Holiday Happenings…

What a queer, queer Christmas this is turning out to be. Hahaha.

We left the house at 10:17 a.m. for a church service set to start at 9… and we still got there very, very early, all things considered. I think things got started about 11:30ish. That’s Africa!

And, as expected, the church really filled up right as Joshua’s fired-up message was finishing. You see, the church slaughters a cow each year for Christmas, and that’s basically what draws people down the mountain—free food. (In this way, I see the Lopit a lot like university students.) But the joke was on them this year. There was some confusion and the cow was spared to live another day. Haha.

Now we’re back at the house. Kim’s sick and under orders from Doris to drink a glass of water every half hour. So we’re reclining with 2L pitchers in our laps, drinking Kool-Aid with straws. It’s become a bit of a drill. One of us hollers “water,” and we slurp until we simply can’t take it anymore.

Things got a lot better just now, thanks to a whole tray of rotten eggs. Kim got the incredible idea of shooting them over our fence with a slingshot. This girl really has streaks of genius. I’ll let you come to your own conclusions about how fun that was, and how things may or may not have taken a few bad turns.

This is how I’m spending Christmas this year. So weird.

Merry Christmas!

You can probably imagine that some of my eggs didn't go so far, considering I don't really have a puller on my right arm... At least it was good fun!

All the trappings of Christmas…

So, it’s Christmas.
Kim says Christmas on the field is all about striking a balance between forgetting all our fond memories and traditions from home, and remembering the birth of our dear Lord Jesus Christ.
I’ll let you know how that goes, exactly. Hahaha.
For now, know that we had a delightful Christmas Eve morning. Kim was giddy as she tore open the Christmas package her momsie sent, and I was equally excited about uncovering my Christmas gift—a big ol’ rat in my trap. Hooray! Merry Christmas!
I won’t lie—this Christmas hasn’t been and won’t likely be anything spectacular. Save for maybe spectacularly trying. (How tempted I am to list off all the reasons to find our current circumstances wearisome!) But one thing I’ve learned in my life is this: Sometimes, things are given to you; sometimes, you’ve got to fight for them. And you can bet we’re going to put up a heckuva fight for a joyful Christmas this year. :)

God of all comfort…

(This one’s not for the kiddos. And it’s very long. Sorry.)
In the last three weeks, I’ve watched two children die. Right there, right with me.And today, we lost another one—the second in as many days.
I realized I never did say what traumatic event it was that turned out to be our unfortunate sendoff for Nairobi, The Sequel.
It all started with wailing, and it ended with me watching the life float out of our neighbor’s toddler son, Tito, despite our best efforts to keep him alive. I still can’t really put words to it. He was there, in the arms of a woman not his mother—his mother, in her grief, began to reject him—crying and whimpering a bit, and generally listless. Then, he just… stopped crying.
Chaos broke. The mother threw herself to the ground. Other women fought to keep her there. The wails reached a peak. The body of the boy was wrestled away, whisked away into the hut amid the bedlam. Even I found myself as part of the grasping, the short struggle, as I frantically tried to feel for a pulse. I think I felt one—very slight—but my cries fell on deaf, resolved ears, and the boy was laid in the hut, to grow cold.
Here it was, a death closer than ever before. This was our neighbor’s—our friend’s—child. And we’d come running up with our funny white ways, our funny white optimism about medicine and some God yet unknown to the people here. There we were, the cavalry, triumphantly come to… in the end… do absolutely nothing of help.
I pressed my forehead to the ground in my grief, and I listened to the other women wail and the men cry. I heard them say again and again, “Joik has taken him.” Do you know how many times lately I’ve had to hear the speech about, “We are all Joik’s goats, and when he’s hungry, he takes”? It nearly brings me physical pain, this fatalism.
And then came the most painful line: “Oudo and Ifeja brought the medicine of Hollum (the Christian God), and He did nothing.”
Oh, Lord, why?
Kim broke down, and Laudina and another woman tried to comfort her. Would you believe, the woman began to pray for her, to Hollum? You’d think this would be encouraging. It wasn’t. It only served to remind me that it seems the Lopit think this Hollum character is a god only for other folks. In a rather uncharacteristic move, I’d earlier stood up in the middle of all the crying women and men who’d come to mourn the dying baby, and I said, “Come, let’s pray. Let’s pray to Hollum. We need to ask Hollum to help us.” They ignored me.
So that was how we left things.
I thought about that night, and all in Nairobi, and many days since. And it still baffles me that I honestly did not think Tito was going to die. (This is only ONE of the MANY things that keeps my mind coming back to the situation, mind you.) We got there, and I saw him, and I saw the crowd slowly starting to gather, and I questioned them even being there. I remember wondering aloud to Kim about why they were gathering, he wasn’t going to die. And in that, I’ve learned something. The Lopit know what death looks like. They really do.
And I’m afraid it’s a lesson I’m starting to learn.
Yesterday we were called to a house again by the wailing. I ducked into the hut, let my eyes adjust to the smoky darkness and looked at the child, and I knew—by virtue of my recent education—that I was looking at the face of death. Another barely toddler, in another women’s arms—his little head heavy against her chest, his eyes blank, his eyelids fluttering a bit. And then, as we sat there, he, too, faded away and was gone. And, again, we could do nothing.
Then today, when I got home from making merry at our team Christmas lunch, Laudina came to me and solemnly said quietly, “Ifeja, did you hear? The child of Elizabeth has died.”
And I think this one has hurt the most so far, as it hits even closer to home, though I’m surprised to find my emotional reaction to be more of a blunt, numbing one. I did my homestay with Elizabeth. I’ve seen Ichol grow up—start walking, start talking, develop a little personality. And today I found myself sitting on their compound, surrounded again by the same ailing men and women, mourning her far-too-early death.
And maybe it hurts the most because Elizabeth came to me the day I got home with Ichol. She told me she was sick. I’m not a nurse; if it’s not malaria, I don’t have a clue what to do with it. So I sent them to the clinic. And then she died.
Anyway, I realize that, as an American with largely American readers, I’m supposed to tag on some hopeful, positive ending to a story like this. And you and I both know it’s there, in my mind, with the knowledge and hope I have in Christ. But it will take a while for my MIND to get through to my HEART on this one. So forgive me, as I simply close with that.

Christmas News

Hmm. News from here. Where do I start?

Pattie left early this morning for Nairobi. That’s right, after five full days of the three of us being together, Pattie up and left for her holiday. How absolutely ghastly of her. ;)

She was delayed a day when her flight fell through, much to her chagrin, but that actually worked out for the better, as Kimmie came down with something terrible yesterday, and we both needed Pattie here to weather the storm. (Ahh, yes, the perfect timing of our sovereign God.) I know leaving a sick Kim behind broke poor Pattie’s heart. And what peril, to leave her behind with me. I can sometimes appear a bit of a stoic, a demeanor which doesn’t inject much confidence in the mind/heart of a feeler like Pattie Chapatti. :) But she can rest, assured—yes, Schnukums, if you’re reading this from Kijabe: rest, assured—that I’ll take good care of my dear roomie.

So now it’s me and the bum shoulder, and Kim and her bum stomach. And, oh, a whole, whole bunch of seemingly inexplicable Christmas joy. That last sentence was more forecast than fact; I’m hopeful God will choose to overwhelm our hearts and fill our mouths with rejoicing—“Hooray! Our Savior is born!” How else can we bear our burdens?

We’re a biiiiiit short on Christmas spirit ‘round these parts just now, but I’m thinking maybe I’ll spend today tending Kimmie and making Christmas cookies, just to try to turn the tide toward merriment. :) That is, if I can rustle up enough charcoal…

In other news, Cath, Martin & Co. are halfway through putting on a Christmas drama in the villages. I haven’t been yet, but the traveling troupe comes to our village today. Heinrich put together a Christmas tract (in Lopit) to pass out to the monyemiji, so that’s exciting, too.

I think that’s it for now!

Sounds like home…

I woke up to the sounds of our village this morning, and it was great. I’ve never been so happy to hear Ellen crying for an hour on end. My dear little Monkey…
We were greeted at the airstrip by a bunch of Lopit boys… not Steve, strangely. But that’s OK, our welcome was warm enough—the boys were so excited to see us and happy to gawk at my bulky sling until Steve came. Pattie was in tow, which was the most wonderful part. It’s so nice to be home with Pattie. (Today, I’m reluctant to let her out of my sight. She probably finds me a bit peculiar.)
Some of the village boys heard we were coming and ran down the mountain path to greet us and take our bags. It was nice, too, because soon enough I had boys in front of and behind me who were anxious to tell everyone my story and answer all the passerby’s questions. It’s a bit overwhelming to have everyone jump on you at once, so I felt a little like a running back with good tackles all around.
When little Thomaso’s grinning face peeked around the corner of our fence, I was in heaven. It was funny, to have Abuba and Laudina and Mary all tsking me and lu-lu-luing at the sight of my bandage and lumpy shoulder. They couldn’t tell me enough how much they thought of and prayed for me. I couldn’t tell them enough I really was fine.
Then I got a German/English song from the teachers, our visitors, Craigers and Tobias. “We wish you a gute Besserung!” Haha. And Craig and Tobi were more than ready to help with anything possible. (On a related note, Tobi seems to be Mr. Personable in the village these days and even speaks a little Lopit—impressive!)
Anyway, it’s good to be home. I’ve already thought of a bunch of ways I can incorporate the village kids in my physical therapy, and I’m working on making a new “Lopit life plan” for myself. (Ironically, Kim and I were on our second day of our newest new life plans when I biffed it.)
We’ll see how things go!

So much to say...

There just aren't words--and, unfortunately, there just isn't time--to tell you all about the ways God has blessed me in the last few days here at Mayfield. But let me give you a rundown before we dash out to the airport this morning...

Oh, which I should mention—we got a flight! Kimmie was scheduled to fly this morning anyway, and they were able to squeeze me in, too. Hooray! Praise the Lord! So I’ve just got a few hours to finish up all my business in Kenya, then we’re headed home. :)

Last night, Dick from AIMCare came to check on me. I guess word got back to the States, then back to him, that I might be stuck here for a while, etc. So it was good to chat it up with him for a while.

And, in a funny twist of divine help, just as he was telling me, “If my wife (an orthopedic nurse) were here, I know she’d tell you not to go back in,” my friend from our training last July popped her head over the back of another couch. Duh, Andi. She’s was a physical therapist back stateside. Talk about right under your nose.

She gave me a bunch of exercises to start doing, got on me about my posture (Kim likes to tell me I look like Quasimodo) and the way I’m carrying my arm, and hammered home that if I wanted to really throw a baseball again, I’m going to have to work for it. Gulp. I’ve never been much for disciplined workout routines. Well, until I found my bike. But you see how that turned out. Hmm.

What else? OH! Get this. I’ve been stressing a bit about money. And I suppose I have good reason (if you’re allowed to say that and not appear “unspiritual”). The things that aren’t covered by insurance—the flights in and out of Sudan (probably $800+), my and Kim’s accommodation here at Mayfield, the phone calls to doctors, the $100 taxi out to Kijabe alone, and random expenses here and there—have heaped up to nearly $2000. Do I have that kind of money lying around? No. No, I do not. And I don’t have it in my work funds account either, come to find out. Whimper.

Can I talk about money so candidly? I haven’t a clue what’s tactful. Anyway, all that to tell you this: I went to pay for Kim and my guesthouse bill yesterday and John at the desk gave me this squirrely grin and talked around in circles for a while before putting it as plainly as an African can—“It’s taken care of.”

WHAT?! Yeah, I dunno. Someone paid for our stay. That’s $350!!! They won’t tell us who it was. But wow. I get all teary-eyed just thinking about it. Wow.

Anyway, I’ve lingered too long. Suffice it all to say, I’m really feeling the love of the AIM and African missionary family. That’s cliché, I know, to say we’re like family. But it’s true. And I’m feeling so much support from home—from my family, from my churches, from random folks. (Hello, random folks.) And I’m blessed. I know I am. Sometimes I just forget to live like it.

So, I’m going to try to be as thankful as I can for the opportunities God has provided me on my path to a new bionic shoulder, as disciplined as I can about getting my fastball back, as trusting as I can about the financial situation and as joyful as I can about being in Christ and being able to share him with the LoPeeps. :)

Mechanical Arm...

I'm sorry, but I couldn't resist.



I was able to see my post-op X-Rays for the first time today. Kimpers and I were absolutely shocked to see this huge knot of metal in there! I mean, what the JUNK!? Chanda burst out laughing.

In a related story, do you know how hard it is to take a picture of an X-Ray, especially when you're all alone and only have one good arm?

Joy to the world...

Joy came back into our lives yesterday.

Joy… and her husband, Dave—the fun friends we met last time we were at Mayfield.

It’s hard to put to words what their being here has done for us. Joy was pretty fired up about me getting out to Kijabe, and she’s also really hilarious. It was a nice combination.

She and Dave took us out to dinner tonight. You may recognize this napkin-on-the-head move.

And Joy took great… joy… in cutting up my steak (STEAK!) for me. They’re a wonderful couple!

(PS: It's as pathetic to me as it is to you that I made three lame plays on "joy" in this one post. Going to Africa makes you dumb and robs you of your humor.)

Freedom. Bliss. Homeward bound.

I went to AIM’s missionary hospital up at Kijabe today, to get another (inarguably qualified) opinion on just what I need to do about my shoulder. One of the orthopedic surgeons dashed out between surgeries and checked out my X-Rays and records.

He thinks I’m safe to back in, so long as I’m good about doing the physiotherapy stuff myself, as a shoulder is really “unforgiving” if you neglect it. So praise the Lord for that. I was worried I was going to be held here past AIMAIR’s last flight date before the holidays, putting me in Nairobi into January. (I shudder at the thought.)

So now all I have to do is wrangle a plane, and I’ll be home with my neighbors and team for Christmas! Hooray!

Village Gossip.

Pattie continues to be wonderful about sending news from home…

It seems the Thomaso Peanut-in-the-Nose drama is over. It came out on its own the other day when he blew his nose. A bit anticlimactic, but still great.

Pattie passed along specific greetings from our neighbors today. Laudina said to greet us “bino-no-no-no” (very, very, very much) and that when we come home, we’ll all “eyaba” (chat). Abuba says she’s praying I’ll be better soon—“Elwak iso Hollum.” (God will help me.)—and that she thinks about us “saa hien dang” (“all the time”). That’s the Lopit way of saying they miss you.

The real funny update was that five monyemiji descended on the house today, coming from a group up at the mangot, where all the men gather and talk about important (or not-so-important) village matters. They requested that Pattie come out and settle a dispute. “We need help. We have an argument.” The argument? They couldn’t agree on who it was that fell off the bike—Kim (Oudo) or me (Ifeja). I guess there was a split in opinion. Hahahaha. That Oudo/Ifeja, one person/two people, which-is-which confusion may never, ever clear up, I’m afraid. Sigh. Anyway, Pattie set them straight. She said they disappeared back to the mangot just as quickly as they’d come. Hahaha.

It’s funny, to think of a bunch of warrior guys, sitting up on their mighty bamboo, communal throne, debating such important issues as which one of the whiteys was stupid enough to biff it on her bike...

How sweet the sound...

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.

I was trying really hard not to be a Debbie Downer today, since I’ve honestly been barely keeping it together here over here in Kenya the last few days. I’ve been a bit of a fun burglar, I’m afraid. I’ve been trying to cling to joy, just finding it harder than usual, you know?

Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.

This morning, I found myself in the back of a cab, jolting with the potholes on my way to AIM’s missionary hospital to get a second opinion about my shoulder, and again feeling far too sorry for myself.

Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.

So I started to sing hymns. (Well, think in hymns. I don’t sing, for the sake of other people.) I love hymns. You know all the great truths there are in those old songs? Wow. And there’s something about truth that even my Debbie Downer-prone self can’t compete with.

Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood.

When I’m lying in bed and there are waves of thoughts crashing in my head, I sing hymns. When I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t sleep, I sing hymns.

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.

Sometimes, in the mornings, when the sun is coming over the mountains, I can’t help but sing hymns. When I went into surgery last week, I sang hymns. And, so, today, in the back of that cab, I sang hymns.

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

And it was really, really nice.

Sweden...

What a day. What a long, crazy day.

I weaseled my way into the doctor a day early, with the sincere (and perhaps too optimistic) hope that KP and I could be on a plane back into the Sudan tomorrow.

No such luck.

Since my orthopedic surgeon guy was in the theatre* this afternoon, I got his assistant, who did nothing more than grimace at my shoulder a few times and tell me he’d take the stitches out next Wednesday.

Now, hold on just a cotton-pickin’ minute. The Professor (my doc) said this Wednesday. So we went around about that. The assistant was like, “OK, sure, you can go back now, but next Wednesday, go to the doctor there, get the stitches out and start physical therapy.”

Doctor? In Sudan? There are no doctors in Sudan.

“There are no doctors in Sweden?”

Sudan.

“Oh, that’s different.”

Yes, very.

Anyway, long story short—I did finally get shady permission to leave for So Sud tomorrow. I confess, I’m very good at rephrasing the same question again and again until I get the answer I want. (For shame.)

But then I told the physical therapist about all this, and the “Are you out of your mind?” look she gave me got my conscious going, which got me thinking a lot about baseball and how much I really do appreciate my right (throwing) arm, and how I already buggered up my legs good when I didn’t let myself recover right.

Then there was Chanda. Darn that man.

And Kim’s no help. “I think you should do what’s wisest.” Genius, Kim.

So now I’m left to decide what exactly is wisest.

Meh.

*Not a movie theatre, and operating theatre. Yes, of course Kim and I tried the “What’s showing?” line. Not funny. Not in Kenya, anyway. Please feel free to chuckle.

Give him a hand.

I look really strange here (I was looking at some kid outside the window), but I wanted to share with you what was perhaps the worst part of my day.

When I got out of surgery, Prof told me about the dislocated business and about how all the ligaments were shredded. I asked him how big the scar was. He told me--and I quote--it's "two-fingers breadth."

Nurse lady pulled off my bandage today and the scar just kept coming. It's NOT "two-fingers breadth." It's ginormous. It's as long as my hand, not two measly fingers.

Let's face it, there's a miniature-scale (but still huge) Grand Canyon on my shoulder.

I might as well be a mutant.

Ice cream!

My mom said the other day that if I ever want to get married, I should stop putting up terrible pictures of myself on the blog. Sorry, Mom.

I love ice cream more than I love marriage. :)

Kim.

Today, Kim has...

- Slammed her palms down on my shoulders, to push me back down in a chair while she was doing my hair. Doing my hair because I can't do it myself. Because I can't move my shoulder. One of the two shoulders she pushed down. With force.

- Poked me (just now) in the shoulder, to reprimand me for not listening to her. Poked me in that same, aforementioned shoulder. The one you shouldn't poke.

I'm totally returning her. She's a terrible nurse.

Where's Pattie?

("Mention that I'm going to tweeze out all your eyebrows tonight." -KP)

On Field Media...

Part of our TIMO curriculum is what the folks at En Gedi call "Month Out." It's where we leave Lopitland for a month and join another ministry somewhere for a month.

The point? I think it's two-fold.

First, we use what we've learned on TIMO to look at this ministry in a new way. We're not supposed to evaluate it, per se, but we can look at it in a new way.

Second, TIMO is heralded as a "two-year foundation for a lifetime of ministry." So, during these two years we're supposed to build a ministry philosophy and figure out what kind of missions work is best suited for us and the gifts God has given us. What better way to figure something like that out than to pair up with a ministry we think might work?

Our Month Out is in February/March, and I'll actually be based in Nairobi (drat!) and joining up with the fellas over at AIM's new On Field Media team. AIM's PR guy in NY, Andy, tossed the idea of the team my direction when I first went out for Candidate Week in the summer of 2005. Then, it was a proposal; now, it's a reality. Ted & Co. open shop in September and have hit the ground running.

I can't wait to see what Month Out with OFM is like. These guys have the same heart I do for connecting people and declaring God's glory through it.

I dropped by when I was here last, just to say hello and get acquainted. I actually left the office whimpering a bit. I told them I'd put together a dinky little video for TIMO, so we skimmed it. Then they put on their Psalm 40 video (available on the Web site). I'm way out of my league here. I can only pray I can offer in words what they've done in video.

Peanut!

Pattie wrote today. She tries to keep us up to date on life in Lopit, you see.

In chronicling this Sunday morning’s adventures, she reported that Laudina came over a’blazing, asking to borrow her tweezers.

Apparently, little Thomaso got a peanut stuck up his nose.

This has provided Kim and I with fodder for spontaneous laughter all day long.

Thank you, Lopitland.

Also, thank you Thomaso. And the peanut.

In other news, I’m so bored, I’m contemplating putting up a profile for Kimberly on SovereignGraceSingles.com. (Google is so handy.) Honestly, how fun would that be?

“Single white female. Enjoys long walks on the beach and/or poopy paths in Southern Sudan.”

Kim has threatened to tweeze all my eyebrows out if I did that, so the project is on hold while I contemplate the consequences.

Go Go Gadget...

Pattie wrote me today about the team's idea for my rehab--a mechanical arm. It made me smile, so I thought I'd share it with you.

"So about that mechanical arm. Probably won't be nearly as funny in email as it was in person, but Jen and Craig were joking about how you are having to choose which kind of special arm to have installed.

"You could go for the "go go gadget arm" that could serve many purposes. We thought maybe you could get one that is rechargeable and then I could borrow it to smack the misbehaving children (quite loud recently in the mornings with all the buleta [fruit from our tree]) through my window screen--or the fighting dogs :0)

[Pattie would never really smack children; just so there isn't a misunderstanding. It's safe to say most of our team members would never hit a child...]

"Jen is actually voting for the 'spider man arm' which could be used to cocoon the misbehavers. Besides, think how easy it would be to get from [our village] to [Steve's village] with a spider man arm. If I am not mistaken, this was also Craiger's preference :0)

"Or jen says you could get one like 'the thing' from Adam's family that will just walk around by itself and do whatever you want. I mean think of the possibilities here.

"We're all willing to donate for such a cause, as long as you will let us borrow it from time to time!!!! Just trying to prepare you for what you're coming home to HE HE!!!"

:)

I really Schruted it.

In my quiet time Tuesday morning, I asked the Lord to humble me.

I wasn't expecting such an immediate and heavy helping of humility.

My dear mother posted up here a bit already, and news has gotten around inexplicably fast through church channels, but just so we're on the same page--I had a bit of a hectic bike accident Tuesday morning.

The funny thing is, I was so excited about writing everyone and saying how great it was to be back on the dry season schedule--waking up early, enjoying uninterrupted time in the Word before catching the sunrise on my bike, then working in the village centers with the kids for preschool. The perfect beginning to my Lopit day!

But Tuesday I hit a patch of sand, slid into a hole and went head-over-handlebars about a mile from Steve’s compound. I’m so thankful I wasn’t 10K’s out. I’d just passed one of the pastors, who saw me biff it and came running. I came up screaming for Kim—who I knew wasn’t too far behind me, running—but begged Pastor S. to unclip my feet from my toeclips and get the bike off me. He did that and more—yanked me up under the armpits, then took my hurt arm, pulling, pushing and wrenching it around until I finally convinced him to stop. His heart was good, I’m sure. But probably not the ideal response, medically speaking. Yikes.

Kim wanted to run back and get a car, but I didn’t think it was that bad, so we walked. I think three quarters of a mile later, I realized that was a really stupid idea. Steve caught sight of me from his breakfast table and I must’ve looked something terrible, because before I knew it I had ice on my shoulder, Iris at my side and a washcloth on my face.

Would you believe that within two hours of biting it, I was at the airstrip, hitching a ride on a mosquito plane? Pretty amazing stuff. Thank you AIMAIR. I spent most of the first flight (to Loki) bawling and feeling sorry for myself. I spent most of the second flight (a long one, in the tiny plane, to Nairobi) trying not to barf, feeling terrible for Kim (who came with and hates flying) and praying it’d all just be over. Our pilot, Mike, was an all-star; he flew the plane through choppy air and helped take care of me. Thank you, Mike.

Chanda (marked on my medical forms as my “guardian angel”) met us at the airport and, lickidy split, we were at Nairobi hospital.

I couldn’t get surgery that first day—something about respiratory concerns because I’d just flown—but the next afternoon I went in. My collarbone was dislocated from my shoulder blade by about an inch and a half, and all the ligaments torn clear away. So the orthopedic surgeon took a wire and pulled everything back together.

Three days in the hospital was more than enough for me, so I’m happy to be at Mayfield now. But I’m constantly being humbled because I can’t do much for myself and it hurts really bad. I’m here ‘til at least Wednesday, when I have an appointment to get the stitches out. Then, I dunno. Hopefully back to So Sud as soon as possible. Sling for four weeks; recovery will take about six, they say. It will never be 100% again, so my major league pitching dreams have been shattered. Whimper.

Honestly, this couldn’t have come at a worse time—I was so happy to be back home, yet discouraged recently in other ways. (I’ll write on that when I can.) I talk rather flippantly about it now, but—like my mom says—what else can I do? In reality, being out AGAIN for medical stuff makes me wonder if I should even be in the field at all, certainly because it came right after a rough night where it just seemed like nothing we do in Lopit actually gets to the people. (Again, later.)

So, as you pray for healing, pray for encouragement or guidance. And pray for finances; Chanda took care of all that so far, so I don’t know what I’m looking at, but it is still scary, especially since I don’t know how much travel costs insurance will cover, particularly for Kimmie. Just one more thing I’m trying to put off thinking about. Meh.

I’ll write more when I can; typing with one hand is really tiring. Thanks for all the emails everyone; I’m sorry I probably won’t write you back just yet—part of the reason of this lengthy post, so I only have to type it once. I’d better stop now—I seem to be getting more discouraged as I go.

Thanks again, and keep loving Jesus.

F is for Francis...

some wonderful people from home sent a few sets of letter and number stamps to use in the preschool. i was really excited to get them, so we tried them out on francis and jessica.


francis is a very serious student!

i'm certain he doesn't get the idea that these are letters, which represent sounds and make words. but it was enough to know we make these shapes a lot and it had something to do with his name, i think. so he carefully traced the letters, then proudly showed us his work.

even better, he asked if he could hang his little sheet full of F's on our cabinet door, where we sometimes put cartoons or quotes. i just smiled and grabbed the tack. he doesn't know a thing about the american tendency yo display kids' artwork on the fridge. :)

Hey, Good Lookin'

For whatever reason, Jessica, Thomaso and Ellen had free reign of my room the other day. The mirror was a huge distraction. I don't quite get what Thomaso is doing here, with the mirror pressed to his face, but I snapped a picture just before he caught on to me...

Moment of Vanity...

The way I figure it, I should use the free net and immobility to my advantage and post some pictures for ya'll...

Jessica is so beautiful, it blows me away. Here, she wanted to join Kim in getting ready for church...

Kissy face. :)

Happy Thanksgiving!

Jen held off on her big Thanksgiving meal until KP and I got back. Very, very sweet.

Another wonderful night off food and fellowship.

Joshua can be hilarious.

Miss Pattie and baby Joy.

Quite a crowd. Even Steve & Co. came--a small miracle.

Iris and the kiddos.

The lovely Mama Dure.

Boston cream pie. And Ohesa.

On the mend ...

Andi asked me to post this to let you know that she is out of surgery and doing fine, although in quite a bit of pain at the moment. Her guardian angel, Kimmie, was seeking more meds for her from the nurse when I called and had already gone out and gotten some "good" food. Kimmie says she expects Andi will be in the hospital for one, maybe two more days. And although Andi is ready to go home now, Kimmie assures me she'll make sure Andi does what the doctors say.

Thanks for all your prayers and concern.

Andi's mom

Editted to add:
Sorry to be so cryptic with the first post, I wasn't thinking clearly! Andi had an accident on her bike Tuesday morning and dislocated her collarbone. AIM flew her and Kimmie out to Nairobi, where the doctors determined that they needed to wire her shoulder and collarbone back together. She had surgery Wednesday. I will post more after I talk to her tomorrow (Thursday).