By God’s grace I completed the second cycle of malaria meds over the next week and slowly felt the malaria symptoms subside.
There was no sonogram at that point in our town. No way to check on the baby. I panicked at every tummy cramp and longed to feel the baby move. Just to be sure.
I began living in constant fear of another relapse. When the days would grow warm, I would fret. Was my sweating from a fever? Could we survive it again?
I continued to struggle with nausea and vomiting and I remained very dehydrated. We called doctors and prayed and I barely moved from my bed.
I recalled the story of Adoniram Judson and his wife Ann. They are known as the first American missionaries and they served in India. Ann suffered long with fever that ultimately took her life. She spent nearly two years alone with her sickness. I pathetically wondered if that was in fact my fate. It was a strange cycle of emotions. I lay on that bed because I could not physically move anywhere else. I missed my family so much during those days. There was little TV to watch (power was sporadic), no distraction. Just hour after hour of staring at those walls. And listening to that cow.
One evening, I sank lower than ever before. My spirit cried out to God with groans that words cannot express. I thought that maybe I was already insane. I spoke out loud, “God I feel so alone.”
The words were not even completely out of my mouth, when my phone rang.
Now, you could not fully comprehend my astonishment over this fact unless you had driven our muddy roads and viewed our phone lines. Draped through trees, tied in bows around wooden poles…cut and stolen. Phone lines were a delicate matter and rarely ever worked. Phone calls were a test of endurance and patience. And calls from the States were unexpected and usually impossible.
I stared at the ringing phone in shock. I wondered if it might be God. ☺ Only He could make those silly phone lines work!
The voice I heard was my Mam-ma’s. She said, “Is that my Cheryl?!?!” I couldn’t answer well because of my tears. She rattled on about the weather and her menu for the week and Granddaddy’s lawnmower repair and her own pregnancies and she made some joke about pantyhose that had me in stitches…Mam-ma.
Yep, God was definitely in on that call.
Mam-ma talked for 45 minutes. I gently laid the phone in its cradle after the “I love yous” were said.
And the phone rang again.
I kid you not.
With reverent tone, I answered.
Amy. My best friend, Amy. She had just had her first baby boy. Twins were around the corner for her (though I don’t think we knew that yet?) She talked about pregnancy, and medications, and she encouraged me. She was always encouraging me. I cleaned out a box of greeting cards recently. Cards we received during our first years in Africa. Probably every third or fourth card was from Amy. Can’t say with words how much she means to me. That evening discussion was fellowship I drank in like a dry sponge. My best friend. Forty five minutes of love, friendship and laughter.
I hung up, astonished at God’s abundant provision and perfect timing.
And that phone rang for a third time.
I answered to a fellow missionary who told me I had been on her mind all day and that she was praying. Was I okay? I told her the truth. And I praised God.
He Sees.
I slept well that night. Not insane. Not alone.
(to be continued...)
Monday, March 30, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Honoring the Miracle Part II
We were in Kampala and had a very difficult trip ahead of us. I was holding in more liquids than before the malaria, but I was still feeling constant nausea (due to pregnancy). The bumpy, six hour ride home did not seem inviting. But we struck out anyway.
We reached our house in Ft Portal on a Sunday morning, and found our town church waiting on the porch. Jeff led them in worship in our living room and I went straight to bed.
I expected my strength to return over the next days. But it didn’t. I stayed in bed. I cried. I prayed. And I threw up. A lot.
I remember white walls. Our room didn’t have any pictures hanging in it yet. And the cow. Our next door neighbors had a sad, loud cow, that wandered the length of our shared fence mooing so loudly and so persistently I was nearly driven over the brink.
After another week in bed, throwing up 7-8 times a day and growing weaker and weaker, I felt a fever again. Jeff was out helping feed a small displacement camp in town and I again felt waves of hysteria engulf me. My fever was back. What could this mean?
Jeff came home and drove me to the Catholic hospital in town. I could barely walk to and from the car. A European doctor examined and diagnosed me.
Malaria. Again.
The doctor brusquely prescribed my medication and harshly informed me that I had to drink more water. I explained that I was vomiting everything that went in. She told me to try harder.
I cried all the way home.
The malaria treatment increased my nausea ten-fold. My days were agony. We found out that it would take my body one hour to absorb the medication and begin circulating it through my system. So I would swallow the pills and will myself to not throw up. It took all of my energy. I would have Jeff squeeze my feet or hands to the point of pain to take my mind off the nausea.
I would pray. Beg really. I could not see how we (my sweet baby and me) could both survive this onslaught for a second time.
I threw away my “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” book. It was too depressing in my current predicament.
I could not keep fluids or food in my system. I was battling malaria again with only chloroquine. Most malaria in our part of Africa is chloroquine resistant but it was the only drug the doctors felt was relatively safe for the baby. A gamble either way. There was a chance the drug would not eradicate the parasite. A stronger drug could eradicate the pregnancy.
I was ravaged by fever. And I was in my first trimester of pregnancy.
I fought desperately to NOT dwell on the impossible odds.
(to be continued...)
We reached our house in Ft Portal on a Sunday morning, and found our town church waiting on the porch. Jeff led them in worship in our living room and I went straight to bed.
I expected my strength to return over the next days. But it didn’t. I stayed in bed. I cried. I prayed. And I threw up. A lot.
I remember white walls. Our room didn’t have any pictures hanging in it yet. And the cow. Our next door neighbors had a sad, loud cow, that wandered the length of our shared fence mooing so loudly and so persistently I was nearly driven over the brink.
After another week in bed, throwing up 7-8 times a day and growing weaker and weaker, I felt a fever again. Jeff was out helping feed a small displacement camp in town and I again felt waves of hysteria engulf me. My fever was back. What could this mean?
Jeff came home and drove me to the Catholic hospital in town. I could barely walk to and from the car. A European doctor examined and diagnosed me.
Malaria. Again.
The doctor brusquely prescribed my medication and harshly informed me that I had to drink more water. I explained that I was vomiting everything that went in. She told me to try harder.
I cried all the way home.
The malaria treatment increased my nausea ten-fold. My days were agony. We found out that it would take my body one hour to absorb the medication and begin circulating it through my system. So I would swallow the pills and will myself to not throw up. It took all of my energy. I would have Jeff squeeze my feet or hands to the point of pain to take my mind off the nausea.
I would pray. Beg really. I could not see how we (my sweet baby and me) could both survive this onslaught for a second time.
I threw away my “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” book. It was too depressing in my current predicament.
I could not keep fluids or food in my system. I was battling malaria again with only chloroquine. Most malaria in our part of Africa is chloroquine resistant but it was the only drug the doctors felt was relatively safe for the baby. A gamble either way. There was a chance the drug would not eradicate the parasite. A stronger drug could eradicate the pregnancy.
I was ravaged by fever. And I was in my first trimester of pregnancy.
I fought desperately to NOT dwell on the impossible odds.
(to be continued...)
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Honoring the Miracle Part I
My thoughts have been overcome the last week with Kinley’s story. Our story. I kept a journal during that time for her, but feel compelled to write the story here to be sure that we never forget what God did for us in those telling times. I sank to depths, physically and emotionally, that I never had thought possible in my blessed, happy life. I feared devastation and often found myself there.
I also found Him. A Powerful God Who, beyond my comprehension, chooses to meet me in the ugliness and drought as easily as He is revealed in times of victory and glory. He is big enough for both. How could I ever be devoted to anyone else?
This from a post written two years ago:
During our second and third years in Uganda, our little corner of the country faced a drastic crisis. A rebel army began terrorizing the villages all through the Rwenzori Moutains.
Jeff and the young men at church spent the better part of the two years delivering food relief and medical treatment to the hardest hit villages. It was a difficult, blessed, exhausting, amazing time.
I experienced this time in a unique way. From my bed.
Just as the rebels marched within 15 miles of our quaint little town...I discovered that one of my greatest longings had been fulfilled. I was officially going to be a mommy. Jeff and I were ecstatic over the news of our first little one. Soon after the nausea and pregnancy sickness began to take firm hold of my being...another sickness attempted to steal the whole show. Malaria.
The first diagnosis came at the International Health Clinic. Just a few days earlier I had celebrated at a doctor’s office. We were pregnant. Our circumstance less than 72 hours later was more somber. I found myself at another clinic in another town and I could not even bear to sit in the waiting room. My constant vomiting and the resulting dehydration now coupled with the agonizing cycles of malaria had weakened me beyond exhaustion. Dr Clarke led me into a smaller room with a metal table I could lie on. When the cycle of chills would over take my body, I would shake so much the table would bounce up and down and move away from the wall. Jeff, who himself was suffering from malaria, would put all his weight on the table to hold it steady until the chills and shaking would subside.
Lying on that table, watching IV fluids drip slowly into my system was one my loneliest moments. No one in our family knew yet about the baby. And now we had to tell them in tandem with news of a scary sickness. Did God see us here? Would He heal me and save our baby? What would His sovereign choice be?
The days that followed are a foggy memory to me. We were staying in another missionary family’s home. I drifted in and out of fever-wearied sleep. I begged God for healing. And I begged him for electricity. The fan was our only relief from the fever. Jeff and I faced nearly a week of malaria treatment together. When my fever broke, I praised the Lord, but still felt deep concern over the well being of our tiny fetus.
When I had completed the cycle of malaria meds, Dr Clarke tested my blood and found the malaria parasite gone. He set up the sonogram equipment to double check the baby’s heartbeat.
Some very silent, agonizing minutes followed. Dr Clarke couldn’t find the baby on the monitor. He asked me to drink more water so that the baby would be easier to see. His look was compassionate and resolute. What was…was. We calmly found some drinking water, but inside my brain was in overdrive. Could this be happening to me? Of course it could.
With my heart in pure torture I drank nearly 2 liters of water. Quickly. Feeling about to burst, I crawled onto the examination bed and stared at the blank screen begging God for His mercy.
The little blip we saw flooded the room and my soul with relief. There she was (though we didn’t know she was a she) and her heart was thumping away.
I didn’t stop thanking God all the way home and into the next day.
I felt released from the worry of the previous week. But I had no idea what was still ahead for our baby and for me.
(to be continued)
I also found Him. A Powerful God Who, beyond my comprehension, chooses to meet me in the ugliness and drought as easily as He is revealed in times of victory and glory. He is big enough for both. How could I ever be devoted to anyone else?
This from a post written two years ago:
During our second and third years in Uganda, our little corner of the country faced a drastic crisis. A rebel army began terrorizing the villages all through the Rwenzori Moutains.
Jeff and the young men at church spent the better part of the two years delivering food relief and medical treatment to the hardest hit villages. It was a difficult, blessed, exhausting, amazing time.
I experienced this time in a unique way. From my bed.
Just as the rebels marched within 15 miles of our quaint little town...I discovered that one of my greatest longings had been fulfilled. I was officially going to be a mommy. Jeff and I were ecstatic over the news of our first little one. Soon after the nausea and pregnancy sickness began to take firm hold of my being...another sickness attempted to steal the whole show. Malaria.
The first diagnosis came at the International Health Clinic. Just a few days earlier I had celebrated at a doctor’s office. We were pregnant. Our circumstance less than 72 hours later was more somber. I found myself at another clinic in another town and I could not even bear to sit in the waiting room. My constant vomiting and the resulting dehydration now coupled with the agonizing cycles of malaria had weakened me beyond exhaustion. Dr Clarke led me into a smaller room with a metal table I could lie on. When the cycle of chills would over take my body, I would shake so much the table would bounce up and down and move away from the wall. Jeff, who himself was suffering from malaria, would put all his weight on the table to hold it steady until the chills and shaking would subside.
Lying on that table, watching IV fluids drip slowly into my system was one my loneliest moments. No one in our family knew yet about the baby. And now we had to tell them in tandem with news of a scary sickness. Did God see us here? Would He heal me and save our baby? What would His sovereign choice be?
The days that followed are a foggy memory to me. We were staying in another missionary family’s home. I drifted in and out of fever-wearied sleep. I begged God for healing. And I begged him for electricity. The fan was our only relief from the fever. Jeff and I faced nearly a week of malaria treatment together. When my fever broke, I praised the Lord, but still felt deep concern over the well being of our tiny fetus.
When I had completed the cycle of malaria meds, Dr Clarke tested my blood and found the malaria parasite gone. He set up the sonogram equipment to double check the baby’s heartbeat.
Some very silent, agonizing minutes followed. Dr Clarke couldn’t find the baby on the monitor. He asked me to drink more water so that the baby would be easier to see. His look was compassionate and resolute. What was…was. We calmly found some drinking water, but inside my brain was in overdrive. Could this be happening to me? Of course it could.
With my heart in pure torture I drank nearly 2 liters of water. Quickly. Feeling about to burst, I crawled onto the examination bed and stared at the blank screen begging God for His mercy.
The little blip we saw flooded the room and my soul with relief. There she was (though we didn’t know she was a she) and her heart was thumping away.
I didn’t stop thanking God all the way home and into the next day.
I felt released from the worry of the previous week. But I had no idea what was still ahead for our baby and for me.
(to be continued)
Monday, March 23, 2009
Sunday Musings
There was a rush to be ready this morning. The thunderous explosions and torrential downpour of the early morning hours disturbed our rest and our response to the alarm clock. I bustle and hustle little ones. All the while digging deep for motivation. Church services with young children when hubby is preaching are challenging experiences.
Despite the late start, we manage our church departure. Everyone was dressed in reasonable Sunday attire. And everyone had shoes.
Worship was good. Songs in three different languages. Warm smiles and greetings. Old friends and new. A baby to hold.
Bible class brought Hilda to the front to teach us a song and a principle. “Don’t worry. Don’t cry. God is near.”
Alex also took a turn at teaching a song. “I Am Not Afraid of 10,000’s of People”
I share a story on the flannel board: Jesus teaching on the Sea of Galilee from Simon’s boat. Crowds were pressing in, eager to hear.
Simon (the boat lender) and his partners were disappointed fisherman cleaning very empty nets. Jesus gives a mysterious directive to go back out on the lake and work some more.
Peter’s reply, “We’ve worked all night for nothing,” is followed by obedience despite the frustrating facts.
Rowing into the lake. Tired, strong arms tossing the nets. Same lake. Same fish percentage.
Suddenly overflowing nets! Ecstatic cries for assistance resonate.
“We can’t do this by ourselves. Come and help us!”
Now sinking boats heavy with fish pull to shore and Peter drops to his knees crying confession and repentance. (Maybe the biggest miracle…)
Jesus calls, “Don’t be afraid; from now on you will catch men.”
Peter and his partners left everything and followed Him.
When the flannel figures had told their tale, we wrangled our charges through coloring pages, snacks and a photo shoot. All the while I’m reflecting on the Bible Class story. The Christ given analogy of being “fishers of men”. The discouragement of empty nets. How tired my arms can feel. How I sometimes long for another lake…
The final prayer of corporate worship is said. We gather belongings and enter into the chatter of fellowship.
One precious friend reports she is nearly finished with her teaching assignment for school. She built a café/shop out of cardboard for her students to learn from and play with. My spirit is encouraged much by her creativity and investment in her teaching.
Bent, weak Akiiki shares the loss of a large bunch of bananas. She had purchased her surplus for selling in the village. The transport driver stole her produce. Could we help?
Abooki is exclaiming over Kinley’s 11th birthday.
We inquire of our friends about “all the people at home” and “ the animals” and “the gardens”. We exult over the massive rainfalls and tell our stories of being awakened by the thunder. We thank Abugaba for his success in killing the bees that had attempted residence at the airstrip.
Eventually our noisy tummies motivate our leave for lunch.
But first, a quick stop at the newly graded church land. The muddy upturned dirt marks one more step forward in a long development process. Our family circles for prayer on ground that has most likely been used for unholy purposes in the past. We ask God for His claiming. His Spirit’s presence. A place for Jehovah to be glorified.
Then home. Leftovers. Dishes. M&M’s from Nana and Papa.
Rest. Reading. Puzzles. Games.
There is supper to set out and nighttime reading and prayers ahead.
Sunday will be ending soon. But the remnant for me is that flannel graph story. It has taken form, jumped off the page and landed squarely in my heart.
There is a new week before me. More rowing in a very familiar lake.
Only this week, I’m reminded afresh of His refining Call. “Do not be discouraged. Try again. I’m watching. And I have a plan.”
So we row, and toss the net and hold on to the hope of a miraculous result…
Maybe just the fruit of my own repentance and confession.
Steady on.
(Bible story from Luke 5:1-11)
Despite the late start, we manage our church departure. Everyone was dressed in reasonable Sunday attire. And everyone had shoes.
Worship was good. Songs in three different languages. Warm smiles and greetings. Old friends and new. A baby to hold.
Bible class brought Hilda to the front to teach us a song and a principle. “Don’t worry. Don’t cry. God is near.”
Alex also took a turn at teaching a song. “I Am Not Afraid of 10,000’s of People”
I share a story on the flannel board: Jesus teaching on the Sea of Galilee from Simon’s boat. Crowds were pressing in, eager to hear.
Simon (the boat lender) and his partners were disappointed fisherman cleaning very empty nets. Jesus gives a mysterious directive to go back out on the lake and work some more.
Peter’s reply, “We’ve worked all night for nothing,” is followed by obedience despite the frustrating facts.
Rowing into the lake. Tired, strong arms tossing the nets. Same lake. Same fish percentage.
Suddenly overflowing nets! Ecstatic cries for assistance resonate.
“We can’t do this by ourselves. Come and help us!”
Now sinking boats heavy with fish pull to shore and Peter drops to his knees crying confession and repentance. (Maybe the biggest miracle…)
Jesus calls, “Don’t be afraid; from now on you will catch men.”
Peter and his partners left everything and followed Him.
When the flannel figures had told their tale, we wrangled our charges through coloring pages, snacks and a photo shoot. All the while I’m reflecting on the Bible Class story. The Christ given analogy of being “fishers of men”. The discouragement of empty nets. How tired my arms can feel. How I sometimes long for another lake…
The final prayer of corporate worship is said. We gather belongings and enter into the chatter of fellowship.
One precious friend reports she is nearly finished with her teaching assignment for school. She built a café/shop out of cardboard for her students to learn from and play with. My spirit is encouraged much by her creativity and investment in her teaching.
Bent, weak Akiiki shares the loss of a large bunch of bananas. She had purchased her surplus for selling in the village. The transport driver stole her produce. Could we help?
Abooki is exclaiming over Kinley’s 11th birthday.
We inquire of our friends about “all the people at home” and “ the animals” and “the gardens”. We exult over the massive rainfalls and tell our stories of being awakened by the thunder. We thank Abugaba for his success in killing the bees that had attempted residence at the airstrip.
Eventually our noisy tummies motivate our leave for lunch.
But first, a quick stop at the newly graded church land. The muddy upturned dirt marks one more step forward in a long development process. Our family circles for prayer on ground that has most likely been used for unholy purposes in the past. We ask God for His claiming. His Spirit’s presence. A place for Jehovah to be glorified.
Then home. Leftovers. Dishes. M&M’s from Nana and Papa.
Rest. Reading. Puzzles. Games.
There is supper to set out and nighttime reading and prayers ahead.
Sunday will be ending soon. But the remnant for me is that flannel graph story. It has taken form, jumped off the page and landed squarely in my heart.
There is a new week before me. More rowing in a very familiar lake.
Only this week, I’m reminded afresh of His refining Call. “Do not be discouraged. Try again. I’m watching. And I have a plan.”
So we row, and toss the net and hold on to the hope of a miraculous result…
Maybe just the fruit of my own repentance and confession.
Steady on.
(Bible story from Luke 5:1-11)
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Cartwheels Anyone?
Taking the time to remember and utter thanks for simple, little things makes a difference in my day. I am reminded of an important truth when I mark those moments that bring a smile, a contented sigh or so much joy I think I could pull off cartwheels and back flips! The Truth is God's daily awareness of me and His activity in my life. God is personal. And Persistent. And Faithful. And Good. My friend at Holy Experience introduced me to this particular list and community of Grateful Participants and I invite you to start your own gratitude journal...online or otherwise. There are blessings all around us. Today I give praise for these:
97. Anaiah during praise time.
98. Silas still being willing to sit in my lap.
99. Mam-ma's recipes
100. Psalm 25
101. Hearing Isaac read
102. The countdown to a special day
103. Wearing a beautiful necklace bought on a shopping trip with Mom & Dad
104. Satellites
105. The comfort and hope of prayer.
Chime in, my friends. What are you thankful for today?
Friday, March 06, 2009
With Love, From Aunt Cheryl
Dear Presley,
Welcome to the world little girl! Are you aware of the fact that people in Africa were waiting for the news of your arrival?! Eagerly awaiting every tiny detail of You! You have hair! You weigh 7lbs! You are healthy! Every picture that floated over the web was studied and gushed over.
Because, you are our treasure.
And we are so happy you are here.
I have not been able to hold you in my arms yet. I am grieving this, but don't worry your pretty little head over that. Because I am holding you in my heart. And while that may sound a little sappy and weird, it's true. There are no miles, no circumstances and no tomorrow that can change your place in my heart. Your brothers are anchored deep in there too.
If I could whisk myself to your home this evening, I would send your Mommy to sleep, rent your Daddy & brothers their favorite movie and rock you quietly in your room. While you rested, I would speak many wonderful things over your head and catch you up on some important information.
First, God made you. Perfectly. How I wish you could always rest so easily in this, but the truth is, there are many untrue messages out there. Messages and innuendos that boldly insist there is ONE WAY to look and ONE SIZE to wear and anything else is failure. Presley, Love, you are perfectly designed by a Perfect Creator and when you look at yourself through the years you should always remember, it is HIS work you see in that mirror and you should be careful how you speak about it. And how you allow others to speak about it. You are beautiful. Case closed.
Second, Jesus loves you. LOVES YOU. And that will never change. NEVER. He is the most incredible Hero, Protector, Friend and Confidant and He will never let you down. I pray for you and those brothers of yours and all your cousins living here in Africa to know Jesus better than any other. Listen for His voice, my niece. He has a plan and a love for you that is unmatched.
Third, ice cream is awesome. You can call it “mum-mum” and smile sweetly and people will supply it to you by the gallon.
Fourth, organizing and cleaning are fun! (I can keep trying even though this hasn’t worked on any of my own babies yet!)
Fifth, I love your hair and your eyelashes and your perfect fingers and toes!
Sixth, I love you.
Seventh, a prayer: “Holy Father protect this life, protect this heart…soften and nurture and grow this incredible spirit towards You. May nothing hinder or misdirect her gaze from Your Holiness and Your Grace.”
And then I would probably cry. Because my children and husband would be so hungry in Africa without me and I would have to get on an airplane and fly away.
But not without singing first. "Jesus Loves Me." "Who Made the Flowers." And most likely, "Amazing Grace."
Blessings would be spoken over your perfect, tiny head. And your Mommy would be rested. And your brothers would be hugged. And my heart would be at peace.
The final thing I would remind us both of, is that this life rarely gives you EVERYTHING that you want. Sadly, we can’t always have our way. But a quiver lip and pout do nothing but depress. The best plan is to count your blessings, pray with thanksgiving and wait on the Lord. His plan is ALWAYS perfect.
Just look at you.
I love you always. Call me if you need anything.
Aunt Cheryl
Presley Grace arrived safely February 23 to my sister Cherise, her husband Wade and two of the most awesome big brothers a girl could wish for!
"For you created my inmost being. You knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful. I know that full well." Psalm 139:13-14
PRAISE!!!!
Welcome to the world little girl! Are you aware of the fact that people in Africa were waiting for the news of your arrival?! Eagerly awaiting every tiny detail of You! You have hair! You weigh 7lbs! You are healthy! Every picture that floated over the web was studied and gushed over.
Because, you are our treasure.
And we are so happy you are here.
I have not been able to hold you in my arms yet. I am grieving this, but don't worry your pretty little head over that. Because I am holding you in my heart. And while that may sound a little sappy and weird, it's true. There are no miles, no circumstances and no tomorrow that can change your place in my heart. Your brothers are anchored deep in there too.
If I could whisk myself to your home this evening, I would send your Mommy to sleep, rent your Daddy & brothers their favorite movie and rock you quietly in your room. While you rested, I would speak many wonderful things over your head and catch you up on some important information.
First, God made you. Perfectly. How I wish you could always rest so easily in this, but the truth is, there are many untrue messages out there. Messages and innuendos that boldly insist there is ONE WAY to look and ONE SIZE to wear and anything else is failure. Presley, Love, you are perfectly designed by a Perfect Creator and when you look at yourself through the years you should always remember, it is HIS work you see in that mirror and you should be careful how you speak about it. And how you allow others to speak about it. You are beautiful. Case closed.
Second, Jesus loves you. LOVES YOU. And that will never change. NEVER. He is the most incredible Hero, Protector, Friend and Confidant and He will never let you down. I pray for you and those brothers of yours and all your cousins living here in Africa to know Jesus better than any other. Listen for His voice, my niece. He has a plan and a love for you that is unmatched.
Third, ice cream is awesome. You can call it “mum-mum” and smile sweetly and people will supply it to you by the gallon.
Fourth, organizing and cleaning are fun! (I can keep trying even though this hasn’t worked on any of my own babies yet!)
Fifth, I love your hair and your eyelashes and your perfect fingers and toes!
Sixth, I love you.
Seventh, a prayer: “Holy Father protect this life, protect this heart…soften and nurture and grow this incredible spirit towards You. May nothing hinder or misdirect her gaze from Your Holiness and Your Grace.”
And then I would probably cry. Because my children and husband would be so hungry in Africa without me and I would have to get on an airplane and fly away.
But not without singing first. "Jesus Loves Me." "Who Made the Flowers." And most likely, "Amazing Grace."
Blessings would be spoken over your perfect, tiny head. And your Mommy would be rested. And your brothers would be hugged. And my heart would be at peace.
The final thing I would remind us both of, is that this life rarely gives you EVERYTHING that you want. Sadly, we can’t always have our way. But a quiver lip and pout do nothing but depress. The best plan is to count your blessings, pray with thanksgiving and wait on the Lord. His plan is ALWAYS perfect.
Just look at you.
I love you always. Call me if you need anything.
Aunt Cheryl
Presley Grace arrived safely February 23 to my sister Cherise, her husband Wade and two of the most awesome big brothers a girl could wish for!
"For you created my inmost being. You knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful. I know that full well." Psalm 139:13-14
PRAISE!!!!
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Virtually
Virtual—Almost or nearly as described, but not completely or according to strict definition
In Junior High I was a part of an English Literature program called Great Books. At the beginning of each school year we were given a compilation of ten or twelve stories. We had to read one story every few weeks. During our English class on “Great Books day” we would all sit in a circle and discuss the tale.
One Great Books story that I remember was about virtual reality. I can recall a story about a room that would become whatever you imagined. And then something terrible happened. I don't recollect what, I just know it was terrible. Great Books stories rarely had happy endings.
I do remember that I did not feel positively about the whole “virtual reality” idea.
Until last week. When I fell in love with Facebook Chat once and for all.
See, I have a younger sister. When Mom was pregnant with her, she would always refer to the baby as "Cheryl's baby". And that is how I have always felt about Cherise. Mine.
Mine to boss. Mine to direct. Mine to control. :-) I wish I were joking.
But thankfully, I grew up and relinquished the perceived control and bossiness (oh yes I have!) Now, I just remain with "mine".
Mine to admire. Mine to love. Mine to share life with. Still, mine to take care of.
No matter how many years I live all these many miles from her, that last thing doesn't die away. I always want to take care of her.
Email, phone calls and long, long conversations when I am on furlough fill our gaps to some degree and keep me connected to her. But nothing challenges my desire to care for my baby sister more, than when she has a baby.
You see, there is just something horrifically wonderful about that whole birthing thing that makes a sister want to be there. Hold a hand. Shout encouragement. Pray.
Two times my sister was preggers and delivered without me around to help. Those boys came out fine, but I wasn't there. And it's one of those sacrifices that I can't get back. Or balance out. It's just a sacrifice.
Then, she got preggers again. And I was going to be there. I had been talking to my hubby about it for months. I just wanted to hold that baby and hold my sisters hand.
But, unexpected things happen. In January, my ticket was purchased so I could say goodbye to Granddaddy. Another trip in February was a difficult thing to pull off.
So, my sister had a baby again. Without me in the room…actually.
But, I was there…virtually.
ONLINE. Good grief. I kept thinking, “This is like a Great Books story!”
With Mom and Wade on Facebook Chat, I knew everything. Everything--ya'll. It was awesome! I saw pictures of that baby girl within the hour of her arrival! In Africa.
Of course, it wasn’t a room turning into anything. And I know there is much discussion of how our real worlds are being affected by our “virtual communities” for good or for bad. But Facebook Chat provided a virtual reality for me. And until I can see that baby for myself, I'll take what I can get.
Virtual knowledge with a very happy ending.
Feel free to circle up and discuss that!
In Junior High I was a part of an English Literature program called Great Books. At the beginning of each school year we were given a compilation of ten or twelve stories. We had to read one story every few weeks. During our English class on “Great Books day” we would all sit in a circle and discuss the tale.
One Great Books story that I remember was about virtual reality. I can recall a story about a room that would become whatever you imagined. And then something terrible happened. I don't recollect what, I just know it was terrible. Great Books stories rarely had happy endings.
I do remember that I did not feel positively about the whole “virtual reality” idea.
Until last week. When I fell in love with Facebook Chat once and for all.
See, I have a younger sister. When Mom was pregnant with her, she would always refer to the baby as "Cheryl's baby". And that is how I have always felt about Cherise. Mine.
Mine to boss. Mine to direct. Mine to control. :-) I wish I were joking.
But thankfully, I grew up and relinquished the perceived control and bossiness (oh yes I have!) Now, I just remain with "mine".
Mine to admire. Mine to love. Mine to share life with. Still, mine to take care of.
No matter how many years I live all these many miles from her, that last thing doesn't die away. I always want to take care of her.
Email, phone calls and long, long conversations when I am on furlough fill our gaps to some degree and keep me connected to her. But nothing challenges my desire to care for my baby sister more, than when she has a baby.
You see, there is just something horrifically wonderful about that whole birthing thing that makes a sister want to be there. Hold a hand. Shout encouragement. Pray.
Two times my sister was preggers and delivered without me around to help. Those boys came out fine, but I wasn't there. And it's one of those sacrifices that I can't get back. Or balance out. It's just a sacrifice.
Then, she got preggers again. And I was going to be there. I had been talking to my hubby about it for months. I just wanted to hold that baby and hold my sisters hand.
But, unexpected things happen. In January, my ticket was purchased so I could say goodbye to Granddaddy. Another trip in February was a difficult thing to pull off.
So, my sister had a baby again. Without me in the room…actually.
But, I was there…virtually.
ONLINE. Good grief. I kept thinking, “This is like a Great Books story!”
With Mom and Wade on Facebook Chat, I knew everything. Everything--ya'll. It was awesome! I saw pictures of that baby girl within the hour of her arrival! In Africa.
Of course, it wasn’t a room turning into anything. And I know there is much discussion of how our real worlds are being affected by our “virtual communities” for good or for bad. But Facebook Chat provided a virtual reality for me. And until I can see that baby for myself, I'll take what I can get.
Virtual knowledge with a very happy ending.
Feel free to circle up and discuss that!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Via Satellite and Miracles from God
For many months the Cash Africa home has been enshrouded with the heavy cloak of internet silence. No World Wide Web. Ever. Oddly, a receipt paying for monthly service rests in the stack of paid bills. But no service for the payment. The Cash clan grew weary of that irony and Mr Cash set his sights to solve the problem. Satellite services were located. Negotiations began. Loads of equipment must be secured and monthly fees must be understood and written down and budgeted. Months of work followed and finally on a glorious day in January, a satellite dish was purchased with brackets and bolts and two very sensitive pieces we are to transport in a car with four children and luggage and NOT BREAK. An internet technician (hereafter referred to as Internet Guy) would be sent from Kampala to set up the service. We bought the satellite, but understood that as with all things technological in the Third World, we needed a miracle.
The day began peacefully. A Saturday. No school. Just housework. Visitors were on the way and it was my desire to have our home warm and inviting. And clean.
I was in my pajamas and heating water for coffee. And the phone rang.
It was Jeff. He was informing me that Internet Guy was at our gate. Now.
And Jeff was not even in town.
Which leaves me. And the Internet Guy. To set up and configure a satellite dish.
I hadn't even had my coffee.
I smiled warmly and welcomed Internet Guy into the compound. I began to point out the dish and its brackets and such.
He and I both realized with alarm, that a piece was missing.
A Very Important Piece.
At least from Internet Guy's perspective.
He began to shout at someone on the phone. And I, having lived in a third world country for awhile, realized that if Internet Guy felt fine about shouting at another man on the phone...
The female in front of him has no chance.
He began to say how disappointed he was. How IMPOSSIBLE it was to begin now, without Very Important Piece. "IMPOSSIBLE!" he told me, over and over again.
I encouraged and troubleshot. I offered a soda and lunch. Internet Guy--from Kampala---must be encouraged to stay.
He spent about one hour, yelling and fussing at someone on the phone. He huffed and marched around our house.
I prayed.
Every once and awhile, he would turn his (ahem) attitude my way. I was a dumb, crazy woman and what in the world did I know about satellites and who was I to tell him he could begin on the process without Very Important Piece. His time was wasted, WASTED he told me. He huffed and puffed and I said, "I think you can! I think you can!"
After some time, the tirade outside seemed to calm. I peeked from my hiding place inside and noticed Internet Guy pulling his tools to the back of the house. I stayed out of the line of fire until he asked for me. He, with many sighs and grimaces, was going to begin the IMPOSSIBLE process.
He wanted to hang the satellite in the worst place ever.
Just outside the back door. Where the children play and people walk and we live.
I knew, my directives would not be well received. So I played the husband card.
"Please don't hang the satellite dish, here, Internet Guy. I need to ask my husband first."
As I'm dialing Jeff's number, I hear drilling.
I rush outside to find TWO LARGE HOLES in the wall of our house.
I stare incredulously. He looks at me as if he is interested to see if my head will explode. I'm pretty sure it might.
Jeff answers and gives me two more locations for Internet Guy to consider.
Internet Guy shoots both ideas down quicker than you can drill holes in my wall.
Internet Guy says placing the satellite anywhere else would be IMPOSSIBLE.
Terrific.
I still haven't had my coffee.
Jeff hears the tone of my voice.
He also heard me when I said, "THIS IS TOO HARD! Please get here and do this!!!"
I was only screaming the first part.
Jeff inferred how badly he was needed and assured me he was on the way. With Very Important Piece.
Internet Guy keeps drilling.
Remarkably, he succeeds with hanging the satellite. Overcoming the impossible.
He then transfers his work station into the house. He sits for two hours at Jeff's desk. He attaches wires, types on his laptop and makes a million phone calls. When I eavesdropped it sounded like he was asking someone about lunch plans.
He asked for ladders and bolts and wire...and with the amazing resiliency of a woman who has had her coffee (finally)...I delivered the needed items.
And we waited.
Internet Guy eventually left for lunch. He said to call him when Jeff arrived with Very Important Piece. I was encouraged that he left his laptop on the desk.
Jeff arrived (with roses for me!) and he and a much happier Internet Guy succeed in configuring the dish and getting the signal.
Then Internet Guy leaves. We still don't have internet. Apparently there is yet another step that must be completed in Kampala. Any other way was....impossible.
Monday comes and goes with a phone call from Internet Guy informing Jeff of a technical difficulty preventing our receiving the internet.
Funny. We ALREADY HAD technical difficulties with our old system.
But with a huge satellite dish dangling from our back door (almost) we set ourselves to wait.
Because we don't get to do that very often in the Third World anyway.
On Wednesday, just after Jeff left the house for the day, he called me and with apology in his voice asked if I would be willing to talk to Internet Guy on the phone to get our computers online. (Jeff had already spent one hour on the phone in the early morning with IG trying to get things going.)
Terrific. Me again. As the phone rang I wondered if I had anything in the house stronger than coffee. You know. Like Dark Chocolate M&M's.
I answered the phone, sat down at Jeff's desk and began to try to decipher the Ugandan accent of Internet Guy over the phone while coding our computer.
Good times, my friends. Good times.
It took a mere one hour.
One hour of:
IG "please find the command screen."
me silence
IG "do you know what the command screen is"
me silence
(me pushing buttons and praying hard)
me "found it!"
IG "now hit 'ping' and a million numbers.
me "bing?"
IG "ping"
me "ding?"
IG "ping"
me "ting?"
IG "P I N G"
Only after about 10 rounds of this did IG think to say "P as in Paul". Which moved things along considerably.
Then we had to do the wire dance. "Unplug the yellow wire from here and re plug it there. Is it plugged? What does the screen say? Now unplug the yellow wire again and switch with the black wire. Unplug the black wire while holding the yellow wire but not touching your feet to the floor." Just kidding on that last part, but you get the idea. Complicated and difficult.
And then...
When I thought I was going to lose it in such a way that roses, coffee or dark chocolate M&Ms could never fix...
The Yahoo page popped up.
POPPED UP. It wasn't there. The wires were criss-crossed and I was pinging and then...
IT WAS THERE!!!!
Joy, my beloved. PURE JOY.
My tears were real. And flowed freely.
Two mornings later, while drinking coffee and making biscuits I had a chat VIA SATELLITE with my Dad in far off Texas. I explained to Silas the technology we were using. "The message I am typing here in our Africa home bounces off that satellite you keep bumping your head on, into OUTERSPACE then bounces back down to America, to Texas, to Nana and Papa's house."
Silas exclaimed with BIG wide eyes, "It's like a MIRACLE!!"
Yes my dear. EXACTLY!
The day began peacefully. A Saturday. No school. Just housework. Visitors were on the way and it was my desire to have our home warm and inviting. And clean.
I was in my pajamas and heating water for coffee. And the phone rang.
It was Jeff. He was informing me that Internet Guy was at our gate. Now.
And Jeff was not even in town.
Which leaves me. And the Internet Guy. To set up and configure a satellite dish.
I hadn't even had my coffee.
I smiled warmly and welcomed Internet Guy into the compound. I began to point out the dish and its brackets and such.
He and I both realized with alarm, that a piece was missing.
A Very Important Piece.
At least from Internet Guy's perspective.
He began to shout at someone on the phone. And I, having lived in a third world country for awhile, realized that if Internet Guy felt fine about shouting at another man on the phone...
The female in front of him has no chance.
He began to say how disappointed he was. How IMPOSSIBLE it was to begin now, without Very Important Piece. "IMPOSSIBLE!" he told me, over and over again.
I encouraged and troubleshot. I offered a soda and lunch. Internet Guy--from Kampala---must be encouraged to stay.
He spent about one hour, yelling and fussing at someone on the phone. He huffed and marched around our house.
I prayed.
Every once and awhile, he would turn his (ahem) attitude my way. I was a dumb, crazy woman and what in the world did I know about satellites and who was I to tell him he could begin on the process without Very Important Piece. His time was wasted, WASTED he told me. He huffed and puffed and I said, "I think you can! I think you can!"
After some time, the tirade outside seemed to calm. I peeked from my hiding place inside and noticed Internet Guy pulling his tools to the back of the house. I stayed out of the line of fire until he asked for me. He, with many sighs and grimaces, was going to begin the IMPOSSIBLE process.
He wanted to hang the satellite in the worst place ever.
Just outside the back door. Where the children play and people walk and we live.
I knew, my directives would not be well received. So I played the husband card.
"Please don't hang the satellite dish, here, Internet Guy. I need to ask my husband first."
As I'm dialing Jeff's number, I hear drilling.
I rush outside to find TWO LARGE HOLES in the wall of our house.
I stare incredulously. He looks at me as if he is interested to see if my head will explode. I'm pretty sure it might.
Jeff answers and gives me two more locations for Internet Guy to consider.
Internet Guy shoots both ideas down quicker than you can drill holes in my wall.
Internet Guy says placing the satellite anywhere else would be IMPOSSIBLE.
Terrific.
I still haven't had my coffee.
Jeff hears the tone of my voice.
He also heard me when I said, "THIS IS TOO HARD! Please get here and do this!!!"
I was only screaming the first part.
Jeff inferred how badly he was needed and assured me he was on the way. With Very Important Piece.
Internet Guy keeps drilling.
Remarkably, he succeeds with hanging the satellite. Overcoming the impossible.
He then transfers his work station into the house. He sits for two hours at Jeff's desk. He attaches wires, types on his laptop and makes a million phone calls. When I eavesdropped it sounded like he was asking someone about lunch plans.
He asked for ladders and bolts and wire...and with the amazing resiliency of a woman who has had her coffee (finally)...I delivered the needed items.
And we waited.
Internet Guy eventually left for lunch. He said to call him when Jeff arrived with Very Important Piece. I was encouraged that he left his laptop on the desk.
Jeff arrived (with roses for me!) and he and a much happier Internet Guy succeed in configuring the dish and getting the signal.
Then Internet Guy leaves. We still don't have internet. Apparently there is yet another step that must be completed in Kampala. Any other way was....impossible.
Monday comes and goes with a phone call from Internet Guy informing Jeff of a technical difficulty preventing our receiving the internet.
Funny. We ALREADY HAD technical difficulties with our old system.
But with a huge satellite dish dangling from our back door (almost) we set ourselves to wait.
Because we don't get to do that very often in the Third World anyway.
On Wednesday, just after Jeff left the house for the day, he called me and with apology in his voice asked if I would be willing to talk to Internet Guy on the phone to get our computers online. (Jeff had already spent one hour on the phone in the early morning with IG trying to get things going.)
Terrific. Me again. As the phone rang I wondered if I had anything in the house stronger than coffee. You know. Like Dark Chocolate M&M's.
I answered the phone, sat down at Jeff's desk and began to try to decipher the Ugandan accent of Internet Guy over the phone while coding our computer.
Good times, my friends. Good times.
It took a mere one hour.
One hour of:
IG "please find the command screen."
me silence
IG "do you know what the command screen is"
me silence
(me pushing buttons and praying hard)
me "found it!"
IG "now hit 'ping' and a million numbers.
me "bing?"
IG "ping"
me "ding?"
IG "ping"
me "ting?"
IG "P I N G"
Only after about 10 rounds of this did IG think to say "P as in Paul". Which moved things along considerably.
Then we had to do the wire dance. "Unplug the yellow wire from here and re plug it there. Is it plugged? What does the screen say? Now unplug the yellow wire again and switch with the black wire. Unplug the black wire while holding the yellow wire but not touching your feet to the floor." Just kidding on that last part, but you get the idea. Complicated and difficult.
And then...
When I thought I was going to lose it in such a way that roses, coffee or dark chocolate M&Ms could never fix...
The Yahoo page popped up.
POPPED UP. It wasn't there. The wires were criss-crossed and I was pinging and then...
IT WAS THERE!!!!
Joy, my beloved. PURE JOY.
My tears were real. And flowed freely.
Two mornings later, while drinking coffee and making biscuits I had a chat VIA SATELLITE with my Dad in far off Texas. I explained to Silas the technology we were using. "The message I am typing here in our Africa home bounces off that satellite you keep bumping your head on, into OUTERSPACE then bounces back down to America, to Texas, to Nana and Papa's house."
Silas exclaimed with BIG wide eyes, "It's like a MIRACLE!!"
Yes my dear. EXACTLY!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Marking This Moment
I will not write about politics here. I'm sure I do not know enough. And even more than that, I'm sure someone would get mad.
The discussion of politics can raise ire and great passion in many.
But, I do have something to say about America.
A new President was sworn in today. Reports said over one million people stood and sat within sight of the event. Security was tight. The pomp and ceremony full of tradition and pride.
But I am most amazed by that stage. The people on it.
Behind and beside President Obama sit men and women who have battled it out and publicly stated their disdain and oppostition to the man taking the oath. Democrat and Republican sharing a huge moment in history. The outgoing President applauds the newly sworn in President's speech. Opposing sides sit side by side with no shouts or fights. Only acceptance and resolve.
Over the last weeks, the outgoing President and his wife have welcomed and opened the Nation's Home to the incoming President and his family.
Meetings and discussions are reported in the last months between two men from different sides of the political spectrum. Our President, leaving office, publicly states his congratulations and assistance to our President entering office.
After the ceremony today, President and First Lady Obama, escort President Bush and Laura Bush to the helicopter. They hug and shake hands. They exchange smiles, jokes and comments.
No guns. No death.
Peace.
It is a moment we should mark. We should notice. We should celebrate.
This is not the norm for all the world. Not the world I live in here.
I am proud of this facet of My America.
The peaceful hand over of power has dignity and integrity.
And those are two things I can embrace and stand behind.
My deepest gratitude to President and Mrs Bush and their family. The decisions of two terms and their consequences have been heavy for you. I appreciate your service and your strength. May God hold you, renew you and fill you with purpose in these days of great transition.
And my prayers to President and Mrs. Obama. Over and above the issues, tasks, promises and decisions that await you tomorrow I pray for your family as you enter what many forget is an office of Service. And Sacrifice. Not just Power. May El Shaddai be a guiding presence in your lives privately and in the decisions of your office. We will not quit beseeching Him on your behalf and on behalf of a country I love and honor more deeply everyday.
Over a year ago, Jeanene Reese shared a phrase she read in a magazine concerning success in marriage. The phrase was, "When in conflict, move as one."
This phrase has intrigued me and inspired many deep thoughts.
The directive is difficult. But it suggests esteeming a higher calling over the unresolved issue in front of opposing sides.
A higher calling such as unity. Integrity. Something greater than ourselves. A bigger picture.
Our standing together, especially in disagreement, is still strong.
Simply because we are standing together.
I applaud that today.
God bless America.
The discussion of politics can raise ire and great passion in many.
But, I do have something to say about America.
A new President was sworn in today. Reports said over one million people stood and sat within sight of the event. Security was tight. The pomp and ceremony full of tradition and pride.
But I am most amazed by that stage. The people on it.
Behind and beside President Obama sit men and women who have battled it out and publicly stated their disdain and oppostition to the man taking the oath. Democrat and Republican sharing a huge moment in history. The outgoing President applauds the newly sworn in President's speech. Opposing sides sit side by side with no shouts or fights. Only acceptance and resolve.
Over the last weeks, the outgoing President and his wife have welcomed and opened the Nation's Home to the incoming President and his family.
Meetings and discussions are reported in the last months between two men from different sides of the political spectrum. Our President, leaving office, publicly states his congratulations and assistance to our President entering office.
After the ceremony today, President and First Lady Obama, escort President Bush and Laura Bush to the helicopter. They hug and shake hands. They exchange smiles, jokes and comments.
No guns. No death.
Peace.
It is a moment we should mark. We should notice. We should celebrate.
This is not the norm for all the world. Not the world I live in here.
I am proud of this facet of My America.
The peaceful hand over of power has dignity and integrity.
And those are two things I can embrace and stand behind.
My deepest gratitude to President and Mrs Bush and their family. The decisions of two terms and their consequences have been heavy for you. I appreciate your service and your strength. May God hold you, renew you and fill you with purpose in these days of great transition.
And my prayers to President and Mrs. Obama. Over and above the issues, tasks, promises and decisions that await you tomorrow I pray for your family as you enter what many forget is an office of Service. And Sacrifice. Not just Power. May El Shaddai be a guiding presence in your lives privately and in the decisions of your office. We will not quit beseeching Him on your behalf and on behalf of a country I love and honor more deeply everyday.
Over a year ago, Jeanene Reese shared a phrase she read in a magazine concerning success in marriage. The phrase was, "When in conflict, move as one."
This phrase has intrigued me and inspired many deep thoughts.
The directive is difficult. But it suggests esteeming a higher calling over the unresolved issue in front of opposing sides.
A higher calling such as unity. Integrity. Something greater than ourselves. A bigger picture.
Our standing together, especially in disagreement, is still strong.
Simply because we are standing together.
I applaud that today.
God bless America.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Nurturing a Grateful Heart
Thank you Jehovah Jireh for:
81. the resiliency of my children
82. safe take-offs and landings in airplanes
83. heroes
84. being with my children
85. my husband's willingness to manage the household solo so I could fly to a funeral
86. healthy closure
87. singing with our children
88. tears with family
89. laughter with family
90. really good Mexican food
91. reconnecting with long-lost friends
92. my Granddaddy
93. a whole night's sleep
94. sonograms
95. a good internet connection
96. the hope of Heaven
"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."
I Thessalonians 5:16-18
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
I Choose to See it Positively
I'm so thrilled to be able to post on this blog today. So thrilled. I love this blog. And I love writing stuff here. I also love and appreciate those of you who happen by and read.
"God has done great things for us and we are filled with joy!" Psalms 126:3
The following photos should get you up to speed on several blessings we've enjoyed over the last few months.
Jeff celebrated his 40th year!
And he received his Masters Degree with straight A's in every course!
We reunited with our teammates after our furlough and have worked at learning how to serve each other and the people here, together.
We began another year of homeschool with a 5th grader, 3rd grader, 1st grader and kindergartner all learning together!
We joyfully welcomed FAMILY for our Thanksgiving celebration. Robyn and Amy Crocker came to be with us for a few days! (Amy's Mom is Jeff's first cousin.) The Crockers are serving in Rwanda and made a very eventful trek to our place to hang out for the holiday. We enjoyed great food, warm fellowship and even watched some American football together!
We delighted in a Christmas season filled with lots of Christmas music, tree trimming, time with friends and of course, decorating (and eating) loads of sugar cookies!
We celebrated Alex's 9th year with chinese food and yummy cake!
We woke early on Christmas Day for the excitement of presents followed by a large gathering of our missionary community to celebrate together.
And that should about catch us up. January began with the sad news of Granddaddy's passing and my very quick travels to the States to participate in the funeral. I have arrived back safely to wait with our teammates for the arrival of their newest family member.
I miss you all when our internet is down, and I have grown weary of the heaviness that being cut off from the world brings. So, for today, I choose to see it positively. Not focussing on what I haven't been able to do...but only on what I am able to accomplish today.
Blessings, friends. I love every minute we have together!
"God has done great things for us and we are filled with joy!" Psalms 126:3
The following photos should get you up to speed on several blessings we've enjoyed over the last few months.
Jeff celebrated his 40th year!
And he received his Masters Degree with straight A's in every course!
We reunited with our teammates after our furlough and have worked at learning how to serve each other and the people here, together.
We began another year of homeschool with a 5th grader, 3rd grader, 1st grader and kindergartner all learning together!
We joyfully welcomed FAMILY for our Thanksgiving celebration. Robyn and Amy Crocker came to be with us for a few days! (Amy's Mom is Jeff's first cousin.) The Crockers are serving in Rwanda and made a very eventful trek to our place to hang out for the holiday. We enjoyed great food, warm fellowship and even watched some American football together!
We delighted in a Christmas season filled with lots of Christmas music, tree trimming, time with friends and of course, decorating (and eating) loads of sugar cookies!
We celebrated Alex's 9th year with chinese food and yummy cake!
We woke early on Christmas Day for the excitement of presents followed by a large gathering of our missionary community to celebrate together.
And that should about catch us up. January began with the sad news of Granddaddy's passing and my very quick travels to the States to participate in the funeral. I have arrived back safely to wait with our teammates for the arrival of their newest family member.
I miss you all when our internet is down, and I have grown weary of the heaviness that being cut off from the world brings. So, for today, I choose to see it positively. Not focussing on what I haven't been able to do...but only on what I am able to accomplish today.
Blessings, friends. I love every minute we have together!
Monday, January 05, 2009
"I'll Be Looking For You, Then"
It was January, 1994. Jeff and I had been married for half a year. Six WHOLE months. We had just celebrated Christmas and were now boarding a series of flights that would eventually land us in Kenya. Africa. The Dark Continent. I had no idea what I was getting into.
I only knew, very clearly, that standing in that airport waiting area, hugging my family and our supporters was very easily the most difficult moment of my life.
It was Granddaddy's tears that undid me. I knew Mom and Dad would cry. And Mamma. But Granddaddy? His tears I had never seen. Not until that moment. Recalling his hug and his face on that day still shakes me to my core.
I guess we've been saying goodbye alot since then. When you practice something, over and over, it should get easier. Not so with goodbyes...
It was a simple service. We gathered in a newly renovated chapel.
The flowers were modest and beautiful. The meticulously folded American flag, stirring.
Our family filed in to the sound of hymns. My grownup cousins and brother-in law awaited us in the row with the other pall bearers.
There was not a lot of pomp. Just the expected ceremonies of a funeral service for a beloved man.
We were saying a final earthly goodbye to Granddaddy.
In this world of many words and where ambition is encouraged and applauded,
we met to honor the life of a quiet man. Steadfast. A diligent and hard worker. An honest heart. With deep integrity.
As we raise our four children, I can see glimpses of aspiring adventures on the horizon for them. But I will consider my parenting a success if I can instill in their hearts the integrity, love of family and generosity of this, the dearest of men.
Granddaddy fought in World War II. On my "show and tell" days in elementary school, he would open up the cedar chest and fish out the medals, patches and flags he had as memories of that time. He never told me much about the items. He just loaned them to me for my school because I asked him to.
My dad heard WWII stories from Granddaddy. And my husband also was regaled on one occasion with many tales. Those were rare moments, when Granddaddy opened up about the war.
Granddaddy seemed to have one goal when he returned from WWII. He wanted his family to have plenty of good things and absolutely no pain. I think war and battle had exceeded his brokenness quotient. And now that he was back in control of life again, no one would hurt on his watch.
This was exemplified when my Mom, his firstborn, entered the world. My Mamma was instructed by Granddaddy to "Never let her cry." I believe this directive was a reaction to the pain and hurt he witnessed overseas.
I also think his tears as I left for Kenya were a reaction to this pain. He knew I was headed to an underdeveloped place and that this would be hard on me. Though Granddaddy was the strong, silent type, never interfering in my life or pushing his opinion, when he saw a problem or pain, he would become incredibly, (silently) agitated until the problem was solved.
Granddaddy's desire for his family to have good in their lives, resulted in his being one of the most generous individuals I have ever known.
There may not actually be enough space on the internet to recount all the things Granddaddy gave to me and my family. It was his joy to give. And any child in his life learned quickly that he rarely said no. Thankfully, we were raised right and we didn't take advantage of this (much :-))
Jeff was amazed at this quality in Granddaddy. After our first trip to Kenya, we spent one year in Odessa preparing to move to Uganda. One day over lunch Granddaddy asked Jeff what small engine tools we might need. (Granddaddy had a lawnmower repair shop in his back yard. He could fix anything. This is a known fact.) I knew exactly where his question was going. Jeff thought Granddaddy was just making conversation.
The next day, Granddaddy called and asked Jeff to come over. He took him out to the shop and pointed to every single thing Jeff had mentioned. Granddaddy was set to rebuild and refurbish the equipment and give them to us. Jeff was shocked. We had budgeted to pay for these things. Of course, Granddaddy wouldn't hear of it.
He wanted us to have what we needed. He wanted life to be easier for us.
Being with my family for his farewell meant the world to me. Here is the reading for the funeral that my sister and I composed together.
The smell of engine oil. The feel of his hand as he held mine when we prayed before meals (I sat to his left--always.) Plain yellow cake. (Mamma said it is his favorite) Pick up trucks. Ice Cream. Repaired Barbie Dolls. Dukes of Hazard. The address file under the phone. The Lake House. Trips to Baskin Robbins. Lawn mowers. Bags of goodies from the Oil Show. Nutter Butters.
Strike it Rich, orange sherbert, bologna and cheese sandwiches without the bread, eating vienna sausages and crackers on the boat, "grandpappy's boots on", getting anything we wanted, the quick breath before "amen"....
Gentleness. Honesty. Hard work. Family.
Our love and admiration for Granddaddy are from depths that are hard to articulate. He made us feel treasured. And adored. Usually without even saying anything. Which was his gift to our world. Quiet strength. Be sure, we have all depended on it.
In this big scary world, we were always confident...there was a quiet, steadfast man on our side who really could fix anything.
We will certainly miss you here, but would never in a million years ask you back to your broken body, from the perfect one you enjoy now.
You are our hero. And just as you wanted, our lives are good. We’ll love each other well. And we’ll see you when we get there. We know your mansion will have an open door!
My parents and my uncle and aunt endured together the excruciating moments of his last breaths. His lungs were sick and he himself had decided to just let go. And even as the hope of Home fills our being with joy, the moment of earthly separation is biting and harsh.
The news of his passing brought me to immediate tears. The memories mentioned above and many others overwhelmed my thoughts and filled me with gratitude for having had Granddaddy in my life. One memory played over and over in my mind.
The phone calls.
Anytime I would talk to Granddaddy from Africa he would ask when I was coming to Texas again. When I would answer, he would reply, “I’ll be looking for you, then.” And he was. Always “looking for us” and happy to see us arrive.
I guess that's what he's doing now.
He's finally in that Perfect Place of no brokenness where generosity is unmatched in the reward our Father has for us.
And Granddaddy together with a Father that never fails and a Son who defeated this separating death...looks for us. And will joyfully welcome us Home.
Maranatha.
I only knew, very clearly, that standing in that airport waiting area, hugging my family and our supporters was very easily the most difficult moment of my life.
It was Granddaddy's tears that undid me. I knew Mom and Dad would cry. And Mamma. But Granddaddy? His tears I had never seen. Not until that moment. Recalling his hug and his face on that day still shakes me to my core.
I guess we've been saying goodbye alot since then. When you practice something, over and over, it should get easier. Not so with goodbyes...
It was a simple service. We gathered in a newly renovated chapel.
The flowers were modest and beautiful. The meticulously folded American flag, stirring.
Our family filed in to the sound of hymns. My grownup cousins and brother-in law awaited us in the row with the other pall bearers.
There was not a lot of pomp. Just the expected ceremonies of a funeral service for a beloved man.
We were saying a final earthly goodbye to Granddaddy.
In this world of many words and where ambition is encouraged and applauded,
we met to honor the life of a quiet man. Steadfast. A diligent and hard worker. An honest heart. With deep integrity.
As we raise our four children, I can see glimpses of aspiring adventures on the horizon for them. But I will consider my parenting a success if I can instill in their hearts the integrity, love of family and generosity of this, the dearest of men.
Granddaddy fought in World War II. On my "show and tell" days in elementary school, he would open up the cedar chest and fish out the medals, patches and flags he had as memories of that time. He never told me much about the items. He just loaned them to me for my school because I asked him to.
My dad heard WWII stories from Granddaddy. And my husband also was regaled on one occasion with many tales. Those were rare moments, when Granddaddy opened up about the war.
Granddaddy seemed to have one goal when he returned from WWII. He wanted his family to have plenty of good things and absolutely no pain. I think war and battle had exceeded his brokenness quotient. And now that he was back in control of life again, no one would hurt on his watch.
This was exemplified when my Mom, his firstborn, entered the world. My Mamma was instructed by Granddaddy to "Never let her cry." I believe this directive was a reaction to the pain and hurt he witnessed overseas.
I also think his tears as I left for Kenya were a reaction to this pain. He knew I was headed to an underdeveloped place and that this would be hard on me. Though Granddaddy was the strong, silent type, never interfering in my life or pushing his opinion, when he saw a problem or pain, he would become incredibly, (silently) agitated until the problem was solved.
Granddaddy's desire for his family to have good in their lives, resulted in his being one of the most generous individuals I have ever known.
There may not actually be enough space on the internet to recount all the things Granddaddy gave to me and my family. It was his joy to give. And any child in his life learned quickly that he rarely said no. Thankfully, we were raised right and we didn't take advantage of this (much :-))
Jeff was amazed at this quality in Granddaddy. After our first trip to Kenya, we spent one year in Odessa preparing to move to Uganda. One day over lunch Granddaddy asked Jeff what small engine tools we might need. (Granddaddy had a lawnmower repair shop in his back yard. He could fix anything. This is a known fact.) I knew exactly where his question was going. Jeff thought Granddaddy was just making conversation.
The next day, Granddaddy called and asked Jeff to come over. He took him out to the shop and pointed to every single thing Jeff had mentioned. Granddaddy was set to rebuild and refurbish the equipment and give them to us. Jeff was shocked. We had budgeted to pay for these things. Of course, Granddaddy wouldn't hear of it.
He wanted us to have what we needed. He wanted life to be easier for us.
Being with my family for his farewell meant the world to me. Here is the reading for the funeral that my sister and I composed together.
The smell of engine oil. The feel of his hand as he held mine when we prayed before meals (I sat to his left--always.) Plain yellow cake. (Mamma said it is his favorite) Pick up trucks. Ice Cream. Repaired Barbie Dolls. Dukes of Hazard. The address file under the phone. The Lake House. Trips to Baskin Robbins. Lawn mowers. Bags of goodies from the Oil Show. Nutter Butters.
Strike it Rich, orange sherbert, bologna and cheese sandwiches without the bread, eating vienna sausages and crackers on the boat, "grandpappy's boots on", getting anything we wanted, the quick breath before "amen"....
Gentleness. Honesty. Hard work. Family.
Our love and admiration for Granddaddy are from depths that are hard to articulate. He made us feel treasured. And adored. Usually without even saying anything. Which was his gift to our world. Quiet strength. Be sure, we have all depended on it.
In this big scary world, we were always confident...there was a quiet, steadfast man on our side who really could fix anything.
We will certainly miss you here, but would never in a million years ask you back to your broken body, from the perfect one you enjoy now.
You are our hero. And just as you wanted, our lives are good. We’ll love each other well. And we’ll see you when we get there. We know your mansion will have an open door!
My parents and my uncle and aunt endured together the excruciating moments of his last breaths. His lungs were sick and he himself had decided to just let go. And even as the hope of Home fills our being with joy, the moment of earthly separation is biting and harsh.
The news of his passing brought me to immediate tears. The memories mentioned above and many others overwhelmed my thoughts and filled me with gratitude for having had Granddaddy in my life. One memory played over and over in my mind.
The phone calls.
Anytime I would talk to Granddaddy from Africa he would ask when I was coming to Texas again. When I would answer, he would reply, “I’ll be looking for you, then.” And he was. Always “looking for us” and happy to see us arrive.
I guess that's what he's doing now.
He's finally in that Perfect Place of no brokenness where generosity is unmatched in the reward our Father has for us.
And Granddaddy together with a Father that never fails and a Son who defeated this separating death...looks for us. And will joyfully welcome us Home.
Maranatha.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
The House With the Shiny Sink
I was six months old when it was purchased. Mom says we went to Sears and Roebuck the day of the big move and a Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal was purchased for me. I, apparently, chewed the nose off on the way home from the store.
Our family moved alot through my younger years. I lived in several different houses. But Mam-ma's and Granddaddy's house was always the same.
It was home. For all of us.
I don't know if you've ever had a place of unconditional acceptance and favor. For me, it was 3005 Byron. The door was always open, or I could use the secret key. My favorite ice cream was waiting in the fridge and the remote control was available to command!
Mam-ma and Granddaddy always had time. Time to visit. Time to laugh. Time to re-tell our stories and listen to our tales.
To capture my experiences in their home would take a lifetime of words.
Heritage, I guess. My faith, my confidence, my understanding of family and forgiveness and God...much of it was nurtured and shaped in those walls.
Also, my love of a clean kitchen.
Precious Mam-ma. She LOVED clean. When I was in elementary school, they built on to the house. I remember well all the many discussions of dimensions, and rocks for the fireplace and kitchen cabinet colors (orangey-red!). Mam-ma was thrilled with the outcome and bragged on Granddaddy's generosity.
She was also very happy about the stainless steel sink. I remember her choosing it. It was much better than the off-white enamel of the original kitchen, she said. She oohed and ahhed over the stainless steel and how shiny it was. So CLEAN!
I stood over that sink many, many times. Washing dishes, rinsing dishes, "helping" Mam-ma cook. I loved it when the dishes were done and she would wipe the sink down with the towel. It seems, the stainless steel sink salesman had mentioned that drying the sink would make it last longer. So Mam-ma faithfully dried, daily.
After it shone, she would sigh and say how happy a clean kitchen made her feel. I equated, in my young mind, a shiny sink with happiness and contentment.
She would then, pick up her glass of iced tea, wrap a napkin around the bottom of it and play cards with me at the bar. (NOT a drinking bar, mind you, a BREAKFAST bar!)
Mam-ma would comment on everything. She was funny. Hilarious really. And she was thrilled when we, the grandkids, were around. I felt like that house was for us, somehow. That's how she and Granddaddy made everything feel.
On our furlough, I stayed at Mam-ma and Granddaddy's house for the last time. My family and I slept there. My kids ate at the bar, lounged in the den and looked at all the old pictures with me.
As I loaded up card tables with sale items and tearfully removed photos from the walls, my mind was awash with every comment Mam-ma made about the things around me.
"Come in this house!"
"Come look at these new curtains, Cheryl!"
"Your Granddaddy loves to buy things for me! Isn't that grand?!?"
"I baked a good 'ole cake today! Have a piece!"
"Your ice cream is in the fridge."
"Wash your hands before you cook in my kitchen. My friend wipes her nose with her hands while she cooks. Isn't that awful?!?!"
"Want to play cards?"
"Let me tell Granddaddy you're here. It's hot outside and he needs a break!"
"Will you get that phone for me?"
"Dry the sink up. I want that stainless steel to last!"
"Don't rush off!"
Words that became like breath to me. So secure. So safe.
Mam-ma went Home some years back. Granddaddy struggles through pneumonia as I type. That house, those words...the life of that place will never be the same.
And neither will I.
I don't know if they could ever understand how important they are to me. What a treasure their life and story is to mine. How very effected I am today by these memories.
How very much I want to be holding Granddaddy's hand.
Leaving the house was painful for me, last August. Just like the day we lost Mam-ma, it was the kitchen that drew me in.
I cleaned as Jeff loaded the car. The kids had already left with Nana and Papa and I was thankful for the moment alone. Jeff finished his tasks and seemed a little confused at my time and attention to every detail of a kitchen soon to be renovated or sold.
It felt methodical to me. The washing of the cabinet. It was not my hands I saw. But hers. Granddaddy's generosity. Mam-ma's cooking. The warmth of a home I'll never forget. The place on the cabinet where the cake always sat. The shadowed imprints where the plaques hung abover the sink. The smell of the towel drawer.
The sink.
It was the last thing I had to do. But my tears were pouring on it.
Jeff gently suggested we get on the road. And with grieving determination I breathed in each scent of that precious place. Each sight and memory and word...
I tucked them away.
Dried the sink.
And quietly said goodbye.
The ice cream bowls are in my cabinet now. The ice cream scoop, I now see everyday. The kitchen plaques hang in East Africa on my rented walls.
Just things.
Reminding me, that some of the greatest gifts I've received in this life are not things at all.
Unconditional favor, acceptance, adoration and love...from Mam-ma and Granddaddy. As Grace from God.
And, just as they would expect and be proud of...that is what I have to pour out too.
An open door. Joy. Laughter. Welcome. Funny comments. Great food.
And always, always...
A shiny sink.
Our family moved alot through my younger years. I lived in several different houses. But Mam-ma's and Granddaddy's house was always the same.
It was home. For all of us.
I don't know if you've ever had a place of unconditional acceptance and favor. For me, it was 3005 Byron. The door was always open, or I could use the secret key. My favorite ice cream was waiting in the fridge and the remote control was available to command!
Mam-ma and Granddaddy always had time. Time to visit. Time to laugh. Time to re-tell our stories and listen to our tales.
To capture my experiences in their home would take a lifetime of words.
Heritage, I guess. My faith, my confidence, my understanding of family and forgiveness and God...much of it was nurtured and shaped in those walls.
Also, my love of a clean kitchen.
Precious Mam-ma. She LOVED clean. When I was in elementary school, they built on to the house. I remember well all the many discussions of dimensions, and rocks for the fireplace and kitchen cabinet colors (orangey-red!). Mam-ma was thrilled with the outcome and bragged on Granddaddy's generosity.
She was also very happy about the stainless steel sink. I remember her choosing it. It was much better than the off-white enamel of the original kitchen, she said. She oohed and ahhed over the stainless steel and how shiny it was. So CLEAN!
I stood over that sink many, many times. Washing dishes, rinsing dishes, "helping" Mam-ma cook. I loved it when the dishes were done and she would wipe the sink down with the towel. It seems, the stainless steel sink salesman had mentioned that drying the sink would make it last longer. So Mam-ma faithfully dried, daily.
After it shone, she would sigh and say how happy a clean kitchen made her feel. I equated, in my young mind, a shiny sink with happiness and contentment.
She would then, pick up her glass of iced tea, wrap a napkin around the bottom of it and play cards with me at the bar. (NOT a drinking bar, mind you, a BREAKFAST bar!)
Mam-ma would comment on everything. She was funny. Hilarious really. And she was thrilled when we, the grandkids, were around. I felt like that house was for us, somehow. That's how she and Granddaddy made everything feel.
On our furlough, I stayed at Mam-ma and Granddaddy's house for the last time. My family and I slept there. My kids ate at the bar, lounged in the den and looked at all the old pictures with me.
As I loaded up card tables with sale items and tearfully removed photos from the walls, my mind was awash with every comment Mam-ma made about the things around me.
"Come in this house!"
"Come look at these new curtains, Cheryl!"
"Your Granddaddy loves to buy things for me! Isn't that grand?!?"
"I baked a good 'ole cake today! Have a piece!"
"Your ice cream is in the fridge."
"Wash your hands before you cook in my kitchen. My friend wipes her nose with her hands while she cooks. Isn't that awful?!?!"
"Want to play cards?"
"Let me tell Granddaddy you're here. It's hot outside and he needs a break!"
"Will you get that phone for me?"
"Dry the sink up. I want that stainless steel to last!"
"Don't rush off!"
Words that became like breath to me. So secure. So safe.
Mam-ma went Home some years back. Granddaddy struggles through pneumonia as I type. That house, those words...the life of that place will never be the same.
And neither will I.
I don't know if they could ever understand how important they are to me. What a treasure their life and story is to mine. How very effected I am today by these memories.
How very much I want to be holding Granddaddy's hand.
Leaving the house was painful for me, last August. Just like the day we lost Mam-ma, it was the kitchen that drew me in.
I cleaned as Jeff loaded the car. The kids had already left with Nana and Papa and I was thankful for the moment alone. Jeff finished his tasks and seemed a little confused at my time and attention to every detail of a kitchen soon to be renovated or sold.
It felt methodical to me. The washing of the cabinet. It was not my hands I saw. But hers. Granddaddy's generosity. Mam-ma's cooking. The warmth of a home I'll never forget. The place on the cabinet where the cake always sat. The shadowed imprints where the plaques hung abover the sink. The smell of the towel drawer.
The sink.
It was the last thing I had to do. But my tears were pouring on it.
Jeff gently suggested we get on the road. And with grieving determination I breathed in each scent of that precious place. Each sight and memory and word...
I tucked them away.
Dried the sink.
And quietly said goodbye.
The ice cream bowls are in my cabinet now. The ice cream scoop, I now see everyday. The kitchen plaques hang in East Africa on my rented walls.
Just things.
Reminding me, that some of the greatest gifts I've received in this life are not things at all.
Unconditional favor, acceptance, adoration and love...from Mam-ma and Granddaddy. As Grace from God.
And, just as they would expect and be proud of...that is what I have to pour out too.
An open door. Joy. Laughter. Welcome. Funny comments. Great food.
And always, always...
A shiny sink.
Monday, October 20, 2008
I am slowly emerging.
Exhaustion? Yes. It's here.
Culture stress? Yes. Even after 13 years, the subtle nuances and stark contrasts of our culture of origin and the culture we reside in can overpower and fatigue.
Broken hearts over goodbyes?
Joy of hellos?
It all intermingles into something called "Re-entry".
We most often use the term to refer to returning to our original home. But I also think it applies to "re-entering" the third world we reside in for this season of life.
We step from the carpeted passageways of American airports with Starbucks in hand and within 24 hours step out into an entirely different world. No carpet. No Starbucks. But a whole lot of reality.
We have had limited power and very, very weak internet since our return. Our home was overcome with mildew, dust and mold requiring the laundring of every single thing in closets and every piece of linen.
CD and DVD cases that were stored inside wood cupboards were covered with a layer of green mold. Dishes and utensils also had to be scrubbed to remove the layer of mold taking residence on their exterior.
Cobwebs, grime, dust, and the bold scent of mildew permeates the place we need as a haven.
And so I dive in. With rubber gloves. Bleach. White vinegar. Pledge. And my vacuum cleaner (when the power is on). I sweep, mop, dust and clean.
I retire old curtains. Buy new mattresses. Wash and wash and wash sheets and blankets and towels...
Downpouring rains and stifled power supply try to thwart my efforts to reclaim our home...but I labor on.
In the midst of it all...we have to eat. And Taco Bell is VERY FAR AWAY.
My dear teammate and our loving missionary community kept our tummies filled for a full week which saved us all. We've picked up meals on our own now and I'm reminded of how much time must be spent on our food each day in order to have meals and snacks for my children's cavernous tummies.
School must begin. Bags must be unpacked. Ministry demands our constant energy and attention.
And here sits the computer. My link to you.
As always, I have much to share.
Even from furlough...there remains much to say.
And as we have been thrown headlong back into the fray here, I have many thoughts.
Much grace from God to share with you.
But getting all this technology to work takes hours sometimes.
(I am noticing even now that our internet is off before I've published.) And I often cannot take the time to tackle this mountain of technological obstacles in order to publish the thoughts bouncing around in my brain.
Nonetheless, I am emerging. From the goodbyes. From the pain. From the warmth of good memories. From the fog of jet lag. From the life lessons. From the scent of mildew. (smile) From the reality of rotten technology.
Emerging a woman with a clearer understanding of my deep need for Jehovah God.
A daughter who more deeply trusts the Faithful Father who Never Quits.
A warrior wounded yet refined from fiery battle.
I am emerging to continue on.
And do the next thing.
I'm back friends.
And we have so much to talk about!
Exhaustion? Yes. It's here.
Culture stress? Yes. Even after 13 years, the subtle nuances and stark contrasts of our culture of origin and the culture we reside in can overpower and fatigue.
Broken hearts over goodbyes?
Joy of hellos?
It all intermingles into something called "Re-entry".
We most often use the term to refer to returning to our original home. But I also think it applies to "re-entering" the third world we reside in for this season of life.
We step from the carpeted passageways of American airports with Starbucks in hand and within 24 hours step out into an entirely different world. No carpet. No Starbucks. But a whole lot of reality.
We have had limited power and very, very weak internet since our return. Our home was overcome with mildew, dust and mold requiring the laundring of every single thing in closets and every piece of linen.
CD and DVD cases that were stored inside wood cupboards were covered with a layer of green mold. Dishes and utensils also had to be scrubbed to remove the layer of mold taking residence on their exterior.
Cobwebs, grime, dust, and the bold scent of mildew permeates the place we need as a haven.
And so I dive in. With rubber gloves. Bleach. White vinegar. Pledge. And my vacuum cleaner (when the power is on). I sweep, mop, dust and clean.
I retire old curtains. Buy new mattresses. Wash and wash and wash sheets and blankets and towels...
Downpouring rains and stifled power supply try to thwart my efforts to reclaim our home...but I labor on.
In the midst of it all...we have to eat. And Taco Bell is VERY FAR AWAY.
My dear teammate and our loving missionary community kept our tummies filled for a full week which saved us all. We've picked up meals on our own now and I'm reminded of how much time must be spent on our food each day in order to have meals and snacks for my children's cavernous tummies.
School must begin. Bags must be unpacked. Ministry demands our constant energy and attention.
And here sits the computer. My link to you.
As always, I have much to share.
Even from furlough...there remains much to say.
And as we have been thrown headlong back into the fray here, I have many thoughts.
Much grace from God to share with you.
But getting all this technology to work takes hours sometimes.
(I am noticing even now that our internet is off before I've published.) And I often cannot take the time to tackle this mountain of technological obstacles in order to publish the thoughts bouncing around in my brain.
Nonetheless, I am emerging. From the goodbyes. From the pain. From the warmth of good memories. From the fog of jet lag. From the life lessons. From the scent of mildew. (smile) From the reality of rotten technology.
Emerging a woman with a clearer understanding of my deep need for Jehovah God.
A daughter who more deeply trusts the Faithful Father who Never Quits.
A warrior wounded yet refined from fiery battle.
I am emerging to continue on.
And do the next thing.
I'm back friends.
And we have so much to talk about!
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Early Furlough Impressions
This is an excerpt from my musings during our first weeks of furlough travel. Enjoy!
"Mom, Have You Seen My...?"
Our vagabond days have begun. We missionaries pack up a four bags of clothes and African do-dads, secure tickets and visas and passports and the appropriate immigration stamps. And we fly.
Then we land and can’t sleep well. Children who normally sleep for hours through the night wake up at odd times. And ask for food.
We haul our bodies and bags over time zones and through airports. We hug necks and eat yummy, yummy food. We re-establish connections, hear news we’ve missed, listen with astonishment as newscasters talk and talk and talk and talk and talk…about nothing and everything and opinions and elections…
We are at once blessed and overwhelmed by choices and options. We fight the battle within us that Ice Cream is just there on the corner in that 7 Eleven so why aren’t we eating as much as possible right now. Because it will be there tomorrow. It will be there tomorrow. It will be there tomorrow.
We rejoice at ever Target and savor our first sips of Starbucks. We giggle through chips and queso and delight in daily phone calls to family and friends with good connections.
Jeff says the soft carpet hugs our feet. Water can be taken straight from the tap. Power supply is sure and food is easy.
Time is important. Church is fast. Freeways are huge, well lit and signs direct you everywhere.
People smile when they serve you food. Everyone is doing something most of the time.
Commercials are funny.
And no one in my family can find their underwear without asking Mom first.
I know Mom is the Great Holder of Knowledge. But this is amplified when we start living out of bags.
Vagabonds. And loving most of it.
"Mom, Have You Seen My...?"
Our vagabond days have begun. We missionaries pack up a four bags of clothes and African do-dads, secure tickets and visas and passports and the appropriate immigration stamps. And we fly.
Then we land and can’t sleep well. Children who normally sleep for hours through the night wake up at odd times. And ask for food.
We haul our bodies and bags over time zones and through airports. We hug necks and eat yummy, yummy food. We re-establish connections, hear news we’ve missed, listen with astonishment as newscasters talk and talk and talk and talk and talk…about nothing and everything and opinions and elections…
We are at once blessed and overwhelmed by choices and options. We fight the battle within us that Ice Cream is just there on the corner in that 7 Eleven so why aren’t we eating as much as possible right now. Because it will be there tomorrow. It will be there tomorrow. It will be there tomorrow.
We rejoice at ever Target and savor our first sips of Starbucks. We giggle through chips and queso and delight in daily phone calls to family and friends with good connections.
Jeff says the soft carpet hugs our feet. Water can be taken straight from the tap. Power supply is sure and food is easy.
Time is important. Church is fast. Freeways are huge, well lit and signs direct you everywhere.
People smile when they serve you food. Everyone is doing something most of the time.
Commercials are funny.
And no one in my family can find their underwear without asking Mom first.
I know Mom is the Great Holder of Knowledge. But this is amplified when we start living out of bags.
Vagabonds. And loving most of it.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
"No Hill For a Stepper"
Today’s furlough recap begins with a brief reminder of a story that I have yet to re-tell in its entirety: the Airplane Journey. For this post’s purposes however, I’m going to skip to the end of that story which involves a Cesna 206 that will soon be needing a protective home. My husband has been searching for several years now for a solution to that particular dilemma.
Some months ago, Jeff happened on an airplane hangar for sale on ebay. He began communicating with the seller who turned out to be a Christian very interested in foreign missions. After some amazing and very encouraging interaction, the man decided to donate the hangar to the mission in Ft Portal.
The only issue was how to get a huge double wide hangar across a nation and an ocean.
And then across two more nations.
I guess you could say we had a "mountain to be moved".
“No hill for a stepper,” as my dad used to say.
We started asking for help.
A friend of a friend of a friend….maybe you know this drill. In the church network, it is really incredible who you can find once you start looking. We connected with a gentleman living near (several hours) to where the hangar was located and he agreed to rally the troops at his congregation to get the job done.
When he asked for help at his church, the men there stepped up. Good grief did they ever!
A group of guys, whom we had never met accepted a very difficult challenge. Over a period of two or three weeks, men drove several hours into a desert to measure, clean, power wash, prime, cut, disassemble, label, load and secure a large metal building.
Why?
Because they love Jesus.
The reason was simple. The task was not.
The building was well packed, trucked across the country to Texas and now awaits other items to fill the box before it ships.
Unbelievable. Really.
Free stuff on Ebay.
A team of guys working very hard under difficult circumstances for strangers.
All to the Glory of God.
We honor and appreciate that service and will do all we can to use these offerings for the good of His Kingdom and for His purposes.
You never know how God is going to call you to serve. Or what hill will rise up in front of you.
Many, many thanks to these incredible guys for their labor and service!
We so appreciate you!
Some months ago, Jeff happened on an airplane hangar for sale on ebay. He began communicating with the seller who turned out to be a Christian very interested in foreign missions. After some amazing and very encouraging interaction, the man decided to donate the hangar to the mission in Ft Portal.
The only issue was how to get a huge double wide hangar across a nation and an ocean.
And then across two more nations.
I guess you could say we had a "mountain to be moved".
“No hill for a stepper,” as my dad used to say.
We started asking for help.
A friend of a friend of a friend….maybe you know this drill. In the church network, it is really incredible who you can find once you start looking. We connected with a gentleman living near (several hours) to where the hangar was located and he agreed to rally the troops at his congregation to get the job done.
When he asked for help at his church, the men there stepped up. Good grief did they ever!
A group of guys, whom we had never met accepted a very difficult challenge. Over a period of two or three weeks, men drove several hours into a desert to measure, clean, power wash, prime, cut, disassemble, label, load and secure a large metal building.
Why?
Because they love Jesus.
The reason was simple. The task was not.
The building was well packed, trucked across the country to Texas and now awaits other items to fill the box before it ships.
Unbelievable. Really.
Free stuff on Ebay.
A team of guys working very hard under difficult circumstances for strangers.
All to the Glory of God.
We honor and appreciate that service and will do all we can to use these offerings for the good of His Kingdom and for His purposes.
You never know how God is going to call you to serve. Or what hill will rise up in front of you.
Many, many thanks to these incredible guys for their labor and service!
We so appreciate you!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
It's a Snazzy New Do!
Check it out guys! Finally, after a long design journey I found Lara and she made my blog beautiful! I love the design and hope you do to.
Thanks Lara! I loved working with you and appreciate your persistence even through the midst of a hurricane.
Blessings everyone!
(To see Lara's other work and check out her site click on her button in my side bar.)
Thanks Lara! I loved working with you and appreciate your persistence even through the midst of a hurricane.
Blessings everyone!
(To see Lara's other work and check out her site click on her button in my side bar.)
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Breathing In
Because we found gas so cheap in America (wink, wink) we decided to do some driving while in California. You know. Economics.
We headed south towards a certain Hilltop. There were some unbelievable servants there who we needed to speak with in person.
As we waited for Sunday to roll around, we sauntered and strolled the boulevards and lanes of the Happiest Place on Earth.
Which, unfortunately, became the Rainiest place on Earth and stayed that way for the duration of our visit. But we are Cashes. When the weather turns sour, you pull out the appropriate gear (which you always have with you because one of you is in fact an Eagle Scout and Always Prepared, ahem,) and press forward. No turning back.
(I am hearing the song “Aint No Stopping Us Now” in my head).
We walked and waited in lines and enjoyed our time at the Happy Kingdom. We paid. We played. Rain or no rain!
We did have fun. The only sad issue proved to be the elusive Jedi Show. When we pulled out the maps on day one our boys immediately pointed the Jedi Show. It was, as they say, “A Must See!” for our family.
We dutifully arrived early, chose seats, waited for instructions and anticipated the great battle with Darth Vader…three times. Three times we sat in the rain and waited for a Star Wars voice to announce to all the children that the Jedi Show was cancelled due to rain for safety issues.
They are announcing this, I might add, to a bunch of parents who are allowing their children to ride roller coasters and swings and race cars in a torrential downpour. But the Happy Kingdom deems waving a light sabre on a damp floor “unsafe”. Makes you stop and think doesn’t it? It should anyway.
We did get to meet Darth Vader in person. He is lovely. A real charmer.
So is this guy.
Who scared me.
We saw some old friends who were delightful as always.
And we enjoyed being together.
A good deep breath. With a few giggles thrown in.
One brief side note...
Of all the amazing-ness that is the Happy Kingdom, you might be surprised at the things that impressed foreign missionaries the most. The ground for instance.
We sat on the ground for parades and fireworks shows. Ground that many, many feet had walked on.
And, here’s the thing…
It was so CLEAN!
In our homeplace on the Dark Continent, there is not one stretch of footpath that you can sit on without becoming filthy. Jeff and I obsessed for a solid 20 minutes on the cleanliness around us despite the masses walking,eating, drinking and celebrating on the paths.
Unbelievable.
And the electricity and lights we witnessed there. Always on.
Shocking.
As I said, our time in Anaheim was not just to see Mickey.
There were some crazy souls over on the Hilltop that we needed to hug and thank for a task that will most certainly blow your mind.
It blew ours.
We headed south towards a certain Hilltop. There were some unbelievable servants there who we needed to speak with in person.
As we waited for Sunday to roll around, we sauntered and strolled the boulevards and lanes of the Happiest Place on Earth.
Which, unfortunately, became the Rainiest place on Earth and stayed that way for the duration of our visit. But we are Cashes. When the weather turns sour, you pull out the appropriate gear (which you always have with you because one of you is in fact an Eagle Scout and Always Prepared, ahem,) and press forward. No turning back.
(I am hearing the song “Aint No Stopping Us Now” in my head).
We walked and waited in lines and enjoyed our time at the Happy Kingdom. We paid. We played. Rain or no rain!
We did have fun. The only sad issue proved to be the elusive Jedi Show. When we pulled out the maps on day one our boys immediately pointed the Jedi Show. It was, as they say, “A Must See!” for our family.
We dutifully arrived early, chose seats, waited for instructions and anticipated the great battle with Darth Vader…three times. Three times we sat in the rain and waited for a Star Wars voice to announce to all the children that the Jedi Show was cancelled due to rain for safety issues.
They are announcing this, I might add, to a bunch of parents who are allowing their children to ride roller coasters and swings and race cars in a torrential downpour. But the Happy Kingdom deems waving a light sabre on a damp floor “unsafe”. Makes you stop and think doesn’t it? It should anyway.
We did get to meet Darth Vader in person. He is lovely. A real charmer.
So is this guy.
Who scared me.
We saw some old friends who were delightful as always.
And we enjoyed being together.
A good deep breath. With a few giggles thrown in.
One brief side note...
Of all the amazing-ness that is the Happy Kingdom, you might be surprised at the things that impressed foreign missionaries the most. The ground for instance.
We sat on the ground for parades and fireworks shows. Ground that many, many feet had walked on.
And, here’s the thing…
It was so CLEAN!
In our homeplace on the Dark Continent, there is not one stretch of footpath that you can sit on without becoming filthy. Jeff and I obsessed for a solid 20 minutes on the cleanliness around us despite the masses walking,eating, drinking and celebrating on the paths.
Unbelievable.
And the electricity and lights we witnessed there. Always on.
Shocking.
As I said, our time in Anaheim was not just to see Mickey.
There were some crazy souls over on the Hilltop that we needed to hug and thank for a task that will most certainly blow your mind.
It blew ours.
Monday, August 04, 2008
American Soil
Our flight from Dubai took a mere 16 hours.
Let me just say that again for emphasis.
Sixteen hours.
Only if you are a parent of a very active preschooler can you understand the depths of fear such a time frame can instill.
We discussed our plans long and hard before buying the tickets.
Would we survive a 16 hour flight with four kids?
The answer was a very blessed "Yes!" But we do not boast arrogantly. We know it was a gift from God.
I also thank the airline personnel who arranged our seating.
Flying with four kids is pretty easy when you aren't seated by any of them. :-)
Poor Jeff. (Can you hear the depths of my compassion?)
He was on the row of seats with our three boys. Kinley was across the aisle from him. And I was seated across the aisle on the other side.
It was an innocent situation, I promise. I did nothing but walk in and take the first seat given to us.
(FYI...when you put that headset on and turn on a movie, its like no one else is around. And my arm was well out of tapping range if I leaned over to my right far enough...)
The kids did handle the flight very well. Our airline had an amazing entertainment system that kept us all occupied for a huge chunk of the time.
Nonetheless, we were thrilled to feel the plane touch down. And I was awash with emotion over the cowboy hats and Texas accents that greeted us at immigration and customs.
It was Texas, Y'all. And it felt good to be there.
We gathered bags, secured luggage and rolled our belongings through the doors to find Nana and Papa waiting. We shared weepy hugs and laughs and smiles and made our way to the hotel.
The next few days were spent recuperating from the 16 hours and the jet lag. We ate yummy food. Celebrated a birthday and Mother's Day belatedly.
We went shopping (Target!!!) and pierced some ears.
And we slept. As much as possible. Our bodies were worn out and we needed to rest.
Those first few days on American soil with Nana and Papa as back ups for child wrangling helped us get our feet back under us before we began more travels.
It was hard to hug them goodbye after only a few short days, but with the promise of a longer visit in our near future, we prepared ourselves for the West Coast.
First stop...California!
Dubai
Our physical journey began in May.
Our battle weary souls were prayed over and hugged away from our foreign home by the Longs and Martins. We checked in at the airport with blessed little fanfare. Even the expected immigration issues, (Silas passport stamp was held up and delayed) went smoothly and easily.
After months of planning and preparing we found our travel experienced selves seated on the eve of yet another furlough.
Six well packed carryons were before us and not one of them contained diapers or baby food. When our flight was called, every individual person carried their own bag to the airplane. There were no strollers and everyone would sit in their own seat. It was a moment I halted our entire family on the way to the airplane to commemorate. My children and husband smiled at Mom’s Moment, but none appreciated it as I did.
We have crossed a threshold. And I am pleased about that.
Our first flight was relatively short. Eight hours. We landed on a hot peninsula in the Middle East. Dubai.
It was a new place for us. A new experience. We were longing for the chance to just blend in with the tourist crowd for awhile. Turn off our brains and recuperate from the churning previous months.
We needed an Oasis. We looked for one in this desert.
Here is what we found:
And this:
Our oasis even had snow:
My photography skills (or lack thereof) do not do the ski resort justice. A ski resort people. In a mall. In the desert.
Pretty crazy stuff, Dubai.
One morning as the children and I slowly started the day, Jeff set out to find us some food. He began to walk across the hot dusty lot across from our hotel. The wind was whipping the sand in his face and the desert heat was bearing down on his head. He was just thinking how thirsty he felt and how hard desert life was, when he looked up through squinted eyes to see:
The Golden Arches.
Oasis indeed. His desert travails led him to the best french fries ever made. There was much rejoicing when he returned with two large bags of food from McDonalds!
Our American restaurant wonderment was not over. On an outing the next day, our family headed off to the beach. We expected it to be warm, but I was shocked at the intensity of the heat. In a word…fire. That beach was the hottest place on the planet. Seriously. I thought I would fry. My attitude went from happy, delightful tourist to cranky, grumpy white girl in about 2.2 seconds. Jeff and the kids quickly jumped into the water and cooled off while I grumbled around the beach chairs wondering why on earth I had married a camel impervious to high temperatures. I pouted on the chairs for awhile wondering how guilty my family would feel if the heat did in fact kill me on that Jumeriah Beach. Eventually, I gave up my scowl and shuffled down to the water to find such sweet, sweet relief. The water cooled me off quickly and made my attitude way more tolerable. We (meaning, me) lasted about two hours on the beach adventure. We decided to drag our overheated selves across the flaming sands in search of airconditioning. Somewhere, there had to be relief! I enticed my beach loving family with ice cream and food.
We changed into our clothes and washed sand off our shoes about 700 times with scalding hot water, then began to look for a taxi. As we stood on the street, Jeff pointed out a welcome sign across the street.
Chili’s.
I had never been so happy to see that big red chili pepper in my life! What a delightful meal. While on our little desert vacation we also enjoyed the delights of Little Caesars and Johnny Rockets.
We ordered Chinese take out. Swam. Sweltered on the beach (which I think I might have already mentioned :-). We enjoyed a water park that had eleven huge water slides that were all interconnected. You had to wait in line for quite a while to get started. But once you were on the slide it was a thrilling and long ride. Jeff ranked it as the coolest water park he had ever been to.
We shopped in a souk and bought beautiful textiles and clothes.
We learned many things about the ancient Bedouins in the Dubai museum.
And we enjoyed fresh squeezed apple juice overlooking the Dubai Creek.
We took our time and began to breathe deep again.
Dubai, is a land of contrasts. Women in full burka strolling alongside Europeans in micro mini skirts. Burning desert sands alongside indoor ski resorts where it snows every night.
A land of intrigue.
A land of welcome.
We were thankful for its open arms and very much enjoyed our sojourn there.
Our battle weary souls were prayed over and hugged away from our foreign home by the Longs and Martins. We checked in at the airport with blessed little fanfare. Even the expected immigration issues, (Silas passport stamp was held up and delayed) went smoothly and easily.
After months of planning and preparing we found our travel experienced selves seated on the eve of yet another furlough.
Six well packed carryons were before us and not one of them contained diapers or baby food. When our flight was called, every individual person carried their own bag to the airplane. There were no strollers and everyone would sit in their own seat. It was a moment I halted our entire family on the way to the airplane to commemorate. My children and husband smiled at Mom’s Moment, but none appreciated it as I did.
We have crossed a threshold. And I am pleased about that.
Our first flight was relatively short. Eight hours. We landed on a hot peninsula in the Middle East. Dubai.
It was a new place for us. A new experience. We were longing for the chance to just blend in with the tourist crowd for awhile. Turn off our brains and recuperate from the churning previous months.
We needed an Oasis. We looked for one in this desert.
Here is what we found:
And this:
Our oasis even had snow:
My photography skills (or lack thereof) do not do the ski resort justice. A ski resort people. In a mall. In the desert.
Pretty crazy stuff, Dubai.
One morning as the children and I slowly started the day, Jeff set out to find us some food. He began to walk across the hot dusty lot across from our hotel. The wind was whipping the sand in his face and the desert heat was bearing down on his head. He was just thinking how thirsty he felt and how hard desert life was, when he looked up through squinted eyes to see:
The Golden Arches.
Oasis indeed. His desert travails led him to the best french fries ever made. There was much rejoicing when he returned with two large bags of food from McDonalds!
Our American restaurant wonderment was not over. On an outing the next day, our family headed off to the beach. We expected it to be warm, but I was shocked at the intensity of the heat. In a word…fire. That beach was the hottest place on the planet. Seriously. I thought I would fry. My attitude went from happy, delightful tourist to cranky, grumpy white girl in about 2.2 seconds. Jeff and the kids quickly jumped into the water and cooled off while I grumbled around the beach chairs wondering why on earth I had married a camel impervious to high temperatures. I pouted on the chairs for awhile wondering how guilty my family would feel if the heat did in fact kill me on that Jumeriah Beach. Eventually, I gave up my scowl and shuffled down to the water to find such sweet, sweet relief. The water cooled me off quickly and made my attitude way more tolerable. We (meaning, me) lasted about two hours on the beach adventure. We decided to drag our overheated selves across the flaming sands in search of airconditioning. Somewhere, there had to be relief! I enticed my beach loving family with ice cream and food.
We changed into our clothes and washed sand off our shoes about 700 times with scalding hot water, then began to look for a taxi. As we stood on the street, Jeff pointed out a welcome sign across the street.
Chili’s.
I had never been so happy to see that big red chili pepper in my life! What a delightful meal. While on our little desert vacation we also enjoyed the delights of Little Caesars and Johnny Rockets.
We ordered Chinese take out. Swam. Sweltered on the beach (which I think I might have already mentioned :-). We enjoyed a water park that had eleven huge water slides that were all interconnected. You had to wait in line for quite a while to get started. But once you were on the slide it was a thrilling and long ride. Jeff ranked it as the coolest water park he had ever been to.
We shopped in a souk and bought beautiful textiles and clothes.
We learned many things about the ancient Bedouins in the Dubai museum.
And we enjoyed fresh squeezed apple juice overlooking the Dubai Creek.
We took our time and began to breathe deep again.
Dubai, is a land of contrasts. Women in full burka strolling alongside Europeans in micro mini skirts. Burning desert sands alongside indoor ski resorts where it snows every night.
A land of intrigue.
A land of welcome.
We were thankful for its open arms and very much enjoyed our sojourn there.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Home Ministry Assignment
For many years overseas missionaries have been known to take a "furlough". This is commonly understood as a time to visit one's home country, visit family, report to sending churches and perhaps rest from the strain of overseas life.
Recently, I heard "furlough" being referred to as "Home Ministry Assignment", the current mission-speak for home leave.
I appreciate what this term conveys.
We are on a break from potholed roads and bland food. I have been on a break from planning meals and cooking. We are on a break from homeschooling.
Rather than thinking of this time away from Uganda as a "break" though, it is more accurate to think of it as simply, another type of assignment. "Rest" is as allusive as it is when we are serving in Uganda. We must be deliberate about our resting and breathing deeply and stepping away from work.
I will confess to you, this is not our strength. We tend to eat, sleep and breath our occupation.
But, through our years of furloughs we have tried to create moments for our family that lend themselves to rest and regrouping.
I type today from my parents dining room. Their dining room in small town USA. I have spent the last few days/weeks visiting with family, perusing old family pictures, scrapbooking said pictures and remembering. All those little and big moments that God orchestrated to shape and form me. I'm sure that will be a blog post in itself eventually, but before we get there...
I want to go back to the start of this Home Ministry Assignment. God has granted us mercies at every turn...sometimes He has just graciously heard our cries. We have certainly offered HIm many praises. He has astounded us over and over again with His Creation and reminded us of the goodness of His Spirit at work in His people. We've been loved on, encouraged and prayed over in exact moments to reveal God's timing and continuous activity in our lives.
We've needed that and praised Him for that Grace.
Over the next few weeks, travel with me as I remember some stellar moments in a physical journey over many miles.
We will begin in a desert....
Recently, I heard "furlough" being referred to as "Home Ministry Assignment", the current mission-speak for home leave.
I appreciate what this term conveys.
We are on a break from potholed roads and bland food. I have been on a break from planning meals and cooking. We are on a break from homeschooling.
Rather than thinking of this time away from Uganda as a "break" though, it is more accurate to think of it as simply, another type of assignment. "Rest" is as allusive as it is when we are serving in Uganda. We must be deliberate about our resting and breathing deeply and stepping away from work.
I will confess to you, this is not our strength. We tend to eat, sleep and breath our occupation.
But, through our years of furloughs we have tried to create moments for our family that lend themselves to rest and regrouping.
I type today from my parents dining room. Their dining room in small town USA. I have spent the last few days/weeks visiting with family, perusing old family pictures, scrapbooking said pictures and remembering. All those little and big moments that God orchestrated to shape and form me. I'm sure that will be a blog post in itself eventually, but before we get there...
I want to go back to the start of this Home Ministry Assignment. God has granted us mercies at every turn...sometimes He has just graciously heard our cries. We have certainly offered HIm many praises. He has astounded us over and over again with His Creation and reminded us of the goodness of His Spirit at work in His people. We've been loved on, encouraged and prayed over in exact moments to reveal God's timing and continuous activity in our lives.
We've needed that and praised Him for that Grace.
Over the next few weeks, travel with me as I remember some stellar moments in a physical journey over many miles.
We will begin in a desert....
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