karamoja part 1 - (or really the never-ending story of zoe)

from my bathtub this morning, i could look out my window and see a branch of bright pink bougainvillea poking through a group of large green leaves. it seemed to be reaching to me, offering its perfectly bloomed arm as an example of the goodness.  i needed that.

i needed that because the trip to karamoja was so long and bumpy and more tiring than i realized.  i needed that because i came home to my life again, as if i wouldn't have, as if the people left at home would magically know that it was a lot of time in a car, on dirt roads that challenged the word 'road'. that they (being zoe) would know these things and act gently instead of aggressively- tread lightly instead of stamping- speak quietly instead of shouting.  but no, i came home to my life- which these days has some aggression, stamping and shouting.

i came home and instead of being filled with the emotion of what we'd seen and experienced and entered into, instead of processing the extremeness of that trip, i felt the same old crap i always feel- the pure exhaustion of the predictability of the inconsistency of our days.  i felt the dread of that ironic feeling of being stuck in 'ground hog' day- but the ground hog day being the unreliability of how zoe will feel and respond to life. of being trapped in the web of not being able to count on 'arriving'- of never sighing in relief, of never reaching a new plateau, of never reaching 'normal'.

here it was again.  our lives, all of our lives, revolving around her.  another post, revolving around her.  at a time when it really shouldn't be about her- it should be about rose.  it should be about the fusion of two cultures.  it should be anthropologic and sociologic and full of emotion and story and picture- (that will come but i had to say some things first).

soon after walking up, and making everyone breakfast, the crazy began because "why hadn't i shown zoe these pictures before?"  yes, the pictures that i had just downloaded off my camera the night before when she was asleep and didn't know we were home.  after losing my temper- trying to regain my calm, understanding, i'm sure this is so hard for you- voice, and after remember to beg God to please walk with me through this day- i knew i needed to begin that walk, up monkey hill- so i grabbed my sneakers and ran out the door.

it was cool and cloudy and beautiful outside.  i walked fast swinging my water bottle and told God that i was ready to listen but i got to go first because i'm younger- like in cards. i told him that this trip was hard, that no great conclusions had been reached and that i was pretty angry that zoe had such a hard time while we were gone.  angry mostly at Him- because he can take it.  angry because it would have been so nice to come home to her in a good day- and i knew that he could have arranged that. angry because i'm tired of her being the sun and the rest of us being planets that revolve around her at varying distances.   angry because all i wanted to do was shout at her that she's eating all our steaks and ruining everybodies lives- like napoleon dynamites uncle. angry that another thing has to be difficult- and complicated and so far away on such stinky roads. 

i was pretty sure he was getting the picture so i stopped talking.  i decided to listen.  because that is what you do in a relationship- or cards- you take turns.

patience, patience, patience- is what the sea teaches.  (it's what i want to teach you). Patience and faith.  One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach- waiting for a gift from the sea.

the situation with rose- it will not be decided quickly.  it will not be resolved in a meeting- it will take patience.
life with zoe requires, demands, screams for patience- it will not be 'resolved' - it will be lived with, grown through.  it will be seasoned with higher amplitude sorrows and joys- deeper valleys and higher mountains- but it will take patience- years and seconds of patience.

so yes, i get it.  i've figured it out- this is the lesson of my life.

keep asking me to walk with you

do i have a choice? i clearly can't do it alone.

i will give you what you need

okay- right- patience and faith.

pray the serenity prayer. 

'grant me the serenity to accept the things i cannot change, the courage to change the things i can, and the wisdom to know the difference.'

but can i find serenity? really? can i accept this that i cannot change? this child with all her challenge? the never-endingness of it?
i thought it was strength i needed, but it's courage.  what can i change?  what should i change?
oh please, give me wisdom. please give me patience, and serentiy and courage and wisdom.  i was beginning to feel like all the characters in the wizard of oz lumped together.

i was almost up the hill when it began to make some sense.  maybe this is another opportunity to be still, in the unresolve of my life, to sit and ask (or beg) each morning, out of the brokenness of my pieces - for these things that life has demanded of me and that do not come naturally to me.  maybe the ambiguity with rose is another friendly reminder from above that my life will not be about simple answers, or quick fixes.  that my season of sprinting was short and sweet and is now over.  that we've moved on to the emotional iron man level.

in my heart, i heard the U2 song 40.

I waited patiently for the Lord
He inclined and heard my cry.
He brought me right out of the pit,
out of my miry clay.
I will sing a new song,
How long to sing this song?

wait patiently.
this is what is asked of me.
what are my options? 
not a lot.
i think i'll be singing it for a very long time- life times.

He set my feet upon a rock,
and made my footsteps heard.
Many will see,
Many will see and fear.
I will sing, sing a new song.
How long to sing this song? 

my feet were climbing up rock- i could hear my footsteps crunch the gravel.  i reached that beautiful view - mist covering the hills, the far off lake to the left,  and i sat breathing in the stillness of the cool morning.
breathing in acceptance. breathing out patience.  breathing in faith. breathing out courage. 
somewhere singing this old song of mine- about once again, trying to wait patiently.

full moon

so i'm here-in kenya- under a spectacular full moon.  it's full in  a huge way- full and promising and close and encouraging.  it's lighting up the clouds in the sky like they are the platform holding her up.  her perfect roundness and glow.  so night isn't so so dark and scary.  it's like the night has a secret- that it's opening up.

it's funny that to be here feels foreign to me- even though i live so close, even though it's east africa, even though there is red dirt and dry air and beautiful flowering trees and more white butterflies than i've ever seen- -it's not uganda- it's different. 

this conference is for medical missionaries from all over the world (but i think mostly africa) to come and learn how to better care for the people they work with- how to improve techniques, how to practice evidence based medicine, to learn the updates from the west, to learn how to adapt them to resource poor places.  it's also a place to connect with other people who have decided to pluck up their normal lives and live somewhere else and not get paid and serve the poor, because that is what we should do.  well, taking care of sick people in the developing world is only one  way to this- it just happens to be the way i feel i'm supposed to do this. but we should all care for each other, gently.  we should love each other kindly, we should treat each other with justice and mercy and grace.  

so i'm here for a while.  away from home and alone but in community.  i'm in a place of wondering and waiting. of contemplation and curiosity- because this life is full of surprises- and listening to the still small voice of God is powerful and so full of goodness.  our first six months have been full of settling in - adjusting kids, building community, exploring possibilities (and there are many) and beginning work in some areas.  sometimes as we look around we get confused.  we wonder what we're doing, or why, or how we'll do it.  we get overwhelmed.  we feel small facing big problems.  we feel young facing old troubles.  we feel simple surrounded by complex- or we feel complex surrounded by simple.  and we can spin and spin and fret and worry and wonder and waste our energy.

but.  then there is that still small voice calling us to be still. reminding us that we are small- but God isn't.  reminding us that the suffering around us isn't with in our capacity to fix or even to bear, but it's with in His capacity. that what we do- we do with God's grace.  we are asked to be willing, we are asked to try, we are asked to lean, we are asked to trust Him and allow that to be enough.

what is more important than getting an old lady to an eye specialist, is to care for her gently.  what's more important than our agenda of getting a building built with in a certain amount of time, is to treat people fairly, and with forgiveness if it's needed, and always with love.  always with grace.  always with kindness.

and those things we can all do- all of us, under this great sheltering night sky- all of us- as we share this same moon.

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. 

waiting

it's cool outside but the backyard is now green. and the green is filling in those spaces emptied by the cold winter air.  spring wraps her arms around us, sheltering and embracing.

i've been waiting for the sun all week and it is here.

i wonder if there are some people who spend their lives waiting- and i wonder if i'm one of them.  i'd love to think i'm not- but i might be. i might be one of those people who remains inactive while expecting something.  someone who embodies the verb-ness of waiting- not the adjective form.  someone stymied by it, consumed by the inactivity of it, someone always expecting something- and missing what presents itself in the now-ness.

waiting is really hard, especially if your spirit animal is the beaver- constantly preparing, building, moving, or a migratory bird, but i bet they enjoy the season before the flight, i bet they don't obsess about the flight, and what it will be like in the air, and whether they'll like where they land, whether they'll miss the place they are now.
 
in those seasons of 'inactive expectation' my mind is active- to a fault- it's overactive. i think of Mary- as in the virgin mary.  i think of her carrying Jesus.  i think of her "pondering all these things in her heart".  i'm no good at pondering things in my heart- especially when i'm also waiting.  i ponder everything out loud. 

i wish i could keep things inside.  i wish i could suck dry the seasons of waiting.  maximize their potential.

my mind has been in ethiopia lately as i re-read 'cutting for stone'- and as i dream about the ending of my waiting season, about landing in east africa- and as i escape to that respite of warm, healing time in october. 

lisa and i were there for our first of her two visits. and it was the first visit after a lot of waiting for yoyo.  the first time to meet him, his family, his country, the first court appearance for her to become his mama.  it was beautiful.  there was much to ponder. and i wanted to give her something special in return for her sharing this experience with me.

when we were in lalibela, i found this really cool necklace. it was made of differently shaped unpolished silver pieces- and it seemed very 'lisacoris' (she really is her own brand).  i asked the man in the shop what it was, what it signified.  "it is a waiting necklace, it is given to someone for waiting."  i couldn't believe it! it was the perfect gift!  here was lisa who was about to enter the second season of waiting for yoyo, because when we left, she'd have to wait until all the remaining paperwork was complete and she could then return to ethiopia and pick up her son.  it was too good to be true!

note necklace, (and beautiful child), and (happy mama)

when we were in the little airport waiting to fly back to addis ababa, another shopkeeper who spoke better english said to lisa, "oh when are you getting married? i see you have a wedding necklace."

doohhhooooo!! it was too good to be true! 
wedding, not waiting!
rats!

but it made for a good story- and for her, it remained the waiting necklace.

there is something important in the waiting times. hard as they are, desperate as they can feel. they are shaping, carving, molding, sculpting who we need to be for the next season, the next landing.

i want to open my eyes wide, and i want to embrace it and be in it. not static but moving- not waiting but living it.