Week 1

Week one is a mixed bag, as most week one's are anywhere I suppose.  Because we've visited Kijabe so many times, even stayed here for periods of weeks to months over the years, because we've lived in Africa longer than anywhere else, because we know this is not as difficult a place to manage as Bundibugyo, because we've moved here for a whole spectrum of good reasons . . . there is a sense of expectation I carry that this must be a relatively minor adjustment.  And in some ways it is minor.  There is a cushion, and insulation from Africa, that exists in this American community.  Well, to a certain extent anyway.

But every transition costs energy and emotion.  We all pay a price.  Scott is spending hours searching on line for a used vehicle, going into town to look at notice boards and check out used cars, making phone calls.  And hours trying to set us up on a decent internet connection.  If you thought the presence of 100 families and even full-time IT employees meant this would not be much of an issue (as I did), we would both be wrong. The famed fiber-optic cable that reached East Africa runs a few kilmoters up the road, but there is no connection here.  The hospital has a server that is erratic and slow, and we spent about two hours with their IT person this morning trouble-shooting their wireless network, which seems to be non-functional.  The school seems to have a better system but does not allow "lower station" families to use it.  People buy little USB port modems that work fairly well but eat through the money in a non-sustainable way, charging per bit of information accessed.  So, having been spoiled by a few months in America, we are now slamming up against the reality of poor and expensive internet connection, and realizing how much we lean on it.  Caleb's cost is probably the jarring conjunction of the two heretofore separate worlds of school and family, being free from dorm rules but tied to family obligations.  Julia's cost came in the I'm-in-over-my-head first day of band, and we're taking a step back and working out some music lessons.  All in all she's doing well, especially after the soccer coach called last night after the first few practices and told her she's on the JV team.  Yeah!!  Jack's cost is just the tension of remembering assignments and books and duties for 7 classes all in different rooms and times.  He already got one warning for leaving his Bible in his locker during Bible class, and his geography class assigned an 11 page report on Kenya to include history, religion, tribal groups, towns, animals, birds, political structure .. with references . . that has him feeling pretty intimidated.  So he's anxious about doing everything right.

My cost?  Hmmm.  Probably battling the expectation that I should know what I'm doing, in the home-making (literally) and medical departments, sooner rather than later.  I've been waiting to invest in a home, and I'm waiting some more, and wondering if I'm hoping for too much.  I feel a little tenuous and lost, and hesitant to commit.  They typical newcomer sense that I should probably be doing something that everyone else is doing only I don't know what that is.  And more tired than I should, though sleep is slowly regulating, the altitude and the emotional edge in the family in general drains me.  

So that's the report on week 1.  Scott and I did spend a day in Nairobi and managed to buy many gallons of paint to spur on the process of readying the "new" house.  We even noted that we UNDERSTOOD a few phrases of phone conversation overheard while waiting for a clerk in one of the stores--Swahili has begun!  I go through the lessons constantly translating into Lubwisi and English at the same time, trying not to let the Lubwisi be completely smothered by Swahili.  And the highlight of the week, dinner with the Chedesters, a full-circle from our days in Uganda, being welcomed in a big way (a special chicken dish which would be the A#1 guest food in Uganda, and 2 strawberry pies which would be remarkable anywhere) by people who actually know us.  Nice.

Keep praying for the right vehicle to pop up, for our Swahili diligence and progress, for the house to be ready and settled soon.  And more importantly for the Sudan Referendum to begin constructively and peacefully on Sunday, for our Sudan team in diaspora now to hold on in hope, for our Bundi team about to receive a visit from a supporting church in the US, for CSB hiring new teachers and getting ready to start the year, for the blood bank to supply and save lives at Nyahuka Health Center, or Luke working on grant proposals for a study in Kenya next summer.  All the places our hearts try to keep, even while we are here!

First Day of School 2011

Today Caleb returned to his normal 11th grade classes after a month break (casual, no big deal, glad to be back, reconnecting with friends, more of a homecoming for him). And Jack and Julia spent their first day in 8th and 9th grade, actually their first day of a generally American school ever, except for a part-time preschool for Julia when she was 4. They came home chatty, encouraged about a lot of things (like the fact that they knew all the answers on the Geometry quiz, or the wild story their Biology teacher told of being accosted by bandits in a game park). The biggest stress was band for Julia, where she felt hopelessly behind as a beginner clarinet player, so we have to review that. Otherwise they are predictably tired, the strain of new place, new names, new people, new directions, new rules, new expectations, new food, new everything takes its toll. They miss Uganda, especially RMS. Keep them in your hearts as they move through their days, juggling text books and finding a locker and figuring out where to change for PE and what kind of paper the teacher wants homework assignments written on and all those things that will be second nature in a few weeks. Julia starts soccer practice tomorrow, too, she missed try-outs at the end of first term but we hope she'll be included in one of the teams.

Meanwhile our day consisted of Swahili study, laundry (a washing machine! and a dry high-altitude climate means the clothes dry on the line by noon!), cleaning, baking, Scott catching up on several issues as a FD, emails, searching on line for used cars, phone calls . . . and in the late afternoon, finally, the key became available to peek in the house we've been assigned. Like everything here it's old, and worn, cinderblock construction with "hospital-yellow" decade-old painted plaster inside, no furniture, no appliances, bare bones. It's not one of the larger or nicer houses here, but it IS one of the best locations for kids going back and forth to RVA activities. And we're all pretty excited about it, having our "own" place this soon in our stay is a huge gift. It will take a few weeks for some basic repairs and a repaint, but we're praying the hospital work crew is motivated, because after almost a year of slowly packing up, saying goodbyes, moving out of our home of 17 years, being in limbo, about six months now of suitcases and temporary stays . . the idea of moving INTO a house where we can stay for a few years is tantalizingly appealing.

To end the day well: notes for Jack and Julia from some of their beloved former teachers, bookends of their entire Uganda school experience, Miss Becky and Aunt JD and MIss Ashley and Miss Anna. Thanks for remembering their big transition today.

The Place of the Winds . . .

. . is the literal meaning for Kijabe. About 7000 feet high, perched on a steep escarpment overlooking the Rift Valley, below a pine-covered ridge, this is a sprawling ancient mission station. Hospitals, printing press, Bible school, nursing school, missionary kid school, dental clinic, maintenance facilities, water tanks, housing, housing, and more housing. Blending into a small town with its dukas, garage, post-office and gas station. A hundred missionary families I've been told, and I have no idea how many Kenyan families, working and living here. Most of the construction is cinderblock and cement, low-rise, though recently the space has been so squeezed that the newer buildings are three-story apartment complexes. One is under construction right next door, I can hear the whine of a saw and the pounding of hammers. But mostly I hear the wind. Rattling the windows, pounding against the walls, howling around the corners, rustling through the trees, day and night. Mid-day it eases up to a breeze, then gains momentum through the evening until the peak intensity in the darkness, when it sounds like we will be blown right off the hill. We shiver under layers of blankets as the cold air seeps through closed windows and flaps the curtains. Caleb says it is a soothing sound, like living next to the sea. That will take some getting used to for me. This is the same continent as Bundibugyo, but so far removed. We used to steam in the rainforest, mold and mud and heavy heat. Now we are high and cool and dry, brilliant sun and blue sky, expansive views and fine red dust. Ah, as Scott always says, there's a REASON a hundred families live here and two in Bundibugyo. Well, I know it's not all the climate, it's also the hundred years of sacrifice that have established this as a Kingdom fortress. I can see the cemetery from my bedroom window, and many of the graves are of the children of the early missionaries. Always a cost, and I respect the high price others have paid so that we can land here in a furnished apartment, to enroll our kids in a very decent school, and begin work in a high quality hospital.

But back to wind. The words for "wind" and "spirit" I think are the same in Hebrew. Certainly Jesus compares the Spirit to the wind in John 3. And the Holy Spirit's entrance at Pentecost is described with a sound like a rushing wind. But I always thought of those comparisons in terms of subtlety. The wind, unseen, moving, coming, entering. Two days at Kijabe and I see a whole new side to the Spirit as wind: powerful, a force that can not be stopped, cleansing, blowing away clouds of doubt, clearing the atmosphere for the penetration of the sun's warmth, wild, uncontrollable, inescapable. Sometimes harsh, sometimes overwhelming, sometimes destroying, making ready for the new creation. This is our place, for the next few years. Kijabe, the place of the winds. Praying the Spirit blows through us here.

New Year, New Life

Exploding firecrackers, claps, and shouts echoed in the darkness of Nairobi at midnight last night, just as we settled into our beds at the Mayfield Guest house. We're back, after a very straightforward and direct trip. Thanks for prayers for that--we all had seats, all our luggage made it, and though most of the guitar-case latches were undone by the time it hit the luggage belt the guitar was still inside, not something one takes for granted here.

First impressions: the quality of the sunlight. Coming from the winter solstice in North America, with its thin cool slanted rays of horizon-hugging sun, to the equator where the brightness is once again a wholesome and welcome surprise, full and intense light. Nairobi is uncharacteristically orderly for the holidays, little traffic. We dragged ourselves out at 10 am to Java House, and met no less than four different RVA/Kijabe-associated families doing the same thing. Nice. Though this does not feel like home the way Uganda does, there is hope. We ordered water with our breakfast, and the waitress asked, do you want that cold? Yes. (Though we would have liked a touch of warmth in our freezing almost-midnight showers last night.) Ahh, we are back in Africa.

Leaving America with a child still there is an excruciating experience, for sure. Strangers and aliens, felt more acutely than ever, in a sun-drenched land with the fragrance of cooking fires and the brilliance of bougainvillea. Heading out now to Kijabe, not sure of our next internet opportunity, but thankful for prayers that have carried us this far.

Out the Door . . .

 . . in another hour and a half.  Essentials going into the carry-ons now:  dramamine for travel sickness, pudding mixes and pine nuts and pecans and chocolate for cheering us through our first few weeks, a Bible and a change of clothes, and the Yale course catalogue for long-distance dialogue with Luke as he starts classes in early January, the SAT prep book in case I can get Caleb to prepare for the exam, and our new Kindle.  Scott has carefully weighed and measured our ten suitcases, keyboard and guitar.  Too scattered for closing words of wisdom other than thanks.  We would not have reached this moment without our army of pray-ers and supporters.  I moved through the five-month HMA in a fog much of the time.  It's been four years since my last set of America goodbyes.  Next post will be from Africa once again.  Prayers appreciated for:

-smooth travel (no snow here in VA but the world is still reeling from a week of storms)

-God's grace to Luke who is now being left alone in America for the first time, not yet 18, another two days with Grammy then off on his own for the Boston Winter Conference (Christian student meeting) Jan 1-5 and then back to Yale.  Lots of unknowns:  classes to enroll in, major to choose, something meaningful to do Spring Break and in the Summer, general survival. . . 

-God's grace to my mom, who has become accustomed to a rowdy houseful.  It's going to be quiet.

-Our purchase of a decent serviceable used truck in Kenya.

-Friends and sports and community and inclusion for our kids at RVA, and Swahili-learning focus for us in the first two weeks of January.

-That we would be a blessing to Kijabe Hospital and World Harvest MIssion as we move forward.

For the world's good, and God's glory.

Post-Christmas, Flee to Africa

Well, why not, after all, Jesus did.

At some point not too long after his birth, Jesus' parents received instructions to rise in the night and flee into Egypt. As if being IDP's was not enough (Nazareth to Bethlehem), a post-partum plunge into being refugees as well, crossing borders, heading to a far country, one with historical overtones of oppression.

We are also on the post-Christmas path to Africa. In 48 hours we will be boarding a flight to Kenya via Amsterdam, with our suitcases and new piano keyboard (thanks to grandparents), with our peculiar assortment of essentials: a few books (but mostly a Kindle!), guitar, and computers and clothes and chocolate. Another pass through the portal into the unknown. New community, new job, new language, new school, new unspoken rules and unwritten protocols, new methods for shopping for food or finding fellowship.

Vacillating between numb and stressed, anxious and thankful. Said goodbye to all the cousins today, my sister and her husband, who have generously cared for us and rearranged their holiday to be with us. Talked to my aunt on the phone, with the sobering awareness that her health and age could mean that by next visit, she won't be here. Visits from two of the three close family friends (almost-parents) I grew up with. And as we sort and throw out and tie up and book boarding passes, half our heart (or more) remains with Luke, thinking about next term's classes and his new job and how he'll spend the next holiday.

But when I take a deep breath I can see God's provision. He sent the magi with their portable valuable gifts, gold and spices. Cash for the journey and setting up a new home. And He sends us with ours, too. An hour ago we had a phone call from the missions committee of a church we've never even visited: Scott's parents ended up moving across the country to the same town as the mother of the girl one of his med school classmates married, who reconnected us to that classmate and wife, who took our story to their church, who met this last week and decided to give us two very generous gifts. One for our support, and one for our vehicle, in fact the exact remaining amount we were hoping to receive before we left. After a Fall of marginal finances, which carries its own sort of doubt we are very grateful for the generous outpouring of the last month. The magi don't come until the crisis is at hand. This is the way God works.

"The Dream Isaiah Saw"

Lions and oxen will sleep in the hay,

leopards will join with the lambs as they play,

wolves will be pastured with cows in the glade,

blood will not darken the earth that God made.

Little child whose bed is straw,

take new lodgings in my heart.

Bring the dream Isaiah saw:

life redeemed from fang and claw.

Peace will pervade more than forest and field:

God will transfigure the Violence concealed

deep in the heart and  in systems of gain,

ripe for the judgment the Lord will ordain.

Little child whose bed is straw,

take new lodgings in my heart.

Bring the dream Isaiah saw:

justice, purifying law.

Nature reordered to match God's intent,

nations obeying the call to repent,

all of creation completely restored,

filled with the knowledge and love of the Lord.

Glenn Rudolph

(as performed by the Washington Chorus and the National Capital Brass and Percussion, for a Candlelight Christmas at the Kennedy Center, our Christmas treat from my mom.  A minor key with the rumbling hope of redemption.  Merry Christmas Eve to all . . . )

Christmas Prayer Letter

Our Christmas Prayer Letter is now available for downloading.... Color pictures.... and another original Advent poem from Jennifer.... CLICK HERE to download it now (a 590K pdf file). Merry Christmas!!!!!

skiing!

A few months ago some friends put a rather large amount of cash in our hands and said: spend this on something fun that you would not otherwise do. We do not deserve moments like this. And we've had quite a few this HMA, gestures that go beyond anything we've asked for, that affirm a smiling God. I immediately thought of skiing. Our kids had been skiing four times in their lives, four days, and each day stands out as a unique and valuable memory: Massanutten VA with my parents (when 2-year-old Jack snuck his rented yellow ski boots on at night in bed he loved them so much, and my Dad BOUGHT them for him, a milestone moment of crazy love), Sierra Nevada Spain (when we took a bus from Granada after a meeting, had a glorious day, decided we could ski all the way down to the base rather than take the lift, and felt like we might have died by the time our approximately 5 to 10 year olds navigated the steep slopes under pressure of the-last-bus-back deadline rapidly approaching), Lake Tahoe CA with Scott's family (Aunt Sonja took the whole day with protege Julia who was a natural, Jack jumped on the slope with his experienced cousins before we could even remind him about how to slow down), and the Alps in Austria with the Massos and others at WHM (unbelievable snow and views and company). Though that is an average of one day every 3 to 4 years, they have all become milestone family moments.

So we've had this cash and this hope percolating, but the days we've had with all six of us together and no other obligation since arriving in the US have been, well, very very few. I thought this weekend could be a window, since Luke finished exams mid-day Friday and we didn't need to be in VA until Sunday evening. Not enough time or money to go somewhere with for-sure snow, we would have to take our chances with PA, which lies between New Haven and Virginia. I started surfing the internet. Then my mom "happened" to mention she had points left for 2010 on her time-share that she would need to give away or waste. I jumped to volunteer, and it turned out the choices included a cluster of condos on the NY/PA border, near some Pocono mountain slopes. We booked it. Still now snow in the NE, unlike most of the USA it seems, but we figured we could at least enjoy a day in the woods. . .

We picked Luke up Friday, after untold hours of traffic and detours (nothing like trying to pass through several of the major cities on the East Coast on a Friday before Christmas). Hugs and joy, exams done, first semester survived! We arrived in PA late Friday evening. Saturday broke in, brilliantly sunny and cold. Skeptical, we just though we would check out the local ski slope. If we hadn't had that gift we wouldn't have tried it, given the man-made snow and the weekend-costs. But I'm so glad we did. The lifts and equipment for six was within a few dollars of exactly matching the gift. We had our fifth day of family-ski life, and it was another fantastic one. No lines. Clear skies, empty woods. Powdery snow that scraped away to iciness by sunset. Almost-full moon rising as we flew up the lifts. We skied almost continuously all day, and most of that time we were pretty much together. I was always the last one to reach the bottom, being a fan of sharper speed-decreasing turns than the rest of my family. We would regroup on the lift, take turns choosing the route down, swish and glide through the wintry beauty, encourage the fallen, and then do it all again. The ominous crushing blade of the snow-boarders overtaking me was sometimes unnerving, but we all made it through the day intact. Our rental had a rec center with a pool and hot tub, bubbling hot salt water that was perfect that evening, kindness to rarely-used muscles. By the time we ate dinner I wasn't sure if everyone could stay awake, but we managed to cap the evening off with a fire and a chapter from "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" (which we usually read CAMPING in the SAVANNAH pre-Christmas, still by a fire, but otherwise a world away).

So thanks friends, for the gift of sun and exercise and snow and craziness and overcoming fears and doing it together. Thanks mom for the gift of a place to stay along the way. Thanks other friends for the loan of the massive van to move us from here to there. For me, Christmas has come, I'm content.

Incarnation: Inconvenient Glory

"Tis the season to think about Incarnation. Two sermons by one of the primary mentors of our faith start us thinking. The Incarnation is so radical, that we all drift towards heresy to avoid it. Surely the nature of God, of Jesus, of truth, is primarily spiritual. Surely the intangibles of Christmas are what really matter, peace and love and all that. Any indulgence in things that can be wrapped with crinkly colorful paper, or ingested and digested, seems un-Christian, a pagan distraction from the pristine and unsullied spiritual realm. But is it? Skip points us to 1 Cor 1: a marred saviour, human, paradoxically weak, fleshily real.

God embraced the body. Can I? Mine has been frustratingly inconvenient lately. Last week we anticipated the highlight of our short furlough, the gift of two nights away at a luxurious hotel, just the two of us. It was a gift that was urged upon us by people wiser than we are, that we almost missed receiving through our inertia of rush. As the day approached I started downing multiple meds and recruiting a few praying friends for three different infections and a strained knee. To spare you all the details, you can just smile imagining the most noticeable one: a swollen red nose due to deep skin infection, attractive only to someone with a Rudolph fetish, and leaving me feeling wiped out. The day we drove out to the Inn was probably one of the physically weakest days of my year. We planned to start our retreat with a hike up to the mountaintop which was the scene of our first date, and the site of our engagement. But forty-mile-an-hour winds had downed trees closing the road. So random as to be so noticeable. Surely God had a point.

Yes, the physical concrete nature of our existence can be mightily inconvenient. But as the meds kicked in by evening, and we entered into the peaceful order of this Inn, the inconvenience gave way to glory. A glowing fire and towering lighted Christmas tree, gourmet food served by candlelight. A balcony in the mornings which absorbed the 20-degree sunshine for blanket-wrapped Bible reading. Exploring the machines in the fitness center, running over crunch-frosted grass on the golf course. Reading uninterrupted in the silent afternoon. Dashing over the patio to an outdoor hot tub in the moonlight, simmering in the 103-degree water while our damp hair froze into ice-sicles under the stars. A door opened into a taste of Heaven, outside of time.

But that experience was very physical, taste and touch and sight and smell and sound. As, if you think about it, even the "intangibles" are, peace and love must be enjoyed through our living bodies.

The Word became flesh, and dwelt among us. Christmas is all about the inconvenience of that, but also the glory of it. The squalling hunger of the infant Jesus but also the milky pleasure of being satisfied by his mother. The excruciating nails splitting his palms, but also the gloriously healed scars in His resurrected hands.

So let us not apologize for the body (the first reaction of our fallen parents, shame and fig leaves) because it is in the flesh that we shall see God.

And let us not doubt the Kingdom-wholeness of goats' milk and kitengi-quilts and mission as medicine. Let us not measure the value of ministry-diversity on a heretical scale where only the translation into spiritual truly "counts". Let us not give succulent Christmas feasts and a gift you can hold or wear pharisaically suspicious glances. Because Jesus redeems us body and soul, until the paradox of incarnation dissolves into fully convenient glory.