Jet lag, Crash and Christmas

The whole day light savings thing has thrown us for a loop. I guess it is not really the day light savings as much as the plain and simple fact that we no longer live on the equator. It gets dark here by 5:30 and even though I have lived most of my life in the rythum of short winter days and long summer ones, I find myself unable to adjust. Instead I seem to be caught up in perpetual jet lag. I look outside. It is very dark. It must be about 10:30. I look at the clock. What?? 5:45??? And my mind immediately clicks in with don't worry, this is just jet lag, you'll soon adjust and everything will BE OKAY. Except that this has been going on for weeks now and I am no closer to adjusting than I was a month ago. Even the kids feel out of sorts about the whole "How can it only be 6:30? It has to be the middle of the night." Joe said recently, "It feels like we just landed here and I keep waking up in the middle of the night because it feels like it should be daytime." I guess 10 years of the sun nearly always going down at 7 and rising at 7 can readjust your internal clock in a more determined way than I thought.
We just got back from a wonderful visit with the folks at Norristown Pres. Most notably, our good friends the Petersons who have been there almost as long as we've been in Uganda. It was a delight to hang out with them, eat good food, and be a part of their church community for the weekend. On the way up, however, we saw a car accident. We were cruising along I-95 and a car lost control in the far left lane. She fishtailed and swerved all the way across the lanes into the cement barriers on our side (as we are going over a bridge) bounced off into the path of a large 18 wheeler. We were two cars behind. The truck driver slammed on his brakes in an amazing display of reaction time. Everything happened so fast, one minute his lane was clear the next a car was horizontally directly in his path. We thought for sure her car would go airborne over the bridge and that his truck would jack knife. Everyone hit their brakes and we prepared for massive crashing. Kev swerved into the emergency lane, stopped our van. As the smoke from the truck's tires cleared, Kev dashed from our van to the car. The truck had hit the car, airbags had deployed. The woman inside seemed very shaken up, but mobile. The smell was horrible, it seemed the gas tank might have ruptured and the engine was in a bad way. Kev got her out of the car, I dialed 911 and waited to see what would happen. The truck driver set up orange cones to direct traffic away from the accidnet and waited with Kev and the woman, making sure she was okay. Amazingly, the lady at 911 already had notice of the accident and police, firemen and medical personnel were en route. Within ten minutes the woman was surrounded by 8 firemen and paramedics, three police cars had arrived and one ambulance. Another car had stopped to see if she required further medical attention. Fireman were pouring some type of sand substance around the car and checking to make sure everything was okay for passing vehicles. Traffic had stopped on both sides of the highway and cars were cautiously making their way past. Kev was filing a witness report and then we were back on our way. That's when the culture shock slapped me in the face. The differences between this accident in the US and a similiar one in Uganda took my breath away. The US response was immediate and effecient. No one tried to loot the car. The truck driver managed to control his vehicle, AND didn't run away after the accident. Although a bad accident, the woman walked away from it. Help arrived and other cars simply moved past knowing that the woman was in good hands. I'm still pondering how dramatically different this was.
And of course, Christmas is coming. I realized this weekend how many mixed emotions this holiday brings. It took awhile to realize, duh, that the last two Christmas seasons have been tramatic. We left Uganda for a brief Christmas visit two years ago, arriving in Baltimore to visit Kev's parents just as his dad was taken to the hospital. Kev's dad passed away 2 days later. Then last year, we went through the whole upheaval surrounding the Ebola outbreak in Bundibugyo. We were scared, fearful, transitioned and trying to make the best of a bad situation in a house in Kampala as we wondered if we would ever return to our home back in Bundibugyo. Wondering if our friends would die, grieving when one did.
So now we face the holiday season again. It is hard not to cry at the joy of being back in Durham, in a house we love, in a community that is warm and welcoming. The low level terror and stress that we had lived with for so long replaced by a growing sense of peace, rest and comfort. Furlough continues to be a powerful season for us, as we process our time in Bundibugyo and begin to share some of the stories both wonderful and painful with so many of you who supported us and allowed us to work and live there.