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).

Lopitland meets Hollywood…

Hey gang, I finally got that video finished and kicked back Stateside. Hooray!
My dear friend Rev. Mark, who represents (and comprises) the USA branch of this adventure, has so graciously offered his services to copy and send out this little production.
(You folks at OUC or Faith—when you see him, hug him. He does a lot for me!)
Anyway, if you’d like a closer look at our work out here, my team and what TIMO is all about, drop Mark a line and he’ll send you a copy.
Here’s his email: markalexander17@yahoo.com
Make sure you let him know your name and address. And, if you’re from Faith or OUC, make a note of that; he’ll save on postage and give them to the church.
I hope you’re blessed by the video, and can better know how to pray for us from it!
Cheers!

What is the What.

I picked up a novel about the Lost Boys while I was in Nairobi—“What is the What.”
I was having a hard enough time reading about the horrible things this character Achak saw and experienced as he first walked to Ethiopia, then back across the country to Kenya, being attacked by animals (both of the lion and Arab horseman variety), bombed by the North, used by the SPLA and worn down nearly to death or insanity. But during one of my breaks—I made a habit or putting down the book and resting now and then, lest I be overwhelmed by it—I happened upon the title page, where I saw under the title, “An Autobiography by Achak Valentino…”
I can’t begin to tell you how this affected me. There’s quite a difference between a NOVEL—like the front cover said—and an AUTOBIOGRAPHY. Before, the character was just that—a character. He was fictional, likely many boys’ experiences distilled down into one storyline.
But then—“autobiography.” Suddenly, Achak wasn’t just the story of many faceless boys. The suffering had a face. It could be pinned down, put in a specific time and place, given a name. This was actually someone’s life.
It made me sick, to read about this boy’s life and to know it was very real, and being forced to confront the fact that his life was the same life thousands of other boys lived, and are still living today.
Imagine, not knowing anything but war. Or being born and raised in Kakuma, a refugee camp in the desert of Kenya.
Hmmph.
Anyway, it’s a good book. If you’re into that kind of thing, you should give it a read.

New guy on the block…

We came back to find out we’ve had one added to our ranks.
This fella Toby came out to help for a few weeks, but apparently has decided to stay indefinitely. Or something.
Anyway, I guess it’s cool because he’ll be helping do some of the practical work. And there’s a place for him to stay in the boys’ house now, since Daniel is gone. I guess all the village folk mistake him for Daniel, and he acts/looks very much like him. So maybe it’s like we didn’t lose anyone at all, after all.
Or maybe not. The guy he came with told me he was “The New Daniel.” Which I guess might be funny to him, but sort of made me want to punch him. (See previous bit about how losing a team member is like losing your nose or some other essential body part.)
It’s a little painful, knowing that this guy gets to live among the LoPeeps and the TIMO team, but doesn’t have the responsibilities of TIMO and just does practical stuff, because that’s exactly what Daniel wanted to do, but was told he couldn’t do here.
So, perhaps a bit bittersweet, but good nonetheless.
And, who knows, maybe, come Christmas, he’ll fill in as the Weihnachtsmann, too.
Karibu, Toby!

Home!

A week’s lesson in patience, two uneventful flights and slightly annoying (but very short) stop in Loki* later, we’re finally back home in Lopitland.
(*I’m sorry, I really hate Loki. To me, Loki is where malaria is born. And where dust lives. And the breeding ground of a whole host of other evils. I, um, might not be giving Loki a fair shake. Forgive me.)
Flying over so much nothingness makes you realize how we really are in the middle of nowhere. Then our pilot buzzed around the horseshoe of our mountain range; Kim and I had our noses pressed to the windows. It’s so cool, to see our little villages from the air—outlines of the compounds, the haphazard lines of the peanut fields, the funny cone roofs.
We carried entirely too much up the mountain, but were rewarded when we got home—Pattie had made us special lemonade and put seats under our tired bodies. She even had the whole inside of the house poohed while we were gone! In a word—amazing.
Our neighbors were excited to have us home, too. It just made my heart happy to shake their hands and smile with them. I really enjoy being home.
In a related story, it’s officially Christmas season in Lopit. I put up the lights just as soon as my tired body would let me. Then, unfortunately, I proceeded to fall backward off the stool I was hanging them from. My first thought was, “Oh, please, Lord, tell me I didn’t break anything. Steve would absolutely kill me. And I’m in no mood to wait for another flight.”
But, no worries. I’m OK. :)

Un-stuck.

Tomorrow, we get un-stuck. That is, we get to leave Nairobi. Praise the Lord.

I took down a lot of my Nairobi posts. I figured anyone short of a stalker wouldn't want to read all about our crazy city adventures and misadventures.

My apologies to all the stalkers out there.

Update from Pattie...

I got an email from Pattie the other day.

Seeing that thing in my inbox did terrible things to my stomach. I was so afraid she was going to tell me about one of our friends dying or something.

Praise God, she didn’t.

Let me glean from her two emails here, to give you an update.

To go back, it looks like the monyemiji came down and begged Steve to get the meds sent out a bit ago, because so many kids were dying. That’s a pretty big move. Good on you, monyemiji folk.

Franco was sick, but Pattie started treating him with the new medicine and he looks like he’ll be fine. Paula even carried him most of the way down to church Sunday, Pattie says, because they asked him and he said he wanted to go. She said it’s been so wonderful to see how Abuba is taking to heart our lessons on the importance and method of getting a fever down. I think maybe when our neighbors saw Pattie and Kim soaking me down with our precious little water when I was sick, that did something in their minds. Pattie says Abuba even helped her explain to other people why it was important and how to do it. I think Pattie was really encouraged.

One of our friend’s kids, Monday, was really sick. (There’s a picture of Monday somewhere on here.) I’m not even sure how to explain this story, because even Pattie was having a hard time telling it. Here’s the thing: Sometimes, the Lopit declare someone dead before they’re actually dead. Which leads to confusion, when people are… resurrected. They, umm… come back to life. Anyway, this seems to be the case with Monday. Pattie woke up to the women wailing in mourning and telling her Monday died, but then Monday was really just sick. And now she’s in the clinic, and it sounds like she’s getting better.

Pattie said she was “mad enough to spit nails” (I think that means really mad) when she heard from our neighbor that, though they just got a whole slew of meds on that plane HK sent up, the clinic had sent her away, saying there was no more medicine. Not yet sure if that’s really the case—people have a habit of saying that when they’re lying about having been to the clinic. We’ll see what good ol’ Pattie says in her next email.

I miss Pattie. :(

Boxing for Breakfast

The other day I enjoyed a really great breakfast with Adele, a missionary/ photojournalist I met last time we were in Kenya.

She chatted with us a bit under the glow of our Christmas lights on “Christmas Day” and invited me out to this beautiful place in Karen for a Boxing Day treat.

It was nice, just sitting there, enjoying coffee and good food, and each other. We talked about a lot of things—the supporter stress, how we’ve been challenged in our walks, war (did you know there is a war on in Congo right now? I didn’t), being a single missionary in Africa, etc.

I remember sitting back for a moment and thinking, “Oh, wow, I’m really relaxing.” That was a good moment.

It was nice to understand and be understood. That is so rare here.

And it was nice to be challenged, as well—just hearing about how she is studying the Word, how she’s trusting God to teach her “new” things from “old” texts, how she’s being deliberate about living what she’s learning… that spurred me on.

Anyway, our morning out at this lovely café stands out in my mind—sort of a calm in the middle of the Nairobi storm, a real blessing.

Yuletide craziness...

So, today was our Christmas. We did our best to wish as many people as possible a merry Christmas. Some--yea even most--were confused by our holiday cheer and greetings, but after a lot of explaining, some caught on and humored us.



We got all dressed up and went out to eat for our "Christmas" dinner. It was excellent fun.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Let's see if this works...

In a moment of decent internet connection, I'm trying to see if posting my prayer letter on here works. Let me know if you can click on it and it's big enough to read!

Also, if you're not on my mailing list but want to be, just email me: aclinard@gmail.com.

Golly, having internet is really great...

Santa!

How great is it that on our Christmas Eve, we see Santa at Nakumatt? Apparently, even Father Christmas does his shopping last minute. (I feel he and my Dad could bond over that fact.)

Hooked…

Grasshopper and Monkey, hamming it up.




Also not unusual.

Monkey See, Monkey Do…

Here’s my sweet Monkey. (Also known as Ellen.) I love this little girl very, very much. She’s so dirty in this picture, which is usual. I think this day I found her laying out in the dirt, making what must be something close to snow angels, just minus the snow.

The Latest...

Just got a call from Heinrich.

Apparently, he's been running around today trying to get meds to Wilson Airport and on a plane. He said Steve called from LH today for an emergency shipment.

He said every household in Lopit has at least one sick child right now, and that babies and children are dying every day. The clinic is out of medicine, and the team has given all its away, too. Heinrich got some on this plane, which goes up tomorrow, from what I gather, so praise God for that.

Just really lift us up right now--especially the people on the ground and the LoPeeps!

Kmandie

Now, we still have good times. This should not go unsaid. And being in this time with only Kim has been amazing. I’m so blessed to have found a friend who I love so much, and it’s nice to be out—just the two of us—because our friendship can’t offend anyone.

It’s understandably hard for Pattie to live with us. She’s from a different generation, with a different sense of humor and, in some ways, different approach to life. (We’re more thinkers, while she’s a feeler.) We’re blessed in Lopitland, though, because God’s given us the grace to understand each other and communicate about it. And, oh yeah, we all love each other a lot. :)

So Kim and I have made a bit of a joke of ourselves here in Nairobi. There’s nothing to keep us in check, and it’s pretty clear we’re pathetically attached at the hip. So we’ve taken to making fun of it and exaggerating it. (Enter our sense of humor.) We’ve threatened to buy some cheesy friendship bracelets (circa… umm… fifth grade), and speak a lot in terms of “we,” “us” and “our.” We schedule meetings and appointments as “Kmandie… that’s two people.”

Hmm. This probably isn’t funny to anyone else. That’s often the case. Anyway…

The Nairobi Struggle

You might wonder what it is that we do in Nairobi.

Well, first off, I should say, Nairobi isn’t all relaxation. In fact, it’s quite the opposite for me. There are a lot of great things about being here, sure, but there are also crashing waves of culture shock and a lot of stress.

You see, when we step into Nairobi, there is a sudden onslaught of resources that we can only dream about in Lopitland. There is endless power. Water. Supermarkets. Cell phones. Internet. Food.

And, with all these things right at my fingertips, there is an intense drive inside me to make the most of it. There are emails to catch up on. People who want me to call. Supplies that need to be bought. Things that need to be researched online. Baths that need to be taken and somehow enjoyed.

You shop at stores that never have what you want, and you still have to struggle to understand and use African English. It takes three minutes to ask if someone has a garbage can so we can throw a scrap of paper away. (Happened three times just yesterday.) Nothing in Africa is easy—it takes a whole day to get done what you could do in an hour in the States, with more success. And you can drain your whole bank account easily.

Quite honestly, I’m just exhausted. Purely and truly and completely, exhausted. The last three months in Lopit have been the hardest so far, and I really just want to relax. But it’s hardly possible here.

Our guesthouse is full of people who want to know all about TIMO and Sudan, so you try not to sound tired or rehearsed when you tell them about it. (And I want to tell them about it!) You hear from others about the tanks lining up on the North-South border or that it’s only a matter of time until there’s war again. And you have to deal with the reality that our friends were and possibly will again be the victims of the horrible crimes against humanity that we read about in the books. The first few days we were here, Kim and I quite literally hid in our room. We’d go out during the day to get things done, but then come back and just huddle in our little hole and avoid the family-style dinners where you’re forced to make small chat with new people each night. For exhausted introverts, that’s not always so fun.

People from home want to hear from you, and you’re forced to do that at odd hours in the night for outrageous prices with delays that are just taxing on your already-stretched patience. And no one from home will ever, EVER understand what you’re going through—what life is like when your neighbors’ kids are dying or your house is a 24-hour community stage and your white skin makes you a constant actor. There is no green room, and there’s no makeup to cover up when you’re tempted into frustration or impatience or anger or discouragement, or when you’re just plain tired. People raise eyebrows when you—a missionary!—take advantage of a $7 pedicure, but can’t understand that you’ve spent the last three months walking mountain trails full of human feces and other assorted poop. Knowing that people, even your friends, are questioning your needing/taking a break can, in all honesty, make it impossible to enjoy your days away from the village, because you wonder if you should feel guilty, and you just want people to understand.

This is a huge, huge struggle for me, so please pray that we get some real rest. You’ve got to fight for it! I guess this post sounds a bit whiny, but… I’m all about telling you how it is, and this is how it is. I know very few of you will ever understand, but here’s to trying.

Merry Christmas!

I'm currently eating an apple.

You know what that means? That means I'm in Nairobi, the land of decent food.

We were given the choice to take our Christmas break now or actually at Christmas. KP and I chose now, since we want to be in the mountains for Christmas. Some of the others are out in different places; some are still hanging around LH.

Anyway, you won't get much from me for a bit. I'm spending most of my time eating.

Though, I did get a prayer letter out, so hopefully you'll get that soon.

Quick note…

We’re still getting stronger here. I think Justina has malaria now, though? It’s hard to keep track anymore.
Meanwhile, Kim has strange hives all over her body and has been itching for three days. She’s really miserable. She’s a bit sedated with antihistamines most of the time, so that’s always fun.
This spiritual attack isn’t just hitting the team. You could also pray, please, for the church people, as things just keep happening among them, too.
Pattie hasn’t been around that much, ‘cause she’s been keeping Cath company over in her village. (Jen is still gone.) Hence you’re getting a lot of Kimmie and Andi and very little Pattie.
But she’s here now, and she’s making some curry, so I’d best get on my way…

Sodas

I think sometimes God creates Lopit “words” just to amuse us.
Like when Abuba swore up and down that “veranda” and “handkerchief” (said a little like ET would say them) were Lopit words.
But just recently we discovered what might be the best of all.
The Lopit word for sodas is…. drum roll please… ooooooouuuuuuurrp.
That is, the sound of a burp.
So, quite naturally, it was way more fun to walk around asking people if anyone had soda.
:)

Affections and Wouldings…

There are times in my life when I am seized, ruled and made miserable by a heavy cloak of what can most closely be called boredom, or some variation thereof. It’s this feeling of, What am I going to do? And nothing holds its regular appeal. I can’t muster up a way to even idly entertain myself. I feel useless and stuck, and maybe a bit hopelessly so. When these moments came before I was on the field, I would often turn my mind to finally getting out here, and not feeling this way anymore. But it turns out these overwhelming moments have followed me—they must be part of the human experience. Call it restlessness, or questioning my purpose. I imagine it’s the same feeling that causes men to stray from their wives, or successful business people to one day shrug their shoulders and walk away. It’s a strange thing to infect the Christian life, which is maybe why it surprises me so much, hits me so hard.
Anyway, it’s in these moments your will is tested. No longer can emotion carry you. You’ve got to dig deeper, and every move is consciously made. Jonathan Edwards said it’s the difference between wouldings and affections. Wouldings fail, but affections are the “spring of actions.” You have to have proper affections to live the Christian life day after day—you need proper fear, hope, love, hatred, desire, joy, sorrow, gratitude, compassion and zeal. Edwards wrote, “Everyone of us who has the power of godliness in our heart will be inclined to seek the things of God. And whatever our state, this power will give us strength enough to overcome our weak inclinations so that these holy exercises will prevail over our weaknesses.”
And it’s true. I see it in my life. The Holy Spirit spurs me when I cannot will to move; He constrains me when I long to go too far. Deep in my heart are these affections, and that is the power to overcome even these moments of restless boredom, when the tyranny of time and lack of sovereignty grip so tightly.
Anyway, there is joy in this for me, though that slow and steady type that seems more like resolve. And, too, a twinge of amazement, that even before I was a Christian—and in so many people who still aren’t—God gave me the grace not to be overcome.
(This probably doesn’t make any sense, does it?)

What news?

I’m unsure of what to update everyone on.
I’m getting strong again, so I’m getting out again. I might even go for a easy ride later today or tomorrow, on account of it being overcast today. Overcast! Would you believe it, during dry season?!
Oh, it RAINED last night. We just ran our tank dry and had to clean it. There were four—count ‘em, FOUR—fuzzy, floating mouse carcasses in there, along with a splattering of lizards and some unknown masses. This time, it really turned my stomach. Seriously, we bathe in that, cook with that… DRINK that. Meh.
Anyway, we were feeling the pinch of having no water. Life just gets instantly harder. Everything is more work. But then it rained. I laid in bed and tried to hear each individual rain drop for as long as I could, and thank God for each one. Kim was just laying there, too, happy. So now we have water—probably a third of a tank. I never been in such a situation, to be so dependent on and so joyful in God’s gift of rain.
Yesterday, I dragged myself up to Abuba’s just to sit there with her and crack peanuts. I enjoy just sitting here, trying to perfect my form. I even sort of enjoy it when they endlessly make fun of me for being too slow and inept. I don’t actually enjoy eating peanuts all that much, so it always makes me laugh when Abuba gives me two fistfuls and yells at me to “Sema!” (“Eat them!”)
That’s how the Lopit talk—they don’t ask, they demand. They’re yelling, aggressive folk. That took some getting used to. But I’ve realized that the three of us have taken up a lot of that same manner in our talking. That’s part of learning the language, I guess—you can’t just learn the words, you have to learn the form and the nuance. So it’s gotten less abrasive to my ears to marshal around my friends, just as they marshal us around. (“Mary, come and greet me! Drink this! Take this! We’re going to church. Go change your clothes and come. Give me that! Where are you going?! Why?! Fine. Go!”) You may think it’s impossible to do that and do act in love. But it’s not. It works, somehow.

Team Update…

Everyone seems to be doing pretty well. That is, no one has flown out for medical reasons since… Monday. Darn near a whole week.
Salome and Philip are out of the hospital, I hear. Praise God.
We got official word that Daniel isn’t coming back. He found work that suits him better in Nairobi—work that uses his gifts and talents and is fulfilling to him. So, good for him.
It’s still sort of like getting your team’s leg cut off. But we’ll live.
We had a team-building day Saturday with Rod from TIMO HQ. You know, with a third of the team gone, haha. But it still went really well, so praise God for that.
Cath held Sunday School in the new building today. Wow, it just looked so good, all brightly colored and full of children singing songs and hearing about God. It made me happy to see. I think the kids were happy, too.
Pray for us as the weather dries up again and things get tight. Pray for all our ministries as we adjust to the seasons and movements of the Lopit people. Dry season is a whole different animal than the rainy days! Meanwhile, some folks came to drill a new well for Steve & Co. and the church compound, so that will provide them a lot of relief. G’pa P was glowing when the trucks first drove in.
I’m really growing to love P more and more each time I see him at the church compound. He’s just such a steady guy, and so in love with God and so committed to his flock here. I’m not sure I’d be so strong, were I in his position. He hasn’t seen his wife and children in 20 years. They’re in a neighboring country, and he’s been struggling to get them here for years. It’s always about money, or about instability, or about something or the other. Imagine, not having seen your own children for so long, and to have been through and experienced the war like he has. To have grandchildren you’ve never met. And to be the rock of the church here. I admire this guy. The first time I ventured out after being sick I went to sit with him. He gave me a big smile and welcome, bought me a soda and we sat and chatted for a while. I couldn’t have asked for a better afternoon.
Anyway, that’s just a random update, here and there.

Discouragement.

I think it’s easiest to be tempted into discouragement when discouragement seems so warranted.
And, being given new reasons for discouragement every day, I’ve found it ever more important to keep Jesus before me.
Today, they had to get Faith, Joshua and Justina’s second child, back from a fever of 42C. That’s 108F. And absolutely nuts.
I’m telling you, it just keeps coming.
Maybe real/super-spiritual missionaries aren’t supposed to say things like this, but, being of made of the same fabric as any other “regular” Christian out there, I’m willing to say, after two weeks of being sick and recent fits with fever of my own, I am looking forward to our next break. It’s funny, because not long ago, I was dreading it—this short break half of us are taking in November, instead of at Christmastime, with the rest. But now, I wouldn’t mind at all the luxury of ice. Yay, even ice water. Or a bath tub.
Faith is sick.
Salome and Philip are in the hospital.
Jen is still getting things sorted out.
I think we’ve as good as lost Daniel.
And our neighbors are all sick. Adwina’s two other kids have malaria, too.
Anyway, that’s not a cheery update from here, but probably better than the one I sent Mark the other day. Just keep praying, if you will.

Update…

Add Heinrich to the sick list.
They’re flying out today because Philip and Salome are really sick.
Cath is recovering, but weak. I still feel like blah.
Our friend Adwina’s youngest died from malaria two days ago. Took the little one in less than a day.
We went and sat under the moonlight among the crowd of wailing women and in the dry season wind. Kibaki—Adwina’s next child—sat in my lap.
I guess just keep praying.

Out of the Fire…

You know those times when you’re so sick people talk over you in hushed tones, as if you’re not there?
I’ve had a lot of that lately.
Not ideal.
I can only remember bits and pieces, but I seem to remember being quickly declared a “poor thing” and the phrases “she is really miserable” and “bless her heart” being often on Pattie’s lips. (The latter phrase makes me curious, as she’s often explained that in Texan, it’s a sort of well-intentioned caveat phrase. For example, “Aw, he’s so stupid… bless his heart.” Or, “She’s just terribly incompetent… bless her heart.” Hmm.)
Well, (bless my heart) I’m finally feeling a bit better. Which is good, because one more night of body-wrenching headache and my body rejecting everything—even water—and I don’t know how I would have survived. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so miserable or so helpless. I don’t even know what it was, except to know that it wasn’t malaria, otherwise there might have been some small thing we could do. Meh.
Thank God for Pattie, our resident caretaker. She really comes alive when one of us is sick, which is especially good because KP and I are inept in that particular area. Left to ourselves, we’d probably just sit and stare at the sick person with a confused look on our face.
Anyway, like I said, I think I’m on the upswing. Though I’m a lot skinnier and weaker than I’m used to, at least I have my wits about me now, for which I’m thankful!
Keep praying, if you will, because a lot of us are getting sick. Kim just got over malaria. Iris had that bad case not long ago. Jen is in Nairobi now, seeing a specialist. Martin and Cath have malaria now. Little Salome and Philip are really being tossed about, and I’m sure all these long nights of nursing people are going to crash down on Pattie soon enough.

Welcome Return, etc.

We’ve been quite lonely around here lately, as Laudina went off to town and Abuba went in hiding.
So we were pretty thankful when Abuba came back yesterday, unscathed save for having lost a lot of weight because of being sick.
Praise God she’s back.
I haven’t got the full scoop yet, but I know there was a “hearing” yesterday at the main mongot about the cows. Let’s hope they’ve got it all settled.
Also, J came to church. And his brother, too. And his brother stood up not once, but twice, and was professing God. So we’ll see what comes of all that. One more kid has fallen sick, as well.
Also, pray for G’pa P, the main pastor, because he’s got a bad burn on his leg and it might have gone septic. He’s also diabetic.
Clearly, I’m too tired to write in detail. Just keep those things in your prayers, please!

Next…

Apparently, one of the symptoms of malaria is being a big sissy.
This, in my very medically informed opinion.
Based mostly on my current experience.
That is, the fact that I couldn’t pull myself any further than our closest neighbor’s compound last night. Oh, and, also, the other day when KP woke up for a bit, sat there staring absentmindedly, licked two envelopes closed, then declared she’d exhausted herself and needed a nap.
Anyway, it’s pretty obvious I have malaria, but I’m trying to give it the cold shoulder and hoping it just passes quietly away. Meh.
Meanwhile, Kim has developed a more-than-healthy fear of mosquitoes (read: slightly irrational fear) and is seeing malaria behind every bush. She pleaded with Pattie yesterday to start me on malaria medicine because I’d nonchalantly said I was a bit achy.
To hammer home the point here, she’s also started an intense hand-washing campaign and just handed me a whole chunk of bread… because a fly had landed on it, and she refuses to eat it. It’s my pleasure, at this juncture, to point out that mosquitoes spread malaria, not germs. But, as I wrote my mom the other day, at these moments it’s futile to resist completely (such was the case when she, coming out of malaria and getting hungry, cut up what must have been 3lbs of potatoes to make French fries for the two of us) but instead to softly suggest moderation.
Even that didn’t work yesterday, as she was scuttling around my room, surrounding my ‘death bed’ with everything I could ever want. That is, until she suddenly realized that any mosquito that bit me would be carrying malaria, and her simple presence in the room—good-willed or otherwise—put her in danger of getting it again. I wish you could have seen her face when she did get bit. Oh wow.
So, yeah, tonight promises to be rather hellish, so please be praying as I have to go through the throes of this.

Malaria misery…

KP has been miserable with malaria for the past two days, which makes us all a bit miserable, since there’s not much we can do for her.
It’s always nice to be the one who doesn’t have malaria, for obvious reasons. But there’s an added bonus around here, because you’re sane enough to see how the people react to it.
This morning all our friends streamed by and were asking again and again how she was. I’d tell them she hardly slept all night and the medicine was refusing to work but now she was resting and yadda, yadda, yadda, and it was kind of neat to see them grimace up their faces and shake their heads with concern. They all asked if they could come “look” at her—such is the culture, you come to look at the sick person and sit with them—but I’d try to put them off ‘til later, saying she just needed to sleep. It’s nice, because as we’ve started to understand their culture, they’ve learned a lot about how we function and don’t push things like this anymore. They know when we’re sick, we normally just like to sleep and be left alone. On some things, we meet in the middle. That’s part of love, I guess.
Anyway, I think poor Kimmie is feeling better this morning—finally, after more than 24 hours of kicking and being restless, her body has finally relaxed. But keep her in your prayers, and Baby Philip, too, who also is suffering. We probably picked up the malaria from the mosquitoes in Loki, which means I’m likely the next victim—I not only slept under the same mosquito net as Kim there, for four nights, but was locked in the same room with her for five days. Ugh.
I really, really don’t want malaria—again, for obvious reasons. But I’ve already had about nine weeks of sleepless nights, battling on other fronts, and was surprised to find I’ve lost—errr, misplaced?—about 3 kilos in that time. Not necessarily an unwelcome change, but not one that will carry me into dry season or through malaria well, haha. So, if God would be so kind to spare me…. that would be just super.

Rat races…

The rats have launched a full siege again, which always gets me riled up. I admire their stealth night attacks, but the most recent involved eating a candy bar and my underwear, which is a blow that’s far too personal to be overlooked.
This definitely means war.

Shot heard ‘round the village…

I gave our neighbors a start this morning, and I blame my dad’s secretaries for it. (Yes, I mean yous.)
First, you should know that everyone is a bit on edge because Abuba and her kids recently “escaped” to her mom’s house, on account of her husband’s brother wanting to kill them all. I know, interesting, right? Something about her husband “consuming” all their father’s cows, a very bad deal ‘round these parts. I guess some big deal went down while we were at team day—the “best” things always happen in our absence—which spurred them to flee and, as Mary told me this morning, caused the whole village to fear and the children to cry. So that’s on their minds. (And, obviously, mine, since Abuba & Co. are pretty dear to us.)
Second, you should know that the ladies at work gave my dad a wee can of bug spray for his trip out here, which he graciously left to my use when he went home. I’ve since used it up, and somehow the can slipped into the trash this morning as I went out to burn it.
So, there I am, happily and innocently burning the trash in our front yard, when the wee can EXPLODES and goes shooting up into the sky, then clatters back down to the rocks.
Everyone—and I mean everyone—stops what they’re doing. I hear the village come to the consensus that it came from the house of the whities. I’m left to stand there, holding my fire stick and wide-eyed in my guilt, trying to look as apologetic as possible. Next thing I know, Mary’s hollerin’ at me, wondering what in the world I was doing and if I had somehow acquired a gun—which, apparently, was what all the men looking down at me from the mangot were also wondering. I told her it was only a can, and she laughingly scolded me and told me everyone thought Abuba & Co. had come back and the brother had shot them.
I gave an apologetic wave up to the village—it’s weird, knowing everyone is always looking at you, but it’s worse, knowing this time they’re looking at you with good reason—and slinked into the house as soon as possible.
I had to bear the story about four hundred more times, as Mary took tea in my kitchen and told every passing person. Ibeja is so silly. Ibeja is always causing mischief. Oh, that ridiculous, white Ibeja. And I’m sure it’s being convey through the mountainside—the those-stupid-whitefolk stories are golden ‘round here and never seem to die away completely.
Why is it that this place always rings with gunshots—they’re so common, even we don’t jump at them anymore—but the morning I blow up a can, apparently everyone is at rapt attention?
Haha. Ugh.
(And, ladies, I hope you feel the weight of your guilt… or at least some of my embarrassment…)

Making Culture

I’m having trouble remembering what I have and have not written up here. Forgive me for my redundancy or negligence, whichever side of the evil I fall upon.
The other morning, all of our friends were nowhere to be found. They’d all somehow disappeared without us noticing, even as Kim was waiting for some of them to pick her up to go to the fields. Quiet doesn’t go long unnoticed here, so eventually our ears were perked to the nothingness and we started wondering what in the world was going on.
Our friend, Soil, came by and we asked him where everyone was.
“They’re making culture,” he said.
Making culture. Excellent.
They’d all gone up the mountain for a goat sacrifice, an attempt to ward off all the sickness that is taking the village—and maybe the curse that seems to be taking J’s family. (His brother’s boy, the baby, did die Tuesday morning. No word on the other one—did I mention another was sick? I don’t even know.)
We ran up there too late to catch what exactly happened, but Martin later gave us the details of it, and we could see for ourselves the goat intestines and feces splattered on their clothes and heads. I won’t try to give the whole thing in detail, but they sure did “make a lot of culture” from the sound of things.
Sigh.
Sometimes, I’m forced to remember where I’m at. The other day, the whole mountainside went NUTS with people wailing and banging their gates. I guess it was the new moon or something, and it’s some animistic tradition. Imagine, thousands of people, along a huge mountainside, all uniting at once in this huge, subhuman howl. Funny that Halloween is so close. Ha.
And the boys outside our house were frantically yelling at me to bang on my door, too, lest I get sick soon. We asked every passing person just what it was about, but never got a straight answer. Many say this and that about “Hollum” (the Christian God), while others will slip up and let out a “Joik” (the bad god who eats children). Most have learned by now to simply cloak all of this kind of stuff with the blanket statement, “It’s just our culture.”
It’s just so discouraging, knowing some of these people have heard the Gospel, time and time again, and yet they don’t hear.
I’ve said before that the wider tribe that our village comes from is called the [Ok, I guess I can’t really write the name of the] tribe, which in the language means “deaf.” They certainly are deaf right now to God’s message, and to the warnings in His Word against stuff like this.
We’re powerless to open their ears, but—Lord willing—we’ll keep speaking the message.
Pray for perseverance!

More Tragedy…

As a Christian, I love it when I can connect the dots of God’s plan—when I can see for myself that this one thing happened so that this other thing could come from it. That’s sort of how I felt the other day when I wrote about James’ son dying and James and Grace coming to the Lord through it. What a wonderful thing, to know life can come from death!
But God just threw us a curve ball, and I’m left wondering.
James’ baby boy died tonight. He was maybe two months old.
I can’t even imagine the family and village’s grief—they buried the other boy not even five days ago, and now this new tragedy is heaped on them. And on Heinrich and Doris, as they feel with their Lopit friends. They had nearly the whole village out trying to find Michael—the clinic’s head nurse—this afternoon, so they could get the right supplies and know-how to try to save the baby, who was fading fast.
Just please pray for James and for his family. Pray his commitment would be proved true through these trials—that the same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead would keep James through this timing of mourning and testing.

Could be loaded…

Have I ever told you that Mark thinks American children are all trained, from the age of five, in all the arts of war and battle? Yeah, it’s true. Little soldiers, the whole lot of them. I’m not sure where he gets it. But he insists emphatically that it’s so.
Anyway, if he could have seen Kimmie and I on the path the other day, he might have known we’re taught more to fear guns than how to shoot them.
We came up behind our dear, kooky neighbor Ibiong on the path, and she swung around to give us an excited hello. Well, she had a AK-47 slung across her chest, so our natural response was to duck. Not from fear, just from instinct. You never point a loaded gun at someone, right? Not even a play gun. Any child knows that.
Imagine every mother’s terror at skinny little Ibiong swingin’ this thing around like it’s no big deal. She’d repeatedly turn around to say something to us as we walked, and we’d swoop down out of the line of fire. (More then, I’ll admit, for humor than anything else.) She really got a kick out of it. She insisted she didn’t know how to shoot it, so we shouldn’t be afraid. She fiddled with the trigger a bit, in an attempt to demonstrate her ignorance. I do believe at that point we nearly flung ourselves into the bushes. A few times when she’d turn around, she’d plug the end of the barrel with her index finger. You know, ‘cause then it’s not at all dangerous.
We taught her how to say “I gotta gun” in English. She took to saying “gun, gun-gun-gun-gun,” as if it were the shooting sound. This woman is hilarious; I wish I could even explain it.
Anyway, our adventure ended when she stepped off the path to greet someone and we dashed by. She laughed after us, “Erruat itia!” (“You’re escaping!”)

Liberty in Length…

I used to get on the fellas on the sports desk for writing too long. I know my demanding a 12” (and no longer!) column from them was a sure way to earn their distain; and my standing firm in it, enough to drive them crazy.
I look at how I go on and on on this thing, and I wonder how much it would delight them to smack me with a deadline and a length limit.
I guess I’ve at times abandoned the editor’s heart for brevity and abused my license for length. Forgive me!
As for my subject matter, it may bore you. After reading lots of missionary biographies and stressing about how my life here in Lopit will never compare, I’ve come to a sort of peace about it.
Those books looked back on a lifetime, selecting only the days and moments that “mattered.” But my blog is a bit of the opposite—you’ve got to suffering through all the days and minutes with me. So I guess that’s boring, but I’m hoping God eventually writes a pretty good book with it all.

Lopit Computers…

Kim’s been spending hours working on this audio dictionary for Lopit words, so today I rewarded her by changing her computer sounds to Lopit sounds.
When her computer starts, it says “Mong, Mong, Mong, Mong, Mong.” When it turns of, it says, “Ino nalanyar” (go well).
I’m so glad I have an easily amused housemate.

New birth…

Sometimes, death brings life.
Heinrich and Doris flew back to LH with James on Saturday. About 100 people met them at the airstrip and carried the boy back to their village, where they buried him on his family’s compound.
Later, James came to Heinrich and told him someone had shared the Gospel with him at Kijabe (AIM’s missionary hospital in Kenya) and that he “belonged to Christ now.” They gave him an NIV Bible with pictures and some study stuff, and James is anxious for Heinrich to help him with the words he doesn’t know.
James is a CHRISTIAN. Can you believe it? Can you even imagine how excited we are? Especially Heinrich and Doris? Wow.
He’s a village CHIEF, for crying out loud!
And it gets better.
Heinrich said something about the boy in church on Sunday, and Grace—Joshua & Co’s eldest daughter—was really affected by it. She went home and talked to her dad that night. She broke down into tears, and she, too, gave her life to Christ. Little Gracie!
I really was blown away today when all this came out. I’m so happy for Heinrich and Doris, that even though they weren’t able to save the boy, the village isn’t blaming them for his death and James has turned to the Lord. A whole bunch of doctors from different hospitals in Nairobi were involved in the case, and now they’re building a relationship there—a great thing for the medical work in Kenya, I’m sure, and also great because the Kijabe doctors can share about why they do the work they do.
Then to have such a blessing fall so close to home—to see one of our own MK’s make a decision for the Lord.
I guess I just don’t have words.
But now you know, and you can praise with me. :)

Also, some prayer…

Our team is taking a bit of a beating right now.
Daniel is still in Nairobi.
There’s a plane on standby in Loki to fly Iris out the instant she says go, because she’s been really sick.
Poor Steve is in Nairobi—away from his wife—at a field conference and some other potentially hard meetings, and now I’m sure he’s worried about Iris.
Jen’s looking to fly out as well, to talk to a specialist about some nagging allergies.
So just keep us in your prayers. We’ve had blessings upon blessings heaped on our heads, and we know the road won’t always be easy—but it never hurts to pray that we find encouragement and strength in what could prove to be a really tough time for everyone.
Thanks!

Pictures

Naming Ceremony…

Kimmie’s language helper’s wife had a baby the other day. Mark’s been waiting on this one for a while. He’s got two wives and eight girls, and all he wants is a boy. Imagine how bad we felt for him when it was another girl. Heinrich and Kim have both tried to explain to him it’s his “fault,” not his wives’, but he doesn’t buy all that.

He’s really suffering right now—for this and other things—so please lift him up in your prayers. He’s not a Christian.

Anyway, some pictures from the naming ceremony…

Peanut, Peanut butter…

We like this time of the peanut season, because it’s when they all sit around in the fields and pick the peanut shells off the plants. We like it because, a) we just sit in a circle talking, which is great for language learning and b) we can actually do this part without looking like fools. Even our friends would agree. They’re hardly as apprehensive about us going to the fields with them as they were during weeding time (when we’d occasionally pull up some plants instead of weeds).

Walking to the fields is an adventure. It’s basically just pure sorghum for miles, and I really don’t know how they don’t get lost all the time. We couldn’t see a thing.

Anyway, it was good times. Laudina took us out to her field and we sat chatting for a long while. The new hot topic in Lopitland is when we’re leaving. I think the long break a couple months back got everyone—them and us—thinking about what it’s going to be like when we leave. Laudina says we’re going to go home and get husbands. She says we have to send a picture back (somehow?) so she can show everyone and say how “very, very, very good” our husbands are. Then we have to move back with our kids. That seems to be the consensus.

Power Struggle...

We’re looking for any excuse as to why our solar power has been so paltry lately, other than the fact that Kim and I are both working a lot on technical stuff for the team. We thought it’d be a splendid idea to get up on the roof and clean ‘em off. Kim decided she’d climb up, until she got up there and wimped out. Getting down proved harder—she needed a little help from Pattie. That’s some pretty full-on hand-to-butt contact.

Davitika (I will never know how to spell that) ended up shimmying up there like a champ. There were a few moments where we were sure she’d fall through the thin iron-sheet roof, but she adhered to Kim’s instructions to walk on the screws really well. She looked a bit like a tightrope walker.

We have really great friends. :)

House of Bath…

Little Stinky got her dream come true the other day. Do you remember me saying that when we gave her sister a bath, she came tottering up naked later, stinky underwear in one hand, little bit of soap in the other? Well, we were “babysitting” again the other day—Ibiong went off to the river and left the kids with us—and we couldn’t resist giving them baths. Monica was sitting happily on my bed, little feet dangling off the edge, face covered in yuck and smelling pretty foul. (Can you see the stuff coating her face?)

So here you have the results. The kids outside (you can see them looking in) asked if we were borrowing them from Ibiong and would take them back to our village (what they call the USA).

Powdering the kids up is probably the most fun part of everything. It’s such a curious thing for them. Monica wouldn’t have anything done to Baby Kim that wasn’t done to her.

Check out her little footsteps! We made her a “dress” out of an old Banana Republic tanktop we found at the second-hand market in Nairobi. That’s a designer dress, people. Haha.


Baby Kim kind of has bug eyes. I think I’ve said before that she looks a bit like an alien. A cute alien. Anyway, when you have her outside on your hip, then walk into the strange whitey’s house with her, her eyes get HUGE. It’s actually quite humorous to watch. She’s giving some big eyes here, but I’m telling you, they get bigger.

Monica’s cleanliness didn’t last long. Kim decided to take some liberties with the roll-on deodorant. Ellen befell a similar fate the next day; we smeared it all over her body, she smelled so badly.