad sign.  i didn't even care that they spelled it "wlecome", so cute.  i even laughed when they fought for 80% of the time we worked on the poster.
"rose is scribbling!!"
"his elbow is pushing on my arm and messing up my swimming pool drawing!" (why a swimming pool?)
"I WANT TO DRAW ON THAT LETTER!!!"
"I WAS HERE FIRST!"

yes.  we are ready.

and today is the day.

keep it real

last night was beautiful.  i mean the world was in that place of being as perfect as it can be outside.  the temperature was perfect, the sunset- the colors- the light- had that deepness that speaks down inside you.  i went in to kampala for a goodbye dinner party for one my best friends here. i got to bump down a back way dirt road for an hour, as the passenger because i had a driver, and look out as the beautiful night grew around me.

it was all the goodness of a dinner party in the evening, with that perfect weather, with good friends and delicious food and music and little white lights on a porch and that encompassing night sky.  the host gave a speech for the couple who are returning to the US next month.  she was talking about how even extra important friendship is here when you are so far away from 'home' and family and old friends. how you grow together quickly and tightly and so separating can feel extra painful.  it's true.

but i was also thinking about the beauty of my old friends and the amazing time we live in - that we are able to stay so connected even while so far away.

the response we had from people over our recent theft, has been unbelievable. really.  and what it tells me is that people want to help each other.  we want so badly to do good, to reach out, to help where we can.  i think we are meant to do this, i think we are made to do this.  we are meant to live and be in community.  to care for one another and rally around each other.  but there can be a lack of opportunity. the hard part is that most of us are super independent and we don't like asking for help- it feels uncomfortable or weak or burdensome. but when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable...wow.  we are here for each other in big, huge ways. 

when i first got the responses- the emails and notes about wanting to help- i felt like george bailey in it's a wonderful life when the town finds out he's in trouble, in need, they rush to his rescue and he realizes the importance of his life and his relationship and what he's invested himself in- people.  i felt so overwhelmed with the kindness that i had goosebumps- but i had a hard time responding.  i had a hard time specifically asking for the things that were taken.  i didn't want to be a burden.  but then i realized that it was real, people did want to help, and that by not responding i was blocking peoples opportunity to do good. i was interfering with the joy that comes from meeting a need- for knowing that you did something to help someone.

ugandans tend to be much better at all this than americans.  sharing, looking out for each other, taking care of each other is a big part of the culture.  and, it's okay to be vulnerable- to be the one in need- to ask.  everyone seems to know that that we need one another, that one day the favor will be returned. that it's a circle, it goes around and comes around.

so i asked.  i put it out there- the things that were lost- the things that we'd try to replace- even the things that seemed irreplaceable.  and it was real.  people found things- bought things- packaged things and mailed things.  people who've never met my kids- but who have kids of their own and a love of africa.  people i haven't seen in years.  people who know the challenge of gluten-free baking, people even offered to help me get my diplomas back- to contact the schools for me.  amazing. 

people often criticize social media for causing us to lose our sense of community.  people say that facebook allows us to put our best face forward and not be real with each other.  people say that we no longer spend time with a small group of people we see face to face- that we live with- and instead spend hours on our computers sharing shallow tidbits of whatever we want people to see.

that hasn't been my experience at. all.  i've felt a warmth and a realness. i've felt so fortunate to be able to connect with my old and new friends on the other side of the world. i've been so touched by the generosity and the care, that it makes me feel the world is small and tight and warm. that we are not alone. at. all. that we can and should reach out to each other more.  that we are made to share our lives- the beauty and the ugly.  that we are meant to lean on each other.  to hold each other up. to bear one anothers burdens. to walk gently beside each other, to whisper encouragement or shout out in joy, or cry together.  this is who we are.  this is who we can be.  thank you all for reminding me. 

lets keep it real.

what christmas really means

most of the time when hard things happen we don't know why.  but i like to ask.  so today, i was wondering why those bags were stolen.  i was wondering what is it that we're supposed to learn in this-  that things don't matter?  that perhaps the only thing that really needed to make it back to uganda were those shin guards that people pitched in to get for the guys football team?  that theft happens all over the world? i don't exactly know, but i can say wow.  i can say 'bad karma' or 'evil one' or whatever the energy is that causes bad things to happen- you can't hold a candle to the goodness that abounds.  i can say that whatever  loss there was in those 3 large bags of stuff- was more than made up for by the goodness that has surrounded us.

let me say that i am not discouraged, but so blow away and full of hope and faith in people and in God, even in this crazy, messy, broken place we all share.

after i posted about the car break in and the stealing of the stuff, more than 25 people responded with offers to help.  not just 'i'm sorry', but 'really- what can i send and where'.  i had tears and goosebumps.  i had that feeling of, "i knew the world is still beautiful!"  i had the feeling of being loved and held and cared for even from so so far away.  i had the feeling that in this season of advent- this season about peace and love and hope-there still are some things that are peaceful and loving and hopeful. 

we all matter. so. much.  how we care for each other matters. the words we use matter.  the way we connect and care and reach out matters.  we are the hands and feet of God.  we manifest the grace, we become the glue.

thank you for reaching.  for writing. for praying and caring and offering and meaning it. because this is what Christmas giving is all about.

tonight when i put my boys to bed i told them that even thought things were gone, we were all okay, in fact better than okay, we are loved. i told them that people wanted to help and that people cared and that God is big and provides and 'see it's happening.'

when we said our prayers, we prayed for the person who stole our things.  we forgave them.  we asked that they would find beauty and love and God somehow through this, especially at Christmas time.  we said 'thank you' for provision and family and friends and for kept promises and for the gift of feeling so loved by so many. for the gift of hope.  the gift of faith.  the gift of peace and of promise.

thank you all who've helped me see the good underneath the bad. thank you for showing us the goodness and love. thank you for helping us stay thankful. thank you for reminding us which gifts really matter at Christmas time.

broken

so this is how it went down. 

there was a massive thunder storm pretty much located over our house for about 2 hours in the middle of the night. i mean there must have been some strong magnetic force holding it over our roof- because it wouldn't leave.  first to wake us was, of course, zoe- who basically has the auditory system of dog- fo' reals'- and there is something the frequency or the pitch or something of the thunder that drivers her into a panic- like it does to some even very large guard dogs.  i can't understand it, but there it is.  so while she's whimpering around the house- tail between her legs- brynnie wakes up and gets in my bed.  30 minutes later, it's jude.  so i'm sandwiched between them, i can still hear zoe whimpering and rose gets up.  it's 4am now.  i get her back to bed, try again to comfort zoe, and return for another hopefully hour and a half of sleep.  but that old yellow bouncing alarm clock that i thought i'd actually managed to fix, didn't go off.  thankfully rose woke me up at 6:20.  let the games begin.

but how it really goes down, is then when i get back from dropping the kids- there is an email from mike entitled: really bad news.  it turns out that he had stopped at ikea in atlanta to try to replace that silly 5$- yellow-rubber-bounceable- alarm clock, and had all his bags, absolutely EVERYTHING that was packed up the bring back to us STOLEN out of the car.  yep.  someone pulled a grinch- they stole all our Christmas gifts for the kids, all the gathered items we'd been ordering for a few months, all the medications for the next year, all of my actual diplomas so i could get my medical license here- all the chocolates, our camera, mikes computer AGAIN, the gluten free goodies- my beautiful chocolate brown gown, EVERYTHING.

i know it's only stuff. and stuff means nothing.  i know that we are blessed BEYOND measure.  i know that the person who stole it, must be hurting or bitter or strung out or trying or deeply sad or angry.  i know that it will be fine.  but.  poor mike.  here he is, all packed up, trying to get back home to the family that he's missed so much, trying to get all the needed documents, and the things that we can't get here, and the long awaited gifts for the kids, from starwars lego ships to underwear- and it's all gone, even all his clothes, except the ones on his back. 

"man is born broken, he lives by mending, the grace of God is glue."  - eugene oneil

broken- so broken.  there are so many more examples of so much more broken all around me, that i can't actually feel sorry for myself. 

yesterday i did a home visit on a old woman who'd come from the village- sick for 3 months- sick with infection, but an undiagnosed massive tumor in her abdomen, pushing on her vessels returning fluid to her heart and causing massive edema.  no money to take her anywhere, or treat her.  broken.  thankfully, because of those of you who give to the medical fund (and us to enable me to drive to her village and see her for free) - she's going tomorrow for a work up and treatment.  the family cried with joy, and loaded me with corn on the cob from their little garden. 

we do what we can with the broken, despite of the broken, and because of the broken.

we try to be the part of the glue, we try to be the grace.

we get knocked down, but we get up again.

yet another poem

You Who Never Arrived

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of
the next moment. All the immense
images in me -- the far-off, deeply-felt
landscape, cities, towers, and bridges, and
unsuspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods--
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house-- , and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,--
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and,
startled, gave back my too-sudden image.
Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...

Rainer Maria Rilke

okay i'm done with it

i should have known.  i should have known because before i'd even left the bedroom this morning at 5:43 am, i dropped the very old-5$- ikea -best- yellow -rubber- alarm-clock- ever, on the floor, which while it did bounce, still managed to finally break irreconcilably. 

it's the only clock in the house. 

so while i was trying to hurry the kids, with the clock reading "0:13", and getting no where because everyone wanted to discuss whether the clock was in fact finally broken, i should have known it would be one of those days. 

i think somewhere today i realized that i am in fact, like that bounc-able clock, finally done with the single parent marathon.  i did pretty well, i faked it for two weeks, but now, i'm reading "0:13"- whatever time that is.

somewhere around 0:26, i announced, "can anyone tell that i'm grumpy today? because i am! so for that reason alone, can you just brush your teeth!!" i'm not sure why i was in such a hurry.  i didn't really have anything i needed to do... oh, except drop my kids off at school so i could have a moment of quiet. 

we got there are 7:11.  fo' reals'.  i felt kind of bad- but also kind of lucky that i was now free from the constant stream of questions and fighting about topics that don't have a right answer, because they are relative, or not factual but based on opinion, and thus there is no "right" answer or the right answer depends.

then several errands later, several hours later, and several schillings poorer, i went back to pick them up.

by the time we got home from school it was super hot outside and i had the beginnings of a headache.  rats.  when i called mike hoping to hear of all the treasures that i'd left behind, that i was waiting for him to uncover and bring back to me,  he told me all i'd left was one dress- no boots, no bags, no faux-fur vests. rats.

when everyone was finally in bed and the house was quiet, i realized it's not them, it's me. i'm tired and its not their fault.  and as tired as i am of being a single parent, i'm sure they are even more tired of me being the single parent.  so now that i am more aware, i hope that i can breathe into my day tomorrow, and this last week, and not be grumpy, but be who i want to be for them.  a mildly sane, loving, patient parent- or at least i hope i can fake it.

between worlds

i just opened an email with an attached list of one of my good friends belongings.  a list of all the stuff they're selling before they move back to the US in january.  it was painful. the dissembling of lives again.  and somehow between knowing that my kampala crew is dismantling between now and june, and mike being far away and connecting with what we left behind, i'm left feeling displaced- feeling torn between two worlds- feeling a bit lost.

the thing about the kampala friends, is that they get it. we've shared displacement.  we've shared adjusting, and morphing our american or western ways into east african life.  we've been frustrated by the same things- laughed at the same things- cried over the same things- and appreciated the same things. mostly each other.  mostly our community, and our time, that we know is to be treasured and clung to- because it's different here.

some of the women who are leaving have been here for 3 years, some have been here for 7 and i've only really known them for a year.  but a lot can happen in a year.  and the thing about loss is that it hurts now, but it hurts even more after the leaving.  so i'm left wondering what it will feel like next august- when these 5 friends are spread across the globe- and i'm back in the red dirt of the place i now call home.

it's not so bleak. i have really good friends who aren't leaving...yet. and i have really good ugandan friends who aren't leaving...probably ever.  but the leaving reminds me of the transience of life overseas and the fact that i'm one of those people who left normal and known- for unknown and different. that i'm one of those people who chose displacement- and all the 'dis-ness' that comes with that, but also the beauty and the opportunity that comes from this chosen path, that we willingly walked into, that we joined- and we will always remember however long we stay, however far back we go.


Rememberance

And you wait, keep waiting for that one thing
which would infinitely enrich your life:
the powerful, uniquely uncommon,
the awakening of dormant stones,
depths that would reveal you to yourself.

In the dusk you notice the book shelves
with their volumes in gold and in brown;
and you think of far lands you journeyed,
of pictures and of shimmering gowns
worn by women you conquered and lost.

And it comes to you all of a sudden:
That was it! And you arise, for you are
aware of a year in your distant past
with its fears and events and prayers.

       rainer maria rilke
        

the re-opening

one of the bonuses of mike being in the US, is that sometimes when i call him, and he is visiting with some of our old friends, i get to say "hi" to our old friends.  this has happened twice and both times, i started to cry.  i didn't mean to.  i was totally surprised by my reaction.  i just heard the voice and remembered.  i heard the voice and i imagined mike standing in their kitchen, or sitting on their couch, and i imagine their kids running around, and i imagined the knowness of it all- the familiar- the eyes i've known for so many years- the hugs that have brought so much peace through many hard times- and with the sound of those voices- something unlocked- and i cried.

i cried like something had been uncovered.

it made me begin to reconsider compartmentalization.  it made me wonder if i've become too good at it. if i've learned to separate and box and store things away too well. 

i do believe that in order to function well in life, we need to be able to compartmentalize. i think it's something that men tend to do "better" or i should say, more easily, than women.  but i also think that women's "inability" to separate out our lives, is also what makes us beautiful and connected and present and engaged.

i mean isn't there something dangerous about living in only part of your life?

i know with zoe, in order to not be consumed during very hard seasons, and even sometimes to get through the shower/ bedtime routine, it can be a survival tactic.  step out of that part of life.  engage in another.  but.  what about boxing my past? what about boxing my deep old and dear friendships? i feel happy here- where i am- in my days, but am i just denying all the boxes of my life in the US? am i ignoring things, times, people who have shaped me and formed me and grown me and stood long beside me?

today i found myself reaching back into my mind, and my past, and my memories. i found myself unpacking.  pulling things out from years ago- things stored and tucked away.  the white emptiness of a new england winter sky- the dark bare branches that polk at it, so stiff and asleep.  the lonely feeling of looking up at that contrast from lying on my back in the crunchy snow as i feel the slow cool wetness soak through my hood, and if i stay long enough, the smell of the wet down in my coat.  the hot/cold feeling of fingers in wool mittens as i pick the clumpy icy balls off the yarn.

i remembered the pure joy of unwrapping scarves and removing hats and gloves and tossing them so high into that empty air, throwing them into the unwaiting arms of that massive bare tree and the laughter of my brother and i as they stuck- caught- waving like kite strings enlivening the space, coloring the coldness of that winter day- bringing out beauty and happiness.  it was too good, too beautiful and soon we had all the hats and scarves and mittens in the house flying through the air, some falling, some sticking.  that sleepy tree was awake and alive and all the woolen knitted things clung like leaves while we rolled with laughter in the old snow.

maybe i'm just remembering.  maybe it's totally normal to cry when you haven't spoken with someone who you love in a year.  maybe it's not about separating or boxing at all. maybe it's just fine to be fully happy here but also to feel that deep longing when you open a beautiful old box that is so full of you and your life and your friendships and your past.   maybe i just opened a beautiful present- the voices of my people. and maybe now it's time to spend more time reopening my packages. maybe it's time to be here, but also to spend more time listening to the voices of those i love across the ocean.

grasped by what we cannot grasp

A walk

My eyes already touch the sunny hill.
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has inner light, even from a distance-

and charges us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on
answering our own wave...
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.

        rainer maria rilke 

it's the first sunday of advent. it's finally december.  it's the beginning of the end of the year. it's the beginning of the divine entrance-grace descending- hope and peace and light into the darkness that we all know at some point. 

today at church it was the children's Christmas pageant.  it was large and sweet and apparently overwhelming for zoe who disappeared, then reappeared (and walked on to the stage to ask a question during the performance), then disappeared again.  oh dear. i was trying to manage rose and bryn who were fighting over which knee they could sit on, as we squeezed into a school type chair/desk combo. i was trying to convince bryn (who was supposed to be in the play) to get on stage, and rose (who was not) to sit still.  jude, thankfully, was being pretty good.  half way through when i realized that zoe wasn't coming back- i tried to just settle in and enjoy the performance.  but i was wondering why i hadn't planned better. why i hadn't asked ahead for help.  why i hadn't sat with someone who could have freed me to follow zoe if i needed to.  i was missing mike and realizing how much of a team we are.  how much more smoothly it goes when we do life together. 

when i got home with the three younger ones, i figured zoe'd be sitting on the porch, she wasn't.  i sent the usual text 'please send zoe if you see her',  i got no reply.  so i sat on the porch and soon i heard her whistling.  she was walking up the street, being followed slowly by 'jaja rohbina' an old woman who helps with the sunday school.  bless her.  jaja had reached out.  jaja brought home my little wandering one. i thanked her and she asked if she could please take zoe with her up to the sunday school luncheon, if she could please be around zoe and teach her some memory verses.  

provision.

i wasn't alone with my 4 kids in the chaos of the massive sunday school performance.  i was in community.  and that good shepherd the kids were singing about? he was looking out for my little lost sheep.  he was bringing alongside her a friend. and maybe it's not just a friend for today- maybe it's the beginning of a needed sunday morning friendship- with one who is older and wiser and worn.

there it is.  grasped somehow, by what we can not grasp- by what slips through our hands- by what we may only catch briefly in all it's clarity- but is there, always and forever.

where i am

the sky is so crisp. the light is high and yellow and i'm remembering all the places i've been with this light. i'm so thankful for light and sound and scent and the ability to remember and for having a voice.  i'm thankful for the taking in and the putting out.  for how we can share it together.

i need to share my life.  it's hard for me to find my voice when i'm with out the one i share my life with. it makes me wonder how people do it when they lose their partner for real- for longer than 3 weeks- but forever.  i imagine you'd have to find yourself all over again. you 'd have to journey and search and open your eyes wide at a time when you probably want to shut them tight and roll into a ball. i miss my friend laura.  she comes into my mind often-yesterday when baking cookies- remembering our laughing mouths filled with our braces - in her kitchen - when we were 14. we were. she was. we did. we had.

my friend kim just lost her sister.  she wasn't even sick.  she was there, now she's not.  she talked about how hard it is to change tenses, to say things like 'was' and 'had'. to lose the future.  to no longer even have the present.  i can't imagine.

and i keep thinking about those krimm kids.  the ones who died last month. the ones who were killed by their nanny.  i keep thinking about their mom.  the deepness of her pain.  the pictures in her head.  that it's almost Christmas.  i can't imagine.

i think for these weeks i've only been living in the present, in a necessary way, a survival way.  i haven't allowed myself to go back, to imagine walking the streets mike is walking now- i haven't let myself to see our old paths.  i have just been here here, in the redness of dirt and the beautiful darkness of faces. 

but today, with the light and the dry and the music that is playing and where my heart is, i can be there too, where he is now, and hear the scraping winter branches, and see the breath on the window.  i can be back in the morning light of san francisco, with the coolness of that air above the ocean and the wind always pushing back.  i can be in the season i've left behind.  i can live in all the tenses- awake and alive and be so so eternally thankful that right now- my husband, and my sister, and my children are somewhere- right now- here. i can hold this light, these sounds, their little voices, the songs around me.

grace

thank you for the few falling leaves, and the coolness of this breeze, and the scrape of the leaf as it crawls across the porch. thank you for the cold white sky and the distant moving thunder and the fact that in all things there is grace. thank you for this midday darkness, for the children i will soon pick up, for the plink of rain on this tin covering.  thank you for this time of waiting, for this coming advent, for your light, and that in all these things- there is grace.  thank you that it's raining loudly now, pouring down in sheets and waves, and that if i didn't need to go and find my children at school, i could run fast in it, feeling the cold alive on my skin, reaching our for your everlastingly open arms, immersion in the grace as it falls all around me.

a little poem

Love Song- 

How can I keep my soul in me, so that
it doesn't touch your soul? How can I raise
it high enough, past you, to other things?
I would like to shelter it, among remote
lost objects, in some dark and silent place
that doesn't resonate when your depths resound.
Yet everything that touches us, me and you,
takes us together like a violin's bow,
which draws one voice out of two seperate strings.
Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what musician holds us in his hand?
Oh sweetest song.
                          - rainer maria rilke
            

give thanks

it's been a busy and full week.  a week of thanks. a week of thanksgiving. a week of thanks and giving and giving thanks.  i have so much. to be. thankful for.

we had two thanksgiving celebrations- two 'expat' feasts.  they were beautiful and special and different and both reminded me that while we miss our friends and family dearly- we have family here too.  we become more for each other here.

today zoe got an award at the school assembly.  it was for "writing a fantastic science report about the effects of gravity."  that's right. it wasn't for sitting still. or not interrupting. it was for doing a great job. it was legit.  it was for...of all things...writing.  wow.  now that is HUGE.  that is something to be seriously thankful for.  i am really speechless.

and my headaches are better- it seems adding gatorade and returning to gluten- and getting rid of chocolate and any alcohol and all amoebas- makes a big difference.

and my children are healthy. 
and there are 4 of them.
and my husband made it safely to america.
and we have food.
and we have shelter.
and we are loved deeply by a God who cares for us, who doesn't abandon us.
and it's almost Christmas time.
and the sky will soon be dark and the sky will fill up with little white lights from so far away that i will feel small and close to all those people around the world who are looking at the same moon.

good bye

mike left and i cried like a baby in the arms of my sweet zoe.  i didn't mean to.  i didn't think i would.  but all i could think about was our arriving here a year and a half ago.  all i could think about was our leaving our old life together and the 15 suitcases stacked high, and the airplane and how far away it all feels.  all i could think about is how deeply i love him and how even after 18 years of marriage-  here - we are suddenly much more for each other. 

suddenly when i hugged him goodbye all that came flooding back and i couldn't let go.  suddenly the driving and the cooking and the cleaning up alone, meant nothing- because i was hugging a big part of my heart goodbye.  suddenly i felt alone- like when pa left ma in little house on the prairie and would go off to town in the dead of winter during a storm.  suddenly i wondered if i could actually do anything with out him- and then i wondered what if he never came back? what if this was it? what if something happens? what if this is the last of it? and with my head in that little spot where his shoulder meets his chest, that place i've known for so long, that place i've cried so many times before, that place i've returned too again and again, that safe place, i began to cry.

it wasn't because our car was broken into again last night, in our driveway, 4 feet from zoe's bedroom.  it wasn't because the next two days will be fuller now that i need to ge the car repaired, and deal with insurance, etc etc.

i know it's not that long. i know that it will be fine and he will return rested and with a new perspective and that he will see and hear everything twice.  but it was surprisingly hard to say that goodbye!

magnificent

 








i sat outside on the deck overlooking the lake and it was magnificent. cool, wet, whiteout like snow. i could look out and be anywhere. northern italy in the cold, north carolina mountains with the fog rising and the clouds hovering- or here- where i am- western uganda.

it was good to get away. lake bunyoni. 3 days. 5 friends. it was good to be myself apart from what makes up most of me and my days- those 4 precious ones.  because when i get away, i breathe and laugh and sleep and laugh more and hear other peoples stories and struggles and triumphs. and breathing and laughing and sleeping are good, but it also reminds me to savor the ones back home. and when i hear their bubbly little voices on the phone, i am filled with love and thanks.

but i savor these moments with my friends in a deep and rich way.  because i still remember when the sky remained closed, the sun didn't return, and the storm of zoe hung on tightly.  i remember months and years of her storminess disabling me- leaving me defeated, deflated and withered- leaving me empty and hollow- with out laughter or breath. when there was nothing magnificent about the storm, when there was no hope of it passing. so to be able to go away, to be with out worry, or anxiety, or the need to talk about her, or the need to feel so small and vulnerable- feels so good. to be able to relax. to find myself whole and put back together again- that is truly magnificent. 

look, the sky opened. the sun came out. the storm did move over the mountain.














i am filled with love and thanks.

trying to fix it

when i was 16 years old i fell in love with a broken boy.  he was new to our school, had come from rehab.  he proudly went to AA in the evenings, was living with his father who he'd newly reunited with, and smoke a pack a day of marlboro reds.  he wore bandanas tied around each ankle and one on his head over his long hair that smelled like strawberries. he smelled like the taste of a strawberry mento, tobacco and sometimes patchouli (but i think that came later).

i was drawn to him.  he was cute and he was new and he was different and he was broken.  the sad part is, i had this crazy idea that i could fix him, which assumed that a) he needed to be fixed, b) he wanted to be fixed, and c) that i could be the one to fix him.  i don't think any of those assumptions were true.

the unfairness of the world has been high on my list of "issues" since i was a young child. one of my earliest memories is being aghast at a homeless man's lack of coat on a cold snowy night in boston, when i had 2 coats.  this made me cry, and wonder, and reflect.  but it also left me feeling confused and guilty and upset with the way the world works.

i went to peru on a missions trip when i was 14 and saw a lot more of the unfair and the unjust.  but when i met this boy- his unfair was on the inside.  i was like heidi, or pollyanna, or any number of characters where the sweet girl shines her light onto the grumpy old relative reminding them that love is real and true and worth trying.  there is then redemption and connection and healing.  i wanted this so badly for this boy.

my mom sized him up and told me there would be trouble, that he had, "that look in his eye."
"what look??" i asked accusingly. "the look that tells me he's seen a lot more in his 16 years than you've seen in yours."  i knew she was right- not about the trouble, but about his eyes.

i had this idea that if i could love him enough, he'd see the beauty and value that i saw in him.  i wanted him to know he was worthy, he was important, he was as valuable as anyone else, he was special.  i wanted to make up for past loss and abuse and betrayal.  i wanted to draw on the love i'd been shown, on the affirmation that i'd had for my 16 years, on the support and the blessing of a family rich in love, and i wanted to share it with him.  i wanted to give him my second coat.

it took a long time for me to realize what was wrong with all this, and what was wrong with me.  it took a long time for me to see that i was broken too (because we all are) and that my need to fix things was actually part of my broken.  that assumptions a, b, and c were wrong.   people aren't in need of fixing, they are in process.  you can't love someone "enough" to make up for a lot of loss and pain- it's part of them, part of their story, part of their process.  and people want to be loved- not fixed- so that as motive, will never help, it will never work.

life is hard.  the world is full of crazy.  we are all broken.

now i live in africa where i'm surrounded by hard and crazy and broken, all the time. now i still have that same pain in my heart at the unfairness, at the lack of and the fact that even as a missionary, reliant on the generosity  of others, i have much more than most people here.  and just like i hated that fact when i was 6, and 16, i still hate it. and just like i wanted to fix it then, i still want to fix it.

but.

what is asked of me?  to be still and know.  to love God with all my heart and soul and strength.  to love my neighbor, as myself, (which means to love myself- yikes), to give, to try, to look and not turn away, to challenge the unfair, to work for justice, to be a voice for the voiceless, to be the hands and feet of God.  to love. to love.  to love -not to fix it- but just because it's right.  to love even when it will stay broken.  to love because everyone has a story. to love because it will become a part of their story.  to love. to love...

"Compassion is the sometimes fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live inside somebody else's skin. It's the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too. ”   - frederick buechner

deep gladness

this rainy season is very rainy.  i'm thankful for the darkened sky and the sound of  heaviness releasing.  it feels more right as the season of advent approaches.

the rain brings me stillness.  because it makes me sit still.  it cuts off other noises.  it somehow makes me feel safe (well at least when i'm inside my house and during daylight).  right now it's so loud i can barely hear the avett brothers singing. it sounds like being under a breaking wave in the ocean- that loud ssshhwwwooooosshhhing sound.

this next month will be strange. it's the beginning of my favorite time. christmas time. anticipation, waiting, little lights in darkness, sweetness, kindness, songs, red and green m+m's, snowflakes, shiny things, glitter, candles, reflection, a star, an arrival, The gift, a new beginning. it will be strange because the days will be getting hotter and dryer and sunnier.  it will be strange because mike will be away for half of it, he will be half way across the world at our old home, and i will be only half here without him.

he will go back for the first time since we moved, but he will experience 're-entry' alone.  he will eat a 'yeah burger with bacon sauce' with out me, he will have a drink at leon's service station in decatur with out me.  he will eat bocorones at krog bar with out me. he will see his family with out me. he will hang out with my brother with out me.  he will see all the new and clean and massive of america with different eyes, with out me.

and. i. will. miss. him. so. much.

the crazy thing is that i'm okay with staying behind.  we have the gift of rosie, who isn't able to travel with us yet, and she is worth staying for.  and in the ups and downs of life in africa, i'm feeling in an "up".  and in a life far away from what has always been normal, i'm finding a new normal.  a normal that i love, and after a year and a half almost, i'm finally beginning to understand the language. 

this weekend in luwero i had a moment.  i was leaning over a very sick man who was lying on a colorful woven mat on the floor.  he had just found out that he was HIV positive, but he was feeling too sick to care. an old sheet hung blocking the doorway while i examined him.  i knelt on the floor in my skirt, feeling the pebbles from the dirt and cement under my knees. the walls were chipped and cracked and i looked down at my pale hands on his dark stomach and felt fully at peace.  i knew i was where was meant to be. i knew there was no where else i wanted to be. i knew that this is where i am called.  that buechner was right:

"The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” 

because this is my deep gladness.  and there is nothing more satisfying, more peace-giving than being where God wants you.

so i will hold down the fort.  i will eagerly await mikes return. i will long for his stories about how it felt to be back at the house he grew up in, and what it was like to see old friends and meet their new babies, and how good a dunkin' donut tasted, and what it felt like to see the cold new england ocean again.

now the sun is bright and hot again. the sky is blue and far away and the air is filled with singing birds.  it feels like summertime.

are, have, do

"you are enough. you have enough. you do enough."

my cousin posted this today on facebook (thank you stefany welch!) and i immediately "liked" it. but then i started thinking about it more and i began to wonder why i get tripped up on the last part- you do enough. do i?

i definitely struggle with the "do".   so when i read this i thought "yes! yes! and i guess...."
at first i wondered if everyone thinks this, or if they don't, that maybe they should.  but then i remembered we are all different and i think each of us carries our own personal battle with one of these verbs:

are.
have.
do.

i mean there are many people who wrestle hard core with "being enough".  i know some of them, and it's a very hard verb to be stuck on,  to be.  i'm thankful that in my family growing up, we were told that God loves us- as we are- just because we were born- and nothing we could say or do or not say or not do, could change this fact. and guess what?  its true.  how beautiful and amazing is that?  so this isn't my battle-in fact i'm pretty sure i've gone past "enough", i think i'm probably actually "too much". which isn't necessarily a good thing.

there are other people who spend lifetimes wondering if they have enough, or operating as if they don't have enough or might never have enough.  i don't even think this correlates with how much one actually has- it's just their trip-up verb - one of the three big ones.

but do? that one is hard for me.   that is the one i ask over and over.  am i doing enough, in whatever various realm has been more neglected lately. it might be a problem for those of us who like to have our fingers in too many pots at once, those of us who juggle a lot things, those of us who are....mothers- because multitasking comes with the job.  am i doing enough with my kids, for my kids, and for all of my kids? am i doing enough for my partner, for my job, for my community, for my friends, for my church, for my kids school, for my neighbors, for the random people who stop by the porch at 9:30pm?

i think many of us ask this, often in attempt to help the other verbs along. if we do more, we will have more, we will be more.  but. 

we are enough, all of us, each of us, is enough- just. because. we. are.  most of us have enough, because most of us can eat and sleep under a roof and keep warm.  and most of us do enough too.  we might have to juggle which arena needs more attention- but all added up, we do enough.  at least enough.

peace and love.

who am i anyway...

it's not late, but i'm exhausted in a good way. in that long day of work way.  that way where some good was done and people learned things, especially me, as i always do.

i was in luwero doing mobile clinic- my car, full of people and medical records and medications- a long ride and a day of testing for hiv, and treating those who have hiv, who've come from far away surrounding villages for treatment and health education and community.  some were very sick and some were very fine and i always spend my day wondering if i'm doing not enough or too much- where you find that line? when does giving become too easy, when does it become too hard?

tonight just now at 9:30 a woman clambered up to our porch wanting money for school fees.  we don't know her- she lives somewhere in town.  i hate to admit it, but i was annoyed.  i wanted to say, "come on lady! i'm in my pajamas! what are you doing?" i wanted to say, "didn't you notice that there is a large ugandan family gathering next door- they're awake- they're even outside- why don't you go ask them? oh right- because they're not white."

i feel like a terrible person for thinking these things and for feeling those feelings- feeling resentment, for constantly being forced to respond to the need that is all around me, for the confrontation, for the inability to hide. 

but where does it stop? when is it okay to say "no"?

this is a common topic of discussion between mike and i.  we've vacillated between setting rules and boundaries and tearing them down.  we wonder about how we should live? is it okay to 'hide' behind self prescribed boundaries- like we can only help people we know (because we can't even fully do that), or do we leave it to the moments- and see how we feel, if we are convicted?

tonight i wrestled.  i thought about Jesus- what did he do? he didn't have rules about who he helped- but then again, he was God and could see and know the entire picture of the person standing before him.  all i've got is another sob story.

i don't think there is an answer.  that would be too easy.  it's all part of the process. part of the learning. part of the personal conviction. part of the story. part of life.  sometimes you make rules and sometimes you keep them and sometimes you break them. maybe the only answer is to keep a soft heart and to keep asking.  to keep reflecting.  to keep wondering.  to keep trying.

who am i anyway?

there by the Grace of God go i.....