tiki birds and wild things

over the weekend when mike and i were hiking up from the crater lake and listening to the orchestra of exotic birds- i had a memory surface.

i remembered being twelve years old and at disney world for the first time. we had done all the really fun rides- pirates of the caribbean, peter pans magic ride, thunder mountain, and space mountain - and we landed at the tiki birds.  i remember a room- hut like- filled with fake but mobile exotic birds on the ceiling- and recordings of all the bird sounds one might hear in the rainforest.  i was twelve and i thought this was really boring, and definitely didn't qualify as a 'ride', but something caught the corner of my rolling preteen eyes.

there was a a girl about my age in a full reclining wheel chair. her limbs were contracted, and her movements were spastic, and as she looked up from her permanent seat, she was elated.  it was like Gods gift to her.  suddenly the ceiling, which because of her position she was forced to look at all the time, was alive with birds and colors and movement and sounds.  it was as if the tiki bird 'ride' was made for her.

it spoke to me.

i felt like such a jerk, for many reasons.  for taking this display for granted, for judging it.  for not appreciating something that was a different type of entertainment.  for taking my legs for granted, and my ability to move them onto other rides that this girl couldn't go on. ever.

i imagined what life would be like in that chair, and i felt so sad.

but then i looked at her family.  her parents and her siblings were all around her, and all so happy that she was loving the tiki birds.  they were there with her, in her moment.  they weren't sad for her, or for them, they shared in her enjoyment, they were content. they had found a 'ride' that she could enjoy, that they could enjoy together.

i had a moment back then of beginning to think differently about people who are differently-abled. and about treading lightly, and about contentment.  she was elated but her family was content.

they were content despite having to see disney world with a sister in a reclining wheelchair, and having to find all those ramps and being stared at and who knows how many times they had to see the tiki birds.

content- desiring no more than what one has; ready to accept or acquiesce

today was the first of fellowship for the UCU footballers and the topic was contentment.  the reading was from philippians 4- about contentment- about being satisfied in all circumstances- about how we can do this because of God- and the strength that God gives.

it's hard to be content when things aren't going well, because when things aren't going well, i pretty much desire anything and everything that i don't have, and i want to get rid of what i do have.  when things aren't going well, i don't want to acquiesce- i want to make things better- i want change.

but wow.  learning to be content in all circumstances? practicing being satisfied and accepting things that i can not actually change anyway? finding the beauty in a room full of fake tropical birds? letting that be what it is, and be enough? even if the joy is only in watching the joy on the face of another?  that sounds fantastic.  that sounds life giving and peaceful and happy.

this is a tough season honestly.  the road has been rough -timothy's cancer being back, last week jaja died, no news on zoe's schooling next year, rose's birth mom did show up but didn't sign the affidavit, people are continually in need and sharing that need, friends leave, expectations aren't met, dogs bark all night and you lose sleep, we can feel stretched thin.  and mike and i both have had those moments lately.

and in those moments i feel like max in where the wild things are. that i've sailed in and out of weeks and almost over a year. that the wild things are all the problems here- the poverty and the need and the injustice- and that so quickly after saying 'be still'- i am made the king of the wild things.  then the wild rumpus starts.

"now stop!" said max and sent the wild things off to bed without their supper. and max the king of all wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all. "

it's hard to be content when you're lonely.  when you miss your old people. when from far away across the world you smell good things to eat.  and when you can feel like you're being eaten up by the wild things themselves.

but.

'i have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or want. i can do anything through him that gives me strength.' phil 4:13

even far away in weeks and almost a year- on days when the wild things rumpus is so loud and my voice is so soft that i can't muster 'now stop!' but i can muster, help. even and because there is someone loving those tiki birds because that is all she can see and experience.  it's enough.  i don't need more than i already have- whatever i have.  i can do anything through him that gives me strength.

ahhhhhhh

the sun has set.  the tree frogs are in full conversation, the lights from the far off places are sparkling and the lake below is quiet. behind me is the moon.  there are no children.  it's just me, and him.

finally.

we are up north at a lodge which sits on a crater lake.  this morning we woke up on our own, with out the patter of little feet and had coffee in our room, then a full breakfast at the lodge, then we hiked the rim of the crater

and talked about our life here and what's good and what's hard and what we want to do.  we sat in the sun on our own private porch and we ate a huge three course lunch, and we played tennis for the first time in 15 years, and we laughed a lot.  it. was. so. much. fun.

mostly we remembered.  why we are here. why we're together. why we've made the choices that we've made. what things about us will never change. and what things we've learned to just accept.

we also remembered that uganda has the most perfect weather ever.  and that we love our kids, but that four is a lot and we don't know how people who have more than that don't lose one somewhere (maybe even on purpose) because it would be so hard to keep track of everyone. we also remembered that relationships matter more than anything and so using all our christmas and birthday money to escape together to this beautiful place for two nights, is TOTALLY worth it.  thank you moms and dads!!

left with grace

life is so full of hard stuff.

it just is and it always will be. 

some days it rains hard stuff- like today. some days just start out cloudy, and those clouds feel like the end of the world because they are blocking the sun.  but. you. have. no idea. then it starts raining, and then the wind picks up and it's a full downpour.  the thunder and lighting are loud and scary and the streets are flooding and then comes  hail and the cracking of tree branches.  and then you know that just a cloudy sky would have been wonderful- because it's all relative. 

tonight i had to tell a good ugandan friend that her son's lymphoma had returned- only months after his treatment.  i had to tell her that it's not good- but somehow God is still good.  i had to tell her with tears streaming down my face because she is my friend and it's so. unfair. and he is only 14.  then we had to go and tell him.  how do you tell a kid that they have advanced cancer? how do you find that balance between hope and truth? and what is the truth? and what is hope? and isn't this what i do?

i got the biopsy results while i was sitting in the lawyers office with rose climbing on me as we waited for her birth mother to show up.  i simultaneously and silently swore and said a prayer, which i think God is fine with by the way- our humanity has limited options for expression. 

on the way in to the office, i'd been annoyed at the struggle to move things forward with roses adoption.  it seemed so unfair and slow and painful and i felt stuck and dependent and helpless.  but suddenly those clouds didn't matter quite as much when i was staring at the words Acute Lymphoblastic Lymphoma.  suddenly i remembered what real helplessness and dependence feels like- what real unfair is, and pain and stuck.

so when the time came to go pick up the other kids and roses birth mom still hadn't shown up yet- i was a lot less broken hearted than i would have been.  then to add to the afternoon, on the way to the school rose vomited everywhere in the car.  cloudy- maybe some rain.  we cleaned it up and gathered the other kids and drove home with most of them sleeping and me being thankful for each of them and their health and their stories which are thankfully continuing.

when we got home, i cried, a lot.  i cried tears and i cried help and why and please because in between the lawyers office waiting and the vomit i'd talked to the oncologist and i knew i needed to have a very hard conversation- a conversation i've had several times but not yet with a friend as their doctor.

so i know all about those moments that are not forgotten.  i lay on my bed and wondered what earrings i was wearing that my friend wouldn't forget, what song might be playing in the background when she had to hear me say- his cancer is back. i hated that i would be speaking some of the worst words a mother can hear- words that i've heard before too- words attached to the light coming into my san francisco apartment as i rocked my baby boy- words attached to the music of switchfoot and a tommy bahama tie and the plastic smell of the diaper bag mixed with lavender.  words that i remember knowing slapped and stung then, but couldn't compare to the pain i'd feel if and when he was gone from my rocking arms.

all that sat in me as i waited to be that messenger.

i'm reading anne lamotts new book: help, thanks, wow- the three essential prayers.  these days i'm very familiar with help.  okay for years i've been good at this one- in some form or another.  these days i've been living in 'help' - and i'm trusting that because God is the good shepherd i'm not at risk of crying wolf- i'm trusting He knows each 'help' is legit- and not a constant drone.

tonight as i drove over to her place to sit down and deliver the news to her son and her husband- i told God that i was tired of having to cry HELP all the time, but in fact- right now- help would be great.  i told God that i wasn't feeling very thankful, but, i was thankful that i was being heard, that we weren't alone, that She would walk with me down that dark path and right into their little house, and that i was thankful for the promise of provision- even if it doesn't look exactly like i would like.  then i told God that i was ready for WOW.   i was pretty sure that i was due for some WOW- that my friend was due and her son too.

so what am i left with?  i'm left with grace. 

we are left with grace in the middle of all the broken and the breakdown.  we are left with each other.  we are left with a still loving, non-abandoning God- in the midst of unfair and painful.  we are left holding hands and crying together and then laughing because there are still funny bits.  we are left remembering to hold on to the times when we said WOW.  we are asked to try gratitude- even in despair, but we are surrounded by grace when we can't.  we are covered in grace when all that comes out is profanity and 'help'- or even - just profanity.  we are loved and forgiven and understood - over and over again- that is grace- and sometimes we can only feel it in our most ruined selves- in our darkest hours.

and here is God.

sitting beside us.

lwakasaande

today i sat in church. for a long time.
because in africa church goes on for a long time.
at least it seems long to me.
two hours. so an hour longer than i'm used to- which means twice as long as i'm used to. 

sometimes i'm prone to the wandering of the mind.  hopefully i wander somewhere peaceful and zen like- somewhere that is related to God or finding God or listening to God - so that i can find my way back to the service.  but. sometimes i go to those other places- the anti-places- places of worry and todo lists and places where my imagination runs wild and i work through various scenarios of all the possible horrible things that could happen- or i recall the HYSTERICAL  30 rock episode that i watched the night before and start to cry with that held in laughter.  thankfully today, i drifted only slightly to realizing that i need to build in the pause to my days.  i realized that i need to schedule in times to sit and do nothing with no one, or it just won't happen.  and this was helpful.

but right after church, i needed to bake something for the 20 visitors from the US who were coming to our home to talk to mike and i about our life, and i needed to bake something else for the womens bible study at our house that night.  none of the days activities included much time for a pause.

i'll be honest- i wanted a pause.  i'll be honest, i didn't want to bake and i didn't really want to talk about my life- about being missionaries and moving our family over here and what we're doing and why. somedays, when you really need that space and quiet and pause- and you happen to be the kind of person with no poker face- talking to 20 people about your life- is actually- terrifying.  i was afraid that i would destroy their vision of 'african missionary'  i was afraid i'd trample their learning experience- and all that would come out of me would be tired and annoyed and in need.

but it was the opposite.

it was refreshing and renewing and rejuvenating.  it was inspiring and connecting and life-giving.  and in the midst of 20 people and lots of juice and brownies and my adorable kids running in and out of the house, through the room full of people, with the door wide open the whole time- i found the pause.  i found the stillness even there- it was provided- it was given- and brought forth.

sometimes when you summarize your life you get clarity- and i did.  you get perspective- and i did. you hear yourself say that you know it all takes time, and it's about relationships. you hear yourself answer questions like ' are you here forever?' and you hear yourself say 'we're here until we are given a new direction' and it makes sense.  all the moments of why and how and when melted away and the simple because, i'll show you, and now- stood up.

i didn't expect to find peace this afternoon with a full house, but i did.  it was good and once again- provision.

where have i been all week?

i don't know.  it was a strange week- a week of newness and loss- and sameness- and reality and avoidance of reality.  a week that was busy and a week where i didn't give enough time to the pause.  i didn't make time to stop and think- i just kind of went.  now it's saturday i just got back from kampala and i have about 3 hours until i need to leave and go back to kampala.  so i'm trying to sit still and be here. now.

on monday we had visitors for lunch- a group of doctors here to do short term missions work. we told "our story" why we are here, what we are trying to do, and how it's going.  it's always interesting to hear yourself- what comes out- how you box yourselves.  it made me realize that i need more pause.

on tuesday we had a goodbye dinner for a good friend who was leaving. it was fun- but it was also really sad and it dredges up all the leaving and being left and the lonely and the hard and the transience of life here.  it dredges up all the questions (the ones that seemed to have good answers the afternoon before...) why are we here, what are we trying to do, and how is it going anyway?

on wednesday she left with tears and smiles and hugs and promises and boxes and memories.
on wednesday afternoon i distracted myself with the ucu soccer game where i watched as the team doctor, cheered, tried to understand the luganda being spoken around me, and tried desperately to be in my place here, to keep finding my place here, and i steri-striped a bloody eyelid.

on thursday i set up meetings for our home study to move toward our adoption of rose, and i set up a meeting with our lawyer and rose's birth mother who is thankfully back from the village, and confirmed our meeting on friday with a potential school for zoe for next year.

on friday at the meeting with said potential school, i was reminded again of the challenges of having a differently-abled child.  i was reminded that life for zoe is hard and life for those who love zoe is hard.  i was reminded of the beautiful gift that we've been given this year in ambrosoli- her current school- where i literally feel like i've been given a year "off".  after 3 years of homeschooling- this is SUCH a gift.  but.  with zoe and education and most other things, there are no guarantees- there is not a "track" to get on, there is no sure thing, there is not a 'solution'. there are lots of solutions, lots of trying and meetings and furrowed brows, and 'concern that we can meet her needs' (to which i always want to scream - can anyone meet her needs?- come on people! lets try! - mike told me later that i didn't need to say it, because my face said it for me...oops.) there is lots of opportunity for feeling sorry for ones self, there is lots of opportunity for overwhelm and hopelessness which sends one running back to the dreaded questions - why are we here, what are we trying to do, and how is it going anyway?

of course mike saved the day.  we dropped zoe back at school and i had a cosmopolitan and tortilla chips and he reminded me of the number of times that we've sat in those meetings with those blankish looks and wrinkled foreheads, and he asked me what i'd expected?  i told him i didn't really have any expectations i just had some wants.  i wanted them to smile and tell me that they'd LOVE to have zoe- that they were SURE they could meet her needs, and if not, they would TRY.  i told him that it makes me sad and tired and that i NEED more years like this one.  i told him that every year we shouldn't have to find a new school.  i told him i wanted a track, a more permanent plan, a solution- just one. of course he reminded me that basically that's not what we got.  that essentially moutaints are more beautiful than molehills and our life is more filled with mountains.  he reminded me that there are many solutions, that God is speaking in this, we just have to listen, and trust and wait. 

BUT THOSE THINGS ARE SO HARD! the listening and the trusting and the waiting.

especially for me.  especially in the midst of a busy week, with comings and goings and big life things being up in the air- like adoption and education, especially when all the other stuff is also going on- like making dinner and doing homework and learning another language and visiting jaja with her chronic leg ulcer and edema that wont' go, and calling the lab everyday for biopsy results on my friend with possible recurrent lymphoma. 

yes the listening and the trusting and the waiting are hard.

especially for all of us. 

and really, i have it easy.  most of uganda spends their life living in the place of trusting and waiting- for money for school fees and charcoal and rent, and a job, and a ride, and airtime and medical attention.

yesterday bryn had his first sleepover.  mike began to teach his first class at ucu.  we went for dinner at our ugandan friends house.  we got an email from said school saying it was lovely to meet zoe and they hope they'll be able to find a way to have her next year.

life happens.  provision happens.  solutions? we don't know them always, but they are there- they come.  and there are lessons in the listening and the trusting and the waiting.  there are lessons in the hard.  it's still beautiful.  i'm still here- i'm still thankful- i'm enjoying these hours of pause.

He or She? i'm just a sheep.

on friday bryn turned 6 and i remembered our birth day- and his traumatic entry and week in the icu- and i was filled with thanks and awe for his big little life.

on friday, at his party, a friend asked me why i refer to God as 'she' sometimes, because for her, it's uncomfortable.

on saturday i was in luweero at clinic, we tested 11 people for HIV, 5 were positive.

today a friend posted frustation when someone came to her door stating that her beliefs would send her to hell.

what do any of these things have in common?

that i don't know.
i don't know lots of things.

that life is only predictable in it's unpredictability.
that i don't really get it.
that life is complicated and so is God and there is so much that i just don't understand and i'm actually okay with that- i don't always like it, but it's okay. what do i mean?

what i believe is very basic- i believe that God is LOVE and that love is huge and i only understand the very beginning of it and even those beginnings i don't understand or live out very well. i have seen this loving God allow bad things to happen to me and mine- things like life long learning disabilities, and hydrocephalus and brain tumors and a newborn pneumothorax.  i have seen this loving God allow bad things to happen to other people- things like cancer that doesn't go away- and chronic disease, and depression, and shootings, and job loss and poverty and HIV.

but. i believe that God is still LOVE.  and that God is HUGE and much more complex and capable than i am. i believe that i'm made in the image of God- and because i'm a woman, i think God must have woman in Him, or Her- that God is bigger than gender- that all of us have masculine and feminine with in us- as does God. so sometimes i think of God as a loving father, other times i think of her like a loving mother.  but i think God is big enough that She or He doesn't care.  He cares about my relationship, my interest, my effort, my reaching up, my submission, my attempts to LOVE back.  She cares that i am trying, She is gentle and knows that i mess. it. up. all. the. time.  and i believe that She cries with us, and i know that He holds us when those bad things are happening because i've felt it.

i believe that Jesus is God, a part of God, a part of the trinity of God- another thing that like eternity- is impossible for my mind to understand fully.  i know Jesus was a guy- but He is only one part of God and just because the human part of God was a man- doesn't negate the feminine parts of God- in our silly little human understanding of 'parts'.

sometimes i imagine what it will be like when we actually meet God- i think after we stand in awe and amazement, and fear and trembling, and joy and excitement,  we will have a good laugh at ourselves and our language and our limitations.

and i also don't understand why people are still showing up with new diagnoses of HIV in 2013?  why were half the people we tested positive?  where is the lack and the why is there such disparity?

and why are people being scarey and threatening in the name of 'sharing the gospel?'
being scarey and threatening is not love.  how is telling someone they are going to hell 'sharing'?
sharing is telling someone that God loves them. no. matter. what.  sharing is telling someone why you believe that to be true, even. though.  even though your mom had cancer and your friend died too young and your kid struggles every day with basic activities that other people don't have to think about.  sharing is talking about the everlasting arms that you know have held you when the darkness was closing in so that you were not alone. sharing is saying- 'i don't know' (not having all the answers doesn't mean what you believe isn't real...)  

there is a reason why God and faith and belief are hard to package in a neat little box and drop on someones doorstep.  THEY ARE TOO BIG!!  there is a reason why Jesus lived for 30 years on earth before he started talking about these things. our lifetime is about trying to see these things, trying to find them, and find ourselves in them, and work through all the trauma and the goodness and open our hearts to making some sort of sense of it.

so i'm so thankful.  that God - He, or She, or just God- is gentle and patient, and most of all LOVE.  and if His analogy is that He is the Shepard and we are the sheep? i think we're fine- the expectations are pretty low- we can stumble around bleating 'He' or 'She' or whatever- and God will gently nudge us in the right direction or grab us by the neck with that shepherd stick if we're way off or in danger. i think it's about trying, and listening for His voice and learning to trust it, and going where we hear it. 

getting back to soaring

last night i wrote a post that sounded a lot like the beginnings of 'burn out'- that state of emotional and spiritual and physical exhaustion that can happen with prolonged stress or struggle.  that state that often reveals itself as lack of motivation- the inability to accomplish and the strong feeling that you are in fact, accomplishing nothing.  and it spirals into those questions: who am i? why am i here anyway? what am i doing? why did i ever think this was a good idea? and finally when can i go?

i must back up and say that this feels very silly to write because i don't look at our life and see a tremendous amount of stress- especially compared to those around us.  i look at our life and see a lot of goodness and much to be thankful for and a whole lot of blessing.  we now almost always have electricity.  we have running water in our house.  we are generally healthy.  we have enough food and never go hungry.  we even have chocolate and starbucks instant coffee.  i mean really- what is there to complain about?

but.

i think it's the cumulative other things.

this morning mike and i spent a lot of time together reading some of verses and mostly talking and then finally praying a brief prayer that went something like- 'help kris today - give her spirit strength' for which i was profoundly grateful.

mike reminded me that while all the above are true- we are so fortunate and not in need physically- there are things that we don't have here- that our ugandan friends do have. they have their extended families- they have the village that they grew up in and can escape to for holidays- they have their support systems- they are living in their own culture- they are anonymous- they aren't starred at- no one shouts 'muzungu' at them when they walk- people they don't know don't come to their door asking for sponsorship. every. day. they live in their place- with their people.

and we don't.

one of my ugandan friends yesterday made two comments that accidentally made me feel so foreign and alone.  " you white people always......"  and "an african would never do that."  i can't even remember what was being talked about- but it felt so bad.  i felt so helplessly different.  i felt so alone and removed and sad- but the truth is- i am not african nor will i ever be- no matter how long i am here.  the truth is, i am white, and always will be.  the truth is, i am american, and always will be.   these are the facts.  i have chosen to live in a place that is foreign to me.

last night i found myself googling 'missionary burn-out'.  it talked about signs and symptoms and  prevention strategies- things that are obvious but easy to forget- take breaks, eat lunch, leave work at work, take vacation.

mike and i realized that we haven't been away for a weekend alone, with out the kids, in over a year.  we began to look into options and get excited, but they also all looked so expensive.  i kept thinking- yeah that place looks great! we could do it, or.... we could pay someones rent for the YEAR!  i began to feel that my 'break' wasn't important enough- that the disparity was too loud- that life was just so unfair and i couldn't be part of it.

this morning mike pointed out our cumulative stress.  he pointed out that there will always be a sense of living in two worlds here- that we are always going to struggle with this balance- but.  he said we needed to go away. he said 'book it.' period.  he said if we don't take care of ourselves we won't be here to pay anyone's rent and the bigger question is why would we pay their rent anyway? he said that we came here to help support people and educate and mentor them, so that they can pay their rent.  he said that what we are doing is hard.

i said that i was wondering if a better way was to do like some of my friends who fly in for 10 days and fix lots of kids hearts or lips or legs surgically and teach ugandan doctors while they are here and then fly home.

he said what they are doing is great- but they are coming into a system that is already set up and we are trying to set up systems.  we are on the ground, looking at what is broken or not available, and trying to fix or build it.  he said it takes longer- it's way more frustrating- it's about relationship building- and our 'results' can be harder to measure.  he said what we are doing is important and lasting and as we teach planning and setting up and fixing- then we enable more ugandans to pay their own rent and know when to biopsy lumps, and operate on the hearts and legs of their people, and build and create and dream and believe and be empowered.

right. of course.
i love this man.

when he went for work- i walked up monkey hill to listen to God.  i wanted to hear what i'd 'get' to give my spirit strength beside the wise words of my man. and She delivered - i got isaiah 40:13-

but those who hope in the Lord 
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like 
eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not faint.

there will be seasons of walking, and of running and even of soaring.  i am tired yes, but i'm walking, and i'm even running and i can't wait to be back to soaring.

the goodness of life

after dinner and homework, jude and i took bolt the dog for a walk.  it was a beautiful time of the evening and we were together and time alone with a kid is a good thing.  we talked about the dog and he showed me where he likes to go on campus, and we balanced on some walls, and sprinted on the track.  there were no earth shattering conversations, no massive insights into the mind of my 7 year old- just time. together. at the end of the walk as we were heading up the dirt road to our house, i caught the scent of that overly sweet, sickly sweet, migraine producing, flowering bush, and i groaned. i asked jude if he  knew where it was coming from, and he replied,  "all i can smell is the goodness of life".

it was the best thing i'd heard all day.

it was the best thing i'd heard all week.

lately i'll admit, i haven't been smelling the goodness of life.  lately i'll admit, i've been easily frustrated, too quickly discouraged, and too quick to pick up on and complain about the one sickly sweet bush in the midst of a lush garden.

so hearing these sweet words from my son as we walked hand in hand down the path, were divine,  out of the mouths of babes. judes words were the padding, the arms, the still small voice. a reminder that yes, when i slow down, when i allow the quiet, when i am in my moments,  i too can smell the goodness of life.

first day back---woohoo!

it's beautiful and cool outside and....for the first time in a while....it's quiet.  that is because it's that magical day when the kids FINALLY return to school after winter break. it's not just me.  really. they were desperate too.  it's not that we don't love each other- because we do, it's not that i don't miss them- because i do, but. i think kids belong at school, with their peers, with their own partial worlds, in their own separate space to differentiate and individuate and become.

today bryn was thrilled when i woke him up because i remembered to only turn on the bathroom light and not his bedroom light- to smooth his transition.

jude announced that he wasn't going to school anymore and pulled the covers over his head- for about 10 minutes - then when ready, he got up, did his stuff and was still the first out the door, as usual.

zoe said she now realized that she was pretty grumpy over vacation and ready to go back to school.

rose doesn't go back to school until next week- but she tried to wear her uniform anyway.

today, i could feel the space, i could feel the empty and the stillness and in that space i was finally able to make my very needed todo list. i even began to do the things on the list.  all the spinney, crazy, floating kite strings in my head got in line and tethered and now life seems more manageable and sane and okay. phew.  because the last few days i was beginning to wonder.

order has come.  for now.

over this winter break, we managed to actually go no where.  one trip to the pool, one trip to ride the horses, and a new years playdate/ party in kampala- but that was it.  there were also two trips in for rabies shots and two trips in for false alarm toothaches- so we spent more time doing medical care than day vacation trips.  the rest of the time was all campus running around with neighbors and the new friendly dog.

maybe that is why everyone was ready for school.

(i've got to become a better planner- must put that on the todo list).

in a few minutes i'll hear the car and their little voices and see their sweet, sweaty, in-need-of-haircuts- heads.  backpacks will be dumped on the floor, snacks will be requested and doors will be left open and the beautiful chaos of our life will begin again. 

i can't wait to hear what their worlds held today.

between two spaces

okay so i'm homesick.
it's so weird how it creeps up on me.
i was just bumping down some roads that were pretty bumpy and i just started to miss flat roads.  i was just doing the dishes and listening to music and i started to miss my sister.  to miss her and my brother and my parents and my old friends and well, my whole old life.  i just had a moment and i felt that deep longing. 

in 2012 i never left africa.  i didn't step foot on american soil not once (well except the embassy i guess- but i don't think that counts at all.)

i need to go home.
i need to step foot back home.  i need to hold the people who have known me longest.  i need to laugh over old jokes, i need to have a more normal todo list, i need to have a non-instant cup of starbucks, i need to sit on a comfortable couch and watch american tv shows with american commercials.  i need to go back to my church and sing with my sending community and hear the wise words of my pastor.  i need to walk the marin headlands and smell the ocean and sit for a long time with people who i can just be quiet next to.

i don't need any of these things really- but they would be so nice right now.

and i know that i will have them soon, i hope, and then i will long for here- for bumpy and dirty and dark and accents and bony couches and via coffee and african praise songs and the loudness of the rain on a tin roof. 

are you so tired of poetry? i'm not

if i were

there are lots of ways to dance and
to spin, sometimes it just starts my
feet first then my entire body, i am
spinning no one can see it but it is
happening. i am so glad to be alive,
i am so glad to be loving and loved.
even if i were close to the finish,
even if i were at my final breath, i
would be here to take a stand, bereft
of such admonishments, but for them.

if i were a sufi for sure i would be
one of the spinning kind.
                       
                                  mary oliver

the front porch castration

in uganda, the vet does house calls. 

i thought this was fantastic, until i got stuck by the needle during the rabies vaccination in the driveway.  and honestly, i would prefer to drop the dog off somewhere for it's flea bath than give it myself.  but the most bizarre aspect of owning a pet in uganda is that the vet is about to neuter bolt on the porch, for all to see, like it or not.

poor friendly dog. 

he had no idea what was coming his way.  but after spotting what looked like gonorrhea, and his barking excessively during the night at the new stray lady dog, and spending all morning trying to get with that stray lady dog- i decided to make an appointment with frank the vet for some snippage.

"i'll be right there." he said, and in five minutes he arrived on a boda boda.  after asking for a basin, and water and some soap- thankfully not a knife- and with all of my children and my friends children (sorry- may have been good to ask...) watching- he began to operate.

this brought up many questions from the kids.  good questions.  appropriate questions.
"was bolt trying to marry that other dog?"
"why does he need surgery to not want to marry her?"
"will this operation fix the green stuff coming out of his penis?"

these questions that were probably necessary after my attempted description at why i was calling the vet.
me: "we've got to do something- he just keeps trying to get with that poor female dog! and i'm pretty sure he's got the clap"
kid: "mrs. reid, what do you mean get with ?"
me: "um- make puppies- he wants to make puppies with her."
kid: "what does clapping have to do with it?"
me: "well he has an infection on his penis" 
kids: lots of scrunched faces and laughing.

then there were the typical surgical related questions and comments.
"does it hurt?"
"that is a lot of blood!"
"oh! he's doing it again! there are two of them?"
"can i touch it when it's out?"
oh dear God.

i was mildly disturbed by the lack of sterile- the need of our basin- but mostly by the comment from the vet, "where can i dump this?" holding the basin in his hands- which contained a smorgasbord of dirty water, gloves, needles, and the pièce de résistance- bolts two balls.

so there you have it.
hopefully bolt will sleep tonight undisturbed by stray female dogs- so that we can sleep too.
hopefully the children aren't too traumatized.
hopefully the parents of the children are ready for the birds and the bees talk.
and hopefully bolt will recover soon and be up to guard the house as before, with out distraction.

bolt saves the day

last night bolt was barking like a banshee.
he was on the porch, untied but stationed, barking like crazy but not abandoning his post.
i mean he was ferocious and scarey. it was about 2am and honestly, mike and i both wondered what we were doing with a dog.  but.  it turns out that last night at 2 am, our neighbors were being robbed and then it turns out that the things stolen were found abandoned right next to our yard.  i think bolt may have saved the day.

so today, bolt got a collar. another step closer to ownership.

thank you friendly dog.

it goes on

this is 'friendly dog'.
or bolt.
or santa's little helper.

friendly has worked his way into the family- slowly by slowly.  the kids love him- except for rosie who is scared of him- she is probably the wisest of the 4.  maybe she doesn't yet trust him because she watched him buck while the vet was giving him shots- and watched me get stuck with the needle in the cacophony.  or perhaps because she saw him mix up zoe's hand with a stick and bite her finger- requiring more rabies shots- poor zoe. 

but santa's little helper does a great job of barking at the people who shouldn't be walking around our house and not barking at those of us who live here. we have far fewer 'lingerers' and after all the thefts- bolt is staying.

today he got a bath.  he doesn't not like water- and i do not like bathing animals- but we managed to get through it.  now he looks better and smells slightly better, but mostly he is only more convinced that he is all the more ours. 

tonight when i was putting the boys to bed, i had a moment. it was one of those- 'you'd better hold on and savor this because it won't last.' - moments.  it was one of those - 'hey- these are the moments that matter- maybe most- so linger'.

the other day one of my friends stated that almost all of the influence we have on shaping the character of our children happens before they are 11 years old.  yikes!! i broke out in a cold sweat.  i felt nauseated. it was the same feeling i had when i watched 'the tree of life'- a feeling of intense responsibility and a pretty strong conviction that i'd already way messed it up. 

surely that can't be true!! zoe is done? i'm two years past the deadline? maybe with neuro-atypical kids it's delayed.  and my boys are soon to be 6 and 8....i don't have much time!! they are already big and independent and smart and in most ways- older than their years. is my influence more than half way over? and what kind of an influence have i been?

i think i might be a whirlwind of rushing. i might be a tornado hurrying them through the routines of life- the get up and get to school- the pick up from school and get home- the homework- the dinner routine- the bedtime routine- all the while shouting 'shut the door!!'.  what kind of an influence is that?

then tonight in the quiet of their room, with their colored christmas lights glowing, it occurred to me that none of that matters.  as i lay beside jude and prayed and "painted his face" and played with his hair and sang him this favorite bedtime song (patty griffith's 'long black limousine') i realized that right now, in this moment, he feels loved.  he feels safe and that the world could quite possibly be okay.  he feels valued and worth someones time.  he feels the warmth of knowing these things- these things that really are the only things that matter.

so i stayed. i lingered longer.  i sang bryn the second verse of 'raindrops on roses' again, because he swore he didn't hear it. 

the thing about life is - it goes on- said robert frost. and it does. and it will. no matter what happens before our children turn that magical 'post-influential age of 11'.  i don't know if it's for self-protective measures or not, but i don't believe in this age 11 business.  i believe in continued growth and influence and redemption and transformation and life long character development. 

it's now 2013. another landmark. a beginning again.  another chance to stop in the midst of the crazy and linger.  another year to break it down and be in that car- not just in the motion and hustle of where it's going.  to enjoy the dinner conversation and worry less about who has eaten all their zucchini- because i know they get enough green veg and it matters much more that they are heard.

i hope this year i remember it's better for them to stay up later because they are drawing something cool then get another 15 minutes of sleep.

i hope that i can let the forts all over the house stay longer- so they see i value their creativity more than a clean house. 

i hope that they will always feel loved, deeply loved, and safe and valued and worthy of time and that they will know that world could quite possibly be okay.

happy new year poem

What is so utterly invisible
as tomorrow?
Not love,
not the wind,

not the inside of stone.
Not anything.
And yet, how often I'm fooled-
I'm wading along

in the sunlight-
and I'm sure I can see the fields and the ponds shining
days ahead-
I can see the light spilling

like a shower of meteors
into next week's trees,
and I plan to be there soon-
and, so far, I am

just that lucky,
my legs splashing
over the edge of darkness,
my heart on fire.

I don't know where
such certainty comes from-
the brave flesh
or the theater of the mind-

but if I had to guess
I would say that only
what the soul is supposed to be
could send us forth

with such cheer
as even the leaf must wear
as it unfurls
its fragrant body, and shines

against the hard possibility of stoppage-
which, day after day,
before such brisk, corpuscular belief,
shudders, and gives way.

          mary oliver