january

last day of january. i'm out on the porch. it's super hot and i'm wondering what animal is skintering around in my roof. i hear what sounds like many tiny clawed feet- at least it's not slithering.

this month has been good and full and busy.  it began with my brother.  a visit that felt like all time and place had come together.  that my past and present merged, that who i am and have been sat down with each other.  it felt complete to be with him who i've always known and who's always known me- i don't remember a time with out him beside me.

the only problem with that kind of connection and visit, is that it ends.  we were all so sad to say goodbye to uncie billy.

the kids started school.  all four of them are now in kampala.  rose loves it. see first day of school outfit with matching headband. 

mike had a birthday. a safari birthday.

bryn had a birthday. seven years old. a small party at home with the neighborhood kids- boys- only boys, and pizza, cake and water balloons. that was enough.

we went to court to become roses legal guardians.  (somehow managing to not take a single photograph of that event or day!)

and i was a bit sick. bilharzia and amoebas. hoping as i finish these pills i'll be able to gain some weight. (i know, annoying. everyone wishes they had that problem- but when you do have that problem, it doesn't feel good.)

so it was busy, so busy that i didn't stop to sit and be and write.  i will try. try to catch up, to be better next month, to pay attention to the details and save them, learn from them, and share them.  goodbye january!

twenty minutes to five

this is the way it goes for me when i am in this place. i begin to write over and over again but can't finish anything, then i usually end up posting a poem- because at least it's something- i've somehow entered back in- kind of.  i haven't exactly figured out what "this place" means.  it can be busy-ness, lack of time, lack of reflection, an inability to sit still. and antsy-ness begets antsy-ness. so.

today i decided that it was where i was that was the problem.  that i couldn't be and sit and write at home with kids running in and out, dogs barking at swinging monkeys, and zoe just being around.  so i escaped to a roadside cafe.  here is a visual.

this week was intense- and sometimes the more intense the less i have to say about it- or maybe like curry - it needs to sit for a while to get good.  this week, we finally went to court to become rose's legal guardians.  after two years of waiting, of not knowing what our family would look like, if we'd ever be able to travel together, if we'd ever share a last name, after the roller coaster of decision making and trying to communicate through way more than language barriers- finally we ended up all sitting in front of the judge for him to hear rose's story and decide what her future might begin to look like.

intense.

it was intense because we sat there like a giant group of difference- as in, you couldn't maybe get any more different.  yet here we were, brought together from literally opposites side of the world and most other categories, by this one small child.  i kept looking at magdalene her birthmom, who sat beside me, holding zoe's hand, her other hand resting on her again pregnant belly.  she sat there mostly asleep, in the same clothes i see her in every time i see her.  she sat there with her tired filthy old looking feet and alcohol on her breath- this woman- about to hand me her beautiful smart, healthy child.

i sat next to her, holding onto rose who looks nothing like me, yet feels now as much a part of me as my own elbow.  my boys sat, when they actually sat and were not running in and out of the court room, at a table with rose's birthdad and uncles and two translators. half the time they sat in a chair with one of the translators or uncles, in a very african -personal space isn't needed- sort of way. mike was strategically sitting on the other side of zoe.  we sat in that room for 4 hours- which is a very long time.

what felt most strange was how unstrange it felt.  we know these people now. we have sat with them for hours. we have been to their village. we have eaten food together and hugged and laughed and waited and discussed what is best for rose.  and even in that room with the judge who looked very surprised by us - by our differences and our sameness- we kind of knew what was going to happen.  we are all going to be a part of rose's life, in some way, always.

we had presented the case to the judge as an 'open' adoption.  we had written in our commitment to maintain relationships with her birth family. but the judge refused.  he said that it was crazy for us to care for their child completely and be expected to return annually to the village, to fly back to uganda if we move back to the USA.  he said he wouldn't grant it.

magdelene was asleep- but she doesn't speak luganda anyway so i woke her up and it was translated into karamojong. and then we waited because this could be a deal breaker.  she didn't say anything.  then she stood and took the bible in her right hand and began to swear in for her statement.  the judge motioned for rose to go to her and magdelene picked her up and kept talking.

it was twenty minutes to five exactly on january 21st, when i heard her say my name.  when i turned and saw her point to me and when the judge asked me to go and stand beside her. it was twenty minutes to five when i knew that she was handing rose over to me- when i got up and went to pick up our baby who was going to become my fourth child.

after two years of struggling to explain the need for legal guardianship-and trying to build trust that we really are committed to rose knowing her biological family- in that moment- magdelene who could have said no- let her go.

wow.

after two years of my own internal conflict about rose being with us when she has a biological family, i felt 100% that this was right.  that she is already my daughter. that while our outsides look nothing alike, we are connected.  we have been with her now almost as long as magdelene had been with her.  it was hard and beautiful.  it was achey and splendid.  it was all the toughness of love and all the sacrifice and the hope and the promise.  it was poignant. unforgettable. full and good.

when i took rose into my arms, she looked relieved- 'can we go home now?'  the judge laughed,  'she is already a muzungu' he said in luganda. which ironically i understood but rose didn't.  and she is- she is both.  she is a muzungu karamojong. she will always be from two worlds, but so will i, so will we.

i put her down and watched her run to her brothers. she climbed on judes lap and they started smooshing each others faces- so clearly brother and sister- so blind to their contrast.

after another hour we were told that the final verdict would be given in two weeks- but i think it went well.  i think after all this time and process- the people that matter in that room- have agreed what is best for rose- best for someone who left 'ideal' when she was left on the street.

but who who am i say what her story is? what her story will be? it's perfect in it's orchestration.  her history, with all its blemishes, like mine, will be her story.  lost, found, found again, reconnected, loved by many, raised with an american family, born on the street, able to reach people that i never could, to cross barriers that i can't cross.

her story, her life, a gift - already.  and who knows what will come- but it is a such beautiful beginning.

today the sky was enough

today i walked up monkey hill. it was cool and cloudy and beautiful.  at the top of the hill, even in the fog, i could see lake victoria far off and blurry in the distance.  the sky behind me was a sky i've seen before- when i was 14, zoe's age, on a florida beach.  i remember it well. early morning, cool but in that soon-to-be-hot way, like this morning. and the quiet waves of the gulf coast, the tinkering of small shells falling over each other as the water pulled back, and the feeling of those shell bits mixed with the sand under my feet, and that sky- that sky like today. the sun strong and there but covered with the morning clouds keeping things quiet and still for a while longer.

today when i looked up, there was such comfort in that sky.  the familiar-ness, the memory, the reminder that the creator of that sky is the same as all those years ago when i first saw it. it gave me that safe feeling, of being held and known. of being loved.

i go up the hill to find that space that i seem to need.  i move up that hill to slow myself down.  and to listen for God, to hear Him. today i heard Him in the sky.

I am the same always. I am here. I am strong and consistent.  even when I am covered, obscured, even if you feel far from me, I am here. I am.

that was enough. enough for me to come back down the hill to home and be there for my people. and listen to a gazillion lord of the rings lego's stories, and make breakfast and begin the process of zoe's morning routine with out yelling (okay only a tiny bit of yelling).  it was enough to begin again- this day- here- where i am.

a year of returning

i just had a moment of terror when i saw this blank page. it was staring at me, all empty and waiting.  all bare and needy.  i had a moment of 'what will i fill it with?' of 'what do i even have to say?' a daunting moment.  a turn and run away moment. a 'close it down and avoid it' moment. and it left me wondering, what has happened? this used to be the place that i ran to.  this blank page gave me hope and calm and freedom.  this blank page helped me frame my days, and make sense of my weeks.  i came here to process and reflect and find myself- my voice- those parts that could feel so buried in my life.  it was here that i ran to be still. to stop and wait and listen.  so where am i going now? am i just running? is it the constancy of these bumpy african roads in my bumpy african life? where am i in this great spinning world?

i have visions sometimes of atlanta.  of my house, our home. of sitting in the late afternoon, while the kids watched noggin' or played trucks, and being on the porch writing with a glass of wine and pandora playing and the giant trees of my back yard shading me.  it feels so far off and so welcoming.  it feels so safe and real.

i don't think it's just the wine and the water oaks and pandora- although those things are nice.  i think it was me. it was where i was and where i was going and it was me slowing it down and making a plan, a routine, a way to be still.  to be quiet and purposefully still.  even with three little kids- even while homeschooling a child with special needs- even while working part-time- and having a husband who worked more than full-time and not having any house help (but several large working machines that did help) i found that place of stillness.  i carved it out.  i quieted my self and i stopped and i listened to my life, and i showed up here and i wrote it.  i invited myself into a process of growth. i gave myself the space i needed to breathe. and in that place- i found peace and warmth and room and expansion.

i need to come home to this. because stillness begets stillness and growth begets growth and reflection, reflection.

these days i'm fine and more than fine- i'm happy- which is great. but i'm also spinney and busy -in a treading water sort of way. like i'm all tired out but not getting anywhere.  like i'm continually amazed and confused that another week has come and gone and am left wondering where it has actually gone- or how it's been different.

yet here it is.  a new year.  another year.  not just a new day or week or month, but year. 2014.

maybe it can be for me a year of returning.  going back. remembering.  a year of carving out the time and place to be regularly available to myself- to quiet the waters, let the red dust settle, to stop and look and hear what is happening beneath the happenings- because i think i've forgotten and i don't want to anymore.  i want to return to a place of fullness- with out fear of the empty page or space- where i can be with nothing needed- with no urgency- and wait for what comes. where i can look back on the day and remember those minutes in the car with jude talking about free will and choice in life- and how hard that can be.  where i can savor and see the opportunity in zoe being home with me this week because her school aide isn't back from vacation.  where i can stop and relish bryn saying "mommy look in my eyes" while i sing to him at bedtime. where i can hold the moments of lying on our bed sandwiched between mike and rose at the end of a long day, listening to her stories about school.  where i can be blown away by the goodness of God in the light as the day starts, in the first star before even the darkness comes, and in the sound of dry leaves falling hard on our tin roof.

may it can be a year of returning.