displacement

it's another beautiful day, warm but cloudy with a good breeze.  jude is in the front yard playing with three ugandan kids.  i can hear his mix of 'ugandan english' with some lugandan words thrown in as they teach each other games.  his light blonde head standing out in the group.

we are displaced. but in a rich and good way- a chosen way.  our life here is a voluntary displacement- moved or shifted from our ordinary or proper place.  and while we miss our families and our friends deeply, it hasn't been that hard and in fact this feels now like our 'proper place'.  the much harder part for me is recognizing and embracing or even just accepting the inner and involuntary displacements in my life.

i'm reading 'compassion' by henri nouwen which is fabulous.  he has a chapter on displacement where he talks about voluntary and involuntary displacement, and he talks about physical displacement and that of our inner lives. 

it is the shift from the ordinary, from the expected, it is the veering off the normal course of life when i was perfectly happy sticking with ordinary, that has been hardest for me.  having a zoe, instead of a typical kid was an involuntary displacement- wrought with a host of emotions most of which would not be associated with embracing or accepting my displacement.

but what if we were able to really control our lives?  what if there were no involuntary displacements? what if we were all able to hold tightly to the sameness? to the common way, to the ordinary, the 'proper'?  what if all the stuff we fight and cry about and resent and ask 'why me' about, what if it went away?  would our lives be better? 

not for me.  at least not on my path- because where i want to go, who i want to be, needs the challenge and the pain of displacement. if i had my druthers and was given a choice, would i have chosen to have a baby with scoliosis and a funny shoulder, 2 small heart defects, and developmental delay?  no. way.  but, life with out the joy of zoe?  i would never give that up.  if i'd had a choice to have a second child with congenital ventriculomegaly, hypothyroidism and a brain tumor, would i?  hells no!  but would i ever give up even the darkness of those years?  no for i felt and breathed God in a profound way.  if i could chose to make this adoption thing easy and simple with rose would i?  of. course.  but who knows the beauty that lies in the confusion of it, in the un-ordinariness of it? maybe someday i will.  

involuntary displacements are what we are made of.  our response to the things that blindside us- that make us feel alone- that leave us walking around with our underwear showing - sharpens or dulls us, stimulates our growth or causes our shrinkage.

so how can we embrace and invite the experience of God's love into the displacements that we didn't ask for in life?  perhaps this is the task of a lifetime.  to stay in the moments, to ask the questions, the whys, to be angry and shout about it, but then to be quiet and listen- to wait and be still. 

i think it gets easier, i think we learn to listen in the small daily displacements and the big ones.  i think when we start living in our days and not into our future years, we begin to experience the grace given in the life lived out of the ordinary. 

and i think perhaps only then, then do we begin to experience the extraordinary.

it's extra complicated

she was eating a mango, that was all, two little hands with juice running down them, trying to get those last bits off the pit. she looked up at me,  it's in those seconds sometimes that life happens.  for some reason, that is when she switched from being some little girl in an orphanage, to my little girl, at least in my heart.

this has been a bumpy ride, but expectedly bumpy.  there have been a lot of highs and lows and there still will be. and there are many details and weird parts- but a lot of those things are not my story to tell- they are part of her story, even if she doesn't know it yet.

on tuesday i got an email saying that we probably can't adopt her- for various complex reasons.  it was really hot outside but i knew what i needed to do.  i put on my hiking shoes and i headed up monkey prayer hill.  i wore sunglasses so no one would see me cry, because i knew i'd cry, because i was really sad. i walked fast because i was mad, and confused and because i had a bone to pick with God, or several. 

i hiked to the top quickly, dry eyed, and asked a million questions on the way.  like, why God are you seeming to say no? why can't you just let me have another daughter?  and by the way, why did i have that miscarriage with #4? are you telling me that three is the magic number?  is this a door shutting on having more kids?  why do you place desires in our heart that don't happen? 

when i reached the top i sat on the stone bench looking out over the towns all the way out to lake victoria and i kept right on talking to God.
'okay, i trust you- and i love you, and i know you have a purpose in all this.  i know you love this child more than i do.  so i can be with this- i will trust you.  but will you please just give me a word?'

and i listened really carefully and attentively, even eagerly.  i watched the wind in the palm trees, but i heard nothing.  i got nothing.  i waited a little and again i said, 'will you please give me a word? something to hold onto? something to help me get some peace in this?'

again, nothing.

so i started down the mountain, alone and confused and i cried hard.  i walked and i thought and my questions to God changed from why poor me?  to what will happen to her?  to how can i help take care of her, even it i can't adopt her?  what can we do for this child who we love?  who can we be for her?

suddenly i realized that it didn't really matter if she were 'mine', it really only matters that we love her.  and like that moment with the mango, i knew up on that mountain, that it wasn't about #4, it wasn't about zoe having a sister, it wasn't about finishing my family; it was about this little girl. 

i wrote a little about this experience, about my thoughts on adoption, on adopting here, last month.  an old dear friend commented and she wrote some very wise words that spoke to me on that day when i was waiting for God to show up.

"So he will lead you toward how to be what you are supposed to be to this little one that you love."

there is so much in those words.
that we will be led.  implying a path, a process, the need of a guide.
not 'toward what you are supposed to be' but toward  how to be what you are supposed to be. because so many times i don't know how- i get lost in the how- i get overwhelmed by the how.
and what i'm supposed to be- because it might not be so obvious, it might not be so clear- it might not be her mama, or it might be, or it might be many things at different times. 

but i will be guided and shown how to be what i'm to be to this little one that i love.

sometimes when i ask things of God, the answer is silence.  sometimes the answer is that i will walk around that mountain for a while and have a good cry.  sometimes the answer is being allowed to go to places of darkness and confusion and loneliness.  and sometimes later the answer comes in the soft words of another- words written a month ago- words from someone who listened to the stirrings, and who took the time to write them, wise fortune-esque words, prophetic words.

led toward how to be.
what i'm to be
to this little one
that i love

a good deed

this was how my day began.
a beautiful sunrise in the car with my boys.
a pretty good start i'd say.

i drove along, feeling happy and thankful for the sky and that i could now roll down my windows after the repair, and that one of the boys was sleeping so there would be less fighting.  the traffic wasn't too bad, until i let a large petrol tanker pulled slowly out in front of me.

"oh great! what was i thinking?" 
"this is going to be a long slow ride now!"
"well, i guess i did my good deed for the day." i thought.

wait...what?  did i just think that? who came up with that??  as if we should just do one good deed in the day? as if i can check it off my list  at 7 am. and the rest of the day can be about taking care of meh.  and does it even count as a 'good deed' if i was grumbling about it?

i was embarrassed for that thought and attitude.  really, shouldn't the whole day be about trying to do good?  shouldn't we always be trying to live non-selfishly? and to think about others first? to care for one another?

yes. 

but it has to start somewhere.  so i guess it's okay to start with a good deed for the day or a random act of kindness.  and, it's contagious even for myself.  i mean when i start consciously doing good things for other people, i realize how much fun it is, and how much happier i am, and how much more i want to do it.

i decided to drive kindly for the rest of the drive. to let people cross the street, to let cars in, to not be touching the bumper of the guy in front of me so i can block the matatu trying to sneek in.  and because i was much less annoyed, and less concerned about my time agenda, the ride was much nicer, i'm sure for everyone.

so it was good that my day started early- even with a grumbly 'good deed' because it ignited the desire to practice kindness.

perspective

the other day as i was leaving clinic, a woman stopped my car and asked if i could give her a ride up to the main clinic.  i said sure and she went to grab her bag, and her daughter, who was 6 and very large and needed to be carried.  she plopped her in to the car first and squeezed herself in.  the girl grinned at me, one eye focusing and the other wandering off, i wondered what her story was. 

her name was esther and she was normal until 2 years ago, normal with HIV and TB.  then she broke her leg, and was put in the hospital. one day when her mom went to see esther, esther couldn't move her left side, her face drooped and she was not talking, not really responding.  some tests were run. she was told esther had suffered a stroke of some sort.  she was given some antibiotics (of course) and discharged- not walking, not talking.

esther's father had died of AIDS a few years earlier, her mom has HIV, and she has a brother who is not affected.  esthers mom needed to work so they could eat so esther was sent to the village with her grandmother. but the healthcare in the village wasn't so good, so esther came home, was rejoining our clinic and restarting her medications.  i watched her mom gently lift this overweight child and carry her up the steps, thanking me for the ride.  i watched her mom smiling as she lifted her daughter and smile as she said good bye. there was such acceptance in the way she told her story, and a willingness in the way she cared for her child.

it was another story- one of so many- of tragedy.  there was no wheelchair for her, no crutches, no physical therapy to help her learn to walk again (she has strength on one side), no speech therapy to help her learn to talk again, no clear explanation of what went wrong in the hospital to cause her palsy.

there is no husband to help provide food and shelter for the family, there is no husband to share the burden of lifting esther, bathing her, caring for her.  there is no husband to cry to about how unfair it all is, to tell of her exhaustion at the end of the day, to wonder about the future with.  there is no time for that.  no time for pity, or crying or wondering.  there is only making sure she is taking her ARVs so she's around to care for esther.

i watched her walk slowly up the steps to clinic, lugging that heavy child and i felt so small.  i thought of all the times i've cried to my husband about how unfair life for and with zoe can feel, of all the days i speak of my exhaustion, of all my fears and anxiety about her future.  i realized that i have no idea what it's like to have to carry my child around, to not hear her voice, to have no means or way to help her.  i thought about how zoe can run, and speak and learn; i thought about all the hours of therapy she's had, speech, physical therapy, occupational therapy; and how much this girl needs that. i thought about how easy it is to feel sorry for ourselves, how we have moments of meeting the esthers of the world and the mothers of the esthers, and we briefly see our problems in contrast, we briefly hold on to thanks, are awed by their strength, but then we come home and forget.

i told the mom that she was brave and doing a great job and that i know it must be so hard.  i told her i think medically esther can make some progress with moving and walking and probably talking- but that we'll have to really work at it.  i told her i would look into to some options for intensive therapy for esther- but at least on monday afternoons she can bring her for physical therapy at clinic, she can learn what to do at home.  they can begin.

maybe i can begin too.  because i don't want to forget the esthers or their mothers, and i don't want to feel sorry for zoe or myself. i want to feel so very thankful for her- for my life- even the sticky parts- because this is the life we've been given.  because in it and through it, we've been blessed.  i want to take all the parts, the good the bad the ugly, and let them transform me into better.  i want to take all the parts and use them to bless others.  i want to hold that perspective.

fall out

the world is big.  yet is also feels small.

we now, like it or not, are all up in everyone else's business.

i click on "latest headlines" each morning and see things like, 'swiss bus accident kills 20'; 'more deaths in syria'; 'soldiers loot after coup in mali'; 'houston's death from drowning after cocaine'.

snippets of drama, out of context, all sad but we are removed. how can we possibly care for all of the worlds issues? how can we possibly feel for every tragedy? cry over all the sorrow?  and when only given the world in bite sized pieces, how do we respond knowing so little about the issues?  it's too much.  there are too many things happening in the big world to know all sides, all details, all the time.

i think we become somewhat numb on the outside, but underneath we feel a lot- sad, overwhelmed, disparaged, guilty, but most of all, i think we feel helpless.  and this helplessness sits in us waiting for the moments when it can pop out. moments when we grasp for control to make it feel better, to assert 'we are not helpless! we can do something! we have a voice!'

this is the fall out of modern life.  it's the possible down side to the internet, the media, the shrinkage of the world.  what do we do with all we are exposed to?  and that is how it feels exposed.  naked, vulnerable, aware but with out much to guide us.

so enter the Kony2012 video.  30 minutes of flashy propaganda.  a snippet of death and drama, but offering a plan- something to DO, to get behind.  a small piece of control.  a piece of empowerment.  so many of us got excited and felt empowered and jumped aboard the 'help' train and spread the word.

but quickly there was a backlash.  a vehement backlash. people were furious.  something was un-roofed.  people resented the snippetness of it.  the shallowness- the lack of completion, the one sidedness, the absurd idea that one shiny campaign with cool posters and bracelets, that the capture of one bad guy, could 'fix' africa, and that another white guy was out to save people. 

it quickly became an issue that EVERYONE needed to form an opinion about. "where do YOU stand on the kony2012 video?" another thing to polarize.  another issue to divide. it reminded me of that dr. seuss satire of discrimination, "the sneetches", the star bellied sneetches vs. the plain bellied sneetches.  and it seemed quickly that the 'safer' sneetch to be, is the one judging the video as another arrogant white guy's attempt to solve africas problems in an overly simplistic, and possibly violent way. 

but is this about us? no. 

it shouldn't be.  it shouldn't be about whether or not our facebook status shares a post praising or vilifying kony2012.  it should be about banding together, star-bellied or plain-bellied and THINKING about human rights and the abuse of them and how we as a world want to and should deal with it.  but criticizing and polarizing each other isn't helpful.  OF COURSE these issues are complex- duh. OF COURSE they won't be solved by a 30 minute video or the capture of kony.

then jason russell broke and fell to bits. and this is so sad on so many levels. and what are we left with?  what is generation Y left with?  what does this teach them about trying to DO something? or anything?  my concern is that the take home message will be 'watch out!'.  be careful. that if you step out boldly- you'll be mocked and persecuted and might end up going mad and walking around naked shouting in traffic, and then really mocked and persecuted.  so better to just hush, keep a low profile and if you can't say everything about something, then don't say anything at all. 

the good news is we've proven a few things:

we have TREMENDOUS potential energy! all that overwhelm can be harnessed.
we all CARE a lot and we want to do something.
we do have a voice, opinions, and things to say.

i hope the fall out won't be to burn out or fade away.  that we won't be so sick of hearing kony2012 that we'll all roll our eyes.  i hope we won't be so tired of trying to understand the complexities and figure out our responses that africa will again be forgotten. 

what if we were gentle with each other, respected each other, gave each other the benefit of the doubt? what if we were bold in our actions, not just our words?   what if we all got  involved in SOMETHING and worked to stop violence, and alleviate suffering? and how should we teach our children? how can we help them understand this big messy world?  how can we help them put the snippets in context? i don't just want to leave them with, 'it's complicated'.

it's so good that we are awake - that this video ignited our passion to talk and write and think about really big important things.  we should ask the questions that have been asked.  we should want more than snippets.  we should seek to find our place in this great spinning world, to find our voice, to do our part. 

the world is big and small, but we are big and small too. 

a few little things

i want to say much more about this week, all the goodness of it, but i have again, a migraine. 

when this headache comes, it helps me to take some medicine, and drink some coffee and try to be thankful. so here are ten things i'm thankful for:

1. for brynie always kissing my eyelids and giving me his blankie when i get a headache
2. for being able to skype with my sister finally!!
3. that our car is mostly fixed and i can roll down my windows again
4. that we have a plan for my young ugandan friend with cancer - (this will need a whole post later)
5. for my friend who stopped by with a special chocolate treat today and stayed for conversation
6. that yesterday another friend gave me 2 bags of chocolate chips and starbucks instant coffee
7. that i didn't yell too much at my kids today (notice i said 'too much')
8. for zoe and i spending the day at the orphanage with the little girl who's stolen our heart
9. for mike making dinner (and hopefully) doing the dishes tonight
10. for this place to come and write and be and share.

i feel better! it helps.

and here is a picture of a beautiful tree up the hill at my friends house. and a poem- well, the part i love of a poem by pablo neruda 

And I in these lines say:
Like this I want you, love,
love, Like this I love you,
as you dress
and how your hair lifts up
and how your mouth smiles,
light as the water
of the spring upon the pure stones,
Like this I love you, beloved.

To bread I do not ask to teach me
but only not to lack during every day of life.
I don’t know anything about light, from where
it comes nor where it goes,
I only want the light to light up,
I do not ask to the night
explanations,
I wait for it and it envelops me,
And so you, bread and light
And shadow are.

You came to my life
with what you were bringing,
made
of light and bread and shadow I expected you,
and Like this I need you,
Like this I love you,
and to those who want to hear tomorrow
that which I will not tell them, let them read it here,
and let them back off today because it is early
for these arguments.

Tomorrow we will only give them
a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf
which will fall on the earth
like if it had been made by our lips
like a kiss which falls
from our invincible heights
to show the fire and the tenderness
of a true love.

Pablo Neruda

today's my day

"But it IS my day.
It is, my friend. After three long terrible years... it is at last my day. I will not permit... repeat... not permit anything... repeat... anything to spoil it."
former chief inspector drefus, pink panther strikes again.  one of my top favorite movies.

today is my day. 
day 48 in modern ink magazine
check it out if you'd like.

the key to compassion

last night was the goodbye party for my new friend simone and her family.  i met them a month ago but i almost cried at the end about their leaving.  it was really a perfect party, so i'll explain why. there were tables set up with flowers and african clothes, there was homemade juice and sangria, there were mats all around the yard to sit on, and chickens running and dogs, and cats, and guinea foul and ducks, and children.  it was all afternoon and there was no agenda.  the guests were more than half ugandan, everyone was interesting and real, and the food, oh. my. word.  i wish i could describe.  and then at dusk, out came the dancers, and drummers and the shaking was so fast all the pictures blurred- and notice that little muzungu in the pink shirt shaking right along with them. 

simone has this gift of being present and available when she's with you.  there's no small talk, or filler conversation, she's just real and i love that.  she also has no need to package herself as anything in particular, so you are constantly finding out that in addition to organizing a bakery and a farmers market each weekend at their house- complete with full breakfast, long tables in the grass with tapestries strung up for shade,  she is also a fabulous cook, and a seamstress who makes their sheets, and probably an artist and a yoga guru (but i'm not entire sure about those).  the key is in the not needing to be some-thing and the reason why is because she is so comfortable with being some-one. 

i was thinking about this especially because i've been reading the book Compassion by henri nouwen.   there is a chapter called 'patience' and it's about the relationship between patience and compassion.  he talks about how they share the same latin root- pati- meaning 'suffering'. he says that patience is the discipline of compassion, it's the 'how' in how to live compassionately, it is the way to do it, it is the way Jesus did it.  i found this fascinating because i tend to think of myself as a fairly compassionate person, but a highly impatient person.  so i had a moment of panic: how can i be truly compassionate if i lack the ability to sit still, to wait, to hold out.  but as i read i realized that i had i didn't have the full grasp on patience.  my idea of sitting calming by and putting up with something, was wrong.  he described patience as active, not passive; as something full and beautiful.

"Patience is the capacity to see, hear, touch, taste, and smell as fully as possible the inner and outer events of our lives.  It is to enter our lives with open eyes, ears, and hands so that we really know what is happening."

so i got excited.  now that i can practice, that i can aspire to, strive for, get behind. that's not that hard!

but the next sentence completely called me out.

"Patience is an extremely difficult discipline precisely because it counteracts our unreflective impulse to flee or to fight."

doh!

this is me most of the time when it comes to my greatest area of challenge in the practice of patience.....zoe. when she is having a hard time, when she most needs my patience, i totally want to flee or fight.  i fail to enter these moments of our lives. i tend to want to close my eyes, block my ears and run away which might actually be the better choice then to fight, then to yell at her or blabber on and on about my frustration, or polk my own eye out.

but here it is: "Patience requires us to go beyond the choice between fleeing or fighting....Patience involves staying with it, living it through, listening carefully to what presents itself to us here and now. .....In short patience is a willingness to be influenced, even when this requires giving up control and entering into unknown territory."

i'm sitting with this out on the porch, the sun is setting brilliantly in the sky , and the air is moving just enough, and the sounds of night are being born, here it's easy to be patient, to be full, fully here, fully in the moment, engaged, available, present. these are the transendant moments, the ones when we can feel God. 

unfortunately the world calls, these moments never last, zoe is calling for her shower to be turned on, the power keeps going out, and little boys need to brush their teeth.  and these are the moments when it's so hard to be patient- to have compassion.

but it's not unfortunate really.  it just is.  and it's more real then that sunset because relationships are two way, the night sky doesn't push my buttons and ask me to face things that i'm terrified of like will she ever be able to turn the shower on by herself.

so after calling back for her to turn the water on with her own hands (so i could watch the sunset), i got up and listened carefully to what was presenting itself- my beautiful child had a need, and that didn't need to be judged.  i went inside and turned on the water and stayed with it.  i told her she was way more important and beautiful than a sunset.   i practiced patience so that it would lead me to compassion. 
because that is where i want to be.

i don't want to fight or flee.  i want to be here and enter in my life, senses wide open.  i want to stay with it, even though most of it is unknown territory, and there are parts that are ugly and loud and smelly and scarey.  i even want to live through the hard parts.

i'm thankful to think of patience as a practice and not a character quality that i just didn't get. but simone, you may have practiced this longer, or harder, or it might just be another one of your hidden talents- the key to your ability to BE. thanks for reminding me, i'll miss you girl!

finding the 30,000 foot view, again

it's a quiet saturday morning.  life is still.  i'm looking back over this week- it was a good week. 

on thursday i escaped.  basically i realized that i needed a break, a time-out, a day with out zoe, a personal retreat. i had that feeling like the kite strings on my life were tangled. the mild chaos in my mind needed sorting.  i'd been on a long stretch of homeschooling because mike was at a conference the days that i usually go to work, and the 'fall out' was me feeling frayed and fried.

my usual response to this feeling is (unfortunately) very medical.  i diagnose the problem and i create a solutions list.  i'm not good at sitting with it.  i'm not great at rolling with it.  i want to clean up, tidy my life and 'keep the house clean'.

so on thursday i took myself into kampala with the goal of analyzing my life, identifying the problem areas and finding solutions.  i began at a coffee shop with a cup of african tea and made a 'retreat agenda' which covered topics great and small- from "zoe" to "home improvement".  then i moved on to a different place where i could sit on a couch for hours and write it all out- expand on the topics- go deep.

i started of course, with zoe.  one of the unfortunate things about children is that they are not static :).  you really never get to cruise control, to sit back and let the machine drive itself- and this is especially true for special needs kids.  and this is especially hard for parents who tend to perhaps over-analyze and be indecisive.  whenever i'm struggling with zoe, i tend to go back to square one.  here is how this has played out. 

when she was little, between 2-6 years old, after seeing multiple specialist with no clear diagnosis, i would alternate between thinking she was "normal" and i was crazy, or thinking she had some great need/ disability.  the times i thought she was mostly on track, were fantastic.  and the times when i began to wonder what was 'wrong' with her were awful, and in these times, i would run to the internet and for hours, attempt to diagnose her.  autism, aspergers, some random chromosomal anomaly, fetal alcohol syndrome (although i think i had one glass of wine during my pregnancy)-  i've forgotten the numerous other diagnosis i'd convince myself she had.  this behavior felt like a binge, like indulgence.  i would consume massive amounts of information in attempt to gain control over the crazy i felt with her, over the fears i had about our future.  the good that came from this was in my remembering that whatever differences she had she deserved gentleness, understanding, and compassion. but i so wish i could have spent that time and energy sitting on the floor with her, watching and listening to her, trusting her to God, enjoying the difference instead of trying to diagnose and fix it.


when she turned seven and had a 'formal' diagnosis of non-verbal learning disorder (in quotes because it's not recognized in code form as a diagnosis) i began to relax.  well, kind of, because my attempts at control, my response to the crazy, was converted into searching for the best way to help a person with nonverbal learning disorder.  and five years later, i'm still doing this.  i still haven't really learned to sit, and watch and listen and trust. 

so on thursday morning i began to write out my goals for zoe, academic, personal, relational, life skills, all of it.  i began to write out her strengths - the things we should support and encourage and develop. i wrote out the problems, what we were missing with homeschooling- because in the back of my mind, my solution was to get her back to school. to get her back to a place of 'normal', to be 'done' with this season, to 'return'.  but as i wrote and thought about it- i came to see that most of my goals for her are being met, or can be met with home schooling, and most of her strengths can be encouraged and developed with homeschooling, and probably what's missing can be added with out starting her at a non-special ed international school at age 13.

what i came to realize is that the problem isn't with zoe, it's with me. i'm conflicted about being her teacher, i've lost my passion for it, i want to just be her mom.  so i began to wonder why?  she's doing better, she's more engaged, she's 'easier' than she's been for the past two years, she has less sticky thoughts, does better with copy work, and math, and comprehension, so why now? 

and the clarity came.  because my back-up is gone.  my rescue boats aren't here.  the side-line support is absent.  in atlanta if she or i were having a bad day, if a break was needed, i had choices.  my mom would take her.  barbara mcclure would take her.  we could go to erin's house.  we could go to sensations therafun special ed gymnasium.  there were options, a way out, a life line- because parenting a child with special needs is full time.  we also had a scheduled support structure.  social group, brain balance, piano lessons, learning on the log, math tutoring, ama time - all with people who understood her, loved her, and really helped her.  but they also helped me- not just in providing a break, but with their compassion, their ability to enter into the suffering and the challenge. 

and that is the difference.  the 30,000 foot view of what's really going on.  and it will not be solved by sticking her in school next year.  i mean that might happen- someday.  that might be something she will want to do, or try- sometime.  but it should be for her, not for me.

so this retreat was good and needed.  my focus shifted, i corrected the course, and i began to think into ways we could build our back up, our network, our support.  we will find them here, things that will help both of us- that will grow both of us. they will look different, but they are here.  the same God that has provided so far, will continue to provide.  and i will try to sit on the floors of life with her.  watch and listen and play.  trust us both to God, sit with it, and enjoy the craziness of the ride.  i never liked cruise control anyway, i even prefer to drive stick:).

mpola mpola

every so often i forget that i'm white.  i mean i forget that i stand out.  because most of the time i'm surrounded by ugandans and most of the time i'm looking at them, not at my self.  and because everyone here is dark, and i feel very comfortable and think that i fit in, i forget that i'm not dark skinned too.  then i'll notice that people are staring at me, like everyone who walks by.  their eyes linger.  so i'll wonder if i have food on my face, or if my underwear is sticking out, and while i'm looking down to check, i'll catch sight of my arm- my pale arm- and remember, "oh yeah, i look totally different.  i stick way out."

but i am trying to become more culturally ugandan.  to pay attention and change some of my ways.  to slow down, to take more time, to ask about peoples families when i greet them and to listen to their answers.  to decrease the rush and increase the hospitality.  basically to become more like zoe :) who is naturally gifted in this area.

but yesterday at around 6, mike and i were cooking dinner.  the kids were out running around and so we had some alone time while we cooked which we tend to treasure.  then there was a knock on the door, the glass door, in the wall of windows, so we could see two men standing on the porch while we walked to the door.  i could tell, before i opened it, that i was annoyed.  there is never a quick interaction. 

these guys were adult students from the theology program and had been sent out to meet the faculty and pray with us.  i was thinking, "oh great!  it's dinner time- this is our family time, who does stuff like this?  and of all the times to come knocking, a tuesday at dinner time?"  i was tempted to say "no",  or at least "thank you, maybe another day, now's not a good time."

but i didn't.  i looked at them, full of joy and kindness, and down at my pale arm and remembered that i am in their country.  i'm living on their campus.  i'm the one with weird ideas about time, and dinner, and the appropriateness of the 'stop by'.

and the grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day.

so we invited them in and offered some juice and sat down in the living room to share our stories and receive their prayers.  and it was lovely.  it reminded me of what we've lost in our busy, scheduled lives.  we isolate ourselves and don't really know our neighbors.  we miss the sharing, the encouragement and the growth that can come from these little gifts of openness and time. 

i learned from them how they'd left their homes to study, how far they were from their families, how much they valued education, how much they desired unity- and to include us in their community.  they spoke about our togetherness, not our separateness, and in that half hour my white arm didn't matter.  in that half hour, i was looked at as a sister not a novelty, as a friend not an outsider.

when they left i felt revived and reminded and thankful, that i'm continually taught here a different perspective.  that i'm learning mpola, mpola (slowly but slowly) how to better be still.

tuesday evening poem

Poem (the spirit likes to dress up)

The spirit

  likes to dress up like this:

   ten fingers,

   ten toes,

shoulders, and all the rest

  at night

   in the black branches,

     in the morning

in the blue branches

  of the world.

   It could float, of course,

     but would rather

plumb rough matter.

  Airy and shapeless thing,

   it needs

     the metaphor of the body,

lime and appetite,

  the oceanic fluids;

   it needs the body's world,

     instinct

and imagination

  and the dark hug of time,

   sweetness

     and tangibility,

to be understood,

  to be more than pure light

   that burns

     where no one is --

so it enters us --

  in the morning

   shines from brute comfort

     like a stitch of lightning;

and at night

  lights up the deep and wondrous

   drownings of the body

     like a star.

mary oliver

to be reminded

i accidentally made africa when i was pouring ghee into the gluten-free cookie mix someone sent.

it was funny because i was having a moment.

i was drinking a starbucks 'via' (their instant coffee which i kind of used to laugh at but now LOVE) and i was remembering the idea of a' to go' latte- and that i could even pick one up while at target.  i was remembering how much easier life can be in the US where they sell pre-made gluten-free everything, and where you can run out and pick things up at the market 24 hours a day and what you want will always be there.  i was missing those conveniences as i scraped the ghee into the bowl- hoping the power wouldn't go out- and feeling maybe a little bit sorry for myself.

then i looked down and saw this and i laughed because really, i love it here.
it's these little things that remind us we are exactly where we are supposed to be.

today i stayed home with zoe to teach her because mike was at a science and technology curriculum retreat in kampala.  i was planning on going to work, because it's monday, and we were going to let zoe 'fend for herself'- ie: attempt to do the work left out for her, in the company of florence.  it didn't really sound like a 'good idea' but might be passable as a 'fine idea' or a 'necessary evil'.  until i woke up at 5:30 to get everyone out the door and realized that it wasn't necessary, but might be evil, as she's been having a rough few days.  so i decided to be a mom, and stay home, i decided to choose her.  she was greatly relieved that i was staying home and went back to sleep for an hour, so i had time to prepare.  i wasn't preparing a lesson, or a schedule, i was preparing myself.  to be calm, and present and who she would need today.

i grabbed some coffee, my bible and the nouwen lenten readings and went out on the porch.  it was quiet and peaceful in that way that is before most of the world wakes up.  i opened the bible and it fell to the place where i'd randomly stuck the picture of zoe age two that stays in there as a reminder.  it's a reminder of how adorable she is, and how far we've come.

but the real reminders are written on the back.

"i didn't ask for this"
"remember my strengths"
love not anger














it had been stuck in the middle of the book of jeremiah where i read,  "I am the Lord, the God of all mankind.  Is anything too hard for me?"

it's amazing how much i need to look at that picture and read the back.  it's amazing how much i needed to hear those ancient words- to be reminded that no, nothing is too hard for Him.  it was enough.  so i looked far off into the just brightening sky and said quietly,

"most things are too hard for me.
this day will have pieces that are too hard for me.
sometimes zoe is too hard for me.  most times i'm too hard for me.
but i'm not too hard for you, and neither is zoe, so i think we'll be okay.
i will lean on this, on You.
You are enough."

and it was a very good day.

thoughts in solitude

there are seasons. it is the season of lent.  it is the season of the beginning rains again. 
today is a beautiful windy sunday morning - muted sunlight- making me think about solitude.
i'm kind of bad at solitude.  i forget to build it into my day, and then slowly slowly i find myself demanding it at inopportune times- like when my children are wanting dinner :). 
so i'm trying to build in a good walk up the hill so i can hear no one but the stillness of God.

yesterday i walked. 

i'm always interested in what i hear- and i always here something.  all the scramble of my brain arranges itself as i climb up that road to the top where i can see far off and feel small again.  yesterday a lot of what was inside me was about zoe, because on friday she was 'off'.  and this happens,  thankfully not as frequently as it used to, but it happens.  it's the scramble of her brain but with out a cover, with out the filter that most people develop in early childhood.  when she is 'off' she can't respond appropriately to normal things- she can't internally regulate so she does or says whatever she thinks will help her to feel better, calmer, more put back together. it's hard for me to take this in stride. it's hard for me to understand her.  it's hard to not be sad for her, and for me and our family.  it's hard to not be tired by it- to not give up- to not feel stuck.

on the walk i started to think about understanding her- because i want to- i want to so badly. 

the way down the hill was so beautiful and i was thankful.  there were amazing bright orange flowers climbing on vines- and behind them the hills in the distance.  sight is my dominant sense, and there is so much to see, but i began to listen too.   i thought of the woman i'd met in kenya who was blind.  i remembered one day i was out for a walk and i saw her with a group of people, they were bird watching.  she had that beautiful smile and her cane and as we walked by she say, "it's amazing all the birds i can hear!" 

so i closed my eyes and walked.  immediately i could hear life differently. immediately i could feel it differently too.  the wind became alive in my ears and on my arms- loud and powerful, but with my eyes open, i hadn't noticed.  i could hear my footsteps crunching on the pebbles,  the sun on my shoulders was warmer, the piece of hair that fell on my arm danced.  i couldn't see- but the rest of my senses jumped to life and there was a richness, a focus.  i thought about the gifts that can come with loss.

when i opened my eyes, i thought about zoe.  her sensory system is not missing a piece but on overdrive.  she doesn't have the hyper-acuity, she has the opposite- the confusion, the lack of focus, the loss that comes from too much sensory input.  all the sounds, all the sensations are exaggerated. maybe that is why her visual system seems weak- maybe it shuts down to try to manage the rest.  i understood a little bit better- a small piece of the puzzle- and i was thankful for that.  so as i walked on down the hill i prayed for her- mostly in the form of, "please help her- because i don't know how to" and "please help me to know how to". 

when i got home this lovely prayer was waiting in my inbox,  sent by my dear friend erin, written by that wise old monk, thomas merton.

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going. 
I do not see the road ahead of me. 
I cannot know for certain where it will end. 
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. 

But I believe that the desire to please you, does in fact please you. 
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. 
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. 
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. 

Therefore I will trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. 
I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

- Thomas Merton, "Thoughts in Solitude"

we often feel lost- wandering- wondering about endings and new beginnings and purpose.  wondering who we even are and why, and what is right, and what to do.  even monks.  even those guys who spend their whole life in solitude. 

so i felt better, and i was reminded, again, it's about trust, not fear.  that blind or over-sensed or struggling to find solitude- we are not left, we are not alone.  we are guided, we are held.

 

seven

seven.  yesterday jude turned seven.


















i love this guy.  i'm attached to him.  maybe in a special way because of his story. because of what i've learned, of the things that his life reminds me.  that we are not abandoned, that God is good even when life is hard. 





































a while ago i wrote about the 12 stones taken from the jordan river by the Israelites to remind them of God's providence- that he sometimes leads us to impossible situations, but he provides passage.  when i think about my life, about my stones, those things that remind me of the waters being parted- many of them are from the riverbed of my pregnancy with jude, his birth and our first years with him. 





























when i reflect on jude- his life and my experience with him, i realize that my days with him are just as they should be- days with him.  a typical now seven year old, full of laughing and loose teeth, whining and learning multiplication, watching the sun set quietly together and telling him for the 40th time to brush his teeth.  but on his birthday, i think i will always reflect on some of my stones.



























i will remember that maybe the point of life is the searching to know and be known by God. that life is full, and part of the fullness is going through hard hard times, as well as light, free flying times.  our days are made up of both, and thankfully God walks with us through both.

kony, culture, social media, and why can't we all just get along?

this morning i watched the big deal video produced by the NGO  'invisible children' that has "gone viral" and updated the world quickly on the evils of kony- the leader of the LRA- a rebel group that has been active in northern uganda and congo and sudan for over 20 years.

it's artsy and full of propaganda and because it starts with footage of his son born by c-section with his voice overlay saying, "this is how we all start out" when everyone knows that most of the world certainly does not start out life in a western operating room- we know right away- to take it all with a grain of salt- with the knowledge that this is one persons small take on a large issue- or we should have turned it off after hearing those words.

i'm not claiming to be any sort of an expert on kony, or ugandan history or politics, or social media.  nor do i have a conclusive take on 'invisible children' as an organization, and since this has become a hot topic in the past few days i've read several articles that are highly critical of their work- but i also know several people who have worked for or with the organization- people who i like and trust. despite my slight ignorance on  the topic, i will use my american cultural value of sharing my opinion in   asking a very over simplified question, 'why can't we all just get along?' why can't we support each other in doing good work? even if it's not 100% inclusive or spot-on?  even if it's not the way we'd attack the issues or design the campaign ourselves? where is our gentleness? where is our unity?  our kindness?


yes- the guy who made the video - who i can only remember as 'gavins dad'- said a lot of the typical american responses to the tragedy he heard about when he came to uganda almost a decade ago.  he said things like, 'this is wrong', 'i promise to try to stop this', he subtitled 'ugandan english' which offended some, he believed that his people, his culture, his government wouldn't stand for this once informed.  so he came home and he tried.

to me this speaks of a few important things.  things that i feel and experience and see in my children as we are americans and are responding to life in a developing world- life in a non-american culture.  i think it's FANTASTIC that we find injustice abhorrent, and that we believe we, as individuals, have influence, that we believe we will be heard, that we can be and should be heard, as should everyone.  that we believe that change is possible- the individuals matter-that the world is our neighbor.  these are american values.  they start early in our childhood and continue.  we are allowed and expected to analyze, to question, to speak our opinion, even to authority.  i have not found this value, this practice to be true here among most ugandan children and students.  this is not a theme in their education or the majority of the homes.  so is it possibly arrogant of us to assume that other cultures have all that they need to advocate and empower themselves?  why can't the joining of our voices - the sharing of our cultural backgrounds - be okay in giving a 'voice to the voiceless'?  is it offensive to say people are voiceless if no one is listening them? maybe they should be called the 'unheard' instead.

and he does get some 'snaps' in my book for the long haul.  this isn't a guy who had an emotional experience - quickly made a video- and instantly got himself known for 'his amazing work in africa' at least not to this level.  it's been 8 years.  besides my marriage and children- and i guess medicine- what cause have i been committed to for 8 years? i've never even lived on the same side of the country for 8 consistent years as an adult. to me this speaks of how long it takes to work for good things- and this unfortunately doesn't seem to be a big current american cultural value.  we like quick fixes, we like flashy and sexy topics, we like emotion, plan, success.  but most big and important things take time, even lifetimes, even generations.

the other night mike and i had a discussion about the 'bono's of the world.  the american billionaire stars who highlight a topic- raise awareness and money- and get good PR in return.  he was kind of annoyed by it- and while i joked that there is someone in hollywood whose job it is to pick the right cause for each celebrity- it doesen't annoy me.  they are doing what they can do.  they sing, or speak, or look pretty in a magazine wearing an inspi-red t-shirt, because it's what they can do.  they can't teach architecture or take care of people medically.   just like i couldn't make a video and a webpage and mobilize generation Y to care about kony.

today's Nouwen lenten reading was about measuring our worth.  it was about the worth of our being not our doing.
"In solitude we can slowly unmask the illusion of our possessiveness and discover in the center of our own self, that we are not what we can conquer, but what is given to us.....In solitude we discover that our life is not a possession to be defended, but a gift to be shared. It's there we recognize that the healing words we speak are not just our own, but are given to us; that the love we can express is part of a greater love; and that the new life we bring forth is not a property to cling to, but a gift to be received. In solitude we become aware that our worth is not the same as our usefulness." 

somehow this seems relevant here. whether ugandan or american, celebrity or abducted child, gavin's dad or blogger opposed to invisible children, our lives, our gifts are to be shared- but we spend so much time treating our status, or our opinions as possessions to be defended.  we spend more time speaking words of judgement then words of healing.

i've lived in some great cities and i've sat in many coffee shops in highly enlightened places like san francisco, where i'm sure kony will be a hot topic of discussion today.  and i've gotten really bored of the banter- of the time that seems wasted on formulating the perfect response to where i stand on a specific topic that in all honesty 99% of the world is really removed from.  i live in uganda and i don't know or experience anything about kony really in terms of solidarity.  but when you take out the specifics we would probably agree that the world is full of bad stuff- and bad guys- and we all feel deep inside -very helpless about it and overwhelmed and unclear on the 'right' response.  many of us feel guilty that we have it so good when others don't.  many of us want to "do" something- but we don't know what.


so should the kony 2012 campaign be about the people in africa suffering the consequences of the LRA and not cool american t-shirts? yes.  absolutely.  but to me their missions is "american"- because they are america, and they are targeting americans, using american communication.  because of this, they are big and shiny and trendy and popular.  they're not claiming to be a grassroots northern uganda group.  i guess i think that is okay- at least the little i know about it.  he is a film maker- that's his deal- his area- his sphere of influence- and he wanted to use it to raise awareness and put political pressure on his very influential government.

this is life.  this is holding the tension of the opposites- it's looking at the konys of the world- listening to the voices of the invisible children (or the white wealthy dad's who have spent 8 years raising awareness). it's reading opinions about it, investigating, being moved by it, broken by it, whatever it is- rebel armies or sex-trafficking- or cancer.  it's paying attention and not turning around because you don't know what to do, or say or think.  because that can be the hardest part- the awareness of evil and suffering and our helplessness- making choices daily about how we respond- to any of it.  being.  being thoughtful and gentle.  'speaking healing words, that are not just our own, but given to us'- and expressing love that is part of the greater love.   

life can be so many things

there has been a lot going down this week.  and i've had a lot to say, i still do i think.  but i've been a little bit gun shy because someone who i love very dearly, mentioned that he's worried that i'm a little bit depressed based on what i write here.

and i'm not depressed, and i hope i'm not depressing, that is the last thing i want to be.  so i'm having a bit of writers block or rather, fear, that i might write something that could be construed as negative, or overwhelmed, or irritated or sad.   but there are parts of life that are negative, overwhelming, irritating and sad!  just as there are parts that are joyful and funny and fabulous and amazingly perfect. and i am vibrant and extreme-i'm not easy, or breezy, or mild.  i feel things intensely and for me, depression is the opposite of that, depression is flat line- it's the absence of feeling intensely- and in this season of life, i'm thankfully not feeling the lack of feeling.

things have been hard this week.  a friends son here has cancer.  he's 13, they are poor, and they live in uganda.  there is no health insurance, there are no real ICU's, there are no clinical trials, chemotherapeutic agents aren't easy to find, blood products are constantly in shortage, water isn't clean, floors are often made of dirt.  it's a hard place to find treatment, it's a hard place to be if you do get treatment and then have no immune system but live with constant exposure to infection, it's a hard place to be if you then get an infection with no immune system, and there's no healthcare system to provide supportive care.
this is hard hard.  hard to watch, to figure out, to translate at each visit.  hard to imagine if it were my child.  hard to grasp the disparity; the reality that while 85% of kids with this cancer in the US are cured, <5% are in africa. 

what lines need to be drawn? what boundaries? how far do we go for help? how much money do we need to raise?  and why is this country not working harder to get cancer care? maybe because they still don't have mattress or sheets on the city hospital beds, maybe because they don't have a reliable CT scanner, or because people are still dying of malaria, HIV and TB, so resource-wise- where does pediatric cancer come in?

maybe because people are still dying in boda-boda accidents because they don't wear helmets- like the two bodies i drove by last night in the rain.  it's a lot to see and take in- life in the developing world.  when i saw them there, lying helmetless and bloodied and bent the wrong way in the middle of the road with the smashed bike beside them, i cried hard- not because i'm depressed, but because those tears had been sitting inside me for a while.  i'd wanted to cry all day since leaving the oncologists office wondering what we were going to do- i cried because of all of it- death, illness, kids having cancer, people living in poverty, and what is our response?

so today i got up early- extra early- to take this boy and his mom to the hospital again for a bone marrow biopsy and some chemo.  i got up early and i asked God to please walk with me today- because i promised i would, and i could tell i especially needed Him.  and i began to try.  i began to think big. to wonder if maybe we can change cancer care in uganda - one case at a time. 

i began to remember that we need to do for one what we wish we could do for everyone.  that we need to care deeply, to be there with each other in suffering, even if there isn't an answer, or there won't always be blood products or ICU's, or helmets.  that God can bring healing to this boy, and to this country, that He wants to walk with us each day, even and especially, on the bad days.   so even though it was early and the traffic was bad, we laughed a lot on the way in.  and even though we'd all missed lunch, and my car had been broken into while in town, and we had to pull over so tim could vomit several times on the way home, we were thankful that i'd been able to locate some of the chemo agents with the help of a friend, thankful that the car hadn't been stolen, thankful that God had brought us together. 

and we talked about how great it would be if timothy's case helped to reform cancer care for all kids in uganda.  we talked about seeing through the glass dimly, that life is bigger than what is in front of our eyes.  the violin can't see and hear the entire orchestra- but there is a great conductor- we play our small part and we trust that the pieces will in some way, fit together.  and even in this, there is still joy and we can still be amazed.

things to hold onto

it's hazy today and the view on top of the hill was obscured- but still, far off in the distance i could see lake victoria and there was a breeze that was cool and good.  i climbed up 'prayer mountain' because it's my new favorite place to go and be alone, and, the sermon today was on prayer. it was on retreating to a quiet place to pray and part of prayer is listening- learning to hear stillness- learning to recognize the voice that matters most.

in kenya i began to remember my great need for this- time alone with God- when i'm not talking but i'm listening.  when i'm quiet and open.  i also began to remember my great need for communion- for listening to the voices of others who may have walked my path for longer or gone farther- who teach me by accident in their sharing.  little gifts given.

because sometimes life is like this-

pushing an entire wood frame living room set up hill on a bike.  and when the path looks and feels like this, we need to remember the stories of those who walked before us. we need to lean on our quiet times of prayer and listening.  all these things build us and become us and we when we share them we are stronger and less alone.

and other times life is like this-

sitting on the couch together, while someone makes lego starwars spaceship sounds.  and these we hold on to as well. these things also make us stronger and less alone.

on transient ex-pat life

how do we think about where we are?
how do we think about place?
how do we define home?
what moves us? (i mean physically, but what moves us inside, sometimes moves us physically too, doesn't it?)

these questions sit with me.  they always have, but here even more because the nature of living as a foreigner in another country is to ask these, especially as people leave.

this week we found out our friends/ neighbors are leaving- moving back to the US.  a few days later, i was speaking to a mom at the boys school and she said,

"...then in a few months we leave."

i said, "oh are you going home for the summer?"  

"no, we're done here.  moving to the middle east next."

and i'm realizing this is what people do here.  they come, but then they go.  this is why all the ugandans ask me when i'm leaving, or how long i'm staying - because everyone leaves. it seems most people come for about 2-4 years, they experience africa, do their work, and go- either home, or to the next place their NGO sends them.  but there is fall out.  people have this rootnessless, this transient way of relating.  it's self-sustaining, but not community building, it's meeting certain needs but not full investment.  it's being with an awareness that being here is temporary.  it's velcro not stitched. it's rented not owned. 

and this is hard for me.  i like real real.  i like knowing people.  i like going to the deeper levels that people who are always leaving don't usually want to go to.  and i don't like the sound of velcro.

so i find myself wanting to hang around people who are 'staying'- or at least not planning on leaving- or if they are leaving, even in two weeks, they're not afraid of connection, they can be vulnerable and honest and are okay with cutting the threads they stitched because they too, don't like velcro (simone i'm talking about you).

i know i've only been here for 6 months- so maybe in three years i'll be packing my bags too and regretting this post, but i just don't think so.  i feel like we're here here- that we've arrived at where we are supposed to be- in a long and committed sense.  i feel like digging down deep into this red dirt and growing some roots.  i feel like planting some corn without tilling the soil, laying down mulch, and then watching it grow good and tall. i feel like knowing the people of this place, learning their first language and becoming a part of things- as much as i can as a foreigner.  i feel like learning to sew- to hem and to stitch- to attach myself to this beautiful fabric of people and this beautiful land. 

this is how i think of where i am.
this is how i think of this place.
this is how i think of home.
and it moves me- to be still.

hard rain

it's a hard, it's a hard rain.  sheets of it- drowning out the noise of anything else.  it's lovely in it's noise and consumption of all else- laying itself down over everything-covering and filling- and somehow quieting.  it can calm a stirring soul.

i know it's old.
but i love edie brickells version of bob dylan's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
his words, her voice.
because it says so much. not just about war, but about suffering, and disparity, and the beauty and the ugly of life. because i feel the contrast here more than i did in the US.  and i'm thinking about it today in this hard rain.

the taming of the shrew

it's no longer leap year day, which is too bad because if it were, i could possibly blame my bad behavior on the weird karma of the universe that must have knocked me into crazy.  no.  the crazy today is just all me.  it is a plain old middle of the week homeschooling day and while i now only really do this half the time i used to, and therefore shouldn't complain, i will.

see, i used to do this full time- okay 4/5ths time- because fridays were my glorious VA work day.  fridays were the day i went to work for 10 hours and made people happy and was thanked and knew that i was making a difference.  now i go to work two days a week and am with zoe three days and because on fridays we go to the orphanage to 'give back'- the 'official' teaching days are only two days- and i somehow have managed to weasel even out of that.  at first i was doing yoga on thursday mornings in kampala so mike had her in the morning and a student came to help her in the afternoon.  but when mike caught on that the yoga was becoming a habit- and i was sneaking out of my part of the 3/5ths deal- i had to call it off.  since then i've conveniently been in kenya, or it was the boys mini-break, or yesterday i decided to do a 'field trip' to the fabric market.

so today was a bit of culture shock for us.  zoe was trying to get used to me again, and i was, i guess you could call it trying, to get used to her again.  but really, i was squirming and fighting and cursing under my breath or out loud, that i was "done".

it started okay- i mean she got out of the bed with out being asked.  but that was it- so began the nagging.  i ask you, can it really take 30 minutes to brush your teeth, i mean to start to brush your teeth?
i went into the kitchen, turned the calendar to march, counted the months until July and began banging my head on the wall- 'i can't do this for four more months!'

mike looked at me with that face- that 'this is my wife and she's mildly hopeless' face- that face that shows his brain is questioning whether or not it's safe to leave me home with his child. which i prefer to the less sympathetic 'you'd better get it together now' face.

"try to be patient honey"

"BUT HOW is it possible to stand in the bathroom doing NOTHING for 30 minutes when you are supposed to be brushing? i could understand playing with a toy or reading a book, but....i think she might be... you know.....really slow....as in.. not much going on upstairs....." i vented, realizing that it was only 8:30 and i wasn't about to get any sympathy from the folks in the kitchen.

"babe- she's just looking in the mirror. think of how your parents felt about you."
what was that supposed to mean?

"i didn't do stuff like this!  i cared, i was motivated. i brushed my teeth quickly!"

"i'm just saying they had those head-banging moments too."

"not like this!"

"what about your first boyfriend- the recovering alcoholic?"

"yeah but i was 16!"

"which is probably worse!"

at which point we were interrupted by zoe, "i'm done!" as if she deserved a metal for finally finishing.

"okay lets head to the school room!" i mustered enthusiasm- but she always know when i'm faking.

we listed the subjects we needed to cover today on the white board- we numbered them- and we figured out how much time we had until her joint history class at the neighbors house- (which conveniently falls on my homeschool day).

"okay, we have 2 hours and 45 minutes.  how many minutes are in an hour?" i was feeling good about the practical incorporation of math.

"60 minutes."

"Good!"

"so how many minutes are in 2 hours?"

"ummm.  10."

"no."

"6?..... 7?......  8?.....  9?..."

 "NO! what is this an auction?"

"i don't want to figure out how much time to spend on each subject! i want to do "the clock" for math! i want to practice telling time!"

"but this is about time! it's using the clock to figure out how much time we can spend on each subject- it's practical math."

"well i think it's stupid!"

then out it flew- "you think this is stupid? how stupid is it to think that 60 plus 60 could possibly be 10!"

cringe.  ooopps.

at this point i should have said, 'help!' and enlisted the celestial back up, but no, instead i tried the self-pep talk, 'come on! you're the parent! don't argue with her!'  but this didn't really work.  and i shoved that square peg into the round hole- i dragged her through the math of our schedule and only when we were done, did i let her grab the little clock to do our 'official' math.

now for some reason, people with nonverbal learning disorder really struggle with time- the telling of it- the living with in its bounds- the basic intrinsic understanding of it.  and while i know this in my head- i still forget.

"okay zoe, set the clock to 7:07"

she spins the hands to seven- and then hands it to me.  "i have no idea." and she starts to laugh.  this would have been the perfect time to just laugh along with her.  to be thankful that she's not melting down about not knowing.  to support her in her ability to let it go and sort of ask for help.

but no.

out if flew again. cringe. "are you kidding me? you don't know how to show 7 minutes on that clock and you're 12 years old?"

doh!

at that point- i realized that i needed help, probably in the form of therapy, fast.  that it wasn't her- it was me.  that it was only 9:30 am, and that permenant damage might be done if i didn't just shut it.

so i did.  i took pause, i leaned over and gave her a kiss and told her that i know telling time is hard for her and actually i'm stupid- and impatient and overbearing.  i told her that i struggle with time too- the inability to not be ruled by the clock- the inability to just relax and be with her as she learns, that i have "no idea" about lots of things.

and then it was time for english- which today encompasses grammar and comprehension and reading.  she had just finished reading a version of shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew.  how appropriate.  for the next hour, she read me the play out loud in perfect voice, asking for "H.E.L.P"on the names of the characters without a single sticky thought.  she summarized.  she comprehended, she asked good questions about vocabulary and inferred the meaning by the context.

wow. look how far this girl has come! there is understanding and connection, she is able to move her mind laterally now, to begin to grasp the complexities in relationships, to bear with herself in trying to tell time, and pronounce words, and put up with her mother. 

i am that shrew so needing to be tamed.  how easily i let her challenges frustrate me, yet i'm so willing to be tolerant of mine.  thankfully, every day is a new day.  every minute a new minute. a chance. a small beginning.

as we ate our chocolate chip banana bread for lunch she asked me who my favorite character was in 'the taming of the shrew'.  i told her i wasn't sure, and asked her which was her favorite.

"katerina the shrew, because she becomes kind."

maybe there is hope for me. let it start right now!