Reality

For the past few years, I've taken the time around my birthday to look back on some of the things I've been blessed to do in my life.

This year, I'm not doing it for the mere fact that I don't think I have anything significant to add to the list. I could, of course, add that I had run off the edge of a mountain. Been in a boat that almost capsized in a storm. I had quit my well-paying job to be a full-time student. I've read countless books. Filled hundreds of pages with words. I've had more job interviews than I ever thought I'd want. I've prayed, believed, and still watched doors close to opportunities I thought were certain. I've sold even more stuff so I'd travel lighter.

I've served. Learned. Changed. Moved. Waited. Worked. I've shed some pounds. In a way, it feels like I've been spending time in autumn!

It's been a year of not only loss but also gain, though at this stage of the journey, it's hard to verbalize all I've gained.

My dissertation is moving along. Two friends with Ph.D.s in different fields recently told me on separate occasions: "The dissertation journey is a lonely journey." They spoke from experience. I can attest to the fact that working on a dissertation is possibly one of the hardest things I've done in my life.

Along the way, I've gone round and round about what I want to do with my dissertation. For a while, I thought I would want to work at a university and teach full-time. But the more I interviewed with tertiary institutes, the more I realized the activator in me would die a slow death in their mazes of bureaucracy. I could never just talk (or write) about things that need to be done. I have to be part of doing, of bringing about change in the world we live in.

And so, on the brink of another birthday, I shall continue to push in, wait, surrender, push some more, and walk believing that God is weaving something far more beautiful than I could ever hope to forge myself.

I certainly look forward to looking back from the vantage point of my 44th birthday. In the meantime, I'll do my best to enjoy this current season of seeking, shedding, changing, learning, writing, rewriting, asking, discerning & growing, knowing that even once I've completed my degree, these verbs will continue being central to my life.

Hopefully I'll have a job by then again, though, a place to call home. A place to hang my reticulated giraffe.

A Change in Perspective

I felt, the other day, what it’s like to fly. I ran off the edge of a mountain and soared, feeling the cold mountain wind directly on my face. After about five minutes, I landed in a tea plantation. Crash-landed, actually. But it didn’t hurt. I just laughed and laughed.

It was an amazing feeling, and if weren’t for the fact that the weather completely changed minutes after my take-off, I’d’ve gone up the mountain, paid another $30 and done it again.

Paragliding was one of the most amazing experiences: simply sitting in a harness, looking at the valley below with its tea plantations and the rows of traffic snaking their way over and around the mountains, some villages, and umpteen shades of green covered the hills. And in the sky was just a splash of blue from my paraglider plus a spot of yellow—my pilot’s jacket.

See, the week before, friends from church had mentioned that they had paraglided during their Easter break.

“I want to do that, too!” I blurted out.

“Oh, we can go again,” someone said.

“OK, how about next weekend?” I wondered out loud. There’s no point in wasting time when you only have a few weekends left in a country, is there?

Others piped in, a short discussion ensued, and before our ways parted minutes later, we had all agreed that we’d go to Puncak the very next weekend.

So, last weekend, after our Saturday night small group, we all squeezed into Diane’s van and headed to Sentul (a town in the mountains an hour or two outside Jakarta where the core group of adventurers live). We spent the night there and decided that the eight of us will head out earlyish the next morning, packed onto four motorbikes.

Stopping halfway to our destination to stretch our legs

Some fruit stalls on the side of the road

It was still foggy when we crossed the mountains, inadvertently joining some large bikers club. Helmets and motorbikes despite, you could spot the bules (/’boo-lays/, or foreigners) a mile away with some very, very white arms standing out in the crowd… (Rest assured, I wore my heavyish brown winter jacket for protection. I’ve seen too many scooter accidents!)

Spot the foreigners...

We fought our way through the Sunday migration of city folk going to the mountains, and we killed some time close to our destination, waiting for the fog to lift.

We killed some time by taking a side road toward Taman Safari, an outdoor safari park.
All the vendors on the side of the road sell bananas and carrots for people to feed the animals

A vendor at a tourist spot where we stopped

Just looking at all the tourist stuff

Kiptoo checked out some of the bamboo balls...

... and hung out under some of the bonsai trees

Then we went to a little tea house/restaurant. Kiptoo wanted to pose with the napkin holder,
since Sinarmas Pulp and Paper is the company that owns the school where I work...

Enjoying some jokes over our snacks.. Katie is also leaving Indonesia soon.
She's not laughing because she's happy to leave. She's laughing at the very immodest drink stirrer,
which is a very odd thing to see in this very modest country...

Sally, we discovered, has a very odd habit of putting ketchup on individual fries... Is it an Aussie thing?

When that seemed to be starting to happen, we headed farther up the mountain, disappointed to find that no flights were happening. Not yet, at least. We spent another hour or so sipping Indonesian clove tea at a mountainside warung (kiosk).

 

Finally on the mountain. But as you can see, it's way foggy. So foggy that you cannot even see Diane in the picture!
Why's Diane hiding behind Brittney and Tara??

Fun conversations over some clove tea while waiting patiently for the fog to lift

We tried some steamed bananas. It is served with chocolate and grated cheese. Kiptoo and I decided that
a) bananas should never be steamed
b) one should never put chocolate and cheese in the same dish, especially not on steamed bananas!

Brittney, Lisa, Adele and Tara. And 99 bottles of soda on the wall...

Finally, we decided to give up and head back down past the ever-growing snake of cars making their way back to the city. But then I felt it: My phone was ringing in my pocket, and Mr. Pilot Dude announced that the weather had changed, and we’d be able to fly.

“Shall we go back?” I asked my seven friends.

“Why not? We’re not too far!” our lone Aussie, Sally, suggested. The four bikes turned right around and wiggled our way through back up the mountain, only to find that it was once again shrouded in a thick fog.

I didn't want to risk losing my camera in the crazy traffic down,
so no photos of the ride down and then back up the hill...
Back at the place, we headed up the hill once more
following these guys who had been hauling building sand up the hill for hours,
and kept doing so... What a job. What a life!

Some members of the group decided to take on the zip line as a fun second option. (Having had an unforgettable zip line experience just 3 months prior, I decided to forego.) But then, as quickly as the mountain had hidden in the clouds, she lifted her veil once more.

Killing time once again by enjoying the zip line. You can see how foggy it still is!

Tara and Katie, coming in for a landing...

And it's a safe landing!

Who's next?

Coming closer...

It's Sally...

... and Lisa, happy to be back on the ground again

“Let’s fly!” the pilot exclaimed. “Who is first?” The group graciously agreed that Sally and I should go first, seeing that we were the ones leaving Indonesia the soonest.

I strapped in and only then I got a few butterflies. It’s a bit crazy running off a mountain, I thought to myself. What if the chute doesn’t open?

Suddenly, the fog lifted and we were called to gear up

We're excited to fly. Can you tell?

Here, I think I was starting to wonder if I were nuts for wanting to run off a mountain...

Sally and I, both ready to fly

Not that that’s an issue. You don’t run first and hope it opens. You stand on the mountain and some guys lift two corners. The wind does the rest. It fills the chute and almost immediately lifts you off the ground. At the same time, the pilot, who’s strapped in tandem behind you, says, “Walk!” Soon after, he’s supposed to say, “Run.” I was told not to jump under any circumstances. Just walk and run.

Except things didn’t work like that at first. A side wind twisted the chute right away, and the crew jumped to let out all the air and straighten the ropes again. I’ll admit that I felt a bit queasy right then again, wondering if this were really a safe adventure.

Here, the corners of the chute is being lifted so it can catch some air.
We're standing in the exact spot where we girls had posed early on, when you couldn't see a thing behind us

My pilot dude is fixing the ropes after they got twisted by a side wind.
Notice I'm looking less excited over there. I'm wondering if this is a good idea...

And we're almost ready to run!

Moments later, the chute once again filled with air, and we may have only run three steps before my feet were off the ground. We made several sharp turns to get into the wind well, diving hither and thither, bringing some of the same thoughts back to surface of whether or not this really was a safe thing to do… Those thoughts instantly dissipated when we straightened into a glide and sat mid-air, the verdant valley spread below us.

Off we go! We had to make several sharp turns and maneuvers to get into the wind...

It was incredible.

After a flight of close to a very long and leisurely five minutes, we approached the tea plantation with the landing strip, and I noticed a couple and their toddler walking right in the narrow pathway.

“Lift!” the pilot shouted. This was the signal to lift my legs straight forward. The next command was supposed to be, “Run!” But that one never came. We were approaching the narrow path fast, and the family below just kept walking slowly until the pilot shouted, in Indonesian, “Get out of the way!” Or so I assume, at least, judging by how fast they dived off into the tea fields to the right, and we crashed into the tea bushes to the left.

I just laughed and laughed. “You should’ve run, not sit!” the yellow-jacketed-pilot dude said with a smile, pulling me up. (I didn’t succumb to the temptation to tell him that he never told me to run like he said he would, and that I’d have proof since I had my camera rolling all the way.) I just smiled and said, “That was AMAZING!”

And then I photographed Sally coming in for her landing right behind us. Their landing was a smooth one with no obstacles on the strip.

Sally coming in for a landing

Some kids from the local village help to fold all the gear after the jumps

We were relieved of our harnesses, and told to wait patiently until we were able to drive back up the mountain. “Sorry,” yellow-jacketed-pilot dude said. “Right now, the cars can only come down the mountain. We have to wait an hour or so before our car can take you up.” Which made me extra thankful that we had come on motorbikes in the first place, since there are no weekend travel restrictions for those. The traffic-in-one-direction arrangement on the mountain is to help with flow.

Sally and I played around in the tea fields, sorry to hear that none of our friends would be able to fly after all. The wind had become too erratic. When our friends pulled up on their bikes some time later, they all assured us that they were OK with only us having flown. Everyone had had a fun day, after all, and they were determined to make the same trip back in a few weeks.

Sally's pointing out the spot where we flew from

... while I am ready to fly again!

Marlboro Dog came to check out what the crazy bule girls are doing in his field...

When we headed back to the road to be picked up by the rest of the group, I spotted a Land Rover almost like my old TDi
and decided to take a photo like I've done on some safaris in Kenya...

The hill from which we flew, from a different angle

Some of the traffic passing by. By this time, the traffic had calmed down a LOT!

We finally got picked up and then headed straight to Cimory, a famous restaurant in the area

... and then we headed back over another mountain, back to Sentul. The sunset was spectalar! I took these shots on the fly,
so pardon the wires in the frame. The colors are too good not to share them, though.
I really miss seeing amazing sunsets in Jakarta!

More of the sunset

By this time, my behind was more than ready to get off the motorbike. Diane (you see only her helmet on the right)
is an excellent driver, though. I'm glad I got to ride with her. :)

At Brittney and Leanne's house. Leanne (on the couch) couldn't join us since she had been sick all week.
You can tell how tired we are of being on motorbikes for such a long trip!

Would I paraglide Puncak again if I had the chance? You bet I would! Though there were moments when I was a bit scared, it was nothing compared to the many times my life flashed before my eyes as we weaved through oncoming traffic!

The experience was somewhat akin to when I scuba dive. Though the sound and the touch of the wind on my face was different from the sound of bubbles and cold water on my face, it’s also very similar: It’s the exhilaration of seeing the world from a completely new angle.

It’s about fresh perspective.

And that, I like.

On finding community

For me, possibly the hardest thing in Indonesia has been to find community. I have friends here, don't get me wrong. Amazing friends, some of whom I've known since Taipei. They're my family here, and I treasure them deeply. And I have some new friends from work, too. These are people with whom I've shared meals, gone to the movies, and even traveled. These are all people without whom I would've made it through my first seven months in Indonesia, and people that I will continue to treasure. They're people who cause me to think deeply about why I believe what I believe. Some of these, undoubtedly, will remain friends, even after I move on from my season as a preschool teacher.

But last weekend, something healing happened. I went to a retreat for women from all over West Java. I made new friends from all over the country. I had deeply challenging conversations about topics that I am passionate about. I listened and processed. I talked and was understood. I sang from the deepest place of my heart, but also karaoked and let my hair down. I did a high ropes course and flew down a zip line. I laughed more than I have laughed in months.

In short: I found community.

So this weekend, I was invited to go hang out with some of my new friends in a different suburb of our city. As I crawled into bed last night, it was with a smile on my heart. I felt more alive than I have in months. I am profoundly grateful for friends, new and old.

I am infinitely thankful for finding community.

Have you no scar?

Yesterday, I received heartbreaking news that dear friends of mine (from college days, we were in a music group together, and have kept in touch over the years and the oceans) were attacked this week. Their house was broken into (nothing unusual in South Africa). My friend was raped (sadly, also not unusual in SA). Her husband was taken hostage and made to drive their car out of their gated community, where he was then let go (rather unusual!)

What is also unusual about their ordeal is that Louis and Hettie, as public figures in South Africa (he is a famous gospel singer/songwriter, she a writer of parenting books), are not allowing this ordeal to rob them of their purpose in life, of pointing others to God.

As I've been praying for them, I thought of a poem by Amy Carmichael that has ministered greatly to me during difficult times.

Jesus speaks to us:

Have you no scar? No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand?
I hear you sung as mighty in the land.
I hear them hail your bright ascendant star.
Have you no scar?
Have you no wound?

Yet, I was wounded by the archers, spent,
leaned me against the tree to die,
and rent -- by ravenous beasts that encompassed me
I swooned.
Have you no wound?
No wound? No scar?

Yes, as the master shall the servant be,
and pierced are the feet that follow Me,
but yours are whole.
Can he have followed far -- who has no wound? No scar?
Can she have followed far -- who has no wound? No scar?

If you would, please join me in praying for my friends as they continue to walk through this trial, and especially as they continue with the arrangements for Turn2God, a major prayer/praise event on March 6, something they've been working on for a while...

Lost

This morning, I got news that friends had lost their baby girl during birth.

My heart has been aching for them, and over and over, I keep thinking what an odd euphemism it is to "lose" someone.

I may never understand what it is like to carry a baby for 9 months and then come home empty-handed. I may never understand any of the emotions my friends are having to deal with this week. Yet my heart aches for them, and I face a mix of emotions someplace between anger and confusion.

I don't understand why a tragedy such as this happens.

What I do know that God is still God, and I believe without a doubt that his heart aches for them, too. I know that to him, little Isla is not lost.

I wonder how parents find peace in a situation such as this. I think only God can carry anyone through a valley such as this.

Even though I go through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me... (Ps. 23:4)

Please pray with me for my friends. As a general announcement has not yet been made, I do not want to mention their names here. God knows who they are, though. Let's carry them in prayer.

Looking back

(Some of this is a repost. Some is new.)

I've walked on the Great Wall,
and dived the Barrier Reef.
I've hiked the Knysna forest
and I've soared over the Serengeti plains.

I’ve hung on for dear life on jeepneys in Manilla,
and in matatus in Nairobi.
I've dodged potholes in the Rift Valley,
and gotten lost in Taiwan.

I've explored the back streets of Manhattan,
and have known the freeways of LA.
I've bargained for fuel in the Congo,
and pleaded with police in Mozambique.

I have walked on a glacier in Alaska,
and sailed around islands
in the mid-summer heat.
I’ve camped on the beach in Niece,
and had dinner in a castle in Talinn.

I’ve sat sat in tukuls in Sudan,
and ghops in Korr/Kenya.
I've heard the people's stories
and kept them in my heart.

I've visited around fires in the Bushveld,
and danced around ones in the Maasai Mara.
I've stood on Table Mountain,
on the rim of the Grand Canyon,
on the Twin Towers
and climbed the stairs of Lady Liberty.
I've picnicked under the Eiffel Tower
and walked on the Sydney Harbor Bridge.

I've swum with wild dolphins,
and watched green turtles lay eggs by my door.
I've watched foxes care for their young,
and lionesses teach their cubs to hunt.
I’ve been chased by a rhino and an elephant.

I learned how to love driving in really bad mud.
I’ve been to more countries than I am old.

I've survived a massive earthquake,
typhoons, and floods.
I had a ticket for a plane that crashed.

I’ve sung in the most beautiful concert halls in the world,
and to an audience who could not hear.

I've lived among people in poverty,
and among ones who have too much.
I’ve had tea with Presidents,
and chai with friends
for whom it was all they had at home.

I have always had enough.

I've taken pictures in the rice paddies in Taiwan,
and in the deserts in Namibia, Kenya, and the USA.
I've had my camera confiscated,
and my voice silenced.

Notwithstanding, I've chosen to speak.

I've watched people die,
delivered a decomposed body to a family,
and have seen a baby being born.
I've seen the dead come back to life,
and those who think they live, slip away.

I've cried hard, and have laughed harder.
I have known and been known.
I've been tempted. I've succumbed.
I've resisted. I have known grace.
I have failed, I have hurt.
I have succeeded, and rejoiced.

I have loved, and been loved.
I have been blessed.
I have laughed with strangers
And have made lonely neighbors smile.
I’ve taught adults and kids alike.

I've been called talkative and quiet,
passionate, adventuresome, intense,
even a bit of an activist.

I’ve been mugged and been conned.
I’ve been attacked by a mob
and have stared death in the eye.

I have survived.

And so, I'll keep speaking for those without a voice.
I'll keep asking questions.
I'll keep taking photos and telling people's stories.
I'll keep sharing that which God is teaching me.
I'll keep living life to the fullest.

I'll choose no other way.

***
Today, I am 41. Last year, I wrote about some of the things I've had the joy of doing in life. I looked at that list again, added some things.

The bottom line? For me, life with God is an amazing adventure! Some uncertainties despite.

This time last year, I was in Nairobi with no idea what was lying ahead. I only knew God gave me total peace about moving on. A year later, I do not regret the move. I still don't know what's ahead after I've completed my studies, but for now, I'll continue to choose to enjoy life to the fullest.

Thanks for being part of my journey.

Perspective

Last weekend, I was listening to a Mosaic podcast (while lying in a hammock by the beach, having just scuba dived). I had just read a chapter of one of my text books and rewarded myself for doing so by listening to the aforementioned podcast.

In a lesson from a series on the beatitudes, Erwin McManus says, "Joy is not something you find when the circumstances change. It's something that changes the circumstances."

In the past 6 months, I've especially found this to be true. During my time of transition to a completely new world, I could find plenty to grumble about. But that won't change a thing. I'd just be unpleasant to be around.

Hence, I've chosen joy. And bit by bit, I've seen how God's used that to open my eyes to the blessings around me. And more and more, good things happen. Like the jobs I have, and the place I now live. And opportunities that come by that I embrace with both arms wide open. Such as the unexpected diving trip, to name but one of many fun opportunities I have chosen to embrace.

I was skimming some of my friends' blogs this evening, and I've noticed that just like me, my friends choose to look at challenges from a different perspective.

It's worth reading Marcia's experience trying to cook a meal the other night, or Jen's challenges in adjusting to a new life in Bukavu, Congo.

It's all a matter of perspective.

Michael J. Fox says it's a matter of looking up.

I agree.

I choose to look Up to the One who came to give us life in abundance.

Peace

I was just a tad frustrated two days ago with the lack of movement on the job front. Granted, I've only been on the island a week, and I had visited with places where I wanted to work. I had only been waiting one week for an answer, so that's absolutely no reason to be frustrated. But if you put it in the bigger scope of things, of me resigning my job in Kenya at the end of September and starting the job search way back in October, well, then it might make sense that five months later, the waiting game is getting a bit old...

As I spent time with God before starting the day, though, I read Psalms 16, and was filled with immense peace about the day and the ongoing journey. Here's how David put it:

¹ Keep me safe, O God,
for I have come to you for refuge.

² I said to the Lord, “You are my Master!
Every good thing I have comes from you.”
⁵ Lord, you alone are my inheritance, my cup of blessing.
You guard all that is mine.
⁶ The land you have given me is a pleasant land.
What a wonderful inheritance!

⁷ I will bless the Lord who guides me;
even at night my heart instructs me.
⁸ I know the Lord is always with me.
I will not be shaken, for he is right beside me.

⁹ No wonder my heart is glad, and I rejoice.
My body rests in safety.

¹¹ You will show me the way of life,
granting me the joy of your presence
and the pleasures of living with you forever.

Verse 11 especially spoke to my heart. As I stepped out into the busy-ness of the city, my heart truly was at peace, and I was looking forward to simply enjoying "the joy of God's presence" throughout the day.

I won't bore you with all the details of the day, but by the end of the day, I had news that I've been accepted as a substitute teacher at Taipei American School. This is an excellent school, and being a sub is perfect since it allows me flexibility in my schedule to accommodate for my studies. Plus I can use the school's libraries to sit and work on my studies when I'm not subbing. Now I just need to pray for good hours at the school, that they'd be able to use me a lot! :)

Next: Find a place to live. I searched various directories till deep into the night, and sent out some inquiries. This morning, I made some follow-up calls to people who had already responded. I had a delightful visit with the first lady I called about a room! She's American, has one younger American roommate, and the apartment is about a minute's walk to school! It's perfect! As we visited, we discovered that we have a lot of mutual friends (people who had already left the island). I'm heading there this afternoon to see the room, but I'm pretty sure I'll be moving in on Saturday morning!

After that, I made a foll0w-up call with the Taipei Philharmonic Chorus. I had sung with them before and had inquired about joining them again. They told me I'm very welcome back, and rehearsal is this evening. We're performing Mendelsohn's Elijah in a month, on April 7! This oratorio is one of my favorite pieces! This is where we're performing.

So, in a span of just more than 24 hours, I have a job, a place to live, and some culture!

Needless to say, I indeed have joy. And peace that for now, this is where I'm supposed to be.

On a completely different note, I just got news last night that the cow we got the Sifunas died of West Coast fever. I am disappointed by the news, especially since that's something completely preventable. But there's nothing I can do about it. The cow is dead.

Waiting

The Sacrament of Waiting

Slowly
she celebrated the sacrament of letting go.
First she surrendered her green,
then the orange, yellow, and red
finally she let go of her brown.
Shedding her last leaf
she stood empty and silent, stripped bare.
Leaning against the winter sky
she began her vigil of trust.

Shedding her last leaf
she watched its journey to the ground.
She stood in silence
wearing the color of emptiness, 
her branches wondering;
How do you give shade with so much gone?

And then,
the sacrament of waiting began.
The sunrise and sunset watched with tenderness.
Clothing her with silhouettes
they kept her hope alive.

They helped her understand that
her vulnerability,
her dependence and need,
her emptiness,
her readiness to receive
were giving her a new kind of beauty.
Every morning and every evening they stood in silence
and celebrated together
the sacrament of waiting.

by the Benedictine nun, Macrina Wiederkehr

Posted today on inward/outward

Not surprisingly, this poem really ministered to my heart this morning. It was good to be reminded that this is but a season of waiting, and as I continue to surrender to Christ, he will bring forth new life. 

Very Important Update

My dear friends,

I've been putting off writing this update, hoping that I can provide you with more details. However, even though I don't have all the details yet, I know that I need to share with you as you've been journeying with me for the past three years.

As I have been considering the area of stewardship recently, I started evaluating my own role in ministry, and whether or not I was being a good steward of God’s gifts to me through my role at ELI.

I believe God is calling me in a different direction, an area of more teaching and mentoring, an area where I can use that which God has been teaching me over the past several years in order to challenge others.

As I spent time seeking God's guidance, he lay the following passages on my heart:

2 Tim 1:6
... I remind you to stir up [rekindle, fan into flame] 
the gift of God
 that is within you...



1 Tim 4:14 
Do not 
neglect the gift 
that is within you...


1 Pet 4:10
 Like good stewards
 of the manifold grace of God,
 serve one another
 with whatever gift
 each of you has received.



Isaiah 26:4 
Trust in the LORD 
forever, 
for in the LORD God 
you have 
an everlasting rock.



Deut. 1:30 
The LORD your God 
who goes before you 
is the one who will fight for you,
 just as he did in Egypt [SA, Taiwan, US, Kenya]
 before your very eyes,
 and in the wilderness [of Kenya],
 where you saw how the LORD your God carried you, 
... until you reached this place.



There are several ministries I am looking into, and I would appreciate your prayers for guidance and clarity.

As I've been praying about the changes (and in particular about resigning prior to having another position!), God lay the picture on my heart of a bridge across a river. Except, the bridge is not yet built. As I step out in faith, I believe God will put the planks in place. In this, I have found solace in passages such as Ps. 18 (specifically verse 36) and Isaiah 43: 1-5a.

This week, I get to pack up my personal belongings at Kipkaren and say good-bye to the staff and children. I'll then go to Ilula, first of all to host the second annual children's day event on Saturday.

Next week, I'll be saying good-bye to our friends in Ilula, after which I'll be driving to Nairobi, from where I will continue the job search. I will visit various ministries and will let you know as soon as I know what's next. I am not only looking in Kenya, but am also interviewing ministries in other places.

Thank you for your support in the past three years, and thank you for your continued support as I step out to follow the One who calls us.

In His service,
Adele

Questions you may have:

1. Will you continue to help the Sifuna family?
For the time being, yes. The goal is not to have them be dependent on me, but be self-sufficient. One of you recently sent me a gift which I'll be using to purchase a cow for the family. That would provide them with a daily source of income.

2. What happens to your house?
The house in Ilula has been used for visitors. It will remain the property of ELI, and they will continue to use it to host visitors. The house in Kipkaren will be turned into an office, and the furniture will be dispersed among ELI Kipkaren ministries.

3. What about the car?
While I'm continuing my job search from Nairobi, I will be able to use the vehicle. After that, ELI will decide how they can best put it to use.

4. And Flannel?
I have found a very good home for her with the kids in Ilula. In fact, when I told Hillary and his siblings that their parents had agreed for them to have Flannel, the room exploded with cheers. They will take very good care of her.

5. Who will do your work at ELI?
I've been working with a team of Kenyans to train them as a hospitality team. Other missionaries, too, will be stepping up and helping with the debriefing and challenges of having a team on the ground. Staff at the US office will be taking over the newsletters, while missionaries at Kipkaren will maintain the ELI blogs.

6. What about your support? Do we keep sending support to ELI?
I greatly appreciate your ongoing support. I will let you know as soon as possible where you and I will be going next.

The Problem with Death

This morning, during our staff devotions, our director spoke about some of the challenges brought on by death. Death itself is painful to the community. But the challenges that follow are often even more painful.

Take Amin's family. His daughter died about 10 days ago. She was a young, single mother of three. She hemorrhaged while giving birth to her baby. The family rushed her to our clinic on foot, across the river, carrying the bleeding young mother on a tarp. Our nurses tried all they could to save her life, but she had already been bleeding for several hours, and there was nothing we could do to help. For that family, this was the fourth of nine grown children to die.

Today, I joined our three home-based care interns on their visit to the family.

The grandma (Rosemary) introduced us to Michelle (probably named after our nurse who had been providing ante-natal care). We sat under the banana tree and visited about the situation. The grandma's taking care of six orphans. She can take care of Michelle, but just needed help with formula, diapers, some clothing. Our home-based care team were buying formula today, plus bottles, plus clothing, diapers.

Those are things you can buy.

You cannot buy love. And this grandma obviously loved her grandchildren.

Some other relatives were trying to convince her that it would be easier to find someone to raise the baby for them, but she was adamant that she can do it.

I was strangely proud of Rosemary.

She didn't ask for money. But she also didn't pretend to have it all together. "I just need help with milk and clothing for the baby."

The home-based care team will continue to follow up, to check in on the baby as well as the other orphans.

They literally live right across the river from me.

As I held the little one, I could feel my lap getting warm. And it wasn't because the sun was beating down on us now that the rains have ended. Her urine was seeping through the rags her grandma had used as a diaper, and through the little blanket she was wrapped in. And through my skirt, onto my legs.

What do you do in a situation like this? You simply sit there. You keep holding the baby. You keep praying good things for the little one. You deal with the wet skirt when you're at home.

And what do you do about the baby? You thank God for a grandma like Rosemary, who, though she has very little in worldly terms, has a heart full of love for her grandchildren, and for God. You give out of that which God has provided for you. And you pray that this little one will grow up knowing that she is loved.

That indeed is the problem with death. Especially in Africa, where too many children are left orphaned by preventable causes such us death during childbirth, or malaria, or TB, or other opportune infections because of HIV/AIDS. They are left in the care of grandparents with no source of income, or other relatives who are already taking care of several other orphans.

And the problem doesn't go away. That's why groups like ELI will always have an enormous task before us. Because death simply is part of life.

Normal

I got to make new friends today. Since I was in town, some other missionaries invited me over to their place for brunch. I had met them not too long ago at the Eldoret airport once when they picked up a team, but we've never found the time to visit. Today, over brunch, we simply got to visit, drink 3 cups of great coffee, laugh, listen and dream.

I felt so normal.

It was a good feeling.

Unfortunately, I had to leave after an hour to go and take photos at the ELI event. But that hour of normalcy was refreshing.

Other events of my day included the graduation, interviewing students, visiting with an intern who is leaving, and spending an hour at my mechanic's place since my brakes seemed to jam every time I put the car in reverse... Not a good thing. But an hour and $3 later, the problem seems to be fixed.

Now I get to spend my evening catching up on reading. And killing mosquitoes since I forgot that I left my door open earlier. Perhaps writing the article on today's graduation. (I'll be sure not to mention in the article the student who was asked to give a 3-minute speech on what he had learned, and 20 minutes later--while he was still on page 1 of 6--the MC cut him short.)

Somewhere in between, I might throw something in the pot to eat.

Mixed Feelings

I'm thankful for
dental floss,
electric toothbrushes,
a somewhat-flushable toilet,
an electric shower head that works when there's enough water pressure,
a solid roof over my head,
a clean bed,
Lucy who helps keep my house clean
and washes my laundry by hand
so I don't have to spend 2 days a week trying to do so!

I'm grateful for
for fresh fruit
and clean water,
for electricity
and a satellite connection to the Internet,
for cell phones,
for the ability to read
and to reason,
for opportunities to have seen the world,
for God's guidance through good times and tough times.

And tonight, I miss
a variety of friends.
* I'm thankful for my friends here, don't get me wrong.*
I just miss variety.

I miss my friends who make me belly-laugh,
who know when not to take me seriously,
when to tell me the truth,
when to simply listen,
when to pray,
and when to share their hearts.
Or when to simply play cards and talk about nothing important.

I miss the ease of life in some other parts of the world,
of driving over to friends' home
rather than have to cross a stream and hope not to topple in
cause the rocks you step on wiggle under your feet.

Yet I love the beauty of the walk to the said friends' home,
the sound of the river and the critters that come with it,
neighbors who greet you along the way,
the laughter of the children playing on our compound,
and the enthusiasm with which students are rehearsing for tomorrow's item in church.

Life here is good and it's hard.
It's a dream and at times it's tough.
It's a calling and it's a season.

Chicken Anatomy 101 ... and The Art of Making Friends

Today, I stripped the guts out of a few chickens. For real. I didn't kill the said birds, nor did I de-feather them. But I walked into the training center kitchen this afternoon, where staff were busy preparing for tomorrow's graduation. Which included the gutting of a half dozen chickens.

We're expecting 500 guests tomorrow for the SACDP graduation, and you don't send people home without feeding them. They will have traveled from far. The family & friends of the graduates (as well as any curious neighbors) will be fed rice and "soup" (sauce with perhaps a bit of meat in it, if you're lucky). The guests of honor (the chief of the village, the speaker for the event, the ELI Board and about 50 other very lucky people) will be fed rice pilaf, chicken, beef, and sodas.

So I found Miriam and friends gutting chickens. "May I join you?" I asked. There's nothing like bonding with Kenyans ladies in a kitchen.

"Have you ever slaughtered a chicken?" they wanted to know.

"Never! Will you teach me?"

Which they did. Miriam showed me how to cut open the backside ever so carefully. "Don't rupture anything! Now carefully cut the hole bigger and bigger so you can get your whole hand into the back end."

"Don't cut your finger!" Oops. Too late. The knife is terribly blunt for a job like this, and my knuckle is stinging. It's but a flesh wound, I console myself.

"Pole," they say. (Sorry.)

"Let's continue," and I do my best not to be a weakling. (Hours later, the cut on my thumb knuckle is bleeding and throbbing. But I'd never complain to my Kenyan neighbors about a triviality like that. It would only prove that we wazungu really are chickens.)

Next, you cut off the neck. "Don't rupture the crop. That will smell badly." Succeeding at the simple procedure of removing the crop (how on earth does one chicken eat so much corn?!) makes me feel like I've just mastered the art of kung-fu.

"Now, put your hand in the opening you had cut in the back. Just use two fingers. Release all the intestines. Be careful not to..." You know the schpiel by now. Don't rupture anything. But how on earth do you pry loose all the guts and not rupture something!

"Make sure you can see your fingers all the way at the neck, so you can pull out the esophagus." Done. The esophagus, heart, spleen, liver, stomach, the large and small intestines, the rectum all come out with a huge plomp! But they're still attached to the final exit.

"Now, you cut that out." No more warnings of rupturing anything!

The final steps are to clean the carcass by getting the lungs out. They sit like two little pink sponges, tucked in tightly in the rib cage. There are also little bubbly thingies stuck to the back bone. "What are those bubbles?"

They laugh at my ignorance. "Those are eggs. These used to be layers. But now they're old."

And dead, I think. But I don't say it, 'cause my sense of humor just doesn't translate. And then I get to fillet open the stomach ("That's the grinder," my friends inform me) and remove the contents and the inner lining.

I feel like an accomplished concert pianist, wanting to make a bow. But I don't. I realize that this is a simple procedure that my friends have performed since they were adolescents. I honestly don't mind that I've had to wait for today to do this and learn from my friends.

"Here's another one. See if you can do this on your own. This is your test." I'm glad to say I passed. With honors, they say. But I think they're just being polite.

Later, after preparing my own chicken for dinner (simple: take the thawed chicken out of the plastic bag, remove the plastic bag of gizzards and keep for my helper, and pop the chicken in the toaster oven), I go for a walk on the compound. I hear laughter from the kitchen. My new friends are sitting down, having a cup of chai. "Join us!" they invite me. Which I do. I try to follow the conversation in Swahili, and ask Miriam every so often what a word means. I'm learning, even though it's taking time.

Walking back to my home, I peek into my neighbor's home. "Rebecca, do you have dinner plans? Not yet? Join me. And bring anyone of your choice."

During dinner with Rebecca and Ruto, they ask about my music. "Where does it come from?" I introduce them to the strange world of an iPod. Conversation becomes more serious, and Ruto asks, "Aren't you lonely here?"

As singles, they, too, can understand some of the loneliness we all face. We end the evening by praying together. They had shared with me some of their burdens, and together, we take them before the throne of our God who knows our hearts, our struggles, our desires.

I didn't get all the tasks done on my list for today, but I thank God that the spontaneous events that did occur today (especially those that I don't get to write about here), ones that were obviously on his agenda for me today.

And I'm thankful that nothing ruptured. In fact, the opposite happened. My heart was connected with those of some of my neighbors through simple acts of community and friendship.

For that, I'm infinitely thankful. It was worth the cut on my thumb. In the process, my neighbors were reminded that when cut, we all bleed just the same.

Peace

Peace is a deep disposition of the heart.

It is humility,
an ability to let go of the need to be right
in our own eyes or the eyes of others,
an ability based on the knowledge
that our rightness or wrongness in any issue
is totally irrelevant to God’s love for us
or our neighbor.
The peace that comes with claiming our self in God
is the foundation of our ability
to carry God’s reconciliating love to others
in the most humble places
and humble, everyday ways.

I read this quote this morning by church historian Roberta Bondi and it stuck in my heart. Even as I dealt with some painful cultural challenges today, I can go to bed with peace in my heart...

Friday Night Live

I believe in many parts of the world, Friday night means the work week is over, that you can kick back and relax, perhaps catch a movie with friends (or even go on a date, imagine!), and look forward to two days of pure relaxation, of doing whatever pleases your heart.

In some places where I've stayed, I'd get up early on Saturdays and go to farmers' markets to buy fresh-baked goods and home-grown vegetables. I'd go for breakfast with friends and enjoy the day in the garden, or wherever the road takes me.

Here, Friday nights aren't much different than other nights. I had a colleague over for dinner. Caught up on children's home blog posts since our power was out all day. Went to encourage kitchen staff. Chatted with the intern about what he's learning. Now, I get to finish the second half of the text book I was supposed to finish last night, but couldn't due to power outages.

Tomorrow, I could go to an all-day AIDS campaign. I am not going since I'm behind on reading. On Sunday, I'll sleep in a little, spend my devotion time in my gazebo by the river, then head out to the 3-hour church service, a stone's throw from my door. I might be asked to take colleagues to town to catch a bus.

I miss the variety weekends bring in cities and towns bigger than a rural village. I miss the freedom of wheels to take me places to escape. I miss my friends and family tonight.

But Flannel's here. She's been a great companion, and I know she's happy I'm stuck at home.

The Salvation Army Band is playing to their hearts' content in our training center hall. Some of my sweet colleagues would say, "Isn't that wonderful?" They can go on for hours, playing every tune in their repertoire. Again and again. But the always-a-tint-off-key sounds floating into my room, droning out the soothing music I had playing, is too much for me tonight. And they'll start playing again tomorrow morning at 7:00. I'm complaining, I know. Right now, I'm not going to apologize for complaining. I want to be out with friends. Tomorrow will be a better day.