karamoja part 2

it began here.  and most of it happened here. in the car.  hours and hours in the car- for a short morning meeting, in a very far away place.  a place from another time- another world- a parallel universe.

notice not just the adorable child, but the car seat, the new dress (thanks katie!),  the car,  the automatic windows.  this is just the beginning of the differences - the time machine like differences we were all about to experience. 

it was a 10 hour trip, mostly on dirt roads. not your john denver-ish country dirt roads, but massively pot-holed, thick mud in active rain, stuck immobilized truck- get out and spend 20 minutes assessing which path off road to take, washed out bridges with naked men bathing in the overflowing river- type dirt roads.  i tried to capture it on film- but you can't really appreciate it.

there was much in these hours besides bumps.  the people were rich in color - the same dark black of the earth they worked- like they had emerged from it- like they were part of it- in a real and lasting way.  they were draped with large colorful robes.  they were barefoot, but they walked with their heads held up so tall and high and straight that they didn't need shoes.

my mind was full.  what is poverty?  is it shoelessness? is it carrying sticks on your head and going miles for water? or is it how you feel inside? is it growing up being stared at and asked over and over why you have a white mother?

and we were stared at. everywhere. by everyone.
at first i felt like a movie star.  i thought my hair must have looked great:). but then we were asked in native tongue, what we were doing carrying a karamojong child.

when we finally got to matany the closest town to the village, we gathered crowds.  everyone had  heard the story- that muzungus were coming to the village.

unfortunately there was no advanced booking, and the main inn in town was full, so we stayed in 'God's grace' guest house.

the courtyard

rosie checking out the couryard

"mom, go home now?" she asked.
not yet rosie.  we are off to the village- to find out.  to find out from a tribe you've never met- but who you share your genes with- where home will be- what home will be- what will become of you.
so we ate peanut butter sandwiches for breakfast with cold instant coffee and got back on the road.

this road/ path- our car filled with the village elders guiding us through the fields.  it all felt so biblical and ancient.  dusty roads, cattle with yokes, wells, washing down in the river- and then the meeting with rosies grandmother- was like the prodigal son coming home. she ran out to meet us, fell on her knees, raised up her hands and prayed loudly thanking God that she was seeing her grand daughter again. this child who was lost, thought to be dead, was now standing before her.

i wanted to cry as i knelt there, holding her elbow and her grandbaby and not understanding a word of her speech but feeling what was in it and behind it- thanks and love.
we followed her down the path to her encampment- rosie looking mildly terrified and clinging for reassurance as people tried to pluck her from my arms.

 













inside the hut, mike, rose and i sat on the guest of honor cowhide with a full audience of eager listeners outside the door.  the village elders and the translator sat on stools and the grand mother sat beside me on the floor.  they all began to speak.  it was surreal.

i had a moment. 
this is your life i thought, one of the good parts. soak it in. BE in it.  don't freak. don't cry.  live this national geographic moment. smell the cowhide you're sitting on, feel the rough walls of mud, look at the light coming from the edge of the thatching. hear the sounds of this slurry foreign language. don't let it go. remain open. choose this. this is what is being brought to you. 


in the hour we sat in that hut, that home that was so removed from cars seats and plumbing and nickelodeon and juice boxes and books, i felt the world grow small.  i thought of all the missionary films i'd seen, the national geographic pictures i'd studied, the things i'd read in college on culture- and it all seemed funny.  yes i could see the differences- more in how we think than how we live- but i could also see the similarities in how we feel, and love, and remember. and i wondered what was best? i wondered if i'd ever know.  

we came hoping for resolution and a plan for rose and for our family.  we came with our western ideas of time and planning and preparedness and 'what if's' and possible scenarios.  we were met with a desire for relationship, with a lack of concern about the future, with a sense of 'be here now' because that is how life is lived.

was there a conclusion?
i think this is it.

for now. 
we are their very pale, far away clan members to whom they've entrusted their child.  it's the openest of all open adoptions.  we will bring her to our village- the one in mukono and the one in america, and we will bring her back to their village too.  she will continue to become a part of our family- and we will become a part of their tribe.  and over time and visits, trust will grow. we will wait and they will wait and we will be patient and build relationships and have faith and try to become a little more african in our thinking as hopefully they become a bit more western in theirs.  rose might never be an african american- but she will always, in someway be a muzungu- karamajong.

'yes rosie, we can go home.'

three avocados and a long walk

humbled again.  and ashamed of my assumptions. i have a story to share.

i've written before about the constant need that surrounds us and the pendulum swing of my response.  we are asked often and by all types of people, from neighbors to strangers, for money or food or assistance.  we are told many stories of hardship and loss and desperation and hopelessness- that all demand a response- usually while looking into the eyes of the one experiencing the trouble.  i vacillate between a broken and a hardened heart.  there are times when i can't believe how blessed and lucky i am and how easy i've had it compared with most of the world and i cry right along with the person sitting on my porch and reach into my wallet and cupboard and pray with them and as i watch them walk away i hope that their story is true, that i haven't been taken advantage of - which is kind of absurd because even if their story is made up i still have way more then most of the people here (so can i even say 'taken advantage of''?)

other times i am really resentful of the requests, the assumptions that my white skin means money, as if i should fill in the gaps of history and make right all the wrongs. 

and then sometimes i sit in the middle and try to be soft hearted, and think of the 30,000 foot view.  i think about what will really make a difference- which is really why we are here- in a long and lasting way- which involves relationship and mentoring and living together in community and following up and not just sticking fingers into holes made by someone else- because we only have 10 fingers and there are just too many holes.

on sunday a friend of zoe's came over to talk with me.  i have mixed feelings about this friend.  my gut tells me that i like her- but i've been warned that she steals- that she's not trustworthy.  she came this day to see me, not zoe,  'auntie- can i speak with you?'

she began to cry big tears about how sick her sister was- how they needed money- how her sister has low sugar.  i'm embarrassed to say that the pendulum was stuck way over in 'annoyed by being asked' again.  i didn't feel badly for her at all- i was angry that i was being called upon to give more hand outs.  but i listened- gave her a large bag of food from our kitchen and told her as a doctor i'd be happy to see her sister.  i wondered what she'd do with the food- she wasn't very happy or grateful.

the next day her mom and sister arrived at my doorstep with a pile of medical bills and reports.  i greeted them, impressed that they'd come, and reviewed the material and listened.  it was the typical story of many bouts of "malaria"- usually with no parasites seen on blood smear, versus "hysteria" aka- not a medical problem.  i probed some more.

the girl is "visited in the night by a woman dressed in black who says she is going to kill her"- she fears all night and becomes sick with headaches- and "malaria".  it started the year after her father died- (of malaria) she was first visited by snakes, now it's the woman in black.  there was no family history of mental illness, and i couldn't illicit any obvious clinical depression, there were no loose associations, no manic behavior- and i wasn't convinced that this 'visitor' was an auditory/ visual hallucination, and not just a bad dream, or even, a spirit- because here, witchcraft is very real.

whatever was going on, i was pretty  sure i was out of my league.  that she needed a psychiatrist and a priest- not an internist- but turns out i needed to be both.  on the medical side we discussed mosquito nets- and preventive measures to avoid getting malaria- and i gave her a net, nsaids and panadol and my cell phone number and suggested they call me next time she is sick.  i questioned her about trauma, about abuse, or rape, but she denied anything other than her father dying of malaria which is pretty typical.  so i promised a house call the next time she was sick, and i prayed with her and her family- for safety and freedom from these nightmares, and for protection and peace.

today i got called.

i knew it! i thought.  only 2 days later!

she was sick- "collapsed" and was "unresponsive".  so i told the mom if she would come get me, i would go with her to the house, but i really didn't want to go.  i wanted to make a chocolate meringue pie and hang out with my mom.  i wanted to organize closets and make systems.  i so badly wished i was Jesus and could say "go and be healed" over the cell phone without leaving my porch- but i'm not and i doubt that he would have done that very much because first of all, he would have been smart enough to not give out his cell phone number!  but today i wasn't called into pie making or sorting piles. and i'm so glad. 

we walked about 3 miles to her house.  i mean it was far, far.  farther than i'd expected.  we arrived to see the girl sitting calmly just outside her door.  we went inside- i examined her fully, no temperature, no abnormalities, normal neuro exam, normal blood sugar.  i told them she was healthy, that she needed to get up and eat and i called her pastor and asked if he could send someone for counseling and prayer. then i prayed with them again and i reassured them that she was physically fine, but clearly struggling in her spirit- that this would take time- and counseling and more visits- by me and others. that this would take a relationship to get better. i hugged them both and they walked me to the road, thanked me and handed me a bag with three avocados.

i wasn't expecting this.  at. all. 

i was expecting them to ask me for money- i was anticipating a "hysterical" girl - a lot of acting- i was expecting tears and begging for help.  i was expecting this so much, that i hadn't brought a single cent with me.  and instead, i got avocados. 

i love avocados.

on the long walk home it was dusty and thankfully cloudy and i walked gratefully down the path beside the road.  i was so happy to be in my life.  that this unexpected visit had become my day.  that i'd been given the gift of being wrong.  i was so grateful that i had strong legs to walk home, and that i hadn't brought any money so i had to walk and could think and process. i was so grateful for the opportunity to be doing house calls again, to be able to reassure them she didn't have malaria, to be privileged to see their home, check their nets (which were hung improperly), and to be walking that dusty road in such a beautiful country, to have a home to go back to, and then to be given avocados.

"what is the word for avocado in lugandan?" i asked as i reached the road before saying goodbye.

"it's the same" they said, "avocado." 

"of course it is."

community

i'm missing the tea fields- the space of them- the time- the quiet.

in kenya, i realized that something is missing.  

i'm missing a like minded medical community in the big sense of the word community.  i didn't notice this, because in uganda, i have a community and i have a medical job.  but when i came to the conference and saw groups of physicians and nurses practicing and working and living together in community with the same goal- to care wholly for people- body and soul- to collaborate and support each other medically and spiritually- to be the hands and feet of our God- i longed for it.  because sometimes i feel alone in the work part, and overwhelmed slightly and not sure where to begin.

when i  listened to their stories and saw their pictures, their hospitals and clinics and training programs, and their lives woven in, it made sense to me that when people are sent out to the ends of the earth they are sent out together- they are sent in groups or pairs- they are not alone- they are in community and then together, integrate into the new community of the people they are serving.

so i began to think about community.  it's hard to define isn't it?  it can be simple- a unified group of individuals, or it can be more complicated- a group of people with specific shared interests or values and culture, living within a larger group.  i really value community, especially when it involves connection on a deeper level. 


one of the most intense communal experiences i can think of is medical training, especially residency.  living in the hospital (almost), eating all meals together, making major decisions that can result in a patient living longer or not, all those hours, all that sleep deprivation, all that stress and learning and growing and wondering sometimes why, and missing those at home, and grieving the loss of time with them, and grieving the fact that we are mortal, that people get sick and die and sometimes we can't do anything to stop it.  all of that  bound us together in community.

i was remembering zoe in those days- and how much i longed for her, hated leaving her after she and mike would bring me dinner at the hospital.  how i dreaded watching her little face cry and her little arms waving goodbye over mikes shoulder as he'd turned to go back home. i remember running to pick her from day care after those 40 hour shifts- the smell of graham crackers and wax crayons and wood chips - how that smelled like life to me. 

several times during internship when zoe was about two, we got together with our best friends and   her 'best' friend lily, who lived across the country.  the first time the girls saw each other, they got down and crawled around the room exploring it together , even though they could both walk. it was their shared experience.  their vocabulary was still limited, so this was their way of reconnecting- of remembering where they'd left off-it was their shared identity,  their little community. after a few minutes- zoe (who was a much later walker) got up to show lily that she could now walk- and then lily stood up and joined her.  together they moved to the next level and toddled around the house exploring.

 it spoke to me about the importance of really relating to each other- about remembering our histories and our commonalities- and about the importance of shared experience in community.

in kenya i began to dream of being a part of a wholistic (i spelled it that way on purpose) medical community that incorporates the physical, social and spiritual needs of a local community.  a clinic that thinks outside of the box-where people are taught health education and sustainable farming, where food is grown and people learn nutrition, and how to make their own 'plumpy nut' for malnutrition, and ORS for dehydration- and in doing so, become empowered and less dependent. where shared experience is shared, and valued.  where a community can begin to problem solve together, to work together for each other, for water to be cleaner, and nets to be used, and helmets to be worn (i'm getting carried away).  but really, this is the way God cares for us- wholly- not in parts.  because all the parts matter.

i love my community here, and i love my job at clinic.  i'm thankful for them.  but i hope that i'll find or grow a truly connected medical community too- one with shared vision and values, shared hope and commitment and location and wholeness.  that i will find people to practice with who just want to be hands and feet with me.

maybe the monkeys are up to some good

sometimes, i wish i was a monkey.  i mean they have so much fun.  today they were out in the big front yard tree, two little ones, falling from high limb to low limb, chasing each other, swinging from branch to vine, scurrying up a trunk- no worries. at. all.

i was looking at them and wondering about the actual benefit of evolution.  sure we can reason and plan and build structures but are we any happier?  

zoe often attempts to befriend the monkeys, and actually most living things, including insects. she does have a great love for animals and i think animals really love her, but insects? i'm just not sure.  and inanimate objects? i'm very sure not ("i think that must be a friendly vacuum.")

the other day we were outside reading an abridged story version of shakespeare's romeo and juilet.  we were sitting on these deliciously colored african straw mats, and it was a beautiful day, the only thing wrecking it were the ants that crawled everywhere (despite concern over large or highly poisonous insects in africa, ants are our biggest pest).  zoe says, "this ant must really like me!" as it crawls up her arm.  sometimes when she does this i think it's cute and i smile and just say nothing- and sometimes it bugs me (no pun intended) and i don't.  so i said, "you don't really think that ant 'likes' you, do you?  i mean it's an ant- it doesn't have feelings so it can't 'like' you."  but after i said it i felt like a jerk- like i'd said santa wasn't real- i'd wrecked her monkey fun.  stolen something she wanted to have. luckily she wasn't giving up the ghost.
"well, it likes me enough to stay on my arm."
"that's true zo."

it had been a very long time since i'd read the tragic love story of romeo and juliet.   young lovers, feuding families, quick falling, passionate professions, marriage, secrecy, separation, a plan to be united, foiled by bad timing, death because of the inability to be with out the other. i have to admit, i don't love it.  i get too annoyed by the poor timing- why did romeo have to get the news of juliets 'death' before he hears the friars message about the plan for them to run away together? i guess i do like at least partially happy ending.  i much prefer casablana, an affair to remember, or gone with the wind.


it got me thinking about how tragedy in love is still a love story, but tragedy in life is just hard and painful and sad.  i began thinking about what it does to people, how it's related to expectations or lack of expectations, how it's related to fatalism- the believe that one has no control over events.  in africa there is much tragedy.

tragedy- an event causing great suffering, usually involving death

most ugandans have suffered the loss of immediate family members, like parents or children; or they have had much illness, like HIV or AIDS; or things taken, like their childhood; or experienced a lack of something important, like clean water, good education, appropriate medical care.  most ugandans have experienced tragedy in a variety of forms.  after multiplied traumas, do things reach a new plateau?  does bad news become normal? are reactions blunted? it seems like that- like it has to- its survival. but i wonder what is the fall out?  what happens because of this?

i see this mostly among the poor.  there is an awareness that life is brutal and short- it's a reality here.  is that why the woman with the fungating vulvar cancer wasn't more angry when i asked her what the small local 'clinic's' were doing about this for the past 5 months that they 'cared' for her as it continued to grow and bleed and stink?  is this passivity, this acceptance, a result of an emotional system wrecked by repeated trama? 

is it why people waited for 20 minutes outside the lab, silently, when i marched up to the counter, knocked and asked loudly if anyone was available to help us, which prompted an immediate response, to the shock and surprise of those waiting on the bench?

is it why people say they have no questions after finding out their son might have lymphoma or lukemia?  how can you have no questions?  doesn't that imply blind acceptance of what ever comes next- doesn't it imply a lack of control?  but maybe after losing several family members, you stop having questions.  maybe you stop having expectations- once bit, twice shy.  maybe you stop having hope- maybe you're too tired, too defeated, too broken by the broken to get riled up.

i wonder if the real tragedy isn't the death itself, but the fall out from it. the lack of hope or involvement, or investment- the 'pawn-ness" of life here.  but maybe this is why people here live more in the present-, in the moment, in the now. because they can feel it and trust it as it happens in real time.

i don't know.  i just know those monkeys are having a ball.

let justice roll down like water

this is how it went down.  this time. and i'm not proud.

we were driving home from school, on the small back roads, remeniscent of that old atari game astroids where you swerve to avoid a crash with another car, a large tanker, a pedestrian or a goat.  there was a 'diversion/ road closed' sign on the side of the road.   we (myself and the 4,6, and 7 year olds riding in back) didn't think much of it because it's been there for the month and we've always gotten through.  well we drove for a while and near the end of the road, it was in fact closed.  i couldn't tell why, but did see several police and police vehicles, so we turned around, especially because i'd heard there had been rioting in parts of the city because of the power outages. 

we headed back to find another route home and decided to go down a bumpy dirt 'road' (or perhaps it was a cow path- i'm not sure) that appeared to connect over to the main road.  after traversing several absurdly large bumps and divets we came to the end.  there were two cars in front of me and many more behind, there was a 10 foot drop off down to some railroad tracks on my right and a few parked trucks on the left of me.  we waited a few minutes and the cars in front, merged onto another road.

then it happened. 
at least ten guys with shovels who'd been working on the road/path, motioned for me to roll down my window.  i was already irritated. i wanted to get home.  i was done with traffic, with road closures, with driving down goat paths.

"You give us money or you turn around and go back!"
my blood began to boil.
"i'm not giving you any money- why should i give you money?  you need to move!" i said.
"then you go back" i could hear them say as i rolled up the window.  they looked angrily at me and rolled a cement barrier in front of my car.
i was trapped.  i really couldn't go anywhere.  i couldn't have turned around if i'd wanted to, but i didn't want to.  i wanted to drive right past them and home.
i rolled the window down again.  they flocked to the car.
"let me through!" I said angrily.
"you give money- 5000 shillings"
then that valve blew and despite have young and eager listeners i began to shout. and i shouted things like,  "why?  why should i pay you money?  because i'm white?  because i'm a muzungu?  this is extortion! you can't bribe me! this is ***#(%*#$" 

i did not behave like a lady, or a Christian, and certainly not a missionary lady.  i behaved like an angry victim of injustice.  one persecuted, holding on to her voice. i felt so much anger at the wrongness of it, that it hurt.  to make it worse, i felt physically trapped and responsible for the health and welfare of the three kids in back.  i wanted to say, "is this the payback i get for giving out free medical care in your country?"  i wanted to shout, "well next time you need a doctor- don't come my way!"  i wanted to cry out, "i don't have to be here! i can go home- to a country where this is illegal!"

but instead i yelled, "This, this right here is what's wrong with this country!" as i threw the coins that we save for people begging, at them.  they laughed and removed the barrier.

i hurriedly drove past them, cursing under my breath and feeling completely violated. 
"i want to go home!" i said out loud, biting my lip so as not to cry.
"me too!" shouted bryn and jude in unison.
i was quiet for a while.
i breathed deeply.

"boys, look around you.  do you see all the mud and junk everywhere?  all the poverty, and the kids with no shoes and the dilapidated houses? this is because of injustice. and those men blocking us until we paid them, that was an example of injustice- a violation of what is right.  Injustice can be stealing or cheating and it happens all over the place."

what i failed to mention is that those men's behavior was also the fall out of injustice, injustice done to them, not that it makes it any less bad.

for me today it was the straw that broke the camels back.  it was all wrapped up together.  that interaction symbolized what happens when justice doesn't roll down like water, when poverty rises, and when mistreatment and violation of what is right starts at the top and trickles down. and it should have nothing to do with our volunteerism, our 'sacrifice' to be here.
 
when i got home i talked with mike and florence about it.  florence suggested that if i'd called the police, they would have fled- but i didn't know there was a number, and i've been asked for bribes 3 times from the police - so i'm not sure they would be on my side.  she also suggested i just refuse to pay, roll up the window and wait.  eventually they'd let me go, she said.

mike said if it were him, he would have gotten out of the car and moved the barrier himself as he's bigger than 90% of ugandans- but recognized that wasn't an option for me.  he suggested i respond with, "you only want 5000 shillings? but there is 10 of you? why don't i at least give you 10,000".  surprise them with generosity.


and this is where the self reflection piece comes in.  i saw so clearly my arrogance in my response.  my over-valuing of myself, my lack of humility and understanding, my lack of service.  do i only serve those who come into clinic or show up on my door step? i'm willing to give to someone begging, someone vulnerable, but then my response to this need (and i believe in the big picture it was need) is pure, righteous anger? i did nothing to diffuse the situation, i didn't give them anything but a display of bad behavior.

so i'm sitting with this tonight. i'm wanting the feeling of it to soften me, not embitter me.  to change me to be more aware, to have a greater heart to serve, to ground my feet firmly on this soil, to bring justice where i can, and forgiveness where i can't. to wait.  to have hope.  that someday justice will roll. 

blind side(d)

things get lost in translation.  culture colors everything.  it's like another dimension.  it's another form of communication; verbal, nonverbal, and cultural.  i've been struggling with many issues about and around this. issues of perception, and reality and the meaning behind what is said or conveyed. 

on saturday our kid's ugandan friend came over and brought with him a note from his teacher who he lives with.  it was requesting that we keep him for the day as she was busy and going into town, and would be back after dinner. i had mixed feelings.  of course on one hand, i was fine with him being around, and he often ends up spending saturdays at our house.  on the other hand i felt slightly resentful.  the request came after she'd already left for town, so i felt obligated and a little unsure of how to interpret it culturally.  maybe this is normal here. maybe this is appropriate.

during dinner, he announced that he'd called his teacher and she'd told him that he should sleep at our house because she wasn't coming back until the next day.  now i felt only resentful- and confused.  did he really talk to his teacher?  did she really tell him to say that? (which seems very inappropriate - but again - perhaps not in ugandan culture?)  or did he tell her that we'd invited him to stay the night?  and because this was announced at dinner, all our children where saying "yeah! lets have him sleep over!"

meanwhile, he's almost 14.  i have a 12 year old girl and my boys who he mostly plays, with are 6 and 4.  i don't know his parents, or anyone in his family, i don't know him that well either.  so i really don't want him to sleep over- i don't actually think it's appropriate for him to sleep over and certainly not to announce that he needs to, during dinner, now that it's dark!  i told him mike and i would talk about it and i started to clean up the kitchen with my headlamp because the power was out again.

and i felt total conflict.  annoyed.  resentful. sad. guilty. and mostly confused as my mind raced with images of all the absurd and unlikely things that could happen to our family or house if he slept over, as well as all the things that could happen to him if he didn't.  and i muttered a quick prayer of 'i don't know what the right thing to do is.... HELP!!'

most of my feelings were wrapped up in not understanding the culture- as well as how we fit into the culture.  what gets lost in translation? maybe it's appropriate to do this- maybe because people tend to be raised by the extended family or even the village- maybe this is equivalent to asking for a ride home from school.  maybe it's not considered weird for a 14 year old boy to want to spend hours playing with a 4 and 6 year old.  but i also felt taken advantage of.  are we just viewed as wealthy westerners who can and ought to feed and house random ugandan teens?  does he want to hang out with my boys so he can watch movies and eat cookies and play with their toys, or does he really like spending time with them?  are we being used because we are muzungus?  why is he not going to hang out with a ugandan professor and their kids?  but i felt tremendous guilt about all this- i felt relatively rich and obligated- but where does that obligation end or even begin?  and of course what popped into my mind was the movie 'blindside' where sandra bullock takes in the homeless african american teenage boy from the other side of the tracks to sleep in her house (even with her teenage daughter)- because she can- because it's the right thing to do. 

finally when i was about to cry, mike walked into the kitchen and i told him i didn't know what to do and i'd defer to him.  and that handy compartmentalization came in again.
"he's not spending the night! there is no way he can't get back into his boarding school and sleep in his bed, even if his teacher isn't coming home - someone will let him in!"

i then listened as mike spoke with him, and i washed the rest of the dishes thankfully tonight- as i didn't want to have that conversation.  mike confirmed that our friend could indeed still get into his dorm, even if his teacher was out, and then explained that it's not appropriate for him to sleep over and that it's not appropriate for his teacher to expect that he just can. then in typical obedient ugandan child style- he prompted left.

but for me, this was far from settled. 

so mike and i sat in the dark and discussed for hours, but the gist was like this.
k:  we've come here to serve.  to give of our selves.  to help. 
m:  we are.  that doesn't mean we need to accommodate every request that comes our way.
k:  what about doing for one what you wish you could do for everyone?
m:  we came her to teach, and to practice medicine and architecture- to give and serve in a way that will continue here after we leave.
k:  what would Jesus do? wouldn't he have let him sleepover?
m:  i think Jesus would have set up boundaries like we did.  we've fed him several meals, given him a hot shower, but he needs to know what we think is appropriate and not- it's a relationship- Jesus was all about relationships.

the whole thing made me understand why people avoid things and/ or set up high and firm boundaries to protect themselves from exposure.  relationships are hard- especially across cultures. sometimes you can feel so surrounded by the needs that you want to have mirrored car windows, where sunglasses everywhere and isolate. and i'm ashamed to say, on the way home from church the next day, i muttered another prayer, 'please don't let him be hanging out on our front porch' i just didn't want to deal.  he wasn't there, instead someone else was.  a woman who i'd never seen before, asking for work, and seeming to struggle with accepting my answer of 'we don't have any work for you right now'.

the need goes on and on.  and while i briefly envisioned screening in our porch with locking screened doors, i realized that i'm pretty sure that is not what Jesus would do.  because He did the opposite.  He hung out with the need and wasn't afraid to face it.  He even searched for it, He called out to it, He kept His heart soft.  He loved. for Him every interaction was an opportunity for people to feel loved, and to help people know God.  and the circle completes because i am in need.  in need of Him who searches to help me keep my eyes open, my windows down, my heart open, and to continue asking the hard questions- instead of slapping on easy answers.  to let go of resentment, to let go of guilt, and annoyed, and sad.  so there is room to just love.

short and sweet

it's beautiful tonight.  off in the distance i can here the sweet lugandan songs and druming.  it's cool and fresh and the moon like a lopsided shell is rising in the sky. it was a morning of crazy thunderstorms, followed by afternoon sunshine and that crystal clarity that can only follow the washing of rain.  beautiful.

i've been feeling so blessed again today- by being here.  i just drove down to the little town for milk and juice and as i bumped along the road and watched the women heading home in their wraps, with babies strapped to their backs and children hanging on to their arms like strings, i had this moment of full appreciation for life- for where i've ended up at 40.  africa.  a place i'd dreamed about.  thankful for the desire to be here, for the people who've helped us get here, for the people who've welcomed us so warmly and continue to live life with us, and for the internet which keeps the distances around the world shorter than they've ever been.

view from porch

porch

view from porch

jude just inside the front door

it came with out packages, boxes or bags

last night it rained like crazy, thundering and lighting like a good old southern storm.  the funny part was the electricity had been out all during dinner and clean up and the kids bedtime and then all the lights came on in the midst of this storm while we were watching 'say anything' on the battery operated laptop. but the power went out again and it stormed all night and all was still off when we woke up.  so we made some instant coffee with boiled water in a pan and fed the kids cereal.

after a week here- i've begun thinking again- still observing- but also thinking.  and i've been thinking about "stuff".  yesterday, we went into mukono, the town we live in, to buy some locally made baskets for toy storage and laundry.  on the way to town, mike and i realized we'd forgotten to ask the people who've been here for a while, what the going rate is for these locally hand woven baskets.  basically we didn't want to be 'taken'.  we didn't want to be 'duped'.  we didn't want to be the over paying muzungus.  but really, how ridiculous is that.  i mean how much could you possibly over pay? but there is this weird thing that happens to me- when the culture is one where you bargain.  and even though i'm a total bleeding heart for those in poverty and those with much less, i find myself caught up in this game.

'how much is this basket?'
'it is 10,000 schillings.'
'oh.... i was thinking 7,000'
'ok, 8,500 schillings for the basket.'

i'm bargaining over 50 cents.  seriously.  and 50 cents is a lot more to this woman than it is to me.  and this basket is costing me about 4 dollars.  i should probably be paying her 10$ for her time and her artistry. but there is a balance.  between identity, fairness, and charity.  what is the basket worth?  what does it cost ugandans to buy it?  who am i?  and what is the interplay between these?  and how should that interplay affect what i pay for it?
i don't have the answers but i bought some great baskets.  hopefully i'll continue to support local industry and figure it out over the next few years.

then, today, our container arrived.

a container is one of those giant metal boxes you see on train box cars when you wait for 10 minutes to cross the tracks.  it's the cargo  container on a mack truck when you're driving on the highway.  it's one of those appearingly tiny colored boxes on the cargo ships that make there way under the golden gate bridge and into the san francisco/ oakland harbor- that when you see up close you are amazed at how large it is.  back in march we shipped about 12 boxes and four mattresses (about 1/20th of a container) from the US to Uganda.  today, it arrived in our little town.

we were excited.  mainly because after 5 months, we'd forgotten what we'd packed.  the kids were hoping for toys that they had lost track of, i was hoping for a cutting board and just to see what i'd thought was important 5 months ago. 

our car with the boxes from the container

what surprised me as we unpacked the boxes was how much 'stuff' we have.  how many things we have that once you live with out, you realize, you don't really need.  three different sized cake pans.  two metal spatulas, three rubber spatulas, two whisks, three cookie sheets.  it's not a huge deal- but i felt a little extravagant unloading box after box of 'more'.  people here are used to so little.  lucky if they have a pan- not four.  and after living with other people and hand-me-downs for the past few months as we've been in transit- i realized how little we really need and how much we are used to as americans.

last week, the morning of our move, i went to Target to pick up another carry on suitcase in case our bags were over the weight limit, and i had a serious "moment".  it was kind of an out-of-body experience where i became acutely aware of how much stuff is at our fingertips.  how many things are just one credit card purchase away.  how most of us,  really don't have to do with out anything, ever.  for me who was about to get on a plane and move to africa- i felt incredibly sad and torn and conflicted and a little bit sick and very afraid.  i kept biting my lip and trying not to cry as i roamed through each aisle heading toward 'luggage'.  every turn, realizing that i was leaving this world of convenience, dragging my kids away from Batman pajamas and hello kitty umbrellas and kung fu panda dollar bin treats, for red dirt and very expensive peanut butter.  that i was choosing to abandon this plethora of stuff, this life of 'normal', this situation of ease- and dragging three helpless children with me.

when i finally got to the luggage section i was so overwhelmed that i couldn't decide what was a reasonable price for a carry on bag.  i was so hoping that no innocent Target employee would come to my aid and be the recipient of my insanity, because i felt like i was ready to blow- that if someone actually spoke to me- all my crazy would come out.  so i picked a medium priced one, checked out and ran to the car and cried.  because, it was too much, and it was too late.  we were going, it was a done deal, and our flight was in 4 hours.

so now i'm sitting here with a pile of unpacked book boxes and four unpacked mattresses (that i'd obsessed over getting here) and i'm amazed at how little any of it matters and how far away Target feels and how OK i am with that.....at least for now:).  and i'm feeling very thankful that i've had this chance to see how big the world is and how small it is also- and how we are both sizes too.  and i'm hoping that all this will stick- that it will settle- and that my kids won't miss superhero pj's too much.  and maybe i'll figure out a way to give the difference from the crap i'm not buying from the Target dollar bin, to the lady making baskets by the side of a red dirt road.  maybe i'll be that kind of a muzungu.

waking under african skies

ahhhh.  we are here!!
and this is right.  this is right where we are supposed to be.

this morning i woke up to brynie standing beside my mosquito net saying "mommy! i heard the bird that sounds like a monkey!"  then we all went back to sleep until 1pm; after getting to bed at 4am; after arriving at the house at 1am to a group of greeters and a house stocked with coffee and rice and milk and pineapples and a homemade stew.  we were welcome!

today i was greeted by a bougainvillea tree outside our kitchen sink, and more giant colored flowers on trees and bushes around the front yard than i've seen, and enormous turquoise birds with bright yellow beaks that i've already forgotten the name of, and many other birds and lizards and butterflies and all the sounds that go along with them.
  
today i was greeted by a lovely ugandan man who introduced himself as our gardener, after his very ugandan greeting, "hello!  you are welcome!"- literally - you are WELCOME-  (not our american response to thank you).  i love that.

today i walked through paths between banana trees and bottle brush trees to meet with many new friends and have coffee and conversations and watch as my children laughed and played with their new friends.

today mike and i had our coffee and our time of celtic prayer on our new furniture-less porch (like it has been in atlanta for the past several weeks) looking out over the town of mukono, feeling both such peace and excitement.

today i woke up to that burning smell and knew exactly where i was.  i was home.

far away so close

today was my final day of work.  and it was a day of good byes. 

i couldn't sleep again last night because i dreamed of cracked walls where the cracks would turn into snakes and spiders; and old, old boyfriends resurfaced; and i was constantly finding myself trapped in high places.  short snippets of dreams where you need to roll over between the segments, making the night seem endless.

today i didn't see patients, i did paperwork, and wrapped things up, and gave people my address and packed my things and said 'no' to bringing a lot of papers that i've carried with me for a long time, that have been moved here and there, papers that have sat in boxes or file cabinets, articles that are now online, academic stuff that has little relevance to what i'll be doing or teaching in africa.

but as i picked through my files and piles i found some cards that i will save from patients or their families- words that remind me of why i do what do- words of connection.  i had time today to spend saying goodbye- and time to go and thank the Veterans Affairs chaplain for his Good Friday service (4 months late)- time to thank my nurses and office staff for all the amazing work they've done- time to call mrs. b. (see post http://bestillandknowkw.blogspot.com/2011/07/bee-stings-fish-hooks-and-another.html).

after mr. b died a few weeks ago, i felt badly about my goodbye. and unlike i predicted in above post, when i did call mrs. b, she was busy at the funeral home and couldn't talk.  she never called back.  so today when i got to work i planned to find a nice card and send it to her.  to tell her that i was sorry that mr. b died and that i missed them both- that they were valuable.  but as the day wore on, i realized that i just needed to call her- to be available- to deal with it even if she was upset or struggling or even mad about her loss.  so i went outside in the sun and called.

'hey! it's good to hear you!' she said.
'i miss you- and i miss your husband and i want you to know that.  how are you?'
'i'm good, i'm good. it was a good service- filled the church- so many people.  you know, i'm getting on- you know me- i'm figurin' it out.'
'i know you will.' i said.

we chatted for a while- she asked when i'm leaving- and wished me the best and all that.

'i'm so glad you called kris' she said.

that was the first time she'd called me that.  she always called me 'dr. reid'.  and in that moment, i realized that i was no longer her husbands doctor, i was her friend. and that mattered.

when you work for the government the leaving is very formulaic.  there is a form, that requires a million signatures, and in my case, a map- to navigate the endless basement halls of the VA to get those signatures. at each site, i announced that today i was 'clearning station' (which is what i was told to say) and got a lot of confused faces when my response to their 'why' was because i was moving to africa.  as the day went on, there were more hugs and some tears and more 'appreciate you's and 'stay in touch' and 'we'll miss you's, but mostly those looks of surprise followed by a smile and a 'good luck!'

tonight we have a goodbye party- tomorrow night too- and as we say more farewells, we are so excited for the adventure that awaits us.  and we have felt the love from the other side- from the receiving end- our friends in uganda have reached out and welcomed us. 

a lantern is lit and waiting for us as our boat sails on.

4 weeks

4 weeks from right now we'll be on that plane.
no more packing- and selling things- and buying supplies- no more night-time-wide-awake-list- making nights.  no more talking about what we have to do before we go.  no more 'this is the last time i'll eat this food in this restaurant' or 'this is the last time i'll see this person for a while'. 
we'll just be on that plane- ready to begin again.

today we sent off a check for the car we're buying in uganda.  we got an email back saying 'your kids will love the sunroof, it's great for looking out of to see the animals on safari- you will love it here.'
i got that wiggling feeling in my chest- that antsy excitement.  i began to remember that far off stirring in my heart- the tea fields- the peppery wood smell of carved animal sculptures- the bumpy roads- peoples beautiful smiles, bougainvillea, and the sounds of the birds in the morning.

it will be hard to leave- it will be sad.
but i'm ready- stirred and ready.

running out my life

that is it-
5 weeks from tonight i'll be on a plane- heading to a new life- a new home- a new place- east africa.

right now the sun is setting over the field beside mikes parents house.  the kids are watching some american ashley tisdale movie- the birds are finishing their day- an ambulance sounds- things here are normal- western- as expected- in sound and sight and plan.

5 weeks from now i'll be on a plane- no turning back- with our 15 bags and our hopes and plans and a whole lot of unknown- a whole lot of adventure and excitement and surprise.  5 weeks from tonight- it's happening.

and i'm ready.

today i went for a run.  i'm not a runner.  not in the way that most people are.  it's not part of my self description- it's not part of my day- i don't have cute running clothes- i don't time myself- i don't run with other people or compete.  but i run because it's good for me- because it helps me regulate- because even when i hate it and i'm huffing and puffing and miserable- it's humbling and it keeps me mindful of others.  today it was a perfect running day.  there are no excuses.  it wasn't too hot- or too humid or anything else.  (i did have a cut on my heel- but that didn't even hurt.)  so there was no reason to complain.  i ran a little more than a mile and got to a hill.  hills are hard for me.  they require more- they push me and tempt me to walk- to slow down - to pause.  but they also ask me to challenge myself.  so as i'm pushing up this hill, i began, as i often do, to push myself to run up this hill for a specific person, a cause, to attribute meaning as a way to get myself to motivate and rise to the occasion.  it never works. in fact, it back fires.  every time i envision myself running up the hill for this patient or friend with cancer- for zoe and her challenges- for those with out  hope in africa- i inevitably-stop and walk up the hill.  so today- after failing, again, that challenge- i did what i usually do when i get to hill, i surrender, i ask for help, i rely on the grace and not my own strength. and, as usual, that is what gets me up the hill.

where is the lesson in this?  perhaps it's obvious. 
i need to acknowledge my own need- my reliance- my inability to power through- my dependence.


today i felt nervous- mildly anxious and uneasy- uncomfortable with the time frame- with 5 weeks- with 35 days- with how quickly it's all happening.  but then- i ran.  and i remembered my need and dependence.  i remembered it's not about me being in control, it's not about me gathering my strength.  i remembered the 'why' and the 'who' and let go of the 'when'.  i felt the lift of 30,000 feet.  i saw the world again from that angle and perspective and i got excited and i got convicted and i was humbled that i need to be still and show up.  i need to let go and just go. 

this crazy thing we do- each day- this life- this air we breath and exhale- it doesn't matter where we do it- but how we do it.

woohoo!

that's right.  woo hoo!
the bank came through.  we are under contract officially- financially the offer was accepted.  we're are a huge step closer!
praise God.

i woke up today with a really good feeling. about everything.  i woke up with a vision of Out of Africa playing in my mind- the scene of karen blixen selling her belongings - all of them - from her porch and yard in kenya.  and i was reminded again of this great privileged- this great adventure- of the history of what's behind it- of what's beginning.  today was a day of feeling the newness and the excitement and not the sadness of the leaving.  today i looked forward and not backwards.  and i realized that i'm so ready!!

it has also been a day of remembering how beautifully orchestrated this has all been- symphonic. i couldn't have written or played it better- all of which is affirming- confirming- soothing- reviving-and bringing peace.

tomorrow our dear friend from uganda comes to visit with her son- who is judes age- who will be in his class in uganda.  he will have a chance to connect and to know a friend- i can't wait.  it's all so good- and i sit in the hotness of another 90 degree day and feel wrapped in the love- in the promise- not consumed- but blessed.

is there a word for mammogram in lugandan?

i was waiting for my annual mammogram in the women's health area of the cancer center- reminding us that even though it's a 'screening' - what we're screening for - is cancer.

the only reading material was 'auto week' and 'golf' magazine. nice.

and it was  reminding me of what women go through in the world of medicine - because we are women.
we can start with mammograms and pap smears- good times. no really. then there is the business of baby making. this weekend while mike was recovering from his procedure, and mentioned feeling a little sore- i found myself having some sympathy, but also, maybe even- dare i say it- mild satisfaction? you see the guys get the 'feel good' part of the whole deal. we get years of monthly discomfort - and all that goes along with that. we get the 3 months of morning sickness, the 20# weight gain (with out drinking alcohol or eating sushi), that awful glucose tolerance test, and then the joys of labor- followed by a year of sleepless nights and wetting ourselves with milk if someone else's baby cries or we think of our little precious one for too long.  and  if we have to really work at getting pregnant- we get shots and scans and probed- joy.  so for him to step up to the plate, with his three kids in tow, and have some pain related to reproduction,  i'd say- good deal, but i'll add 'thank you'.  (and truth be told- i wouldn't trade it for anything! i loved being pregnant- the whole thing- even the labor- what a miracle! and if nursing hormones were a street drug- i'd be in trouble.)

i was thinking all this and feeling pretty good about my morning of accomplishments having posted the furniture for sale on craigslist, and the dog on craigslist and facebook- 'free to a good home'.  i'd cleaned out zoe's toys and clothes and had a massive pile for goodwill, emails were sent- things were happening. then my name was called and i moved from that waiting room into the actual waiting room- the one where you sit in chairs with 10 other women in robes- silently waiting.  at least they had some girl magazines- (but no cell service).  i pulled out my 'learning lugandan for tourists' book and started mouthing the words in lugandan for 'i'd like something to eat please', and trying to change 'i need a doctor' into  'i am a doctor'.  and as i sat there  - cold and robed and mildly anxious about my impending test- i began to panic.  for some reason, reading this language that is so not romance-languaged based,  that is so foreign from the languages i do know, i felt the enormity of it all.  like this language was a metaphor - that everything will be new and not romance- languaged based.  i had a moment of "maybe i'm too old for this kind of thing'.  then i began my recite my mantra- which then turned into just 'help!'  and then i began to envision the mammogram- the finding of an abnormality- the findings of cancer- that maybe i'd have to stay home and undergo radiation maybe even some chemotherapy- but it would all be in english- and i could go to starbucks afterwards..... what?

i took a breath.  i put down my phrase book.  i pick up the phone in the waiting room- the old-school black one with the curly cord and i called mike.

hi mike
hi- what's up?
oh nothing.
why are you whispering?
because i'm in a waiting room- um.... and i'm kind of freaked out.
about the mammogram? i'm sure it will be fine.
no.....are we crazy?
ooohhh.  do you want to talk?
no.  i want you to talk- i just want to listen. 
ok- yes we are crazy- but what we're about to do is not crazy.
(i bit my lip and my eyes got glossy)
silence
do you want me to keep talking?
yes.
ok- i'll read you this thing i was just writing.
thanks.

it was what i needed.  my other half to pull me back in.  i'd gotten out of orbit for a minute.
God showing up in the words of somebody.

this is ok.  this is good. this is exciting.  i'm not too old.  i will learn lugandan (eventually).
and i became thankful.  thankful for him reigning me back in.  thankful that i'm able to get mammograms and have babies and thankful that i'm getting to move my life to africa. 

"ms. reid?  come on back."
thank you.

(for those of you in uganda reading, i'm really not this nuts- don't worry.  i'm just transparent- overly transparent.  and if i do fall to bits- i'm easily re-assembled :) i promise)

transition

today as i cleaned the toilets and the sinks and got great satisfaction from making something look pretty again, i thought about things that i wanted to write about and i got all excited and scrubbed harder.  but now that the bathrooms are cleaned and the kids have chalk painted the driveway and watered the yard with sprinkler play and are covered in band-aids from yellow fever and typhoid shots- and i'm outside in the 90+ degrees sweating and loving the quiet- i've forgotten-  all that i wanted to say.

that's ok.

i used to crawl to this space.  like on my hands and knees.  so showing up with out the drama is a very good thing. 

oh- and i solved the "SHUT THE *(*&))@$$ DOOR!!!!" problem.  i turned off the air conditioning and i turned on the fans.  a simple and cost effective plan- everyone is happier.  hotter, but happier.

today the boys got their necessary shots.  today i started booking airlines tickets.  today i loaded up my clothes that will not be needed in uganda but are sooo very  cute!! wow- didn't know i was so attached to faux fur vests and vintage channel.  do i sell them?  save them? or take them and wear them anyway- i could be 'that crazy american!' right?

omgoodness it's becoming very very real!
and everyday we are closer.
we are in that 'goodbye' place.
we are in that 'it's the last time i'll....."  place.
on monday the kids and i made a list of things we want to do once more- places we need to see one more time before we go.

when we went to get the shots today- we were in this travel clinic waiting- for 45 minutes- the boys anxious and looking at a giant anatomy book- we met a vet- sober for 27 years he informed us.  of course i loved this- he got down on his knees and looked at the book with my boys- "see, i'm a grandpa" he said.  it was awesome. smoking pall mall menthol's (details are important to me- i'm not advertising!)  he was telling us all about his life, his smoking habit, his mental health- my boys sat there on the floor- looking like they were trying to figure out if their grandfathers would ever be like this guy- but loving attention and sharing with him all about our move- our plans.  it's nice to see them embracing with pride what we're doing- embracing this move- this life changing experience. 

then we found out the yellow fever vaccine wasn't in yet- they'd have to call us later when it arrived, we'd have to come back.

poor boys. waiting -for nothing.

the clinic called a few hours later and we returned. 
i love seeing my kids grow up.  seeing them amaze me in their own little ways. 
jude- " i'll go first"  "i want one in each arm"  so brave!
he takes it all in- he listens to everything.
"mommy, are we going to be in uganda for a while?  when we come back, will we live in a different house?"
"yes- honey" smile.
"ok"

they wrap their little minds around it, as i wrap my little mind around it too. 

last night when we sat outside- watching that amazing sun that heats and colors our days slip away- watching that moon light up our nights- always smiling- fill in for the dark hours- we talked about this thing we're doing.  we recalled the process- the hands bigger than us that have guided- molded- shaped it.

i had forgotten about 'the hole in the gospel'.  forgotten completely.  a book- given to us by my parents- given with the awareness that reading it-would most likely result in us moving to africa- but given anyway.  given it despite grandchildren being pulled away- given despite the threat of ebola and malaria and all those other hidden bugs waiting in the dark jungle to eat grandchildren. given because it was the right thing to do.  given because they know their child.  given because it's just part of a process.

last night my dreams were scarier and darker than they've been.  in my dream, i watched from a far as there was a coup- as people fled- as an army dominated- as a city was emptied by violence.  in my dream i kept thinking- we've got to remember to not book our tickets yet!  we've got to reconsider!  we've got to make plan B! 

but i woke up this morning and looked around and oriented myself.  i remembered the dark hours of the night- when all is lost in the drama of our greatest fears- when we lay there uninhibited.  the sun was shining and i remembered the good stuff- the reality- that life is life and it is what it is- where ever we are.

i'm outside again tonight.

the moon is already high- it's almost half full- smiling again.  the sky is still pink and pale and ambivalent.  the tree frogs are out- trying to call in the night.  bats are out and the trees are motionless.  a firefly alights beside me.

this is transition- i'm in the thick of it- day turns to night- light to dark- sun to moon- bird to bat- color to shadow.

the world here tonight is still- what does it know? 

listen to the stirrings

today i was woken up by a text from my amazing friend kim asking me to check our her blog today- because it was about me . this woman who is practically a celeb- literally on CNN weekly, an incredible doctor- a superb award nominated doctor blogger- and a beautiful soulful friend- felt a stirring in her heart to write about me and my family and our move to uganda.  wow.  i mean- wow.

this left me feeling so humbled and so blessed.  it also made me take pause and reflect on the past several months of our life in transition- in preparation- and again, i felt humbled and blessed.

let's back up a little.

last spring, when we decided to take the plunge and seriously consider moving our family to africa, there was a lot of excitement and a lot of logistics to figure out and a lot of peoples feelings to consider and a lot more logistics to figure out.  we pretty quickly figured out the 'what' we'd be doing, and the 'where' we'd be doing it, and the 'why' we'd known for a while.  the 'when' became as soon as possible, but the 'how' was a big question mark.

because we are professionals, we knew we had options.  for example- we could move to uganda as a physician and architect with an ngo/ or the with the cdc- or on a fullbright- to do full time doctor/ architect/ research work.  but that didn't feel right- because we're not moving to uganda just because we think it would be cool to live in uganda.  we're moving to uganda because we believe that we should be giving to this country- that we should teach what we've been privileged to have been taught- that we should be less concerned with our comfort and our salary and more concerned with helping raise up this country- to give the little that we can- to bring change- to embrace education as the tool to bring this change- and to practice it with love and justice.  we decided to listen to the stirrings of our hearts.  and we decided that we need to be dependent ourselves in order to really serve the people of uganda.  that we need to live in a way that kept our focus on being right where we are- in the moment- that we need to live in a way that requires us to know what dependence feels like- to lean on others, to lean on God.  we decided to do this by going through a missions agency- where we are required to raise our support to live.  that's right.  we have to ask other people to believe in what we're doing and then to give us money in order for us to do it.  let me say- this is hard to do!  and yet- like most things that are hard- i've been blown away by what i've seen and heard and learned in the process.

the other day, i was googling 'be still and know'  and i came to a sight focusing on teaching hebrew to christians and it had a meditation on psalm 46:10 "be still and know that i am God".  it said the hebrew words for 'be still' are translated as ' be weak, let go, release', stressing the importance of surrendering and leaning on God- on trust- on dependence.  and this spoke to me about the 'how' of what we are doing.

by depending on others for our basic needs to be met- we are being weak- we are forced to let go- to release- to lean on God.  and as we've begun this process- hard as it's been- we've been amazed.  people have literally come out of the woodwork and given generously- people who we've asked and people who we've not asked- but who've responded to the stirrings of their heart.

this state of dependence has changed me already.  i have opened up more- i have begun listening more acutely to the stirrings of my heart- perhaps more importantly- i have begun responding to the stirrings.  the little things. emailing someone who is on my heart.  calling someone i'm thinking about.  being thankful.  saying a quick prayer.  writing a note.  as i've begun to depend on other people for my future- it's freed me to become more relational- to make more time for other people, to think of other peoples needs as more important than mine.  i don't fully get it- but, i'm seeing the world as bigger and smaller all at once.  i'm recognizing how much we do need each other and how much we can give each other. 

so kim- thank you for responding to your stirrings.  thank you for giving your words and your support and your encouragement- thank you for sharing in this- for believing in us- for sending us.  what if we all did this?  what if every time we thought of someone- we let them know it.  what if ever time we had that urge to let the car in front turn we did it, what if we called more, wrote more, gave more, hugged more, said 'thank you' more-- i think this crazy spinning world would be even better.

that place

i'm in that weird place of getting ready to leave a place. that place of feeling time.  it's hot outside- sticky, stagnant heat and i want it all to slow down- to make time do what the weather feels like- i want the world to mosey.  to slow dance.  to stretch out and just be.

i have that feeling of leaving a place like you want to savor it.   like you can see ahead and you know what's coming and you want to remember what you're leaving- what your loosing-not in a bad way- but in a real way.

today is friday and so i was blessed to be at work.  blessed to be able to care for others.  blessed to feel it as a blessing and not as something that consumes me.

two of my favorite patients are in the hospital- sick.  one is like my african american father.  he is.  i'm trying to be objective- but i'm finding that i'm advocating for him like i would for my dad.  this is probably a good thing.

today i gave my letter (email) of resignation.  i adjusted pain medications. i called the airline and inquired about flying pets.  i discussed prognosis.  i looked at the budget. i gave someone a hug and told him his cancer was progressing.  i am in two places.  here, and there. 

these are the snippets of my day. 

yesterday, was good but especially in comparison to the years before.  yesterday we were at the pool for hours with various friends entering and exiting and zoe did very well.  i was remembering where we were years ago- one year ago, two years ago- and how hard it was.  how a vacuum could ruin everything.  how a sticky thought could send her flying.  and those things were there yesterday.  and there were some sticky thoughts- there was a vacuum.  but she did it.  i did it. we overcame.  we saw small victory- we saw diffusion.  and it makes me breath a sigh of relief- a sigh of thanks to God. 

right now, i'm listening to paul simon, to 'graceland', and it reminds me of being 17 and feeling the heat of that african sun on my left arm as i sat in the front passenger seat of the SUV bumping along the dirt roads of kenya.  my two-tone tan- my first taste of that land that i love- the scent of the burning leaves and trash- the dust on my feet. 

trying to wrap my mind around this upcoming newness. 
place and time and here and there- now and then and to be.
it's all good.

high points- low points

i woke up at 6 am with a killer migraine.  that was definitely a low point.  especially because i had to go give a little talk 4 hours later.  and it was painful- like i wanted to scoop out my left eyeball - painful.  luckily my 16$/ pill migraine medicine kicked in, eventually.  

but it left me with that post-migraine state of foggy-headedness, and a complete inability to be messed with. really.  i instituted a zero-tolerance policy for the day.  no whining, no stickiness, i needed them to step up to the plate.  i couldn't carry things alone. 

at noon i picked up two of their best friends and we all went to the pool.  everyone can swim- almost.  bryn just learned last week- so he needs me in the water the whole time- which was fine because it was 93 degrees outside.  hot like you burn your feet getting from the pool to your towel.  hot like you don't even need a towel.  so i was standing there beside the pool- with out the towel and i felt little bryn grabbing my bootie. 

" what are you doing bryn?" i laughed.
" i'm just pumping these parts back up."  he says giggling- as if i'm deflated. 

it was hysterical- in fact too funny to be a low point- but maybe i should be running right now, not writing.

then i got an email from a friend who just moved to india with her family as a missionary.  she is in that place where the new excitement of living abroad is wearing off and the reality of being far from family and friends is sinking in.  i had recently emailed her with an update about our uganda moving plans- it was full of logistics and the good news of how things are coming together and in her response she asked me- 'how is your heart in all this?' 

it gave me pause. 

how is my heart in all this?  have i stopped to think about it recently?  where should my heart be in all this?  how do you process a change like this?  i remember moving to costa rica for a semester in college and what was involved in getting ready and preparing and saying goodbyes and that was just me- and that was just 5 months!

when we moved from san francisco- i spent some time taking mental pictures- going to places i wanted to eat at for the last time- seeing friends and saying goodbye- but knowing that i'd be back soon- a few months- that we'd all talk on the phone whenever we wanted- and atlanta was familiar- i'd lived there before.  but even with that- even with preparation and knowledge of the place- even with parents in the same city- i remember things "oh dear God- what have we done!" i contemplated calling the moving van and sending them back- i contemplated not showing up for the signing of our home purchase.  even then i had a day of teary panic.

so where is my heart in this move?  to another world- another time almost- far, far, far away- and with minimal resources to jump right back into this life i'm leaving.  when i stop and think of it- my heart is beating a lot faster- it's a little scared- it's sometimes a lot scared.  my heart is sad and my throat lumpy at knowing how deeply i will miss my parents, my siblings, my dear friends who sustain me and support me and feed me with their presence and their words.  my heart will miss the sounds of these southern nights, the ease of living in my neighborhood, and the stability of a country where protests are allowed and even protected.

so where is my heart in this?  it's curious, and excited and really, my heart is ready.  ready to be surprised by it all- the hard things, the fun things, the things that will move me and grow me and transform me.  my heart is ready to see the world differently again- to know a different people who live a different reality- to become part of that reality.  my heart is eager to experience a life that i've wondered about for more than 20 years.  my heart is ready to live out what it believes- that 'things' don't matter, that ease and comfort aren't what we're called into, that instability was a part of our history too- that i need to walk by faith, not by sight. 

that is my heart- and this is a high point.

understanding backwards

i've decided it's the gray wolf.  our spirit animal.  we're all sitting out here on the porch - the five of us- our little wolf pack.  the kids are pups, always skirtling around at our feet- doing there own thing- but with us in reach.  i've got the spot in the sun.

there is a lot on my mind today. about our movement, our choice of motion, our need to not settle in, our need to push, to be in near constant challenge.  it's a funny combination of a natural process and one we also repeatedly question, mike perhaps more than me.  he'll say, ' do you ever wonder why we can't just have a challenge-less season?'  or 'why can't we just live our lives?'  i kind of know what he means. we're always stepping into something else- pushing the boundary-just when we get to a place where things are more comfortable. but does God ask us to be comfortable? i think not.  He asks us to follow him- even when it's uncomfortable- even if it's knowingly uncomfortable.  so, why are we surprised.  i also think that when you step into it- you keep going.  one choice leads to another choice, you move closer to one place and farther from another.  you go with that nudge- whatever you chose to allow yourself to be nudged by.  so i've been looking back at our decisions, at our nudgings.

i remember when we moved to san francisco.  we loved it.  if there ever was a 'spirit city' that would be it for us.  when we landed there before i started residency- i looked around at the wild calla lilies and the quick growing lemon trees' in our neighbors yard and that strong earthy smell of eucalyptus and knew that as foreign as it was- i'd found my home- my past life home. i remember thinking- we'll never leave.

when i finished residency and fellowship, i had a job as faculty at UCSF and mike was well employed as an architect.  we had a third baby on the way.  we had great friends and a great church and a small but great apartment.  we had good doctors, and zoe was well plugged into the san francisco public school special ed world.  we sat in the little breakfast 'nook' and talked about our future.  we knew we could 'make it' out there - we could stay- we could someday buy a place or move out of the city, but there would be cost.  there would be limited flexibility. one of us said if we stayed it would be a lot harder to move to africa.  we knew that choice would lead us in a certain direction.  not a bad direction, but a direction that would be different than if we made another choice. we knew it would discourage a move to uganda and we knew where our hearts were. we knew that while now wasn't the time, east africa was hopefully in our future.  we're not good planners, but we are good at listening to the stirrings.  we never had 'a plan', but we know our priorities. 

when we decided to home school zoe- for me to basically leave the academic medicine track- we knew it was letting go of some things- we also knew it was embracing other things.  the great shift.  the change in focus.  i wrote in my journal - ' is this getting us closer to uganda?'  in an almost subconscious way.  like if we drilled to find water for a well, we'd be closer now.  a choice, made for the right reasons, for zoe, hard as it was - but aware of the possibility of it leading somewhere else.  and it has.

but it goes the other direction too.  because i could spend my whole life with my identity, my purpose wrapped up in having a child with special needs.  she, her issues, could become my "M.O"(modus operandi).  i found this happening (as many of you know) especially when i was her mother and her teacher and her friend and my hours and her hours were the same, and my work was working with her, and my view of the world became small and limited.  it became an intense and detailed focus, and it was about right and wrong ways, and my control was key to the success or failure, and her happiness and my happiness was dependent on me.  and it was kind of awful.  overwhelming and i would even say, wrong.

when we decided almost a year ago, to move to uganda- the focus shifted and i stepped way back.  i began to remember that we are one small family in a great big world.  that she is one girl with some needs, in a very needy world.  that i am one person who is, yes, her mother, but also a person with other skills and gifts.  that in the grand scheme of things, we are really small, our problems pale in comparison to most of the worlds problems and looking out at the rest of it all gives a beautiful and freeing perspective.  that God doesn't call us to 'easy'.  he doesn't say- just get comfortable and relax.  He doesn't give us one challenge per lifetime.  He calls us to 'do'.  to love, to serve, to make it better, to get dirty, to ask hard questions, to lean on Him, to let His grace be sufficient.  it took me being broken by it, to lean into that grace.  and relinquishing that control brings peace, unclenching my fists, frees my hands.  that turning away from myself- opens me to give out of that grace.

i'm still understanding it backwards.