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.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
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!
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.
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.
Friday, October 19, 2007
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.
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.
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…)
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…)
Thursday, October 18, 2007
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!
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!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
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.
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!”)
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!”)
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
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.
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.
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. :)
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!
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!
Sunday, October 07, 2007
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… 
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. :)
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).
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. 
Rotten Vegetables…
I should say, Ellen is doing better. My mom asked me about her, and I realized I hadn’t given an update. I sometimes forget ‘cause about a million things happen a day that I think would be nice to write about.
Our little sweet pea is doing fine and getting all her cookie-snatching strength and charm back. Mom said she might send an outfit over for her. I think Abuba would love that. She told me to greet my mother “very, very, very, very, very much” from her.
Our little sweet pea is doing fine and getting all her cookie-snatching strength and charm back. Mom said she might send an outfit over for her. I think Abuba would love that. She told me to greet my mother “very, very, very, very, very much” from her.
Pray for James…
Heinrich and Doris have been concerned for quite a while about their friend’s son. The friend is James, one of the chiefs, and his little boy has been sick for a while, and they’ve been unable to get him better. So they decided the other day to get him out of Lopit and to Nairobi, where he could get real medical attention. We have a lot of peoples’ generosity to thank for that, I’m sure.
James had never been out of Sudan before, so H and D had the forethought to give him important lessons, like how to use a toilet and take a shower. They gave him a toothbrush, among other things, and sent him off on a plane Wednesday morning with assurances from the doctors that they’d be able to treat the boy and would return him to Lopit feeling much better after only some simple treatment.
Word came through two days ago that they’d been mistaken. They found a soccer ball-sized tumor in the boy’s stomach and said it’d already destroyed a lot of organs. James begged them to take the boy to Germany, to treat him with chemo. The doctor said it was too late. James, who we’d hoped would be led to Christ through this, asked why we couldn’t just pray to Hollum (God) and He’d heal him.
The boy died late last night in the hospital. My heart aches for James, in Nairobi now but flying back as soon as possible with the boy’s body. Lopit tradition has the family surrounded immediately by the entire village, and provides a familiar way for them to mourn. The closest James has to anyone there is Daniel, who was able to receive him and—from what I understand?—was with them through it all. And I’m sure there are other DIGUNA folks there coming around James, but how hard…
I know H and D are taking it hard, and it will be hard to come back to Lopit, the harbingers of such bad news. Please pray for this whole situation, that God would work through it.
James had never been out of Sudan before, so H and D had the forethought to give him important lessons, like how to use a toilet and take a shower. They gave him a toothbrush, among other things, and sent him off on a plane Wednesday morning with assurances from the doctors that they’d be able to treat the boy and would return him to Lopit feeling much better after only some simple treatment.
Word came through two days ago that they’d been mistaken. They found a soccer ball-sized tumor in the boy’s stomach and said it’d already destroyed a lot of organs. James begged them to take the boy to Germany, to treat him with chemo. The doctor said it was too late. James, who we’d hoped would be led to Christ through this, asked why we couldn’t just pray to Hollum (God) and He’d heal him.
The boy died late last night in the hospital. My heart aches for James, in Nairobi now but flying back as soon as possible with the boy’s body. Lopit tradition has the family surrounded immediately by the entire village, and provides a familiar way for them to mourn. The closest James has to anyone there is Daniel, who was able to receive him and—from what I understand?—was with them through it all. And I’m sure there are other DIGUNA folks there coming around James, but how hard…
I know H and D are taking it hard, and it will be hard to come back to Lopit, the harbingers of such bad news. Please pray for this whole situation, that God would work through it.
Grandpa Heinrich…
Heinrich told me a story about his Lopit “grandfather” the other day, and I can’t help but share it.
Heinrich and Doris brought these crank-turn tape players from Germany, and dug up some old Latuka language (not so far from our dialect) recordings from Look, Listen and Live. The LoPeeps love them. Unfortunately, it’s not a very stable medium and they often switch out the Gospel tapes for their own ancient tapes they got from the refugee camps in Kenya, so we’re looking to go in a different direction. But that’s beside the point.
Apparently, this old man—self-declared grandfather to HK—really digs the players, but couldn’t for the longest time get the turning thing down. He just couldn’t do it. So a whole bunch of monyemiji and Heinrich sat with him a whole afternoon at the mangot and tried to teach him how to crank it. He finally caught on. (Heinrich said one of the main obstacles was his inch-long fingernails, which Doris graciously clipped for him.) Now all he wants to do is turn it, turn it, turn it, all the time and listen to the tapes. And he tells everyone he can do it himself. I think only Heinrich’s smile upon that declaration can rival the old man’s!
Heinrich and Doris brought these crank-turn tape players from Germany, and dug up some old Latuka language (not so far from our dialect) recordings from Look, Listen and Live. The LoPeeps love them. Unfortunately, it’s not a very stable medium and they often switch out the Gospel tapes for their own ancient tapes they got from the refugee camps in Kenya, so we’re looking to go in a different direction. But that’s beside the point.
Apparently, this old man—self-declared grandfather to HK—really digs the players, but couldn’t for the longest time get the turning thing down. He just couldn’t do it. So a whole bunch of monyemiji and Heinrich sat with him a whole afternoon at the mangot and tried to teach him how to crank it. He finally caught on. (Heinrich said one of the main obstacles was his inch-long fingernails, which Doris graciously clipped for him.) Now all he wants to do is turn it, turn it, turn it, all the time and listen to the tapes. And he tells everyone he can do it himself. I think only Heinrich’s smile upon that declaration can rival the old man’s!
Yeti: (n) see Andrea Ifeja
Yesterday, my dear friend Lisa told me it sounded like I was becoming a bit of a yeti.
Hmm.
I asked Kim what a yeti was. She didn’t know. I had just written myself off as one of those old, disconnect people who googles newfangled slang to keep up with the world, when Lisa told me she didn’t really know what it was exactly, ‘cept that they used it on Friends and it seemed applicable.
Upon searching it, she found it was “abominable snowman, a hairy humanlike animal reportedly inhabiting the snows of the high Himalaya Mountains,” and quickly apologized.
Apology not accepted. It sounds a bit right. Though I did pluck my rather unkempt left eyebrow this morning, I still think I’m of that distinct “hairy” rank. The only thing I can’t account for is the snow thing. There definitely isn’t snow here.
Hmm.
I asked Kim what a yeti was. She didn’t know. I had just written myself off as one of those old, disconnect people who googles newfangled slang to keep up with the world, when Lisa told me she didn’t really know what it was exactly, ‘cept that they used it on Friends and it seemed applicable.
Upon searching it, she found it was “abominable snowman, a hairy humanlike animal reportedly inhabiting the snows of the high Himalaya Mountains,” and quickly apologized.
Apology not accepted. It sounds a bit right. Though I did pluck my rather unkempt left eyebrow this morning, I still think I’m of that distinct “hairy” rank. The only thing I can’t account for is the snow thing. There definitely isn’t snow here.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Life of Learning…
I’ve been reading a lot lately, for the TIMO curriculum, and I’m enjoying what I’m learning. We’re on our church-planting and discipleship unit, which is cool. In the other units, I think maybe the theory was a little more distant from the practice. Or maybe I’m just more into this stuff.
Granted, we don’t have many folks here who can be disciple. There are very few Christians. But that’s what’s golden—remembering to focus on a few, and trusting God to work through them to the rest. And it is the same with my friends in the village. I don’t have people who are already Christians, but I have people who I can be something to and witness to. As a house, we learned long ago to have a close core, not to spread ourselves too thin. That’s what you always hear about the same folks.
Anyway, I read J.I. Packer’s Evangelism and the Sovereignty of God last week. Excellent book. It talked about these two great truths—God’s sovereignty and man’s responsibility. Lots of folks get all bent out of shape wrestling with these two things that they see as contradicting. And they run themselves ragged trying to reconcile these two truths. But it was nice to walk with Packer on a road I’ve walked before; to again have my thinking swiveled is always good for me. I love deeply the sovereignty of God and feel equally the responsibility of man. I love what C.H. Spurgeon said when someone asked him to reconcile the two truths—“I wouldn’t try. I never reconcile friends.” So, it’s nice to be reminded that both truths are from God’s Word. God never lies. And sometimes we have to accept what maybe to us is a mystery—and live our lives holding both in equal esteem, not playing them off against each other, because God doesn’t.
I also was reminded that God is sovereign, and because of that, what I’m doing out here isn’t pointless. God will move if and how He wills to. “Were it not for the sovereign grace of God, evangelism would be the most futile and useless enterprise that the world has ever seen, and there would be no more complete waste of time under the sun than to preach the Christian Gospel.” :)
What else? I read a book by some Guillebaud guy who does ministry in Burundi, For What it’s Worth. It’s about no holds barred discipleship. What I took from it was about the Christian life. Though living a Christian life sometimes seems like an insurmountable thing, we have to press on it in. He quoted Christopher Columbus who, though his crew was on the verge of mutiny and things were looking grim, he ended his journal each day with, “Today, we moved westward!” So, each day I want to be able to say I moved “westward” in my sanctification. I also liked this, from Newton: “I’m not what I ought t be, I’m not what I’d like to be, I’m not what I hope to be, but I’m not what I was, and by the grace of God, I am what I am.” Superb.
It all tied in well with my recent Piper sermons on Romans 7. We have hope in the face of our weaknesses and struggles in this world because we have Jesus Christ.
I listened to a sermon this morning by a one Brent Rue (don’t know this fella at all), the gist of which was that our relationship with God should be rooted in intimacy. And he said that we need to spend more time being loved by God, to be able to love him. He said that love is recognizing what God has done in our lives, and telling him all about it. An interesting point.
Then I just started last night a book called Creative Ministry (Nouwen), which said in the introduction: “If it is perhaps possible for a doctor to cure a patient even where the doctor hardly believes in the value of life, a Christian minister will never be able to be a minister if it is not his own most personal faith and insight into life that forms the core of his pastoral work.”
It’s actually funny how God weaved all my recent reading and studying together. I’m reminded that the whole string of what I just talked about—discipleship in ministry, the sovereignty of God in grace that undergirds and justifies that ministry, God’s grace in my own life that I can live my Christian life from and on, and how out of that Christian life, my ministry flows, and I’m able to lead others to Christ in discipleship. A neat little circle, isn’t it?
Oh, that I will have a lifetime of such learning. :)
Granted, we don’t have many folks here who can be disciple. There are very few Christians. But that’s what’s golden—remembering to focus on a few, and trusting God to work through them to the rest. And it is the same with my friends in the village. I don’t have people who are already Christians, but I have people who I can be something to and witness to. As a house, we learned long ago to have a close core, not to spread ourselves too thin. That’s what you always hear about the same folks.
Anyway, I read J.I. Packer’s Evangelism and the Sovereignty of God last week. Excellent book. It talked about these two great truths—God’s sovereignty and man’s responsibility. Lots of folks get all bent out of shape wrestling with these two things that they see as contradicting. And they run themselves ragged trying to reconcile these two truths. But it was nice to walk with Packer on a road I’ve walked before; to again have my thinking swiveled is always good for me. I love deeply the sovereignty of God and feel equally the responsibility of man. I love what C.H. Spurgeon said when someone asked him to reconcile the two truths—“I wouldn’t try. I never reconcile friends.” So, it’s nice to be reminded that both truths are from God’s Word. God never lies. And sometimes we have to accept what maybe to us is a mystery—and live our lives holding both in equal esteem, not playing them off against each other, because God doesn’t.
I also was reminded that God is sovereign, and because of that, what I’m doing out here isn’t pointless. God will move if and how He wills to. “Were it not for the sovereign grace of God, evangelism would be the most futile and useless enterprise that the world has ever seen, and there would be no more complete waste of time under the sun than to preach the Christian Gospel.” :)
What else? I read a book by some Guillebaud guy who does ministry in Burundi, For What it’s Worth. It’s about no holds barred discipleship. What I took from it was about the Christian life. Though living a Christian life sometimes seems like an insurmountable thing, we have to press on it in. He quoted Christopher Columbus who, though his crew was on the verge of mutiny and things were looking grim, he ended his journal each day with, “Today, we moved westward!” So, each day I want to be able to say I moved “westward” in my sanctification. I also liked this, from Newton: “I’m not what I ought t be, I’m not what I’d like to be, I’m not what I hope to be, but I’m not what I was, and by the grace of God, I am what I am.” Superb.
It all tied in well with my recent Piper sermons on Romans 7. We have hope in the face of our weaknesses and struggles in this world because we have Jesus Christ.
I listened to a sermon this morning by a one Brent Rue (don’t know this fella at all), the gist of which was that our relationship with God should be rooted in intimacy. And he said that we need to spend more time being loved by God, to be able to love him. He said that love is recognizing what God has done in our lives, and telling him all about it. An interesting point.
Then I just started last night a book called Creative Ministry (Nouwen), which said in the introduction: “If it is perhaps possible for a doctor to cure a patient even where the doctor hardly believes in the value of life, a Christian minister will never be able to be a minister if it is not his own most personal faith and insight into life that forms the core of his pastoral work.”
It’s actually funny how God weaved all my recent reading and studying together. I’m reminded that the whole string of what I just talked about—discipleship in ministry, the sovereignty of God in grace that undergirds and justifies that ministry, God’s grace in my own life that I can live my Christian life from and on, and how out of that Christian life, my ministry flows, and I’m able to lead others to Christ in discipleship. A neat little circle, isn’t it?
Oh, that I will have a lifetime of such learning. :)
Letting Go…
The bottom of my feet are tinted green. I had fading blue streaks on my arms for nearly a week. My fingernail beds have similar discolorings—from the preschool paint—and my thumb and forefinger are stained with the deep violet of GV, the wonder drug that we slap on the village kids’ cuts nearly daily. I wake up each morning to my increasingly wild curly hair, and I’m forced to giggle at myself in the mirror. Today, my skirt and my tanktop do not (and could never, even in the wildest fashion dreams) match.
I’m starting to think maybe I’ve let myself go. Kim keeps trying to call me back to the living. I wonder what the implications of this are. Hmm. Hopefully, I’ll be able to pull it together before our next trip back to civilization…
I’m starting to think maybe I’ve let myself go. Kim keeps trying to call me back to the living. I wonder what the implications of this are. Hmm. Hopefully, I’ll be able to pull it together before our next trip back to civilization…
Go Cubs, Go!
I got a delightful email in my inbox this morning, saying my dear Cubbies have clinched the Central!
Oh, what joy! Oh, what bliss! Oh, what sports happiness!
Oh, what cruel, CRUEL fate, if the Loveable Losers make a push for the October Classic in my absence.
Meh.
But, still, go Cubs, GO!!!
I expect updates, people. I’m ashamed I didn’t have a dozen emails in my box. (Ahem, Phil.)
On a similar note, I use my Todd Walker baseball card as a bookmark, and little Monica was quite enraptured by it yesterday during church, as she sat on my lap. I’m pretty sure—because of my Cubs baseball calendar—all the children think the “men of my village” all wear some combination of white, blue or gray uniforms with pants that are much too small for them and funny gloves. Good times.
Oh, what joy! Oh, what bliss! Oh, what sports happiness!
Oh, what cruel, CRUEL fate, if the Loveable Losers make a push for the October Classic in my absence.
Meh.
But, still, go Cubs, GO!!!
I expect updates, people. I’m ashamed I didn’t have a dozen emails in my box. (Ahem, Phil.)
On a similar note, I use my Todd Walker baseball card as a bookmark, and little Monica was quite enraptured by it yesterday during church, as she sat on my lap. I’m pretty sure—because of my Cubs baseball calendar—all the children think the “men of my village” all wear some combination of white, blue or gray uniforms with pants that are much too small for them and funny gloves. Good times.
Heating up
I know you folks at home are enjoying all the wonderfulness (would you believe that’s a word?!) of Autumn back home, but ‘round these parts the thermostat is quickly climbing. I can’t believe how stuffed I am after a climb up the mountain. We here in Husa are praying this is just our bodies adjusting, otherwise this doesn’t bode well for our surviving dry season. Eek.
Thankfully, my wonderful father brought this supercharged fan from the United States of America (I like to write it out like that). Unfortunately, all that wonderfulness (again!) does a quick number on our solar system and might prove more a sad reminder of what could have been in the end. Oh pity. We will somehow prevail!
Even though it’s an oven here, my heart still feels the Fall, and I actually felt a physical ache in my body the other day for going to an Illini football game. Funny, because it was Saturday, which I hear was the very day my dear Illini pounced the stupid Littany Lions and caused enough of a pulse in the Illinois football program for my father to declare it resurrected. Wonderful! If this is so, I’ll be forced to miss sports year-round—college basketball season runs right into professional baseball season, which overflows into college football time, and before you know it, it’s back to Assembly Hall. Call it the circle of life.
Fall to me is bonfire smores, and I just tried to resurrect Kim’s fire from her baking this morning for the purposes of such an indulgence. (We found Nairobi had marshmallows this trip! Unfortunately, not a true graham cracker in the country.) My face is now ashen from blowing on the few lukewarm coals, and I’ve given the silly thing over to—by the grace of God?—light itself.
Enough about my thoughts on Fall… I’ve got an entirely different reality outside my window that’s currently calling my attention to my laundry on the line and a threatening storm. (I’m telling you… every time!)
Thankfully, my wonderful father brought this supercharged fan from the United States of America (I like to write it out like that). Unfortunately, all that wonderfulness (again!) does a quick number on our solar system and might prove more a sad reminder of what could have been in the end. Oh pity. We will somehow prevail!
Even though it’s an oven here, my heart still feels the Fall, and I actually felt a physical ache in my body the other day for going to an Illini football game. Funny, because it was Saturday, which I hear was the very day my dear Illini pounced the stupid Littany Lions and caused enough of a pulse in the Illinois football program for my father to declare it resurrected. Wonderful! If this is so, I’ll be forced to miss sports year-round—college basketball season runs right into professional baseball season, which overflows into college football time, and before you know it, it’s back to Assembly Hall. Call it the circle of life.
Fall to me is bonfire smores, and I just tried to resurrect Kim’s fire from her baking this morning for the purposes of such an indulgence. (We found Nairobi had marshmallows this trip! Unfortunately, not a true graham cracker in the country.) My face is now ashen from blowing on the few lukewarm coals, and I’ve given the silly thing over to—by the grace of God?—light itself.
Enough about my thoughts on Fall… I’ve got an entirely different reality outside my window that’s currently calling my attention to my laundry on the line and a threatening storm. (I’m telling you… every time!)
Lizards, lizards… everywhere.
A lizard found its way into our frying pan the other day. Perhaps some clever bug’s antics to keep from being eaten. Fortunately (or unfortunately?) the pan was cooled. We’re not that desperate for meat.
Rainy season brings the most spectacularly weird encounters with animal and bug life. I’m always interested to find a cornucopia of critters in my bed each morning. (You know, inside my mosquito net.) Keeps life interesting.
Rainy season brings the most spectacularly weird encounters with animal and bug life. I’m always interested to find a cornucopia of critters in my bed each morning. (You know, inside my mosquito net.) Keeps life interesting.
“Ote, ote, ofu, ote”
Here’s a Lopit language and time-telling lesson for you.
If your housemate hears a suspicious, soft cadence of “ote, ote, ofu, ote” (“dry, dry, wet, dry”) in the sideyard after you’ve spent the whole day doing laundry, it’s high time you get out there and defend your precious clothes from little Thomaso’s dirty-fingered checking to see if they’re ready to take down.
Haha. It’s too bad the fingerprints these kids leave on my heart will last far longer than even the ones they stain my clothes with, or else I’d be tempted into frustration…
If your housemate hears a suspicious, soft cadence of “ote, ote, ofu, ote” (“dry, dry, wet, dry”) in the sideyard after you’ve spent the whole day doing laundry, it’s high time you get out there and defend your precious clothes from little Thomaso’s dirty-fingered checking to see if they’re ready to take down.
Haha. It’s too bad the fingerprints these kids leave on my heart will last far longer than even the ones they stain my clothes with, or else I’d be tempted into frustration…
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