Sweet singing...

God moves in a mysterious way

His wonders to perform;

He plants his footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm.

 

Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never-failing skill,

He treasures up his bright designs

And works his sovereign will.

 

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head.

 

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust him for his grace;

Behind a frowning providence

He hides a smiling face.

 

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower.

 

Blind unbelief is sure to err,

And scan his work in vain:

God is his own interpreter,

And He will make it plain.

 

~~

Here’s the thing: I didn’t grow up in the church singing hymns.

Or, the hymns I did sing weren’t of the evangelical persuasion, since my family is Catholic, and I certainly didn’t enjoy singing them, because I honestly hated church.

So I get to meet some hymns now for the first time, and what may be an old standby for some folks is brand new to my ears.

So, here’s Cowper, “God Moves in a Mysterious Way.” I’ve never even heard the tune.

But that’s good, good stuff.

The goings-on...

A quick update on what’s going on around here, sort of in the form of prayer and praise requests…

 

The laundered passport has been resurrected. Hooray for that. Dr. Peter, who is leading the medical team scheduled to come out here next week, was able to get a new passport so he’s set once again to bring his healing skills out here. There are a lot of details to work out before and once he comes, so be praying that things fall into place and God prepares the hearts of the people here for his Good News. Doris is carrying a heavy administration load, so pray for her especially!

 

My teammates didn’t get shot on the way to Loki. Excellent news. :) There’s this nasty little stretch of land between the Sudanese and Kenyan border checks—about an hour’s drive in “No Man’s Land,” which also happens to be the divider between these angry sister-but-rival tribes and a place known for bandits/shootings. And lately the number of shootings—just shooting, not for the sake of banditry, I understand—has been going up. And the UNIMOG decided to poop out in the middle somewhere. Recall Pattie’s panicky concentric circles the other day, then imagine my poor roommate in the back of the dead UNIMOG. Poor thing. Anyway, I’m sure it wasn’t fun, but good ol’ Dan & Co. came to the rescue from Loki and all is fine. Praise for that, and continue to pray for safe travels.

 

An eye for finishing strong. My “finish strong” mantra has grown a bit weaker as the pressures and struggles of life out here continue to bear down. But, I’m trying to refocus and recommit. Things ahead on the docket, with which to keep busy and that need prayer: organizing things for the evangelical campaign that runs during the medical clinic; pressing on with supporting the nursery school by cleaning/painting/elbow-greasing another empty building for its use; shooting some video for OFM, for a future TIMO video, and maybe for another one for the team; getting back on the bike to bring new recorded Gospel stories to the neighboring villages; and discipling our dear neighbor, Mary. Praise for Kim, who sat down and muscled out a vision, and who I know will keep me accountable to it.

On Kool-Aid and kids...

Grasshopper gets us.

This is Grasshopper, aka Francis… aka Odwari… aka a zillion other Lopit names too numerable for me to even try to remember.

Whatever you call him, the point is—he gets us.

The other day, he and I sat my kitchen table after a particularly exhausting morning, drinking grape Kool-Aid out of coffee cups with straws.

Just the two of us, sitting there, listening to music.

Me, melting into my chair and musing about all sorts of things.

He, feet dangling far above the floor, Kool-Aid mug in his lap, lips chasing his renegade straw, enormous grin on his face, toes and chin bouncing to the music.

He just gets us.

It’s hard to explain, but it’s true. It’s especially hard for you to understand, because you’re surrounded by people who get you—your daily routine holds no mystery for your neighbors. You aren’t subject to ridicule day in and day out for what you are—or are not—doing, can—or cannot—do. You live in a cultural context in which you make sense, and in which you are able to make sense of things.

Here, that’s just not the case. People don’t get us.

Except for Grasshopper.

He seems to understand how we function, even a bit of how we think. He’s watched us and been around us enough in the last two years that he can fit seamlessly into our everyday, without that grating and awkward feeling of having to try. And that feeling—which I find really hard to define for myself, let alone people who have never experienced it—can be a burden that grows heavy when you’re exhausted or sick or just don’t have it in you to be Miss Missionary.

In missiology books, they talk about creating a third culture person—someone who understands (and is most likely from) the host culture but also understands enough of the visiting culture to bridge the gap, to flow between the two. And as they flow between the two, so does information—so does the Gospel.

I know sitting and drinking grape soda in contented silence with a 6(-or-so)-year-old isn’t something to get all excited about. But I do get excited when I think of what doors we may be opening up, just by falling in love with this little kid (and his brother and sister) and unconsciously building him into a third culture person.

You know how parents look at their kids as they send them off to their first day of school? We often catch ourselves looking at Francis, Franco and Ellen in that sort of way, thinking of what they’ll be like when they grow up, if they could be the church leaders, the influential people.

Maybe, right? Maybe.

The problem of the cows...

Yesterday, I was translating for Cath in Sunday School, and we were telling the story of Adam and Eve.

At one point, I was meant to translate that God punished Adam and Eve for disobeying him by eating the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

And I said, “Omiasa Adam iko Eva, ebak Hollum isia.” (“Adam and Eve disobeyed; God punished them.”)

And then I paused for a second and realized what I also said.

“To punish” is the same word for “to beat.”

So, I had just told these children that God beat Adam and Eve.

Hmm.

Whoops.

Lucky for me, the Lopit language does abound in words for beating, so I held up Cath for about a minute, explaining that he didn’t “ollumo” (beat them with his hands only) them, he just “ebak” (punished) them. He didn’t “edianga” (kick) them, either; he just “ebak” (punished) them.

And, finally, in a moment of what I hope was clarity for both parties, I came with, “Efuhe Hollum isia ade. Ojo Inya hijo hijo hijo, ‘Ibanga ettole teni.’ Arra nya Baha tohonye. (God chased them away. He said you can’t stay here. This was their punishment.)

Phew.

But, gracious… Is there anywhere in this culture you can go to get away from all the beating?

Two days ago, I saw some youths “flirting.” And by that I mean, the boy-man took a small  elastic stick and whacked the girl-woman on the head. And, as he retreated, she took a baseball-sized rock and chucked it at him. Aww, how cute.

Or, take this. Yesterday I look up to Abuba’s compound and Ellen is gleefully chasing Franco and Francis around with her own stick, getting in some pretty good licks. Just adorable.

Our very, very pregnant friend took a fierce beating last week, at the hand of her husband. She’s hardly moving.

And while we chatting with our guy friend the other day, he told us of course he “sometimes” beats his wife. He’s a relatively committed member of the church, and a student at a Bible school on the other side of the country. That’s just the culture. It’s the “problem of the cows,” meaning the men pay for their wives dearly (lots of cows and goats), but the women pay nothing. So I guess that means the men own the women, and the women take their beatings to pay toward that debt.

And all the children know is the rod. We can’t discipline; we can’t garner any respect; we can’t contribute to the communal aspect of raising children—all because we won’t beat them.

Hmmm.

 

Pleading in prayer...

To be honest, I’m not very good at praying.

It’s definitely my weakest spiritual discipline.

For shame, for shame—I know.

But I’ve been working on it. Been sitting down every night and just praying and praying for two very specific things, one of which is seeing God work in these mountains.

I pray and pray for God to work. To just work. To do something. To move these people, this culture.

I beg. I plead. I throw it all on Him, because I know He can handle it.

He doesn’t get frustrated with not seeing change, because He is the change and will work the change when and how he wants to. He doesn’t get frustrated with time, because He’s timeless. He doesn’t become impatient, because He knows exactly when and how things will go down. He isn’t ever tempted to think that this culture is just too strong to penetrate, because He can’t falter and not trust His own sovereignty—He knows He’s all-powerful.

I know my prayer life—this outcropping of my dependence on God for all things—should be in proportion to my conviction that He is LORD.

And so I’m trying to catch up. :)

 

Something exciting...

Six Lopit people—four women, two men—were baptized yesterday at church.

It was a neat thing to watch Joshua baptizing them and see the small group of church folks and TIMO members who had come to witness and worship.

Some of these people have professed to be believers for a while; others were recently added to the faith. Please pray for them, that their commitment to Jesus and this outward sign of their obedience to Him would be of Him—that they would truly, with genuine faith, throw off the old man and be clothed in Christ and his righteous, and rely on His grace for their sanctification.

It’s not easy to be a Christian in these hills, so please lift them up!

The devil does laundry...

We’ve got a small medical team scheduled to come in later this month, and it seems there’s a whole toolbox of things—not just a wrench—being thrown into their plans.

Funny how that works, isn’t it?

Bringing light into a dark place isn’t easy, and it’s certainly not something you’re going to do without opposition—overt or not.

So, please pray as the two doctors and clinical officer prepare to come.

The guy leading the thing is a German doctor who has been stationed at Kijabe, Kenya—at AIM’s missionary hospital—for a year and a half or so now, and has done amazing things there. Doris tells me he’s tireless and has a real heart to not only heal in Jesus’ name outside of Kijabe, but to teach the Kenyan Christian doctors there to look outward, as well.

Unfortunately, his passport somehow made it into the washing machine last week, so now Chanda is racing to get all the paperwork and stamps before he’s scheduled to come here, in two weeks. That’s a pretty tall order. You might even say not at all feasible.

We’ve already lost one of the doctors who was meant to come, so pray for them, and for Doris and I—as we’re tackling all the administrative/planning things for their arrival and programme.

 

Throwing it out there...

Anyone interested in coming out to Lopitland sometime in 2009 to help build a house for  a wonderful, rock solid missionary family out here?

 

You know, hypothetically speaking at the moment… Any takers? Seriously, let me know…

 

aclinard@aimint.net

 

Nursery school...

I love it when a vision becomes a reality.

 

Even when it wasn’t you that pushed the dream into being awake.

 

Cath and I have had a vision for a long time about a nursery school in Lopit. We both love the children and see a need for teaching them up in the Way. The pastors and school caught that vision. Even people from home have gotten into it, sending supplies and counsel for how to make it work. We’ve been taking little steps for a long time, then hitting setbacks.

 

But for the last few weeks, one of Cath’s friends has come alongside us in that vision. She’s a bit of a fundi—she’s started nursery schools in similar situations, with similarly limited resources. And I think it’s safe to say she’s got the nursery school off the ground.

 

The teachers seem excited, even committed. (That’s an anomaly in this culture.) I think they’re even growing themselves, because each day begins with Bible study and prayer for the teachers. The kids involved are adapting to the new teaching style and, Cath says, growing already.

 

Today I get to go down for a bit of a ceremony, thanking Jeni (the fundi) for her help and encouraging the teachers in their work and commitment. Should be good!

 

Rainmaker, rainmaker... Go away...

Lately, everyone has been celebrating the rainmaker—working on her compound, planting her field, dancing all night long.

 

It’s always hard to be here when the whole community turns its attention on worshiping this woman. We get yelled at for not going to garden. Cursed for not helping to mud her house. Questioned about and commanded to go to the dances.

 

Everyone is wasted. The kids run wild, mostly at our nerves’, patience’s and property’s expense.

 

Ugh. It can just be a really, really hard time. So, please pray for us as we continue on here!

 

Back to reality…

I’m back in Sudan—have been for a while—which means I’m a bit out of touch with the world.
That hit home last week when I found out on Sunday night that my Grandpa had died Thursday morning. It’s strange, being so far behind.
So, in light of my bush reality, to those who exchange emails with me, forgive me for not answering or being behind or sending off only a quick note under the sinking-solar-power gun.
I want to be sure to spend lots of time in the community, so the communication will be lacking. I’m confident you’ll understand! And I’ll try to keep you updated on here as much as I can.
Oh, and that doesn’t mean I can’t receive emails—I do like getting notes from home.
Thanks for understanding!

Cheap shots...

So, the other day I “hit the deck”  in response to gunfire for the first time.

It seems everyone has their stories. In fact, at our retreat the other day, I came upon three of the SoSud fellas exchanging their tales over the BBQ pit.

Yeah, I hit a landmine in my car. Felt like lightning. Rebels were firing shots just over our heads in the village. We had to run from Antioch bombs to the shelters. It was as if we were in slow motion. The sky was red and orange with exploding shells. Etc, etc.

You can hear some pretty intense stuff if you listen long enough.

As it turns out, however, mine was more just humorous.

But first, some framework through which to see this.

In Lopit, gunfire is pretty common. Every guy has a gun and its purpose is often exchanged from a tool of war to a medium of expression. “I’m happy!” Bang, bang! “This man came back after 20 years away!” Bang, bang, bang! “I’m just plain drunk!!!” Bangity, bang, bang!

So, we rarely jump at shots. There’s always a calculation—conscious or unconscious—once they go off, a considering of the facts. Can I attribute this to a loud party next door? Did someone just come back from the North? Are my neighbors absolutely wasted? Just where it is coming from? How many shots?

Then there’s the embarrassment factor: How certain am I that if I react in a serious way to this gunfire, I will be ridiculed for the rest of TIMO?

So, clearly, the calculation is key, though it takes only a millisecond or so.

This particular night the three of us were in the kitchen, diligently making samosas. The village was relatively quiet—no parties or dances or funerals or homecomings of any sort.

But then it was just like, Bang-bang, bang-bang-bang, bang-bang, bang-bang-bang, etc. Right in our front yard, it seemed.

Now, about the sixth or seventh bang in there, the scale of the calculation started to tip a bit and the “This sure isn’t usual” alarm bells started going ringa-dinga-dingy.

Oh, wow, if you could have been there for this part!

Kim just stands there, blankly. “Deer in headlights” seems appropriate.

Meanwhile, Pattie—true to form, “bless her heart”—goes into a bit of a panic, spinning around and around and moving closer and closer to the standing cupboard thingie, which I think she darn near climbed inside.

Turns out all that spinning was her looking for me, who—as it also turns out—she sees as the sort of go-to girl in these situations. She said she assumed I had a plan and know what to do, so she was looking to follow me. Haha. She’s so sweet. (Kim is just as capable as I am.)

But, well, of course she didn’t see me in her panic spins because I had somewhat unconvincingly—remember the “ridicule for the rest of your TIMO life” factor—dropped to my knees.

Which, might I add, is exactly what we’ve been told to do when there’s gunfire in the villages.

And which I DID add… when the shots stopped ringing, Pattie stopped spinning, Kim came to and they were both looking at me expectantly.

“This is what we’re supposed to do.”

Half an apology. Half a question.

Wholly out of fear of ridicule.

(Thankfully, they agreed and I was spared any and all ridicule, and instead can dish it out…)

So, there you have it, my first hit-the-deck story, in all its lack of glory!

Lopit Carnival Music

Today I started teaching Ellen how to throw things in the rubbish bin. I figure she might as well be useful as she’s running in and out of my room like a madwoman.

I see in her a sincere desire to be helpful, but I’m afraid it’s always only manifested in everything becoming sticky and scattered.

What’s that Pattie says? “Bless her heart.”

To be honest, it’s hard to distinguish this place from a madhouse lately. There’s a handful of grimy kids crowded around the coloured pencils and paper I put on the table. Never does more than two minutes pass without at least one of them yellering at me to come and look at their latest squiggle.

I’m trying to sweep and dust and scrub every inch of what the termites left of my room, stray supplies and books and clothes scattered about, waiting to be put in their places. The windows are lined with big eyes which are attached to the equally big mouths, snapping out demands for my things at quick intervals.

You’ve got Ellen giggling and bouncing from place to place, only stopping occasionally to plop herself down in the middle of the madness and intently arrange her new dress around her like the pedals on a flower.

Oh, then there’s the women carrying water for us who demand tea each time they come up and are constantly trying to cheat us out of more soap or clothes for payment.

Babies crying. Toddlers peeing or poohing in our yard or house. Kids shouting. Women fighting.

Goats. Rosters. Cows.

I read this book—Me Against My Brother—and in it, the author wrote about the UN/US tactic in Somalia of blaring carnival music outside the bad guys’ headquarters, to drive them mad or into submission. (I think they did something like this in Waco, Texas, too.)

I can totally see how that would be effective.

Home at Last, Home at Last...

Thank God Almighty, we’re home at last!

I woke up this morning to the sun glowing red-orange over the mountainside, and it just felt right.

We flew in yesterday, after having had our bush flight canceled and resurrected a couple of times over. (That’s just the way it goes.) Lopit is beautiful from the sky. I wish you could see it. You’d hardly know it was here, hidden away in the mountains. It’s funny, flying over this part of Southern Sudan, because—to me, anyway—it looks like a whole bunch of nothing, especially during dry season, when it’s all just dust. (Does that contradict me saying it’s beautiful? I stand by my contradiction.)

But, we’re finally here.

I will admit to hoofing it up the mountain as fast as possible, overstuffed, uneven rucksack and all. Our friends saw us from afar (someone is always watching…) and came to shake hands or hollered down at us from their perches.

I’d been daydreaming of my reunion with little Monkey Do for a quite a while now, so you can imagine my heartache when she looked at me like I was an alien and took flight, whimpering.

Kids are so fickle.

(It didn’t take her long to get back into following us around and begging for attention, don’t worry. She’s here now, in my lap.)

Otherwise, it’s good to be back in the house, back with my roommates, back in the village and back with our little friends.

Smells like rain...

I love the smell of rain.

And I love the saturated colour Lopit takes on when it’s raining.

And, I will admit, I sort of love that a good soaking muffles the village activity a bit. Normally frantic and constantly a-buzz, our paths and compound get much more calm when it’s raining.

Sure, sometimes Francis & Co. come over to dance and yelp in the big drops falling on our front rocks, or to play in the overflow of our water tank. And, yes, a lot of times our friends will rock up, soaking wet, to partake in that extra water as well, filling their jericans and popping inside for some hot chai.

But sometimes the rain offers me moments like this one, where I can sit at my desk, sip my hot chocolate, watch the puddles form and the clouds roll, and enjoy in relative quiet the weather and Word of my Maker.

April Prayer Letter

Finally. :)

Enjoy, folks.

Hellos.

That's Kenyan English for "hello" when addressing multiple people.

Also, a surefire way to drive me absolutely crazy.

In other news, we're going up to Loki today. So praise the Lord.

Random...

I’m in love with a man named Paul.

I think I have been since the day my friend Derek walked me through Romans 1 for the first time, when I didn’t have a clue how to read the Bible.

Seriously, though, Paul is awesome.

I suppose I like him because he’s hardcore. He won’t stand for cheap grace, a watered-down gospel or anyone daring to bring shame to the name of Christ.

Favorite hardcore Paul moment: Galations 5:12. I mean, wow, he said that?? Hahaha.

And his heart, oh! I bet he’d be the kind of guy who cries in movies. You know, if the movie were about, say, the saints in one of the churches he’s planted.

Anyway, with a lot of time on my hands, I’m working on falling more in love with Paul and the God his inspired words reveal…

Movie Night(s)

So, Kim and I are pretty good friends with the lady at the movie rental place nearby.

Today, she tells us we should really go out at night, not just go home and watch movies. She says we need to go meet people, have a few drinks ("even just coffee!"), hang out, make friends.

It's important at this point to remember that her job is to rent out movies. That's how she makes a living.

And she's telling us to give up on the movies and get a life. What a painful critique of our lifestyle.

But that's not all we do for fun. Why, just today I dewormed myself. That sure was fun. And I'm reading a book, "Frugal Living for Dummies." Also fun. Financial and fun.

And, honestly, I'm sick of having fun. Our vacation is over, and now we're just stuck in Nairobi until some team issues shake themselves out and we're cleared by TIMO to go back into Lopitland. So, I'm trying to "work" as much as possible--studying language, reading curriculum books, doing what I can for the media team.

I'd prefer my mud house to this stinky city any day. But, it's true, I wouldn't mind if there was a movie rental place in Lopitland... Maybe I am as pathetic as she says.

On the phone...

This is my brothers and me on Easter.

Aren't we a funny looking trio?

That's me in the middle there, in all black. And connected to the wall.

You know, like... on the phone.

Yeah, we're a clever bunch.

I was able to phone home during my family's big Easter dinner, which was actually pretty sweet. Even my grandma and grandpa were there. And Kev and Riss and Brandon. (Amy had to work.) And the kids, who were too busy with their Easter eggs to bother with their strange auntie in Africa.

But, still, lots of fun. :)

Happy Easter!

He is risen!

(He is risen indeed!)

Game Time (Travel)

I just watched the Super Bowl.

It’s… March 22nd.

And, amazingly, I was still able to get pretty into it. I knew the Giants won and everything. Even knew they did it in style at the end of the fourth quarter. But with a little more than two minutes left in the game, I still found it hard to fathom such a comeback. And when Eli did pull it off in the end, I still managed to get pretty excited.

Anyway, you don’t care about the Super Bowl, I know. That was ages ago in America. But, I dunno, still kind of a fun night for me here in the land of Far Far Away.

Between want and know...

If you haven’t noticed, lately I’m basically a wavering, sputtering, pathetic little mess of a woman who just wants to know where to point the bow of this sometimes sinking ship.

(That may or may not have been slightly dramatic.)

So I’ve taken to getting counsel where I can get it. And yesterday where I could get it was from Kurt, who spoke these cryptic words:

“Andi, don’t do what you want to do. When someone does what they want to do, they often end up frustrated. Instead, do what you know to do.”

Huh. Alright.

But it makes sense.

Consider this: I want to minister directly to unreached people. I want to live in the bush, and to live there well, to thrive. I want to have lots of relationships that are deep, despite huge cultural gaps. I want to be good at learning an unwritten language.

I want to be able to do all those things. But, in reality, I’m just not that person. What I know—my skills—don’t align. I just end up frustrated. I’m not doing what I know; I’m doing what I want.

You with me?

It’s pretty humbling, to have to look at things and say, yeah, I want to be that woman, I want to be able to do all those things. But God has given me gifts elsewhere, and I’m just going to have to look outside my little “but, but, but—this is what real missionaries do*” box and see how He wants me to put them to good use.

(*That, there in the quotes, is a ridiculous statement, and I know it. Just so I’m not misunderstood.)

And it’s not that these two years have been useless. No, no, no. Absolutely not. This team, this place, these circumstances—the good and the bad of all of them—are just what God had for me, what He wanted me to go through, to push through, to learn through.

Now I’ve just got to figure out what my skills are exactly, and where I can use and develop them for God’s glory.

That’s simple, right?

Right.

Running on sunshine...

I got see Pattie yesterday. It was pretty great. I had to patiently wait my turn to hug her ‘cause Kim got to her first. Pattie’s still a lot taller than me, which means I still feel pretty awkward when I have to stand on my tiptoes to make up the difference. Guess I oughta get used to that. I don’t see a growth spurt in my future. And it’s unlikely Pattie will start to shrink.

I digress…

You know, I think yesterday was an all-star kind of day. We dropped by the international services office at the hangar, and everybody who was anybody was there. Including, by not limited to, our core favorites from DIGUNA. Chanda, obviously. (Chanda, by his very nature, is everywhere.) And then Kurt and Hannah, who oversee the DIGUNA region that includes Sudan. We hardly ever get to see them, so we were pretty gleeful when we just happened upon them. (You remember when I went on and on about people bringing us cheese so long ago? That’s them.) We just love them. Really do. And they don’t seem to mind us.

(Apparently, it’s not uncommon for Germans to be repulsed by Americans. At least that’s what Daniel tells me all the time.)

Anyway, after a hard morning, it was like rays of sunshine each time we saw a familiar face. And it was something like home to sit down with them for lunch at Java House. It really was a blessing.

Home.

I remember once when I was little, I was at my grandmother's house, and I just really, really wanted to go home. I just wanted home, you know? I think I was a miserable little thing, and I distinctly remember making my aunt equally miserable and quite angry. I do believe she thought me quite rotten... and even told me so before I left.

I miss Sudan.

And I very, very, very much want to go home to my leettle Ellen, my neighbors, my cozy little mud house and my lumpy little mattress.

I just want home.

Boatspotting...

I discovered a new pastime while in Mombasa.

I like to watch boats.

Yup, boats.

In fact, one day, I spent probably half of my time arguing with Kim about whether the big chunk of something on the horizon was a boat or a rock.

The other half of the time I spent second-guessing my own position on the matter.

Seriously... Very good times. Very good vacation-esque times.

I-L-L...

I watched the Illini game tonight.

And by watched, I mean I sat in front of my computer screen and stared at ESPN.com’s scoreboard, which updated at an agonizing snail’s pace every few minutes.

That is, before it pooped out with 14:14 left in the second half. But, then again, so did the Illini. So I guess the internet going out wasn’t all that tragic.

Shame about all that. The idea of getting an automatic bid to March Madness got me excited for my poor parents, who have suffered optimistically through the whole pathetic season and have messaged me scores throughout the tournament. Never once have they failed to “INI” my “ILL.” They’re great like that.

Anyway… next year! And maybe I’ll be around to beg a game or two off my parents' season tickets. :)

On the Coast...

So, I’m on holiday.

Kim and I escaped down to the Coast for a week. With no obligations to a big group travel buddies, no real concerns other than to get a tan (and—as it turned out later—nurse a sunburn) and nothing but the beautiful Indian Ocean at our doorstep, it’s been nice. Really nice.

Well, OK, there was that pesky business with the Dannish Navy.

For a while there, we were under siege by drunken sailors. In fact, the phrase “drunken sailor” has never held so much meaning for me. It seemed a teensy bit overboard—umm, no pun intended—for a bunch of seafaring types to go to port at a hotel with a ship theme. I mean, come on. I don’t stay in a mud hut-theme hotel when I go on holiday. Granted, I’m not sure if such a hotel exists. But I digress…

I stayed myself from making any unnecessary reference to Hamlet. Kim only talked in hushed tones about her misgivings about the nomenclature, Dannish Danes from Denmark. (We’re American Americans from America. Why can’t everyone else be so transparent?) And only once did we feign that we didn’t speak English (only Lopit) in order to get out of potentially long, very slurred conversation.

I can’t tell you how valuable speaking a language unknown to anyone outside a 15km radius has proved to be.

That’s about as exciting as vacation has been for KP and I. Sometimes we hide from the sun, sometimes we bask in it. All the time(s), we have our AC up full blast. And at this time, I think it’s high time for a nap.

So, until next time, I bid you… Adieu, adieu, remember me.

Getaway...

Well, folks, I'll be MIA for a bit here. So nobody get anxious. ;)

But, in the meantime, here are some prayer requests...

• Pray for our team, as some people end their Month Out and start gathering supplies and taking days to relax.
• Pray for Heinrich, Doris, Salome and Philip especially, as they've been battling for months to stay healthy.
• Pray for Martin, who has surgery on Monday morning at Kijabe Hospital. Pray for Cath, just 'cause.
• Pray for Steve & Co., as they come back from Germany with the new baby girl!
• Pray for my typhoid antibiotics to take hold and these ridiculously painful headaches to go away.
• Pray for our team unity and for strength, determination and grace to finish strong in these last months in Lopit and to proclaim the Gospel in word and deed. This is the heaviest burden on my heart--finishing strong.
• Pray that I'm able to love my neighbors and friends as best I know how as we go back to Lopit. That's my finishing strong goal--to love better and to love more.

See you soon!

Question...

Is this friendly or threatening?

"I swear girl if you come down with one more strange illness or fall down one more time, I'm gonna put you out of your misery."

Because I'm trying to decide if I'm going to avoid Jen when she gets back from the north or thank her for her compassion...

TIMO Lopit lovin'...

Heinrich and Doris will be back in town Saturday. So will Cath. And then Martin.

And--drumroll please--Kim comes back Friday.

I know, I know. I’m pathetic.

I know I am.

I miss my roommates, miss my team, and of course I miss my Kimmie.

But I’m thankful for being pathetic in that way, because that means I have real, deep friendships, which hasn’t always been the case.

And, did I mention I’m just ready to get out of Nairobi?

I’m not whining. It’s just that today I spent the day moving from one room of the house to the other, doing that thing on the stairs when you use your legs and your arms to pull you up to the next floor, taking one pill after another to fight this stupid typhoid, and feeling sorry for poor Mendy, who has also contracted some terrible tropical disease that makes her miserable. (It’s not, however, typhoid; we like variety.)

Forgive me if I’d like some familiarity and some of the Lopit TIMO lovin’. :) I can't wait!

Deeper Still...

It’s funny when other people can tell you about who you are.

That’s happened to me some recently—both directly and indirectly—through a couple different avenues.

You know, you people here who read this blog might just have a greater peek into my life and thoughts than even my teammates—yea, even roommates!—do.

It’s true that my thoughts come together best in words—written words. I’m not very good at saying the right thing in a conversation or explaining at a team meeting what’s on my heart. (In fact, I’m downright awful at it; I’m pretty socially awkward.) I can’t ask or answer piercing questions over dinner. I probably talk about the weather a lot.

And there are a lot of things that I would say in written words that would never cross my lips into spoken words. Introspective things. Train-of-thought things. Stuff I’ve chewed on and mulled over.

So welcome into the inside, folks. This is front-row stuff here, I guess.

(Maybe to encourage deeper relationships and more transparency with my roommates, I’ll start reading my blogs over dinner… But that’s a whole other issue. I’m so much better than I was…)

You know, Abe Lincoln was always putting the pen to the paper. No joke. I read a biography on the guy. If he had a important conversation with someone—especially on a touchy subject, or where he was confronting someone, etc.—he would actually, before the conversation, write out what he intended to say. And often he’d give them a letter afterward, basically restating or reinforcing what his point was. He was all about communication—and not being misunderstood. And I suppose maybe, like me, he was better understood on paper.

I must come across somewhat clear on this thing, because people have been able to come right alongside me, right where I’m at, even from across the ocean, even (what seems to me like) out of the blue. Or people I’ve never met in person before can ask and talk about me, my teammates, even my Lopit neighbors, like they’d met them themselves. And—what I love the most—people can pray for us like they were here, like they were battling right alongside us.

So I guess there’s a lot of blessing in that. This is what I wanted. This was the burden—to connect the missionary with the people who sent them. And even if there’s only a few of you out there, it could just be that you feel a little connected.

Sweet. Very sweet.

Opitlay Ibberishgay

Jen and I have been writing back and forth in Lopit.

Neither of us has written—not even in Lopit—that we’re pathetic and missing Sudan. But I think the writing in Lopit says it all.

Mostly because Lopit isn’t even a written language.

We don’t even have a set standard for spelling/pronunciation on our team, since the words can differ even between our villages. (I’m convinced Jen and Cath speak the gibberish dialect of Lopit. ;) )

But we’re writing in it.

Or trying. It’s a lot like phonetic gymnastics.

And really, really fun.

I miss Sudan!

Treasure Chest

Did I tell you I got Christmas packages on my birthday? I did, didn’t I? Probably. But maybe you forgot. I tried to forget. And it was working. Until today.

It all went crashing down today.

I think it was the Nerds that broke me. All sitting there in the box that I tried to hide from myself. I was trying to save all this yummy stuff for Sudan, when comfort food isn’t readily available and there’s three of us always ready for comforting, you know?

I just got so much nice stuff, that’s the problem. Kool-Aid packets and chocolate Santas and popcorn seasoning and this mini pizza kit with fake cheese and Hersheys and Slim-Fast noodles (hehe) and taco seasoning and hot chocolate and TUNA and CHICKEN and easy cheese and a super adorable shirt that I wore for my birthday and… and… and… just all sorts of wonderful stuff.

Oh, and garlic salt. Which I’m clearly going to have to fight Jen tooth-and-nail for.

And, yes, OK, fine. I did just use this as an excuse to peak into the box at all my treasures.

But, come on! You’ve got to understand!

It’s like letting a little kid open up all his Christmas gifts… then making him put them away in a tempting box in the corner of his room. A box with Nerds that call to him. For a month. It’s just like that.

No, no. Worse! It IS that. Exactly that. Only that (apparently) I’m not a little kid, I’m 25 (or something).

But someone should really tell the Nerds that… before they DRIVE ME CRAZY.

The Whole Outfit ...

I know I’m fortunate that God has given me a really deep love for his Word. I’m so blessed in that. I love it. A lot of the time, I can’t get enough.

But, it comes down like a double-edged sword sometimes, because I feel it so much more severely when I don’t desire the Word.

And I was really struggling these past few weeks, when circumstances were telling me I needed to be in the Word most. But I just couldn’t sit down.

Thankfully, normally it just takes one good soaking in the Word to get me up and running again.

My friend Paul sent me this amazing devotional and I’m just lapping up the stuff in there.

I was able to settle in with C.S. Lewis, who took me back to my understanding of the old vs. new self. He said that God isn’t a God of half measures; that he wants nothing short of the absolute commitment. And that doesn’t mean starting from my natural man and letting grace take me from there. No, God has a different starting point.

“Hand over the whole natural self, all the desires which you think innocent as well as the ones you think wicked—the whole outfit. I will give you a new self instead.”

So that was a good reminder for me. That I don’t just go as far as I can by myself, then let God take it from there. It starts from ground zero, it starts at grace, on a foundation of grace—that’s the only way I can grow in the new man.

And you know what’s best? It’s not just any new man.

“In fact, I will give you Myself; my own shall become yours!”

Shoulder Shrapnel

This is the best “What in the world did they put in my arm?!?!” face I have.
And that’s the knot of junk that used to be in my shoulder.
I realized I hadn’t shared its beauty with the rest of the world. So, enjoy.

The latest turn…

Hey, guess what?

I have typhoid!
Is that straight off of Oregon Trail or WHAT?!

I’d totally be the guy everyone wished they wouldn’t have invited into the wagon.

But, honestly? Typhoid? Are you serious?

I was even vaccinated against it.

Hilarious.

You might think it’s weird that I’m so tickled by the whole thing, but—come on! Think of everything that’s gone down in the last few months, and you might just laugh, too. And, it’s a huge relief to me that I’m not going crazy—this explains the bad headaches, the achiness, the inexplicable exhaustion, the being sick.

It’s just typhoid, not insanity. Hooray!

Noodlehead...

As I sat on the living room floor of the flat the other day, eating Ramen noodles, I had to wonder if my life would always be one somewhat resembling that of a university student.

Ramen noodles have that effect on me, I guess.

That and moving every year or two.

Anyway, I’m not sure there’s much college-student-esque about living in Lopitland and going through all we’ve gone through. I definitely remember a lot more pizza and Jimmy Johns in college, for starters. But what is strikingly familiar is this feeling of “What’s next?” It’s sort of as if I’m made to pick my major over and over again, every two years. It’s always, “Where do I go from here?” and “What do I need to do to get there?” Except now it’s not what classes look best on a law school application, it’s “Do I stay with AIM and go back to Lopitland, or do I pull up my roots and go a different direction?”

And there are so many directions.

There’s Lopitland. I’m struggling with this idea that I love my friends there, but I’m not sure I want to re-up my commitment and do another 2 to 4 years there. Does not going back make all those relationships and all that love look like a farce? Or make them meaningless? Does it make me weak, not cut out to be a missionary? I dunno. I almost feel guilty that it’s not at the top of my list. And I want to make sure I’m not discounting it just because of all the recent hardship…

Then there’s this media team. And, again, I want to give everything a fair shake. But I’m just not being used like I thought I would be. I’m so limited. Does that mean this is out?

Then there’s going back to my Campus Crusade roots. Working on a campus is exciting—raising up workers for the harvest. Maybe I haven’t had the best go of things in the past two years, but I certainly am better suited to send women than before I left. And the idea of discipling women and having half the effect on their lives as our Cru staff had on mine… That’s pretty sweet. And it certainly would be a relief for my parents, to have me stateside. They’re pushing harder this time. And I would never have to be medevaced from the U of I.

And, finally, there’s working out of Cru’s HQ with the Jesus Film travel team, which goes around the globe, recording the film in languages used by unreached or largely lightless people groups. Which, at times, seems like the perfect compromise, the perfect balance. I’m in the States part-time, but I’m overseas part-time. I’m using my administration and journalism skills, but I’m still affecting peoples’ lives directly on the trips. I’m a part of reaching the lost for the Gospel.

Now you can see why I sometimes lose my thoughts in my Ramen noodles.

Help?

The Big Two-Five.

So, I turned 25 on Monday. The big two-five. Whatever that means.

As usual—or at least as is usual since about 22 or 23—I had a bit of a life crisis/panic moment. But I think that’s wearing off day by day. I’m just really old, you know?

Most of my team forgot my birthday. But that’s understandable. And OK with me.

Kimmie certainly didn’t. She left me a whole week’s worth of presents—one for each day—that Mendy would put out each morning. (Kim is up in Northern Kenya at the moment.) I got candy and a ninja sword (don’t ask) and Pringles (!!!) and a really sweet water bottle. Apparently, I’ve very, very loved. :) She also text messaged good ol’ Chanda from Korr on a sat phone to tell him it was my birthday. What a dear.

And I certainly wasn’t lonely here. Mendy (the girl who has opened her house to me to stay in) made a delicious cake and we went to a movie with a group of expats, most of whom I’ve met just recently. It was a fun day.

Also, in a really funny twist, I got a handful of mail—mostly Christmas cards! And two really amazing packages from home—also Christmas gifts. :) Ted brought the stack back from the hangar and said, “Gosh, Andi, did you have a birthday recently or something?” Haha. Also ironic, I guess.

So, all in all, a pretty decent 25th birthday.

Not a South Paw

Avery—one of the guys’ boys—broke his arm not too long ago, and he’s got a bulky cast on it. Andy was telling us about the writing homework Avery’s bringing home. You can tell, Andy says, he gets frustrated trying to write with his opposite hand, so it’ll be messy words, then just this dark scribble that goes down the page and nearly rips it.
I said I could really sympathize with Avery, because I have in the past and would still perhaps do the same kind thing.
And, I think this week, as I’ve tried to be an addition to the media team, I’ve experienced a bit of that kind of frustration. I feel like I’m a righthanded person trying to do fancy calligraphy with my left hand.
I’m not talking anything about my shoulder here, just to be clear.
I must’ve had it in my mind in coming out to the media team that I would be using my strengths. Finally, getting to use my strengths. Lopit sort of highlights my weaknesses; nothing is easy, nothing is simple. I guess you could say that about Africa in general, missions in general, even. But I had the expectation that I’d be able to use my strengths, and in that to have a certain kind of comfort—or confidence, even—while I was working out here.
I was so, so wrong.
If this week were a writing assignment like Avery’s, I’d say I hit the big scribble mark about Wednesday. And just kept scribbling from there, sort of in a helpless way.
I’m a writer. I work with words. And I can design newspaper fronts alright. I could even throw you together a neat Super Bowl package, or draw up something more interesting than just black words on newsprint.
But I’ve learned this week that, really, it’s all lefthanded from there.
The focus of OFM is video, and I really suck at video. I stared at hours of interview and wanted to beat my head against the table. I didn’t know how to string it together to make it fluid, to make it compelling… to really even make it interesting.
I ended up throwing up my hands and giving it to Ted. Imagine. I gave up on something. That’s not something I do all that often. It made me sick to my stomach.
And for the rest of the week I just sat there as Ted and Mike went up to shoot some cool stuff, and Andy labored away—alone—against a deadline. So, I’d say, not the best week. Just kind of a dark scratch of a scribble.
I’ve been here nearly a month, and I’ve written one and a half stories. I say a half, because one of them was just terrible. I’d rather be out there, anywhere, visiting folks somewhere and putting their story down on paper. But that’s not the program, for a lot of reasons no one has any control of. Nonetheless, again, the spotlight is on my weaknesses. Bummer.
Now, now. I’m not despairing or anything. At least I’m learning, even if the bulk of what I’m learning is that maybe I can move this down on the list of directions to take from here. And God’s still teaching me that you’ve got to push through, that maybe comfortable—or confident, even—isn’t where I need to be.

GIving pain the cold shoulder...

Ah, yes, I forgot--a shoulder update.

I'm still hurting, but it's a different hurt than the "there's sharp and unnecessary metal lighting up every nerve in my shoulder, arm and back, and nearly poking out of my skin" kind of hurt. I'd say it's more like a "this oughta heal in good time" hurt.

Happy Valentine's Day!

I think it’s some unwritten rule that all singles should loathe Valentine’s Day.

Perhaps then against all odds, I had a pretty good day.

First, I got text messages from Jen today—that’s right, messages, as in two—during an OFM meeting—with Mr. TIMO, no less—informing me that she had “made a most excellent discovery.” Namely, Nakumatt was selling Oreos. This, my friends, never happens. Imagine—Oreos!

Second, upon my trip to partake in said excellent discovery myself, I witnessed a man in the till next to me—a grown man, mind you—with a ginormous (and I’m talking like the size of a small elephant) bright red, utterly gaudy, ridiculously obnoxious stuffed bear. You know, the kind with the white stomach and a big satin heart sown on that says “I love you.” Oh wow. I might have stared and grinned a little (despite my best efforts not to, of course).

It reminded me a bit of a boyfriend I had in high school and his tendency to go way overboard with cheesy gifts. I think that’s one of the reasons I eventually gave him the boot. If you think that’s bad, consider that once I wouldn’t date a handsome, guitar-playing, Christian surfer boy because I couldn’t bear that I knew more about football than he did. Oh, Mother, forgive me…

Anyway, that was like icing on the Oreo cookie cake. Top it off with the Snickers bar and Diet Coke I had for dinner, and I’m one very content single woman, Valentine’s Day and all.

:)

In the Media...

Well, I should check in about the media team stuff.

It’s going well. A little slow for me, since I don’t have many video skills and pretty much the whole focus is on video.

And I can be the laughing stock of the office when we get to talking about cameras—I have a Canon Rebel; they all have superior Nikons—or computers—I have a PC in a Mac-dominated field. Curse the tech guy who told me not to get a MacBook because of the ill-fated slot-fed DVD drive and tech support. Bad man! And it figures my Dell has been acting up lately, perhaps just to embarrass me more thoroughly…

So, I’m pretty much the one with few very skills and not much talent that’s applicable to what they’re doing right now. If I had my way, I’d just pop around East Africa for the next three weeks, find some untold stories and tell them. Write them. I have this list of things I want to do while I’m single. Among some other more lofty goals is the goal to tell the stories of three missionaries in Africa. I’m not sure I’ll get to do that now. Guess I’ll have to check that one off later.

But, I’m still learning a lot, and that’s sweet. And the fellas are really nice.

And I got to meet this guy and write about him. (He’s the foot-washing guy.) I’m not so happy with this article, but you can’t love everything you write, right? Otherwise, what would you rewrite? And, if you want to read more.

Oh, and I’m pretty sure I’m the fastest typer in the office. So, at least I’ve got that… something near the status of a glorified secretary…
;)

Around town...

My dad gave me a little flack for not posting in a while. So, here you go. Some lame pictures from when my teammates finally joined me out here—if only for a few days, before they scattered all over the place—and we did silly Nairobi things.

This one is halfway normal, right? We went to this great Ethiopian place just down the street from my compound. It's great because it's really cheap and really tasty. I plan on trying to convince as many people as possible to go there while I'm forced to live in Nairobi. It's like $6 for a meal that could feed four people.

This is us, wondering why in the world Kim's arm is around my shoulder. Weird. We're not touchy people.
And that's all. That's it. All the pictures I have of good times in Nairobi so far.

Blurring the lines...

I think I might actually be happy with this story.

Up and running...

So, Surgery #2 is in the past.

I think it’s safe to say that it was better than Surgery #1. This time, my pain meds weren’t forgotten in recovery. Also, I wasn’t left in a busy hallway in said unmedicated state, being bumped again and again by people rushing by. And, this time obnoxiously large and foreign bodies were removed from my shoulder, instead of being installed into it. So, like I said—all in all, better than Surgery #1. Right?

I had a bit of a rough start out at Kijabe, but once I was in the OR with my doc, things were lickety-split. He was super nice and understood my apprehension in light of Surgery #1 and all its horrors. He even asked if I wanted to see the hardware after he took it out, which I certainly did. Apparently, it’s the first thing I asked for as I was coming to. I don’t remember that. But I do faintly remember asking the nurse her name… twice.

Anyway, so all that metal is out. And I got to take it home as a memoir. Phil suggested I make it into a keychain, so that’s in the works.

I’m sore, but doing pretty good, all things considered. I have two more (small) scars to complement the gigantic one up on my shoulder. Definitely worth it to get that junk out of there, though. Doc says to rest it for a couple weeks, then I’ll start PT again sometime.

So… that’s really all. I think the hardest part hasn’t been the physical aspect, though it is painful. The mental/emotional side of things is really hard. I think maybe God is teaching me a lot about being surrounded by people but all alone. Or maybe it’s about humbling myself and actually admitting I need people around… I dunno. Jury is still out on that one.

There you have it. Thanks for all the prayers, and all the emails and everything. You can continue to pray for healing and for embracing whatever lesson God is teaching me.

Forgiving is Serving.

Andy and I got miserably out of place on our way to a service put on by Pastor Steve on Sunday. I'm hesitant to say "lost" because we decided there are about a million other people we could blame or excuses we could make as to why we drove around for nearly three hours and ended up on the completely opposite side of Nairobi than we were supposed to be on.

Whatever the case, we did finally get there, and Pastor Steve gave a really great sermon. (I'll put up the podcast when we get it uploaded.) It was really moving. But what was sad was that it didn't seem to reach the ears of the students of the school we were at. So that's a shame. It broke my heart and sort of made me want to cry.

But, anyway, the message was about forgiveness. And this guy has quite the message to give, as he's living out forgiveness at this very moment. (I'll link to that story when it gets uploaded somewhere, too...) He ended it by washing the principal's and some of the students' feet. He says part of true forgiveness is servanthood. But you can hear that from him, when I get the audio and text up.

Until then, all I've got is these pictures.

Hope in View...

Here's some pictures from our trip to a couple of the IDP camps on Friday. I'm hoping this isn't stealing pictures from Mike and Andy. Don't use this pictures without permission. (Please.)

This kid was rather inexplicably sleeping on the rocky floor of an unfinished building we used for our interviews.

A short service and message of hope before food distribution at AIC-Kijabe.

Harrison, who was warned by his "enemy tribe" friends to flee before the bloodshed got too severe in Eldoret.

There's more pictures linked to on Mike's blog. These guys do good work.

Today...

...was a really good day.

Lopit, on the map...

There are lots of good stories up on the AIM Web site. I encourage you to read them!

But, here's one I wrote about Lopitland. They even did a wonderful job putting up a slideshow on there. Cheers for that, fellas.

And here's a story from Mike about some hope in the chaos in Kenya right now.

I should have another one up soon. There IS hope in Kenya.

Enjoy!

Larry the Lizard, and life on the compound...

As I was taking my laundry down from the line today at lunch, one of the new neighbor kids popped in with his freshly caught, fingernail-sized lizard.

He asked if I wanted to play.

Living on this compound of pilots and other AIM support-based missionaries is quite different from my home in Sudan, but I'm taking it for what it's worth. There's something wonderful in being surrounded by families who put Christ at the center of their lives, and who have long made Africa their home. I hope I can learn a lot from them in the next weeks.

So far, working with the media team has been good. The whole focus of the ministry has now been thrown on to the recent events in Kenya, and finding "Christ in the Chaos." It's already opened up one opportunity for me to talk with a pastor with an amazing story, and I hope it's only the first of many.

The fellas I work with on the On Field Media team are a blessing, and they're truly gifted in what they do. I was reading Mike's blog just now. He really knows how to write. I encourage you to check it out. You'll see how I pale in comparison to the real masters!

I'm missing Sudan, my roommates and our friends. This big empty flat can seem a bit lonely at times, so I'm anxious for the team to come in from home. Emails from Pattie, Kim and Doris really make my day. I'm comforted that they could be here in time for my surgery next Friday. The idea of doing that alone isn't all that appealing. I hope the roads are safe enough by then, that I'll be able to make it up to Kijabe.

On that note, keep praying for Kenya and her church. They need your prayers.

Friendly faces...

Laudina hates the camera. She really does. But she was a good sport about letting me take some pictures before I left, so I could look at them and think of her while I was gone. You hardly ever get the women smiling, especially showing teeth. They do this strange angry-faced, stick-straight pose. I have no idea where they got it from. The army? Beats me. Anyway, I love it when my friends laugh... It's great. :)

This is Laudina, "Iye!"-ing Pattie for teasing her by taking pictures when she didn't have her angry face ready. ("YOU!") Hehe. You see, however, Thomaso was bringin' it in full force.

Little moments...

Someone here at the guesthouse asked me the other day what my best moment was in Lopitland so far.

I'm not sure I'll ever be able to pin down one "best moment."

But this moment was pretty good.

After a stressful couple weeks, and after two delays of the flight I was already anxious about, I was ready to crash for a bit. Monkey peeked into my room--she has lots of good fun flying in and out of our curtained doorways--and climbed up in bed with me.

A pretty great moment.

(Pattie snuck in later and took this one. I've forgiven her for such invasion of my privacy. ;) )

That Girl (in the Mu-Mu)

Exhibit A: Mu-mu.

Also...

I should add that I'm not in danger where I am in Nairobi. I don't want any of you good folks at home a'worryin' for no reason.

It seems the worst of the chaos has passed in town, and most of the stuff you're hearing about is probably happening up country or in parts of the city I'm not in.

I think the biggest danger I face is that of death by boredom.

Yes, boredom.

It's become alarmingly clear that I have almost no friends in Nairobi. Outside of Chanda, of course. And I spend about 97% of my day just hoping that he will call or stop by. That's truly pathetic.

Tomorrow is Saturday, when boredom can be particularly lethal. So be praying. :)

Make that a trilogy...

Well, everyone, I have surgery again in two weeks.

Surgery to take the pins and wires out of my shoulder.
The pins and wires that are moving around and causing a lot of problems and pain.
The pins and wires that probably should never have been there in the first place.

Interesting, right? Yeah. I sure thought so.

After bouncing around Nairobi for the past few days, getting opinions from different doctors, I let an American at AIM’s Kijabe Hospital cast the deciding vote. He says he wouldn’t have done the surgery in the first place—“not even on a Major League pitcher”—because it’s not worth it. Imagine those words hitting your ears after you’ve spent more than half of your yearly income on flights and accommodation and medicines and appointments and the like for this dumb thing.

I confess I didn’t take it well. I ended up leaning against a tree trunk in a small, out-of-the-way graveyard outside the hospital, all alone, crying—sobbing, really—and dialing Lara’s number, though it was 1 a.m. there. Definitely one of my shining moments in Africa.

But, that’s that. I won’t go into all the details, but I guess there are different approaches to fixing a separated shoulder, and I just happened to get the guy who thought this was best and gave me some not-exactly-accurate information. And then he had absolutely ridiculous ideas to fix the problem. Something akin to whacking the protruding pins back in with a rubber mallet. (Not exactly that, but close.)

But, bygones. It’s all out of my hands now, and it could be that things are simple from here. I just have to endure the pain for another two weeks, then I’ll be in in the morning and out in the afternoon up at Kijabe. And hopefully not on any more detours to my healing and blooming MLB career.

Until then, I’m going to team up with the On Field Media team early, Lord willing, so at least I’ll be of some use while I’m forced to stay in this city.

Sideshow slideshow...

Now, let's see if this works. I put up a little slideshow over there -->.

And you can (probably) click here: Andi's pictures.

Now, I'm still working on organizing them. They're sort of a mess. And apparently the Flickr powers that be have declared you can only have 200 pictures without paying. So... look while you can, before I change them out.

Also, a confession.

It's become obvious that I have far too many pictures of Ellen.

It's just that she basically lives at our house, you know? That, and I love her. And many others...

**OK, I tried to put these in some sort of order... We'll see how this goes... Still working on it...

Idule no bongi...

Emininga inya bino-no-no. Emininga iyohoi. ;)

Picture princess...

Pattie and I just went a little wild with the camera one day, that's all...

Village views...

Lately, I've been spending more time just hanging out with Abuba and some of our other neighbors. It's been really nice. We laugh a lot. Like we are here. I love it when Abuba laughs. Though I guess she's often laughing at me...

Paula is getting older. She's beautiful.

Thomaso, playing shy. He's really a fierce cow herder...