this week i felt swallowed by africa. i felt the weight of her, i felt trapped by her, stuck in her and getting no where.
there have been several medical challenges this week that required a lot of navigating in an unfamiliar 'system'. things like finding drugs, and finding where tests can be done and where labs can be run and being disappointed by the lack and the missing and the unavailable. it. wore. me. down. i was feeling the intensity of the need and then the frustration of the reply of not enough of whatever is needed. in these moments i notice more the constancy of the asking- the expression of the need. literally every conversation i had with someone who wasn't a parent at my kids school, involved being asked for something. so i started to avoid conversations at the football pitch, or at the security gate, and to move away quickly after the initial, "how are you?" "i am fine" response, before i could hear the looming, "but i am somehow not fine". i was feeling spent. i was clinging to that promise that we aren't given more than we can handle, that we are given the strength we need to continue in what is asked of us, that we are not alone.
but then zoe came back from her class trip to sipi falls.
she, of course, didn't want to talk about it. i think it's overwhelming for her to try to summarize for herself the conglomeration of feelings she'd had on the trip, let alone explain it to eager parents. all she could say was that it was hard for her, that one of her tent-mates had snored (twice) and the other one was mean to her. but, she said she'd hiked the whole way to the falls and even had to rock climb and that she was so proud of that. then- not another word- despite her brothers begging her to talk about the falls over dinner.
to me, it sounded pretty good, but i was dying to get the report from her teacher the next day. and this is what i got: "zoe was amazing! she was the star of the trip. she didn't end up doing the easy hike but the full regular hike with the other kids and she did the whole thing with minimal difficulty and kept talking about what a great hiker she was (thanks to learning on the log). she did well with the sleep over parts, even ate well and knew what to avoid with dairy and gluten, and had everyone laughing around the camp fire". wwwhhhhaaattt?
that girl.
full of surprises.
when i told her the report from teacher trudy, she beamed.
"well i guess i really did have a great time."
we aren't given more than we can handle- any of us. we are given the strength we need to continue, or to climb. and we are never alone.
on friday afternoon- when feeling swallowed- and needing strength- i stopped while driving up my little road because i saw this:
see that light coming in on the bougainvillea, and the banana trees and the little red dirt path? beauty and goodness. it was like God was saying, "stop. look. be still and know that I am here. I am here with you- no matter what. I am here with you, even when you are overwhelmed, and frustrated and done. I am here with you and your family and I show up when you are desperately in need of my light on these leaves to remember. I show up when someone needs to keep up with her class on unsteady vertical ground, because I love her, and know what this will mean to her. I am here even for your friend and patient with recurrent lymphoma who is only 14 and asks you questions like 'will this cancer ever go away?'. I am here for you when you can't bear to see another person in luwero with newly diagnosed HIV and no ability to guarantee them ARVs. I'm even there for them. so hang in there, look for the goodness, be still and know I am here."
this week i will meet with zoe's potential new school about whether they will take her.
this week mike will be in kenya all week so i'll be single parenting.
this week i am meeting with the lawyer to set a court date for becoming rose's legal guardians.
this week i will set up hospice for my friend with lymphoma to get him morphine.
this week i will see the sun on those leaves and flowers, and i will hear the stories of my kids around the dinner table and i will be be still and know that no matter what, strength will be given, grace will abound, and we are not alone.
Be still and know that I'm with you
Be still and know that I am here
Be still and know that I'm with you
Be still, be still, and know
When darkness comes upon you
and covers you with fear and shame
be still and know that i'm with you
and i will say your name
If fear falls upon your bed and sleep no longer comes
Remember all the words I said
Be still, be still and know
And when you go through the valley
And the shadow comes down from the hill
If morning never comes to be
Be still be still be still
if you forget the way to go
And lose where you came from
if no one is standing beside you
be still and know i am.
Be still and know that I'm with you
Be still and know I am
the fray
there have been several medical challenges this week that required a lot of navigating in an unfamiliar 'system'. things like finding drugs, and finding where tests can be done and where labs can be run and being disappointed by the lack and the missing and the unavailable. it. wore. me. down. i was feeling the intensity of the need and then the frustration of the reply of not enough of whatever is needed. in these moments i notice more the constancy of the asking- the expression of the need. literally every conversation i had with someone who wasn't a parent at my kids school, involved being asked for something. so i started to avoid conversations at the football pitch, or at the security gate, and to move away quickly after the initial, "how are you?" "i am fine" response, before i could hear the looming, "but i am somehow not fine". i was feeling spent. i was clinging to that promise that we aren't given more than we can handle, that we are given the strength we need to continue in what is asked of us, that we are not alone.
but then zoe came back from her class trip to sipi falls.
she, of course, didn't want to talk about it. i think it's overwhelming for her to try to summarize for herself the conglomeration of feelings she'd had on the trip, let alone explain it to eager parents. all she could say was that it was hard for her, that one of her tent-mates had snored (twice) and the other one was mean to her. but, she said she'd hiked the whole way to the falls and even had to rock climb and that she was so proud of that. then- not another word- despite her brothers begging her to talk about the falls over dinner.
to me, it sounded pretty good, but i was dying to get the report from her teacher the next day. and this is what i got: "zoe was amazing! she was the star of the trip. she didn't end up doing the easy hike but the full regular hike with the other kids and she did the whole thing with minimal difficulty and kept talking about what a great hiker she was (thanks to learning on the log). she did well with the sleep over parts, even ate well and knew what to avoid with dairy and gluten, and had everyone laughing around the camp fire". wwwhhhhaaattt?
that girl.
full of surprises.
when i told her the report from teacher trudy, she beamed.
"well i guess i really did have a great time."
we aren't given more than we can handle- any of us. we are given the strength we need to continue, or to climb. and we are never alone.
on friday afternoon- when feeling swallowed- and needing strength- i stopped while driving up my little road because i saw this:
see that light coming in on the bougainvillea, and the banana trees and the little red dirt path? beauty and goodness. it was like God was saying, "stop. look. be still and know that I am here. I am here with you- no matter what. I am here with you, even when you are overwhelmed, and frustrated and done. I am here with you and your family and I show up when you are desperately in need of my light on these leaves to remember. I show up when someone needs to keep up with her class on unsteady vertical ground, because I love her, and know what this will mean to her. I am here even for your friend and patient with recurrent lymphoma who is only 14 and asks you questions like 'will this cancer ever go away?'. I am here for you when you can't bear to see another person in luwero with newly diagnosed HIV and no ability to guarantee them ARVs. I'm even there for them. so hang in there, look for the goodness, be still and know I am here."
this week i will meet with zoe's potential new school about whether they will take her.
this week mike will be in kenya all week so i'll be single parenting.
this week i am meeting with the lawyer to set a court date for becoming rose's legal guardians.
this week i will set up hospice for my friend with lymphoma to get him morphine.
this week i will see the sun on those leaves and flowers, and i will hear the stories of my kids around the dinner table and i will be be still and know that no matter what, strength will be given, grace will abound, and we are not alone.
Be still and know that I'm with you
Be still and know that I am here
Be still and know that I'm with you
Be still, be still, and know
When darkness comes upon you
and covers you with fear and shame
be still and know that i'm with you
and i will say your name
If fear falls upon your bed and sleep no longer comes
Remember all the words I said
Be still, be still and know
And when you go through the valley
And the shadow comes down from the hill
If morning never comes to be
Be still be still be still
if you forget the way to go
And lose where you came from
if no one is standing beside you
be still and know i am.
Be still and know that I'm with you
Be still and know I am
the fray
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