A Missionary Mom's Reflections on Life Back in the US

Really?

2011-07-24T01:57:00.003+03:00

So let me get this straight... Republicans want to cut programs that help the poor, the elderly and the disabled yet also claim to represent Christians? I'm just about as confused as when the same party chanted "Drill, Baby, Drill!" with the same claims.

Back to BGO

2011-07-14T16:59:00.004+03:00

After much heartfelt discussion and prayer (which included a few personal temper tantrums on my part) Kev has returned to our home in Uganda. Not permanently, just for a visit. The first time he has been back to Bundibugyo in three years, the first time he has been out of the country and away from modern medical facilities since his sudden death event.

I admit, when he first broached the subject I reacted poorly. In my defense he began the conversation by saying that he had a "favor" to ask. I thought he might want me to get him a glass of wine from the kitchen before our video started. Instead he wanted permission to embark on a remote international journey. This lead to a loud and explosive confrontation the likes of which have not been seen since our first year of dating.

Bundibugyo will always have a special place in my heart, carved deeply through suffering and sacrifice, joy and friendship. But did I want the love of my life, risking his to return to our former home? And so I cried and pouted and went to bed angry and hurt, only to wake up the next morning with the conviction that this desire of his should be approached in the same way we have always approached major decisions. If we moved forward with this desire, would doors open? Would the mission be open to a visit? The team on the ground in BGO is small right now. We know from personal experience that visitors, even low-key ones, come at a cost. Would the team be willing to host Kevin or would that seem overwhelming? The school has been through a lot in the past few years since our departure. Was the new headmaster willing to have Kevin return? Would he find a visit now helpful or disruptive? Could we find the money in our budget to cover the trip? Would Kev's cardiologist and primary care physician sign off on the adventure or advise against it? Would the needed shots and medications for traveling to "a remote, rural location with high contact with local people" interact negatively with his current medications. There were a lot of doors that could have closed, and I must admit that I kept out hope that one of them would slam shut. Instead the doors continued to open wide.

And rather surprisingly (from my point of view) the closer we got to his departure the less panicked and the more peaceful I felt. The more I began to let go of the fear that he would die if out of my sight. I know this is one of those quirky things. Just like eagle-eyeing a healthy newborn to make sure they will continue to breathe, I had the same irrational fear... that another throwdown could happen and I wouldn't be there. Fortunately, my husband is a patient and yet persistent man. And I love who he is. I love the way he's geared, even when that makes me uncomfortable and tworked off. And I desperately want him to pursue God's calling in his life whether that is investing in students here or in Bundibugyo. I don't want to restrict him because of my fear... which is somehow a better feeling prayer than the previous door shutting one.

So we spent the last few days together packing trunks and sharing stories of our time together in BGO. After two long international flights and a day of recovery in Kampala, this morning he flew into Bundibugyo on a small prop plane, landed on the grass runway, met the new missionary team currently on the ground and reunited with his staff at CSB.

And just in case you were wondering, all four of our kids begged to go "back home" with him.

Meanwhile, I went to Blueberry Bay Farm and picked three pounds of blueberries and a quart of black raspberries and spent the afternoon making triple berry jam and homemade ice cream.

Finished...

2011-03-17T19:23:00.002+03:00

At least with the 15 page research paper. What a shocker to realize that my ideas must be substantiated by actual published material and not just footnoted as "because I'm the Mommy that's why." My best friend for this project was Kate Turabian's A Manual for Writers. A great book for those of you writing papers or advising children in the finer art of class papers. Everything you need really is covered in this gem of a book. Mine is now littered with underlinings and bent pages. The spine has long since been broken from long hours left open by the computer and then crushed by various middle school text books that had "to go somewhere, Mom."

I did find out, among other things, that my eyes hurt when I stare at a computer screen too long. I was advised to take short breaks, staring into the distance, preferably at something green. Instead, I bought a red beta fish and added three clumps of spider grass to the top. The variegated leaves sprout out in all directions over the top like some hairstyle gone awry. The shiny white roots descend into the water and dig into the black stones at the bottom. The fish swims in and around them until it notices me or anything else that annoys it and then the beta puffs out in all its finned glory. I suppose it is trying to intimidate me so that I won't attack it. Instead I find its bluster beautiful. I watch it for awhile before getting sucked back into whatever paragraph I've been working on. The end result is that I have yet another live thing to care for, but on the other hand, my eyes do hurt less.

The research paper ended up exploring several of the topics floating around in my head. I did a fair amount of reading on Feminist Theology. A field that contains a wide, wide spectrum of thought. At least I have a tentative grasp on some of the names and ideas that are floating around out there. I settled on studying in depth Catherine Mowry LaCugna, a catholic, feminist theologian from Notre Dame who died of cancer at the age of 44 back in 1997. Her best known work is a fascinating book entitled God For Us: The Trinity and Christian Life. The paper focused on the Trinity, both its historical development as a doctrine and the implications that a trinitarian theology has for the life of the church. The underlying, more personal, question was whether a feminist could remain orthodox, yielding a perspective that is needed in the mostly male-centered world of theology or would such a perspective lead down the road to heresy. The paper took far, far longer than I had hoped. I find my lack of knowledge produces a high need to research which combined with a natural procrastination tendency and a full life outside of school, plus a general lack of formal writing practice meant that more than a month went by before it went winging onward to be graded. But I did love every minute of writing that paper and I'm looking forward to more. It is a sickness, I know.

Too little too late

2011-02-03T23:04:00.002+03:00

Yeah, so the Tuesday, Thursday plan is not going to work out. Mostly because I started out too late, but also because I know my tendency to procrastinate. I have 14 more lectures, about 2,000 pages to read, 6 forum discussion entries, a 12-15 page paper and three exams. All which need to be finished by April. My new plan is to pretend that all of this is due by March. Hopefully my procrastination/adrenaline rush will kick in soon and I'll be a machine of academic intensity. Perhaps instead of using the extra umph I get from my evening cup of coffee to watch another episode on TV, I'll actually read another chapter or two for class after the kids are in bed.

For now I'm pondering research paper topics. So far I like comparing the "eternal subordination" theory about the Trinity with prevailing masculine and feminine worldviews. You know, the whole who is greater God the Father, God the Son or God the Holy Spirit? Is there an inherent hierarchy, in which one is greater. Does the Son proceed from the Father? Does the Spirit proceed from the Son? Does the Father proceed from either? Does the Son proceed from the Spirit? Who submits to whom and for what purpose?

I also am intrigued with Feminist Theology and the notion that masculine language in the bible prohibits women in particular from full participation. I get it, kind of. But I must admit to being more annoyed that either side seems more interested in shoring up power. And disgruntled that bringing in the feminine can sometimes introduce aspects of former pagan worship into a church who claims to worship a jealous God. There's a tight rope there, that I don't want to jump up and down on. As I female theologian and feminist, will I inherit feminist theology whether I want it or not? Shouldn't I know a bit more about what that means?

And last, what about the role of Scripture? We talk about the inspiration of Scripture. We talk about the Word of God. Surely the Bible is important. But for those of us who could be accused of "bible thumping" our knowledge of the OT seems to be rather inadequate and don't all those verses that talk about Scripture being God-breathed actually refer to the OT? As I read more about the whole Sola Scriptura argument, I do have to wonder if the Word of God (scripture) is trying to replace the Word of God (Jesus). Do we mistakenly believe that the second coming has already arrived in the closed cannon of scripture? And there is the whole protestant reformation thing... where the preeminence of scripture and its own authority came about as a way to challenge the church's and the pope's authority. Is it all really a power struggle? Don't even get me started on how verse plucking can give anyone a "clear reading" on any topic under the sun and all with the full weight of "because God says so" behind them.

Somehow I need to focus in on one of these or a completely different topic and begin to read....

Carolina Ball

2011-02-02T04:26:00.003+03:00

I was a great disappointment to Kev in college. While other friends were sneaking their boyfriends into basketball games at the Dean Dome, I didn't even stand in line for tickets. I think we went to one game the whole time. And, let me point out, those were the glory years. Dean Smith at his best and an NCAA championship my senior year. What was I thinking?

Oh how times have changed. Our marriage definitely brought out the inner fan in me as I realized the intensity with which a Duke Alum felt the connection with their team. The whole Cameron Crazy is an identity that sticks. Once one, always one. The Tarheel/Devil combo is a particularly tricky combination. With such an intense scholastic rivalry, it is no surprise that our marriage heats up during basketball season.

We used to joke that we planned our children's births around March Madness. And, I have to admit that it is pretty much true. Louisa was born in April, the twins in mid-Feb. I came home from the field to give birth, for a reasonable blood supply and cable TV. (Joe was the exception, of course, he was born within days of the World Cup final.)

The first year back from the field, we taught our kids two big things (you gotta love the freedom of homeschooling)... the electoral college for the presidential election and how to fill in their NCAA brackets.

So here we are on the cusp of March and with bated breath I have realized that UNC (unlike the painful, painful season last year) might actually be a contender. So as things begin to heat up, our family is split right down the middle. Joe and Kev pull for Duke and pretty much any team that plays UNC (typical). Louisa and I are hard core Carolina fans, but find it in our hearts to cheer for any team in the ACC (even, gasp, Duke). I'm keeping my fingers crossed that this year we'll have a vested interest in the NCAA right up to the very end.

Coffee

2011-01-31T00:43:00.002+03:00

Lately, I've become a big fan of coffee. Straight, black, big-girl coffee. The kind with no cream or sugar. Now this might seem obvious to most people, but for someone who always took her milk and sugar with a little splash of actual coffee, this is a big change. I came late to the whole realization that one drinks coffee the same way one takes any drug. For a reason. I mistakenly thought that people drank it as a beverage of choice because they liked the taste, rather than what it could do for them. Hence, my coffee always tasted much more like liquid candy than anything else. I could always fall right to sleep after drinking a cup, since I was basically downing a hot glass of sweet milk.

In my never-ending quest to "finish well," (meaning-- get to the end of the day without killing anyone, doing emotional damage which will require later therapy, or in general displaying a complete lack of patience or understanding) I have tried various strategies. Early bedtimes for all ages, no naps past 18 months, a 5:00 glass of wine, lot's of internal counting to 10's, the development of a sugary sweet sing-song voice. And while many of these things have proven helpful in their own way, at different times, nothing works as well as my after-dinner cup of regular coffee. I know this means that I am awake far longer into the night than I should be, but the result I am looking for is kind of just that. I am viciously coherent during bedtime.

My children argue. A trait that I have more or less encouraged their entire lives. There are four of them, and they each have things to say, opinions to share, concerns and fears and issues to bring forth. And while many of these come out at random times and volumes during the day, the twilight of bedtime seems to bring out what ever else is left in their tank. With two kids hitting puberty, I need to be ON for those conversations. I need to be alert to what is said and not said. With the two little ones, they need to whisper their fears about vampires and boogey men and who might or might not still be their friend in the morning. They need a mommy with monster killing properties, who exerts her power on the threatening world and not on them.

This does seem like a no-brainer, right? Be nice to your kids. I'm here to say that parenting, can kick your butt without pausing for breath. I have found the experience to be much more like a marathon than a sprint. I love the race, but I'm all about any and every tool or gimmick that makes it that much easier to keep running. In the Bartkovich house, it is usually bedtime when things begin to break down. If we have survived the "witching hours" unscathed, and the aerobic exercise that the dinner table provides, the next challenge is usually "the routine." How do you get kids who want to do anything but, ready for bed and headed off to sleep. It is never easy. You'd think the day in and day out nature of the experience would somehow prepare everyone. But no, everyone still seems surprised by the fact that they must go to bed. What?! Can't I just watch one more episode... finish this chapter.... play just a little bit more... but I'm hungry... or thirsty... I forgot that I have two more pages of homework... can't we just snuggle a little longer... my friends stay up sooooo much later.... I'm just not tired... I need to talk to you about ______. Sigh. My ability to deal with these requests diminishes rapidly after 7:30. I'm just too tired. I want instant obedience. I don't want to threaten or yell or give the evil-eyed glare of a mom on the edge. And I find myself getting more tworked off as I do exactly those above things.

Is coffee the parenting silver bullet that cures all ills? No. But does it give me, for this time and this stage, a little extra leg up? Definitely. A little extra energy hit, with the accompanying clarity of vision and mental acuity to get me from the dinner table to the post bedtime zone with good humor and focused attention is just what I need and coffee delivers.

A Little Yin and A Little Yang

2011-01-25T17:46:00.002+03:00

I'm finding the return to academic life a bit difficult. I guess the reason is that I mistakenly thought that it would be a return to college life. Only with grown-up accessories... I know, I can hear the laughter.

The start of classes felt a bit like what I imagine ski-diving to be. A little anxious at all that wide open space and then the glorious plunge right into it. Imagine my surprise to find that instead of a parachute, I had a rather secure bungee cord attached. Quite the shocker. The first rebound was definitely a large smack on the underside of the small prop plane, which quite clearly jostled all remaining passengers, as well as leaving me a bit disgruntled.

So here I am, taking two classes and realizing that if I study as much as I want to (and let me pause here to remark on the difference that the internet makes. In college, if I ran across a term or concept that I didn't fully understand, I did not fret. I simply wrote it down in my notes. If it was important then the professor would certainly comment on it during the lecture. However, GOOGLE has altered my strategy. If I come across something unfamiliar, it takes two seconds to find a plethora of information. How interesting! Before I know it I have wondered down a rabbit trail that may or may not be pertinent to my studies but which I find fascinating. Hours can pass before I realize just what has happened and how far I have been side-tracked. Don't even get me started on Wikipedia. Which I am beginning to realize is a bit more like a gossip column than a reliable source of information. Urgh.) Anyhow, while this "learning is happening" I fall further behind in my actual class requirements and the laundry can pile up in alarmingly tall and wide heaps, and the house (which is always twittering on the very edge of a disaster zone) can sprout a life of its own, and the children begin to melt-down in a "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy" chant that is appallingly loud and pitiful. It really does take the slightest nudge to push us over the collective line into total chaos. Sigh.

But, I am nothing if not a planner and fairly soon I came up with a college-ish sort of idea. Monday, Wednesday, Friday I would devote to my hereto for normal SAHM routines....cleaning, shopping, mending, laundry, bills, appointments, exercise, etc. All of those tasks, both large and small that keep our life running smoothly. On Tuesday and Thursday I could dive right into school and spend hours reading, listening, arguing and thinking.

I'm sure other folks would do it differently. But I tried that other way. And for me, my multi-tasking abilities kept leading me astray. Okay, actually this single-minded devotion had to be suggested to me by a close friend since I am still clinging to my multi-tasking superiority like a dog with a bone or a sleep deprived two year-old. And the harsh truth is that I'm just not disciplined enough to do both in one day.

Other than my Google forays, I find that if I listen to the inner voice that tells me it is okay to stop studying for a minute to throw in a quick load of laundry, I get easily distracted by the growing playmobil chaos in the reading room which surely needs to be picked up before the kids come home, which leads to vacuuming the rug and under the sofa, and somehow dusting and then sweeping the stairs and then a quick swipe at the toilet and shower... I have come to the realization that my inner voice is related to that children's book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Before long the kids are home and I have read only 2 pages of assigned reading. It is all so easy to justify that I could end up with no time to actually think unless I am brutal with myself.

So it is that I find myself on one day sitting at a desk with a hot cup of coffee, notebook full of lofty thoughts as I ponder the concept of sola scriptura and its implications for the community life of the church and the next day on my knees scrapping snot off the wall with a Clorox wipe. A little yin and little yang.

Keeping House

2010-07-13T00:25:00.003+03:00

I'm reading a thoroughly delightful book these days, written by a dear friend entitled Keeping House: The Litany of Everyday Life. I won't get into all the details... those are provided in plentiful measure on Amazon, but the writing is excellent and the subject matter both familiar and challenging.
I continue to be fascinated by becoming a "grown-up." Which has meant to me thus far... learning to drink my coffee black (those who know me well, know that I like a little coffee with my cream and sugar), wearing what I guess would be termed "business casual" clothing instead of blue jeans and rumpled t-shirts, and putting my kids to bed at night at a reasonable our, with their teeth brushed, without a Mommy meltdown. The bar might seem too low to some, but I continue to whack my head on it.
Thanks to Karen, for years I've been a flybaby, working on my zones and decluttering as much as possible. But I tend to fall off the bandwagon and end up with a house that looks like a hurricane has recently swept through more days than not. As a result my home is loud both in volume (four kids and a dog will do that) and in aesthetic appearance. I also hate to fold clothes and put them away. Not a pretty admission, but there it is. My "hot spots" are any horizontal surface. I dreamed recently of decorating only with pyramidal structures to thwart the accumulation of school papers, snack wrappers, Yu-Gi-Oh cards, and junk mail. Instead I have large IKEA coffee tables that tend to grow the above like magic rocks. Having a messy, cluttered house (let's not even go into the amazing amount of black dog hair that Jazz contributes) means that more often than not I am hesitant to have people over for dinner. Which is something I love to do and which is definitely part of being a grown-up for me and mine.
The most disturbing part is that no amount of house cleaning ever truly gets the job done. I give my family a good 12 hours in ANY house to completely wreck it. And that's with the only get one thing out at a time rule. So it is with great pleasure that I am reading Margaret Peterson's book which is about among other things making a home a beautiful, safe place. Which of course, requires effort, thoughtfulness and plain old hard work. The work is repetitive, often thankless and has its own aspects of drudgery. Cleaning toilets is definitely yuckier than arranging flowers. But with two 5 year-olds perhaps more important. At the moment, however, all of this is compounded by the fact that I am drowning in cardboard boxes or their up-ended contents. Sigh.
I'm only through the first few chapters of Margaret's book but it is just the shot in the arm thing I have needed to get my behind in gear. Thus, I am encouraged to continue to tackle the job of settling in here and unpacking. To be thoughtful of which things to put where. To embrace the chore of making this place our home.
Today, I started with the playroom. We (the kids and I) didn't get very far but all the furniture now has a place and the toys can be sorted through at a later day and put away. Perhaps tomorrow.

Madly packing

2010-06-15T00:02:00.002+03:00

Or at least should be madly packing. I'm at the point where everything is getting thrown into boxes and marked misc. I hate that, but you gotta do what you gotta do...especially when the World Cup keeps pulling me onto the sofa to watch. Sigh.

This morning Joe sat on the sofa looking quite mournful and asked, "Do we get to take the sofa?"
I realized in that moment that I knew exactly what it meant that we were moving across campus... we were packing all of the stuff up here and taking it there. After several probing questions, I found that the kids all thought this move would be like the last few. I would pack up some of their most precious things, the rest would be given away or left behind for others. Especially true of the furniture. No wonder they have been watching me like a hawk as I pack their rooms. No wonder the shouts of dismay when they see their clutter replaced by a row of cardboard boxes. Here I thought they would compliment my efficiency and hardwork. Instead they were wondering what toys and possesions I decided to toss or give away in their absence.

As the sighs of relief washed over their faces this morning, I realized yet again, how important communication is. I know when I am flexing my missionary muscles. I used to live in Uganda, but in my heart I am American, I grew up here and while my worldview has been broadened and expanded. While I will always reflect those years in Africa, I understand the unspoken rules here. My kids, though, are deeply different than me. Their early life in Bundibugyo and their subsequent adjustments to NC and NH have them still playing a catch up game in many regards. Still trying to figure out what's going on, still trying to know what questions to ask, what to assume to be true.

Don't get me wrong. They are doing a super job, but every so often I get a reminder that part of being a missionary mom, indeed the most defining part is parenting them well. More important than packing, even.

Grateful

2010-06-11T19:35:00.002+03:00

I am grateful to God for unexpectedly preserving Kevin's life a year ago today. For the amazing chain of events.... for Joe's presence and coolheadedness in time of great panic, for a neighborhood where people walk their dogs with cellphones ready to call 911, that Eric listened to the voice that told him to turn down Alabama St. to find Kevin collapsed with no pulse just days after Eric completed his CPR re-certification, for the EMT crew that rushed him to Duke after advanced CPR and three AED shocks failed and he flat-lined... but still tried "just one more time," successfully shocking Kevin en route to the hospital, for the new cooling procedure that Chris initiated at Duke and that both the ER team and the cardiac intensive care unit carried out, for Allan's speedy arrival at the hospital, for the prayers lifted up in Durham, Philadelphia and around the world for Kevin's life and full recovery during his coma, for my support team who gathered around me at the hospital and wouldn't let go, for the immediate physical response and loving care of family, friends, church and mission, for the cardiologist who diagnosed the underlying problem, for the surgeon who replaced his faulty heart valve via a new cutting edge open heart procedure and the HEARTS program that rebuilt our confidence in starting to exercise again.
While the outcome was incredibly, abundantly more than we all expected (he woke up with NO brain damage), it was certainly a hellish way to celebrate 15 years of marriage.

So today we celebrate two anniversaries. 16 years of marriage and 1 unexpected year of life. May we continue on this life journey together, intertwined with God and in deep community with others.

Flexing missionary muscles...

2010-06-08T20:47:00.002+03:00

As Kev and I used to enjoy saying "We are two control-oriented people living in a place that completely defies and thwarts us." While we learned many valuable lessons in Bundibugyo, one of the more important ones was the continual and ruthless shattering of our illusion of control. We surely didn't respond graciously every time our plans changed or something completely unexpected happened to shift those best laid plans around. I'm pretty good at the private temper tantrum thing, but quickly and consistently over the years in Uganda I gradually learned about acceptance. Of course, my best defense against the unexpected is to formulate hundreds of worst case scenarios in any given situation and then problem solve my way through them so I'm emotionally prepared, just in case. (I know, I recognize how weird and time-consuming this is-- you would think four kids would occupy all available thoughts but paradoxically no. Planning for the worst case no matter how unlikely somehow feels like good parenting to me...) Thus the ability to coast through unexpected change and emerge with a new perhaps similar, perhaps radically different game plan was a crucial part of being a missionary for me. The understanding that while planning is a good thing, many times flexibility is required. The ability to let go of what you thought would happen and focus on the positive nature of what is currently happening and adapt.

God is gracious to me, in that none of those lessons learned were wasted. I am especially glad because we learned today, 7 days before our move to a house 2 doors down, that we are instead moving into a boy's dorm across campus. Same move date, just a different location. New responsibilities, deeper community, and amazingly a bigger living space.

Now back to packing...

Moving Again.

2010-05-21T14:19:00.002+03:00

We're moving again... not to another continent, another state, or even another town. In fact, not even another road. Our new house is just two doors down from this one. Why the shift? Each faculty member is required to live in a dorm for at least 10 years. The apartments are quite nice and spacious- even for a family of six. As a result many faculty choose to stay in for the maximum 15 year amount. Which can leave quite a waiting list for the newbies. And with a larger size family there are fewer available apartments which makes the process... tricky. Bottom line: someone else has to move out of one of the bigger apartments for us to move in, and, of course, anyone above us on the waiting list moves first.

In the meantime, we live on campus in what is called a "pre-dorm" house, while Kevin is affiliated with a dorm. He has student advisees and does dorm duty 1 weeknight and every fourth weekend. Not a bad set-up for our first year. A slow integration into life here, with our own space and plenty of time to think through "boundary issues" as we watch how other faculty approach dorm life.

A faculty family who has completed their years of dorm service normally moves on to "post-dorm" housing. It is a sweet deal. 10 years in the dorm equals 10 years in a house... all of which are rent free. The only hitch is that the pre-dorm and post-dorm houses are one and the same. So in the early spring of the year, faculty who are considering leaving the dorm for post-dorm housing tour all of the available houses for the following year. If, as in our case, a post-dormer chooses a house that is currently occupied by a pre-dormer, the pre-dormer is assigned to another pre-dorm house. With multiple folks leaving the dorm and multiple folks waiting to get into a dorm and some people switching from dorm to dorm or from pre-dorm house to pre-dorm house the whole process can get complicated. My hat goes off to the group of individuals here who are in charge of figuring it all out and making the decisions of who goes where, when and how. The academy covers all the moving costs and arranges and schedules everything during the summer months. The campus gets all shuffled up and put back into place in the few weeks before and after summer school.

Thus, in the early spring lot's of people came in and looked at our place and we were informed a week or so later that our house had been chosen as a post dorm house. So we knew we would be moving...but where? During March and April, dorm apartments opened up and people in the line in front of us were assigned to them. We guessed we would move into another pre-dorm house. Just a few days ago we got the letter confirming that. And, since our current house needs quite a bit of work, we will be one of the first faculty to move.

This will be our 7th move in 3 years. 6 moves that were each accompanied by fairly traumatic circumstances... that each had a certain emotional flavor and packed their own distinctive punch. Fortunately we had multiple people who came along-side us to help, lending practical and emotional support every time. It is hard to imagine being able to move so often and through such circumstances and remain unscathed. Community (both dear friends and family) is a powerful, powerful thing.

With three weeks to go, this move could be the easiest one yet. We move only two doors down. Our "new" house is 3 years old and is (in our opinion) one of the coolest houses on campus. It is a LEED award winning house, with geothermal heating and cooling, energy efficient appliances, solar water heating, a beautiful, well designed lay-out and plenty of room for our family and guests. And because the Lord knows that I need baby steps, even though this shift should be the least emotionally challenging... my sister (with her family and dear friends) will be coming to visit within a few days of our move.

If only I could twinkle my nose and have everything glide magically into the correctly labeled cardboard box! As that power is not in my skill set, for the next few weeks I'll be purging and packing.

Results...

2010-05-15T19:44:00.003+03:00

Kev finished right in the middle of the pack with a time of 29 minutes and 30 seconds. Wahoo! Which means he was able to meet his goal of running each mile at the 10 minute or better pace. We are celebrating.

As for me, I got to run the 1/2 mile fun run with Nate and Savannah. Definitely a "Mommy Race" as I ran holding hands, cheering and encouraging with my hip pack full of essential items flopping up and down. Nate and Savannah ran alternating between giggling and serious as we wound our way around the elementary school and along the road. Very fun.

Joe and Louisa ran the mile long fun run with gusto. Joe finished in the top 20, racing up the hill at the end with determination. Louisa ran just as she swims, with her eyes wide open and a grin of delight on her face.

And so all ends well, today. Of course, as we were eating lunch Nate came running up to say that Louisa was hurt. Evidently she was playing tag (in flip flops, sigh) and dodged along the library wall only to look back at the wrong time. Wham. Face and small toe ran right into the brick wall columns. She's fine, but limping. Just in time for soccer tryouts tomorrow....

5K

2010-05-14T19:43:00.003+03:00

So, I'm a bit nervous. For 8 weeks now, Kevin has been in serious training for a 5K. Each day of the week has a different workout plan which he has been following religiously. Slowly but surely, his body is responding and gradually getting back into the shape he was in... well... nearly 20 years ago. Yet I find that for me the process is as much an emotional recovery as it is a physical one. My anxiousness lingers quite stubbornly. Fortunately, he runs with a heart monitor attached to his chest, and usually runs on a treadmill in front of a group of fitness center staff trained in advanced CPR with a AED labeled and in clear sight. The fitness center itself is attached to the emergency room of our local hospital. A hospital that also follows the cooling procedure for sudden cardiac death that helped to save his life last year. Nice, right? Baby steps.
Only the problem is this 5K race is not run in the fitness center. It is, of course, OUTSIDE. Kev is very patient with me and has been slowly easing me into a more normal, less medically intensive, less supervised situation for him. For several Sundays, his "easy run" has been around campus (granted where 700 people are certified in CPR, where multiple AED's are strategically located and clearly marked AND the fire department and hospital are within 1-5 minutes, but still....) We refer to this as his "big boy" run.
Just last week he announced that he wanted to do a dry run of the race route. Gasp. Was he kidding? "I'm just not sure I'm emotinally ready for that." With great patience he explained he would be running with a race buddy. A friend from school who also runs, who is certified in CPR and is a retired nurse. He did fine and I continue to stretch towards acceptance that running out of my sight won't kill him.
So tomorrow is the big day. Louisa's school is hosting it's annual fundraiser... a 5K "Get Fit in May" race. Louisa and Joe will do a 1 mile fun run, Nate and Savannah will do 1/2 miles all starting at 8:30am. Kev will run the 5K at 9:30. I will be on the sidelines actively squashing any panic inducing thoughts. Please pray... both for Kev's run (safety, stamina etc.), but also for my ability to rejoice with him and celebrate this milestone.

Shoes

2010-05-07T20:49:00.002+03:00

One of my favorite all-time lines from a movie comes from Clueless. The main character (a young lady) is outraged when one of her friends gives her a hard time for still being a virgin in high school. She responds with quick wit, "You see how picky I am with my shoes, and they just go on my FEET."

There are plenty of quirky aspects to my nature. But right out there in the forefront is my obsession with shoes. Its not that I have a ton of them, although I have passed through that stage of life. My current issue is welcoming them in to my closet. Over the years I have become (and this is an understatement) increasingly picky. Perhaps this is due to living in BGO and having to choose something on infrequent Stateside visits that would last. Perhaps my inner budget nut comes out and shrieks at paying any amount over 5 bucks for a pair. More likely though, it is my ability to feel multiple hurty places from otherwise smooth looking surfaces... somewhat akin to a modern princess and the pea. Who knows. Kevin jokes that it took me less time to decide to move to Uganda for 10 years than it does to buy one pair of shoes. He no longer shops with me, looking like a deer caught in the headlights at the mere suggestion that he tag along for input. Who can blame him? I typically try on every pair in my size at a store, sometimes more than once. 2-3 hours can easily be spent with nothing to show for the effort. Not very encouraging. Even my mother, the most patient person I know, can raise her eyebrows and sigh deeply when I announce that I need to shop for shoes.

However, the end result is a closet containing minimal shoes that are all completely comfortable, useful and lovely (at least to me). Each purchase a product of this same slow agonizing process. Fortunately, I buy shoes to last for years, adding slowly and carefully to my collection.

The problem just now is that summer is approaching and a pair of sandals would be helpful. Sigh. Two years ago, I bought a pair of brown Keens that doubled as my hiking shoes. They are wonderful, I highly recommend them, however... they do tend to be a bit clunky with a skirt or dress pants. So the search for sandals is on. I am 2 stores and 6 hours into the process with no luck. 1 pair almost made the cut. A Taos sandal with a floral patterned footbed and three leather and velcro straps for individual adjustment. The top and bottom straps were a nice, go with anything, brown. The middle strap a stylish darkish red. Some sort of beaded adornment. Tasteful, useful, comfortable. Indeed, these sandals made it all the way home... only to be returned 2 days later when I wore them out the front door. At first they were deliciously comfortable (just like in the store), but as I walked quickly across the street with the twins, they began to slide forward until my foot worked itself backward and onto the street. I stared in horror. Are you kidding? I've never had a sandal that scooted forward off my foot. I readjusted the velcro straps and tried again. The same result. My bare foot on the sidewalk, my stylish shoe just in front. Like trying to push opposing magnets together. With a defeated sigh, I went back to the store to return them. Now for future purchases, in addition to agonizing over style and fit, I'll be walking briskly up and down the aisles. This probably won't add any time to the whole process, but it might just make me look slightly more bizarre. But then again, when have I been afraid of that? Sigh.

Louisa's Birthday Challenge

2010-04-21T17:26:00.002+03:00

Louisa turned 10 awhile back, which is definitely a "somewhere" birthday. To celebrate she invited her entire class as well as a few other friends to help celebrate. I know, I know that sounds insane and it WAS. But she cashed in on two years of "you can have a big party next year... when we are settled." So it was time to pay the piper. Plus, Louisa is just about the most sensitive person I know. She refused to read (or be read to from) the Ramona the Brave books or the Junie B. Jones series, because it hurt her stomach too much to think about those girls making such bad decisions all the time. Thus, the thought of excluding anyone from her class was unthinkable. Sigh. So I pulled my middle school teacher hat out of the closet, dusted it off and for three hours 20 kids had "organized fun" at the Bartkovich house. Two friends came over to help with the insanity. Sometimes you just need a glance or raised eyebrow from another adult!

So here's one of the birthday challenges (pulled from a math magazine of Kevin's). It was amusing, educational and I thought very interesting. I post it here in case you too find yourself needing a fun, educational, open-ended activity.

Your challenge is to build the tallest, free-standing structure using the following materials only: 1 bag of mini-marshmallows and 1 bag or box of spaghetti noodles. You can put kids on teams or let them play indiviually with pre-determined amounts of marshmallows and noodles. We set the timer for 30 minutes but that can be adjusted or done away with altogether. Our kids got to 23 inches with lot's of giggles, groans, screams of delight and cries of anguish.

Words to the wise... breaking the spaghetti sticks is allowed. Mini marshmallows are not M&M's they DO melt in warm, little hands. And last but not least...dumping out the box of noodles and the bag of noodles in a big pile is a mistake.

Other Lessons Learned...mostly obvious

2010-04-19T18:01:00.002+03:00

Black dogs shed black hair everywhere. White rugs (no matter how many brightly colored flowers abound on them) must be vacuumed every 90 seconds to compete with shedding black dog. Fresh flowers on clearance at the grocery store bring delight to my whole family. My children want our house to look like a "jungle", with houseplants galore. Ikea furniture is wonderful, but the dressers are tippy... especially when all the drawers are pulled 3/4 of the way out to be used as stairs. Lined raincoats are fantastic. Jeans from Goodwill are a crazy good deal. 5 year olds who wipe their own bottoms need smaller laundry baskets and more frequent washings. None of my children relish the fresh scent associated with frequent bathing.... as they get older I care more about this. Conserving water by following the rule "If its brown flush it down, if its yellow let it mellow." is not a popular concept in the States. 15 minutes of cleaning is better than 0 minutes of cleaning. Socks must be worn in the winter. Children may only wear socks for one day. Socks carelessly thrown on the floor will be eaten by Jazz (the aforementioned black dog). I overbuy candy for any event. Removing junkfood from my house simplifies my life. Prolonged screen time results in worse behaviour and is addictive. Some screen time is helpful. No one prefers to go to school on Monday mornings. Attaching brightly colored artificial flowers to pens and pencils with floral tape insures that they remain at home, instead of being snarfed up in backpacks. All horizontal surfaces attract clutter. There is always a need for one more bookshelf. Freshly baked bread provides a lovely smell for the whole house. Facebook is fun but a time-sucker. Netflix is wonderful. Almost all prime time TV shows can be viewed online after their broadcast day. Sometimes washing the floor by hand is quicker and better than using a mop. Libraries are a consistently wonderful. Learning Greek is still hard. Watching the news makes me better informed, but mostly sad and anxious. My super secret hiding places are NEVER a good place to put things, as they are so random and secret I always forget where they are. If it is daytime, sunscreen is always a good idea. If it is summer, a hat and sunglasses should be added. Putting medium grade gas in an older car rather than the cheapest helps the transmission, somehow. The fairies do not clean out the car every month, it must be done by human hands. Some lipstick tastes good, some tastes bad. Children are grumpier when they haven't been fed.... and to prevent that personally I'll close here and dash off to fix lunch.

Washing Machines

2010-04-18T23:03:00.002+03:00

I love my washing machine. I love the independence it gives me. I love popping in a load of laundry and knowing it will come out clean in less than 30 minutes. I love all the different detergents that exist to help remove the expected and unexpected stains that show up on my family's clothes. I love flipping the switch on the top to warm/warm or hot/cold or cold/cold and amazingly the water comes out the right temperature at the right time.

Now I realize how this all sounds, but after 10 years of living in Uganda, believe me, washing machines are a thing of beauty. Not that I washed my clothes by hand (well, except for the poopy cloth diapers), our workers did that for us. I was grateful for them. I was happy to pay their weekly salaries and be involved in their lives. It was a community expectation that we, missionaries, not hoard our money by refusing to hire local people to do time consuming jobs. One benefit to living in BGO was that it taught me that our labor saving devices replaced people. People who many times were desperate for work. So, my washing machine was a person. A person who had a name, and a family. A person who had dreams and desires of his own and needed assistance from time to time. Our place in society (educated, wealthy, with the luxury of choices on a wide range of things) meant that we owed something back to those in the community. While keeping my house reasonably clean would have left me exhausted everyday, it also would have given us a miserly, questionable reputation. So for 10 years I had 2 men working for me, in my house every day except Sunday. Two men, intimately acquainted with my family and how we lived. I got used to the lack of privacy and the sometimes raised eyebrows over how I wanted something done or the silent judgement over our clothes, or food, or parenting choices. Other than the occasional whoopsie doodle mistakes that are the normal result of language and cultural miscommunication (there were some Amelia Bedelia moments) we managed. I became used to my laundry (indeed much of my domestic life) being more communal, more dependent on others and less, much less private.

Over the last two years, I have realized (with quite a bit of guilt) how much I enjoy the privacy and speed of popping a load in a machine.... don't get me started on the dryer and how clothes can go in wet and come out toasty dry in 30 minutes instead of a whole day or two spent on the line hoping the whole time that it won't rain. Anyway, I realize that I can kid myself for awhile on how much I value "community" or stand back in arrogant judgment of the "rampant individualism" of American culture but one look at my washing machine brings me back to reality.

Lately however, I have loved my washing machine less and less. I noticed about a month ago, that our clothes were taking on the aroma of stale cigarettes. Now this was a bit confusing since no one in our family smokes. Some careful sniffing around and in the machine told me that the smell was coming from there. Hmmmm. Perhaps the people who used the machine before us were heavy smokers and I just didn't notice until now. It was a mystery. We use detergent with no fragrance. Could it be that I needed to switch to one with more perfume and risk rash breakout on my family's sensitive skin? What to do? Well, I've been back in the States long enough to know the answer to that question. I googled. "My washing machine smells like stale cigarettes" and amazingly several websites popped up. You have to love that. The cause of the stinky smell was actually oil/grime buildup from hundreds perhaps thousands of loads of laundry. Oil residue left over from body cells, dirt, stains and anything else that had not been broken down by a water soluble detergent was left clinging to the machine. Over time this builds up into smelly stinky grime that smells like cigarettes. So armed with a chopstick, I leaned my head into the drum and looked for anything suspiciously yicky looking. And right there on the top of the drum was a yellow layer of gook. I mistakenly thought this might be glue or wax that was put there by the manufacturer 10-15 years ago. Yep, not a chance. So I started scrapping with my chopstick and huge wads of gunk came out. Dog hair, people hair, lint, and just plain goo keep coming and coming. I felt like I was cleaning the ear of the Jolly Green Giant. Gross. Once the drum was again sparkly white, I ran the machine as hot as it would go with about four cups of vinegar. The result? A clean, non stinky machine that is once again in my good graces.

Spring

2010-04-13T15:02:00.002+03:00

Today is an odd day. I still have problems getting my head wrapped around the weather here. The daffodils, tulips and croci (is that a word?) are up and look beautiful. Various trees are blooming in bright Easter egg colors. The pinks and purples delighting the kids and announcing at long last that spring is here, that winter has passed. The sky is a bright clear blue one minute and a drizzly gray the next, as if she's staring deeply into her closet and can't quite decide what to wear. I discover that 50 degrees is indeed "warm."

That all of us need winter coats and summer coats. A development that took even me by surprise. Summer coats? I have embraced a swift appreciation for polar fleece.

And I have discovered that I hate, hate, hate, cold rainy days. LLBean is going to put me on a watch list, I'm sure, for I ruthlessly take advantage of their return policy as I constantly change my mind about the perfect raincoat. I can't quite bring myself to buy an umbrella. Those seem permanently reserved in my mind for hot, sweltering market days. Who ever thought it a good idea to use such a device to block the rain? The accompanying wind surely renders them useless for this purpose as I watch countless pedestrians struggling to pull their umbrellas back into shape. No, it is obvious that the umbrella is a sun blocking device and I refuse to enter the insanity that would have me use one otherwise. Instead I try on coats in various lengths, with various closures, made from various plasticky materials. I splash through the puddles, after my gleeful children and try to remind myself that this outpouring of God's provision results in the beautiful pop of color in the dripping trees we pass. I try to embrace the diversity of weather, the consistent inconsistency of seasons... the drama of it all. I lament at times this need to adjust, and sigh wistfully for the days of hot, hot weather. When the rain brought nothing but relief and was warm.
My life is different now. The equatorial routine of equal days and nights replaced by wide swings in sunset and sunrise. New Hampshire is high enough and east enough to make the swing ever more shocking than North Carolina. This winter, we no longer felt jet-lagged when it got pitch dark by 4:20, but the rapid swing to so much daylight now does tend to make one feel topsy turvy.
I realize that we have been here long enough to experience all the seasons... spring being the last, before we come full circle to summer and our arrival here last year. And I am reminded that I need to "get a stick on" applying to Gordon-Conwell Seminary. It has been an adjustment year for us all, and while I enjoy endlessly ordering lectures from Regent and reading various books about Chruch History, it is time to make the grand leap back into school. Back into being a student and having deadlines and projects and papers to write. I turn 38 this week and I still haven't figured out what I want to do when I grow up. I am hesistantly delighted that this season of life involves scratching the deep itch of my mind and being open to where that will lead.
For now, I throw on a summer coat and head out the door into the brisk air of New England to enjoy the bright, blue sky.

Meditation

2010-02-25T03:26:00.002+03:00

During the Fall and Winter Terms faculty and staff are encouraged to share a bit of their story with the community here. (The students take a turn in the Spring.) If you are up for it, you can deliver a 20 minute meditation reflecting on any topic that you chose. Usually something personal, something you are learning about yourself, a part of your own life journey. It is an optional but rich time on Thursday mornings, sitting quietly and listening to others share, learning about each one through what they chose to divulge. Last week, Kev took his turn up front. I've hesitated to post it, remember it is a 20 minute talk so what follows is LONG. But for those of you who are interested...

Meditation: "My Knock-Down, Drag-Out Fight With God"
Delivered at Phillips Exeter Academy on February 18, 2010

For those of you who don't know me, my name is Kevin Bartkovich, and I am a new member of the math department this year. Prior to coming to Exeter, I was a missionary living in a remote village in Uganda. My family and I were there for 10 years building a secondary school from the ground up for the children of Bundibugyo District.

This was my dream job. Was this place a paradise? Not so much really. Much of the time it seemed we were taking one step forward, then one step back. When we first visited in 1995 we were captivated by both the beauty and the need. Bundibugyo is in a valley nestled between the snow-peaked Rwenzori Mountains and the border with Congo. Mangoes, pineapples and bananas are abundant. The countryside is lush, the soil fertile. Yet, this was a place with no electricity, no running water, no indoor plumbing, no phone service, no paved roads, and definitely no internet. Most people lived in mud and wattle huts with grass roofs. This is a polygamous culture; most men have more than one wife, and women are viewed as commodities. Maternal mortality is high. Women die in childbirth so often that the typical greeting to a mother with a baby is "Webale kwejuna," meaning, "Thank you for surviving." Malnutrition and disease are rampant. Malaria is endemic
and often fatal. Cholera is a frequent threat. It is a place where young adults desperately want to improve themselves and their communities, but the odds against them are overwhelming.

When we arrived nobody was passing their college entrance exams. Children were eager to learn but there was a decided lack of educational infrastructure and few teachers, and even fewer who taught in English, the national language of Uganda and thus the language of the exams. Corruption in the local government was widespread, which trapped the local people in a system whereby a few families got rich while the vast majority scraped by at a subsistence level. We realized that significant and lasting change could only come from the ground up, brought about by a new generation of educated leaders. The people wanted and needed someone to come and start a school that would give them a chance at a better future. How could I refuse?

Building a school, establishing a curriculum, mentoring a faculty, all this was both a delight and a challenge, full of blessing and hardship. I made a lot of mistakes along the way, oftentimes because I thought I already knew the answers, only later realizing that I didn't even know the right questions. I remember entering into my first math lesson with high hopes. We brought over with us 200 TI graphing calculators, and I was eager to put them into the hands of my students. First, though, I created a brilliant lesson on estimation with which to kick off that first year. I marched my students outside and over to a large mango tree. "Let's estimate how many leaves are on this big tree," I said hopefully and with great enthusiasm. Silence. Blank stares at both me and the tree. Hmmm. I tried to simplify things a bit. "Let's estimate how many leaves are on this bottom branch." Still there was silence. Over the ensuing weeks, I became
painfully aware of the extreme height of the mountain we would need to climb. I discovered the difficulty of teaching math to students who were unfamiliar with not only the names of but also the very concept of large numbers. In their experience, everything in the market was sold in heaps. Whether 5 big tomatoes or 8 small ones or 14 really small ones, for them the number was the same: A heap. To everyone's surprise, through long hours of study and instruction, by the time they graduated, all of our students were passing math on their national exams. No less steep was the humanities side of things. I learned that my students had heard of books. They had just never held one in their hands. This was a culture where stories were passed down orally, and until recently was without a written language. Even my faculty was shell-shocked. They came from all over Uganda, arriving by public transport over the mountains, perched atop bags of produce sitting
in the backs of pick-up trucks. They arrived battered and weary, covered in dust from head to foot, looking around wide-eyed at this place so clearly at the end of the road. Together we worked to bring our students up to standard. After 6 years our first students sat for their exams. For the first time students who went to school in Bundibugyo qualified for university.

One of my best memories was hearing the national exam results over the radio and hopping on my mountain bike to deliver wonderful news to my best student. Here is a kid whose father was killed during the guerilla warfare of our first few years in Bundibugyo. School was his only chance. During the summer months he lived in a village far from the main road, and I just had to go and celebrate with him. He had achieved an impossibly good score on his math exam and thus had qualified for university. As I arrived, he was there greeting me with a huge smile on his face. With tears flowing freely we jumped up and down and cheered. Just last week this young man graduated from university in the capital city with a degree in finance and statistics. I couldn't be prouder.

In the midst of these success stories, we struggled to establish this institution, never sure if the school would survive from one year to the next. Our soccer team, which began with kids who had never played organized ball, was representative of the school's development as a whole. We resisted the common corrupt practice of hiring men to play for the school team, which was the normal strategy that schools used to win the district championship. Instead we relied on our own students and practiced every day, developing our boys into a team that competed year after year at the national level. Here were these boys, who at first were intimidated and afraid of playing men from the outside, learning discipline, the benefits of hard work and superior physical conditioning, and the power of believing in themselves and each other. While at first they were laughed at and ridiculed, they learned to play competitive soccer and to be such a presence on the field
that they began to be feared by other districts. The high point for me came the year they played with so much heart that the corporate sponsor, Coca-Cola, gave them two complete sets of uniforms at the National Tournament.

At the end of 10 years, we had 350 students and 26 faculty members. The school was ranked in the top 20% in the country and we were regularly sending our graduates on to university. Our soccer team was a force to be reckoned with and our focus on girls' education was turning heads as well. Getting this school established was the hardest work I had ever done, and the best work I had ever done. I had purpose, every day was focused, I felt I was making a difference. I knew I was where I was supposed to be. I was given this wonderful work to do, and I never wanted to leave.

After 10 years and four children, however, my wife JD was convinced that we needed to leave. She carefully considered the stage of life our family was entering as our oldest child was pushing 10, she weighed the effect of the accumulation of a decade's worth of stress and deprivation, but even more significantly, she prayed and felt the Lord telling her, "It's time to go." I was not amused. I couldn't imagine a scenario that would make me want to leave Uganda. Day after day we discussed and argued. She didn't back down, and I wouldn't give an inch. One night as I sat alone and prayed, surrounded by a dark cloud of anger – why have you spoken to JD and not me? – and, in the midst of this darkness there appeared a small ray of light that I can best describe as bringing peace and acceptance that leaving was the right thing to do, even as I was nearly consumed by anger and resentment. Immediately, a small quiet voice said to me, "Things
are going to get a lot worse." What did that mean? When I shared this with JD, neither one of us could figure out what it meant.

And so, two years ago, in February 2008, we returned to the US after living in Uganda for ten years. We immediately went out west and spent 10 weeks in a tent, one week for each year we lived in Uganda, me and JD and our 4 children, camping in national parks. It was a restorative time, but it did not touch what was going on deep inside of me. I knew this because when we got settled in North Carolina, every Sunday in church, week after week, I found myself weeping during the service and not knowing why. When JD and I went on a retreat to the mountains near Asheville, I finally had my knock-down, drag-out fight with God.

A friend there encouraged me that arguing with God was a legitimate thing to do, as outrageous as it sounds, so I went at Him. All the questions came pouring out as I sat by myself in a garden, shouting and sobbing as I voiced my accusations. "I followed you to Uganda and then you kicked me out. Why? Why couldn't I stay? Were you displeased with me? There was so much more to do. Why couldn't I be the one? Are you really looking out for me, or are you a capricious God who just uses people up and discards them when you've accomplished your purposes?" It was cathartic in the best sense of the word. I let it all out, I held nothing back, and I found that God is big enough to handle it. Something between me and God happened in that garden, a release and I'm not sure what else, perhaps a kind of reckoning, and afterwards I was no longer weeping in church on Sundays.

The rest of the year we spent resting, recovering, and looking for what was next. And I did what I always did – I exercised. After 10 years of daily soccer practice on the equator, now I was once again running the streets of Durham. Ten years previous I was a much stronger runner, able to run a 3-mile loop any day of the week. Now I was committed to regaining that form and fighting the decline in my aging body. But when I found that I was doing worse even as I worked harder and I could no longer run even a single mile, I took to running sprints interspersed with walking. Throughout most of the school year it was my normal custom to run alone.

Then came this day last summer, June 11th 2009. I don't remember what happened that day; I only have what others have told me. I would like to share what my 11-year-old son Joe has written.

It can be very sad when someone you care about dies or comes close to death. Something like that happened to me. Last summer, when I was training for soccer camp, I jogged with my dad almost every day. One day we jogged to a nearby park and jogged all around it. We took a break at the water fountain. Then we ran some sets of stairs. As we jogged home, he complained that he was very tired. I was pretty tired too, so I didn't think that much of it. When we were close to our home, Dad suggested that we sprint to the corner. I sprinted to the corner. I was too caught up in the great feeling of sprinting so fast to notice that he was falling behind. When I turned around he stumbled a few feet and then just collapsed. At first I thought he was joking around, because he was making weird breathing noises. It was almost like when a horse breathes out heavily through its mouth and the lips shake. Some people came over and asked if he
was okay. In a panicked voice, I said that I didn't know. Fortunately one of them had a cell phone. He dialed 911. Someone told me to go get Mom. I raced to the house. I ran in and screamed for Mom. I said that Dad fell down and was not getting up. When we got back someone was giving him CPR. He was doing the chest compressions. I saw Mom go over and help. She gave him mouth to mouth. We lived three blocks away from the fire department, so the paramedics arrived soon and then the ambulance. As the sirens blared my mom told me to go get my little brother and sister. I went back to my house. My hands numbly worked the keys to lock the door behind us. When I got back the ambulance was giving Dad shocks. Nothing was working. My mom asked if they could shock him again and asked them not to give up. They told her that they couldn't shock him anymore and that they needed to get to the hospital. A girl who lived
nearby told me that he had had a heart attack. Later I learned that one of his heart valves had grown smaller and harder. This caused his heart to stop beating. They took Dad to the hospital. I went back home and e-mailed our friends in Uganda and South Sudan. I told them what had happened and asked them to pray. So many people stopped what they were doing to pray for my dad. The school in Africa, where my dad was the headmaster for 10 years was about to riot. As they were meeting to discuss their demands, they learned what had happened to my dad. It immediately turned into a prayer meeting. Miraculously, my dad survived with no serious side effects. He had flat-lined for 15 minutes. He was in a medically induced coma for 2 days. After his open heart surgery, his doctors told him they had never seen someone survive what he went through. A few days later I went to see him. He told me that I had been very brave. He said that I
was his hero, and that I had done the exact right thing, even though I was scared. He thanked me for helping to save his life. A month or so later we all went back home. Sadly, it will be a long time before things are normal. For awhile, when I didn't know if he would be okay, I felt like a part of me was just gone, that some part of me was dying, too. Fortunately, he survived.

My fight with God was real. Did He answer? Yes.

Unbeknownst to any of us, I had been in heart failure for 5 years. As I laid in the cardiac intensive care unit in Duke Hospital, it all began to come together. If I had had my way, JD would have flown home from Uganda a widow. As for the word I had received about things getting worse, there I was on our 15th wedding anniversary, flat-lined on the street, my wife giving me CPR.

There is a story that Vincent Donovan, a missionary to the Masai of Kenya, tells – a parable of faith from a tribal elder. The Masai elder told Vincent, "For a man really to believe is like a lion going after its prey. His nose and eyes and ears pick up the prey. His legs give him the speed to catch it. All the power of his body is involved in the terrible death leap and single blow to the neck with the front paw, the blow that actually kills. And as the animal goes down the lion envelops it in his arms, pulls it to himself, and makes it part of himself. This is the way a lion kills. This is the way a man believes. This is what faith is. You told us of the High God, how we must search for him …. We have not searched for him. He has searched for us. He has searched us out and found us. All the time we think we are the lion. In the end, the lion is God."

As for me, I chased God all the way to Uganda and back, and then He caught me.

By Louisa

2010-02-19T01:07:00.002+03:00

Snow Similes

By Louisa Bartkovich (Age 9)

As white as a cotton ball

As soft as a pillow

Light as a feather

Swaying like a hammock

Cold as artic ice

Delicate like a bottle make of glass

As tiny as cells

As large as a period at the end of a sentence

Shapes like geometry

Dancing in the sky as blue as ocean blue paper

As graceful as the sugarplum fairy in the Nutcracker

Unique like a person

Glistening like the sun shining on water

As beautiful as the earth

As quiet as a tiger stalking its prey

Barrettes

2010-02-11T02:04:00.003+03:00

I realized today that what I really wanted to be doing was thinking lofty thoughts. I have an ongoing nagging thread of a conversation with God in my head about the whole faith vs. works thing. A different train of thought about what the prophet Ezekiel would likely say to the US, to me. I'm frustrated by a bombardment of perfect bodies televised continually---commercials that shame the process of growing older so that we'll buy the right lotion or cream. A frightening notion that emerging outdoors without sunscreen and appropriate clothing could be dangerous. (Which sadly enough seems to be a tight, mid-drift baring t-shirt) I'm saddened by the abundance of processed foods, fast foods, high fat foods, fake food masked by a fat free label. I can't say I'm "over"burdened by many of these issues. But I do find them interesting. I'd like to ponder a bit about them and come up with something bitingly sarcastic, something witty and perhaps insightful.

But while those things dance around the edge of my personal radar, my actual day is spent doing something far different. Savannah has decided that she wants to grow her bangs out just like her big sister. So instead of wrapping my mind around some of the social adjustment issues of this generation and using big words and complex sentences, I'm sitting at my kitchen table waiting for the cupcakes to be done as Nate and Savannah plaster my short spiky hair with her new, big, flowery, barrettes.

Dates

2010-02-03T06:50:00.002+03:00

Carving out time for dates is high on my list of maintaining a healthy relationship... whether with God, Kevin or the kids. Tuesdays are the highlight of my week. I drop Nate and Savannah off at pre-school and head to the gym to exercise... alone. Most days I just pop in a video, push back the coffee table and sweat away. Of course, I'm usually joined by both twins and Jazz (our dog) after about five minutes. "We want to exercise, too!" "Watch how high I can kick, Mommy!" "Scootch over, Mom, I need more room." I go through the various work outs with my fearless, slightly behind the music pint-sized partners as Jazz dodges in, out and between our legs. Needless to say, it is much more relaxing and productive to run on the treadmill at the gym with my earphones plugged in to the latest episode of West Wing sans the dynamic duo and their canine sidekick.
After the gym, I head over to the Loaf and Ladle for a cup of coffee and a nice long morning listening to class lectures on my I-pod, studying the Old Testament and reflecting on God and His story through the last 3000 years or so. Blessful.
Around lunchtime Kev leaves his office to join me. The lack of need for a babysitter makes Tuesday lunch the perfect "date time." A lovely chance to re-connect and debrief with my dear husband.
Nate and Savannah are still at pre-school by the time Joe and Louisa come home so I double dip and go out on a Mommy date with both of them. (I did say that Tuesdays were great, right?) Usually a place that serves sweets of some type and nice big sofas to relax in as we talk about their week, their adjustment to life here in Exeter, boys and girls they like, any problems that have cropped up. It is a sweet time. Today, we went to Friendly's and had the best time playing several rounds of Phase 10 and eating ice cream.
Tomorrow, Nate, Savannah and I will head over to explore a new playground, cruise through the dining hall for lunch and end up at storyhour at the library. Their conversation skills leave much to be desired, but we're working on it. The building blocks come slowly. Each night we have "conversation time" after we read but before I sing. Everyone has to ask a question that each of us answers. I usually try to model a good question, like, "If you could be anything in the whole world what would you be?" Savannah- a rainbow. Nate- a red fairy. They are learning but slowly. Nate's question last night was, "What's your favorite nose?" Savannah immediately responded with "Aunt Tory's." Not really what I expected, but very fun.
It's rare that I get time to spend one on one with any of my children. I grab it when I can, but most weeks I'm happy to get my dates in however I can squeeze them. It makes for less time cleaning up the house and doing laundry. The flylady doesn't even want to know what my kitchen sink looks like right now! It definitely cuts down on my time for shopping or reading romance novels. But a worthy trade in my book. And I have to say, although my mind is itching like crazy to go back to school, I love, love, love, this time with my family. I love the slow adjustment period and the carving out of space to listen, to laugh, to talk, to share.
Anyway, just thought I'd put in my two cents for dates.

CSB

2010-02-01T23:24:00.003+03:00

Today CSB students return to campus for a new school year. The first ever without a foreign missionary in charge as headmaster. I'm sure for the folks on the ground it is a time of nervousness, of wondering, "Will the school still be okay?" "Will it still be a good place to send our kids?" I'm sure lots of questions abound for those missionaries left on the ground involved in other ministries. Knowing as these things go, that every ministry is interconnected and that a problem at CSB will eventually (if not within minutes) end up on their doorstep.

But for us, this is a huge milestone. The culmination of work and sweat and tears, of late nights and early mornings, of cross cultural friendships and spectacular mistakes, of the pain of serving amidst hatred and jealousy and corruption, of the joy of empowering young men and women, students and staff, of the daily grind year in and year out of construction and curriculum development, of countless visits to the ministry of education for licensing and registration, of staff interviews and professional development seminars, of weekly chapel talks (9 years worth!), of fundraising and prayerful pleading for protection, of constant football practices, games, tournaments, of being stretched thin emotionally, physically, mentally, relationally....through rebel invasions and evacuations, sickness, grief, pregnancies, separations, riots, Ebola, and the myriad of transition that life lived in Bundibugyo demands.

Yes, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat, but the cost was high. An all-consuming decade of our life poured out so that CSB would exist, would grow, would survive without us, without foreign leadership. A reflection of our sincere belief that true change and development will come to Bundibugyo only through the hands of her sons and daughters. Her children knowing far more clearly both what is needed and the culturally appropriate ways to go about affecting that change. Lofty thoughts, I know.

Reminds me of sitting around a table in 1996, as newlyweds, eating pizza and dreaming about starting this school. Paul Leary (friend and former team leader) had asked us to pray, to visit, to consider uprooting our life in North Carolina, and embark on the missionary adventure of a lifetime. We felt "the call", the overwhelming nudge from the Spirit of God to take a leap of faith and follow Him to this tiny remote village whose name we could barely pronounce. To shatter the illusion that we were "in control" and to learn to trust His provision for our needs.

So we celebrate today that calling, that vision dreamed about and sweated into reality. A Christian secondary school changing the lives of the children of Bundibugyo. A Ugandan school led by a Ugandan headmaster, staffed by Ugandan men and women for Ugandan children. A school shining in the darkness. Our gift of service to God, in obedience to His calling and direction. A sacrifice on our part, to be sure, but in the economy of God the cliche proved true... that we gained more than we gave. And both our lives and the school are a testimony to God's overwhelming ability to provide.

So today, we celebrate and rejoice and pray. Hopeful, that this school will empower generations to come for the world's good and for God's Glory.

All the time.

2010-01-26T16:01:00.003+03:00

Says Nate this morning while snuggled in my lap, "Mom, where did we eat in Durham?"

"What do you mean, where did we eat?"

"In Durham, where did we eat? I can't remember what that dining hall looked like."

"Hmmm, we didn't go to a dining hall. Mommy cooked."

He looks very puzzled. "You mean you cooked ALL THE TIME?"

New Blog to Follow

2010-01-20T07:05:00.003+03:00

More years ago than I care to remember, back when we were kids, the Kirk boys used to hang out with my sister and I. We did wild and crazy things like jump on a trampoline, climb trees and ride the occasional roller coaster when they came into the neighborhood to visit their Oma and Opa. Now Alex is heading up Intervarsity at UNC-Chapel Hill and Daniel is a New Testament Professor at Fuller Seminary out in California. Before she passed away last year, their Oma would regale us with stories of what her grandsons were doing. She was so proud of them.

Now that I'm up on Facebook, I've been able to keep up a bit with them myself. And I'm impressed, too. While Alex has long notes posted on FB, Daniel recently started a blog that has become a favorite. If you're inclined check it out. http://www.jrdkirk.com/

Delights of the Day

2010-01-20T05:13:00.002+03:00

8-10 inches of snow. Over the twins knees, up to Jazz's chest and delightfully fluffy. Just perfect for snowballs. The snowplow piles mounds over our heads all along the street and even so helpfully in our front and side yard. Perfect for adventures, impromptu sliding hills, and forts.

Iain Provan's lectures on the prophets in the Old Testament. I LOVE this man. Hmmmm. Or at least his insights into Scripture.

A hot cup or two of chocolate flavored coffee at the Loaf and Ladle.

The Dining Hall... one of the best perks of this job. Blackened Mahi Mahi, a fresh salad from the salad bar, hot chocolate, fresh fruit and cake and ice cream for dessert. All with no prep and no clean up. After 10 years of cooking from scratch... you can imagine my delight.

Kev ran his first 10 minute mile, non-stop.

Louisa auditioned for the Drama Club at school. Her speech is near perfect now, and her confidence high. Such a change from when she was 4, or 6 or even 8.

Joe finished his first term of Algebra 1 with Honors. (A longer story, but he was finally allowed to replace his 6th grade math program with this distance education course, all done on-line at a computer station within his regular math class.) His comment (and our delight)... "Math is not really a class to me. It is just something I like to do for fun."

Not a delight... listening to the twins talk to each other 1 1/2 hours after their supposed bedtime. Guess I better go do something about that.

Uh, Mom?

2010-01-18T04:08:00.002+03:00

As Joe so politely points out after reading my last blog...

"Actually, we haven't been in the US for three years. We haven't even been here for two, yet."

He's right of course. It'll be two years just after the twins fifth birthday towards the end of next month. What was I thinking? Guess I'll cut myself some more mental slack over the constant reflection about BGO.

Who is that?

2010-01-16T15:58:00.003+03:00

Funny how I've been back for nearly three years and I still start so many mental sentences with "In Bundibugyo..." Hmmm. So I noticed the other day how Exeter is like Bundibugyo. Given the dramatic difference in infrastructure, medical care, educational institutions, basic income level, electricity, weather, blah, blah, blah... one might ask what the heck I could find here that reminds me of there. Clothes. What?! Seriously. In Bundibugyo (there I go) a person finds that you recognize another person by what they wear. Now this is true because generally speaking, a person in Bundibugyo has a somewhat limited wardrobe. So when walking down the road on the way to the market I would see a red dress with a blue and yellow wrap and know that was so and so. Or I might spy a brown shirt with a green, red and orange wrap and know that was someone else. (Don't get me wrong, face, gender, body type etc. certainly play their part BUT the familiarity of clothing helps tremendously) When you wear the same thing day after day or at least multiple times a week, your clothes help identify you. Woe to you (or the people trying to recognize you) if your wardrobe contains too many pieces. It could get confusing.

Re-entry back into American culture is, shall we say, somewhat different. Variety is essential in filling out one's wardrobe. Even if you have a limited budget for clothes and your closet is not packed, I have found that it is essential to use pieces in various combinations to create the illusion of having more clothes than you do. Very rarely do people wear the same outfit twice in one week, much less back to back. You might say that a certain person always tends to look classy, or well put together, or athletic, or .... But you are much more likely to recognize people by hair, facial features, body type, accompanying children or dogs.

Where am I going with all of this? When the weather outside is freezing, most people have a much more limited outerwear wardrobe. Most of the time our heights are blurred by the heel size of our boots. Our hair and indeed the majority of our faces are covered by hats and scarves and our general body type is masked by all manner of thinsulate, down, or wool. When outside, walking down the street, how is a person to recognize her friends? Viola! The long black puffer coat is XXXX. The Northface brown parka and stylish cream hat is XXXX. The hot pink down jacket.... that would be me. Thus Exeter meets Bundibugyo.

Hair part 2

2009-12-17T15:35:00.002+03:00

So before I leave the subject of hair altogether, I should say that I forgot an important, shall we say foundational reason for a super short hair cut. But first, 9 other reasons (can you tell I'm trying to convince myself...)

1. I get to experiment with an assortment of goo. (putty, gel, clay, texturizer, oil)
2. My hair stays wet for about 5 minutes without the dryer, 1 minute with. (This would be a con in BGO where we always dunked our head for instant relief from the heat, but here a dry, warm head is a definite advantage.)
3. I can be in and out of the shower, before the twins can find me, disrobe and hop in.
4. My hair looks healthy even with repeated colorings every 5-6 weeks. Could I be almost gray? From the glimpses I get of my roots before I dunk them in black dye, perhaps...
5. I don't need a brush.
6. Incredibly funny bed head shocks early morning giggles from the kids.
7. Inspires me to wear make-up and earrings. (otherwise I look like a guy.)
8. Gives me an excuse to wear a hot pink winter coat. (ditto.)
9. No worries about hat head. In fact, sometimes putting a hat on and taking it off HELPS.

But most important, something I never worried about in BGO:

10. Short hair covered in goo is totally protected from winter STATIC.

I forgot that my hair (nice but very fine) is extremely prone to standing up on end during the dry, cold winter season. And here, that might be 7 months out of 12! I remembered this important fact yesterday when both Savannah and Louisa came inside and looked like they had just stuck their fingers in a socket. Of course, they are both so young and beautiful that it simply looks cute on them. But for me? No thank you. I'm glad I got this inspiration before Nate told me over dinner (and with great glee) that I looked just like the macaw bird at the pet shop.

Christmas Snap

2009-12-16T20:37:00.003+03:00

Here's a recent photo of the family, taken at the Cape over Thanksgiving by Margaret. Anyone who has ever tried to get a picture of our family, knows how hard this must have been... even Jazz was well behaved!

The porcupine and the ostrich

2009-12-16T18:58:00.002+03:00

So yesterday I went to get my pre-Christmas hair cut. I should pause to say that after our 10 week camping adventure, I whacked most of my hair off. Thus the side bar photo, while one of my favorites, is clearly not a RECENT picture.
Over the last 2 years, I have paid or pleaded with multiple stylists to cut my hair... the beauty school on Roxborro road being the most adventurous, Amanda the most amazing, and the few afterwards somewhere in between. One gal took a dull razor to my head, OUCH, only using scissors to cut my bangs and even then she gasped... "Whoops! I hope you like, use putty or gel, 'cause I just Frankensteined your bangs." Sigh. Not what you want to hear. The end result was decidedly porcupine like. Even Kev, who NEVER says any hair cut looks anything less than beautiful, raised his eyebrows in surprise and started to giggle... giggle I tell you. Recently though, I found a stylist that I've liked and so yesterday I went back for a special look, or at least a recently cut look for the holidays. I'm not quite sure what happened. I'm definetly not porcupine like and my bangs are indeed pieced out and not blunt-like, but I feel that something is just off. I feel a bit... shorn. Shaved, razored, thinned, and twisty-cut, I think I kind of look like an ostrich. Sigh. Maybe it is time to grow my hair out, again...

Kevin Update

2009-12-14T02:19:00.002+03:00

I realized the other day that perhaps I should write a quick update about Kev. So many of you prayed for him this summer and then we left the hospital and shortly afterwards the state. Perhaps some of you are wondering just how he's doing. So this is a brief update to say that Kev is doing well. He's entering the second term here at the academy. Last term, he taught four classes, this term he's down to three. There aren't many year long classes, as PEA believes that term rotation is good. So he has all new material/classes and all new students (9th-12th graders) every term. (Fun if you like constant change. Karen, I can hear that sympathetic groan!) He's co-coaching JV boys basketball this term (hence the 3 rather than 4 classes) with a good friend and having a blast. Others of you might be thinking "basketball? I thought he only coached soccer?" Its a whole new world! The job and all the responsibilities that go with it, while quite demanding are also rewarding. The community here is a good one. We are slowly making connections and feeling more at home. And although it is not Blacknall, (deep sigh!) our church here is becoming more and more familiar to us and to our kids.

Health wise, we both go to a gym which is attached to the local hospital. I have a green folder that charts my progress, Kev has a red one. In the last month or so, he has at long last, been able to run again without pain. Wahoo!! So now he is training to run a 5k or 10k in the spring. This is a constant argument. I think a 5k is a good goal, ever the over achiever he would like to start with a 10k. He works out, much the same as he did in Uganda or Durham, but now his workouts are "productive". What does this mean? Consistent exercise equals improvement... the ability to sustain a longer, harder workout over time. It has been years since this has been true, so it is a cause for much encouragement and celebration. But, not to fear, he only exercises within the "safe zone" according to his heart monitor (a cool device that straps to his chest and relays info through to a handy dandy watch on his wrist). Every few months a new stress test approves a higher level of workout and higher target zone.

We do find ourselves continuing to process the events surrounding this summer's collapse. We tell the stories over and over of his time in the hospital. We talk with great fondness of the so many of you who walked us through this traumatic time in our lives... the emergency response, the calls, the e-mails, the prayers, the visits, the hand holding, the tremendous help and support we received, watching our kids, arranging for play dates, helping us pack, fixing meals, household repairs, going on long walks with Kev or me... So many of you were with us, whether you were right there in Durham, across the ocean or somewhere in between...that we never felt alone. I never felt alone. And for that I am deeply, deeply grateful.

So now we find ourselves in this new place, adjusting to new expectations and new ways of living. In the midst of our adjustment, it is good to step back and take heart in how far we've come. And to share the good news that, while we miss both BGO and Durham, we do love it here and are doing well.

Diagrammatic Essay of Malachi

2009-12-11T21:35:00.002+03:00

So even though I am just listening to the Old Testament Foundations class by Iain Provan, I decided to play around with the first assignment... a diagrammatic essay on a book of the OT. I picked Malachi because I knew very little about it and it was short. Plus it fits in with my curiosity about the entanglements of the old and new testaments.
But before I could even begin, I had to do a bit of research (the google type) about just what the heck a diagrammatic essay is. No matter how hard I listened to the class on my I-pod, it was nearly impossible to see the overheads that Dr. Provan was using as good examples and bad examples. I did glean from the class that a lot of text was bad, and that color was good. That I should be focused on presenting the entire book in a 1-2 page picture/diagram document that could be used as an overhead. The assignment could be hand-drawn or done by computer (although he assured us that content was more important than a fancy program or printer).
Initially, I drew the assignment by hand, but then decided to play around on the computer, also. The results are less than ideal... since I have neither a fancy program, nor such a printer AND my last computer art experience was about 20 years ago.
In any case, it was much more fun than I thought it would be and gave me something to do while my sore throat blazes away and my total body aches have me confined to the sofa. If you have the time or inclination, this is a wonderful exercise to try.

Just in case you're wondering what I meant by the above drawing (since my guess is it is not obvious...)
Key: the crude, childlike drawings from left to right represent the six disputes found in the book: Israel's doubt/questioning of God's love for them, Israel's disrespect of God as shown through the offering of blemished sacrifices (blind,lame bull), Israel's theft of God's tithe, Israel's unfaithfulness through multiple wives and abandonment of the wife of one's youth, Israel's questioning God's justice and Israel's denial that following the Lord is good.
The three intertwining ropes represent the three covenants listed that bind Israel and God, and are used by God to pull Israel back towards repentance and Himself.
The flame ahead of Israel on the path is Elijah who is preparing the way/making straight the path towards the cross. The eyes full of love and the all-consuming flames surrounded by 12 crowns represent His majesty,the 12 tribes of Israel, a perfect number of completeness and thus abstractly portray the Lord God overseeing all- Jew and Gentile alike. The drawings attached to Israel by red strings show the pull that these things have over Israel to lead her not only off the path, but render her fragmented. The path surrounded by blue provides echoes of the Exodus and the crossing of the sea by God's provision. Thus underlying all the disputes as unfounded and offensive. The angel in the corner is a symbol of God's messenger- one meaning of the word Malachi.

Savannah

2009-12-08T15:50:00.004+03:00

Savannah is our beautiful, inquisitive, bold, youngest child. She holds that honor by a mere 30 seconds over her brother Nate. When she wants to be heard, she can be. She talks on the phone, just like me, walking around with one hand on her hip or gesturing into the air. She has the most compelling frown I've ever seen. Savannah hates dresses, but loves all things pink. Her daddy is her best friend. She's working hard at her L, Ch and Sh sounds. She screeches at her clothes when they don't cooperate as she dresses herself. She draws pictures non-stop... mostly detailed pictures of our family, but sometimes of the universe. It is amazingly fun to watch all of my children develop more into who they will be. The challenges and sheer exhaustion that comes from parenting these four more than compensated by the presence of their company and the personalities they each bring to our table.

Yesterday, at the dining hall (which I LOVE), Savannah was staring down at her plate. Buttered noodles, sliced peaches, and a roasted chicken drumstick.

Savannah: "Mom? How do you think they killed this chicken?"

Me: "I don't know. How do you think they did it?"

Savannah: "Hmmmmm. I think they took a stick and beat it, then they took a knife and stabbed it in the neck. Then they put it in a big pot with hot, hot water. Then they pulled out all the feathers. Then they took the knife and cut it some more and used their hand to pull out all the insides. Then they put it in the oven and cooked it."

Me: "Wow. That sounds like a lot of work."

Savannah: "Yep. But it sure is yummy!"

I guess she remembers more of Bundibugyo than I thought...

Besotted

2009-12-06T15:58:00.003+03:00

Thursday it was 71 degrees. Yep. I couldn't believe it either. I felt like it was God's personal gift to me- that's how thrilled I was by the temperature. Warm, balmy, a bit hot actually. Of course, this was the day that I had pulled out the winter hats and mittens so undeterred by the actual weather, Nate and Savannah were fully decked out. They were so thrilled with the concept and feel of both the mittens and the hats that they even wore them inside the whole day at pre-school. Very funny.

And then last night the snow started to fall and fall and fall. My children were like a collective whirling, swirling tornado ripping through the house. They screamed, they whooped with delight, they checked every window to make sure the white stuff was still coming down. This morning they were amazed. Their now familiar landscape blanketed so beautifully by the snow.

I took Jazz out for her early morning walk. Usually, we walk around for about half and hour down at the baseball field, along the paths, beside the river and into and out of the woods. But this morning we stopped just inside the gate and (leash off) she spent the entire time running ever expanding circles around me. Her face down in the snow like a snow plow. If she could have whooped, she would have.

As I hooked her leash back on and opened the gate. I turned in appreciation, just to soak up the beauty of creation. As the sun peaked over one set of snow covered trees and the moon set over another-- I stood in wonder at God's creativeness. Completely besotted.

Ode to the Artificial Tree

2009-12-04T20:09:00.003+03:00

Okay, not so much an ode... but I was thinking the other day as I spread out the tips of our new artificial pre-lit Christmas tree how much I love an artificial tree. Sure I don't get that fresh cut pine-like smell, but I also don't get a rash from dealing with the needles as I set the tree in an appropriate sized dish of water. I don't have to worry if the tree will dry out to a dangerous level and whether the lights will become a fire hazard. I don't have to worry about bugs or needles constantly dropping on the floor. I love trees, and recycling and caring for the environment. I love hiking through the woods and camping in a tent under the stars in various national and state parks. I love being a "green" type of person. And while there is a definite "green-ness" in having a real tree in our home, it is the week after Christmas that gives me the creeps. I walk out the door and am assaulted by the sight of Christmas tree carcasses. They dot the landscape in what seems like a blatant and sad reminder that the holidays are over and people are moving on. Enough with that tree, it has served its purpose and can now be disposed of... old, dry, useless. Call me crazy, but I just can't do it. I would much rather fold up our lovely tree and store it in a box to be pulled out and enjoyed again and again.

Chuckles

2009-12-01T07:19:00.002+03:00

Our family is a rowdy, noisy bunch at the best of times. Needless to say, on long road trips the conversation flows fast and furious with only a half-hearted attempt to bring auditory peace with music or videos. Our trip to the Cape was no different. Here are some of the conversation fragments that had us chuckling...

Joe: "The thing McDonalds has over a fancy resturant is the wide assortment of dipping sauces."

Savannah: "Do we pass through Africa on the way to Cape Cod?

Nate (singing): "Make new friends, for when you're old. One is silver and the others gold."
Second verse: "Make new friends, with all your gold. One is silver and the others gold."
(I guess "but keep the old" didn't make sense to him.)

Mom: "Joe, perhaps you could write a paper comparing Catniss (Hunger Games) with Lysistrata?"
Joe: "Yeah, cool, Mom. Do you think I can get extra credit for that?"
Mom: "Hmmm, maybe not. Perhaps just some brownie points."
Louisa: "He gets BROWNIES???"

While these had us chuckling, our time with the Peterson's had us laughing so hard that at one point I thought I was going to snort coffee out of my nose. It was a delightful holiday, just what we needed. Hats off especially to Margaret's amazing sugar cookies. Yum.

Cape Cod

2009-11-24T15:59:00.003+03:00

This afternoon we head down to the Cape to enjoy the Thanksgiving holiday with the Petersons. And boy are we looking forward to it! The weather forecast is predicting rain and temps in the 40's, but I'm eagerly anticipating a warm kitchen and all the cooking, talking and laughing that surrounds this holiday. There is something special about preparing the traditional holiday foods that warms the soul. And while doing that alone can also bring forth the right smells and tastes, thereis an added dimension when you share the occasion with family or friends. When the kitchen is crowded and there is a line to get everything in and out of the oven at the right time. When the leftovers mound up and you begin to wonder if it was wise to make so much food. While I agree it is not wise to gorge yourself everday... a holiday, a feast, is different. Food does help us remember, help us experience. From communion, to a passover sedar, to Thanksgiving and Christmas our holidays with their feasting traditions help us remember and enjoy. What a delight to be able to celebrate this year with dear friends, in a beautiful place. To have the time to linger over a meal, sip a glass of wine and share the pleasure of treasured friends. I can't wait.

Door to Door

2009-11-20T16:04:00.003+03:00

A few days ago, I was approached on the street by 2 nicely dressed guys in their late teens. Tracts in hand, ties around their necks and name cards promiently displayed, I smiled and greeted them on my way to pick up my years stash of contact lenses. (You can take the girl out of the South, but you can't take the South out of the girl...) Their eyes lit up and immediately they began their spill. Now usually I am very amendable to a chat about the differences between Chrisitanity and Mormonism. I like to argue, I like to debate. Heck, you know me... I just like to TALK.
But, a few days ago, I was still recovering from the flu and had ventured out briefly to get the lenses and wanted to simply crawl back into bed as fast as possible. Extracting myself from the initial greeting with these two guys became difficult. Finally, I abruptly thanked them for their time, assured them I knew how hard it was to approach people they didn't know, but that I had been a missionary for the last 10 years in Africa. I was committed to my beliefs and they simply weren't going to convince me otherwise. Not with a tract. Not with a 20 minute conversation. Let me repeat... 10 years. Africa.
They were tenacious. Perhaps if I just prayed a little bit harder, with a more open mind, God would show me the error of my beliefs and I would come to recognize the truth. They could help me look at the scriptures and get a better understanding of what they were really saying.
It became uncomfortable, and I was sick, so I thanked them again and just walked away. Feeling annoyed and mostly violated. I found myself disgruntled. Wondering when it became okay to talk about something as deeply personal as religious worldview on the street with a stranger. When obviously they weren't interested in a real dialogue but had a particular script to follow and a bottom line to fill.
I felt the long ago angst, the college annoyance with "evangelism." With the door to door, let's talk with strangers about our faith. Let's enter into a relationship (short or long term) with no other motivation than to tell people that they are wrong and that we have the right answer. As if people are projects, or worse objects.
Do I think people should be honest about what they believe? Sure. As a person of faith, should I talk about my faith when asked? Of course. But rather than cold conversations, or evangelistic gimmicks, shouldn't we be engaged in activities, services, and works of faith that prompt curiosity and discussion from those around us?
And even though they annoyed me, last week, shouldn't I have offered to sit down with the Mormon Brothers over a cup of tea or coffee? Listened to their stories, engaged them in appropriate, honest conversation about our beliefs. Where they intersect, where they diverge. Shouldn't I have treated them like people, instead of walking, talking tracts? Spending some time to find out how they are enjoying their year of missionary service. What they hope to do in the future and how their faith plays into that.
I know I was sick, but it would have left a better taste in my mouth, if I could have practiced a bit of what I preach....

Pause from my make-up rant...

2009-11-14T16:59:00.002+03:00

To say that I am sick. Fever, cough, sore throat, achy and headache. Not fun. Fortunately, its the weekend AND because it is the big Exeter/Andover game day there are no Saturday classes. Kev is on it, being a sweetheart and taking care of the kids. Thus, I can collapse on the sofa and moan. Very thankful for the dining hall and ibuprofen.

Culture shock, rafts and lipstick

2009-11-12T22:48:00.005+03:00

I don't really remember that much from our long ago class devoted to culture shock and how to deal with it. But I do have a vague memory of comparing our lives to floating down a river on a raft. Our rafts are made up of various pieces of ourselves and our culture and are roped and nailed together with various other cultural experiences and skills. Sometimes the rapids come and knock us up a bit, but overall after years of experience, trial and error, we find ourselves on a decent raft that suits our needs pretty well on the river of life.

Then, if you are really lucky, you enter into a new culture with widely different expectations and assumptions. What happens to your nicely crafted raft? It pretty much sails right off the top of a waterfall to burst apart at the bottom with pounds of water beating down on top of the pieces. Dramatic, huh?

The human spirit being what it is, and God's presence encouraging you on... the raft gets slowly, painstakingly re-built with new pieces and tied together in unthought of ways. And if not perfect, at least passably usable to keep afloat in this new situation. The rapids continue to come and you do get used to frequent dunkings and clamborings to get back up. About the time your raft is looking cool and stable, it is time to return. Over yet another waterfall...

Quite an introduction to my main point which is today make-up and general skin care.

What? Yes, seriously. In Uganda, it was a good day if I managed to shower, brush my teeth and glance in the mirror. While Kev and I liked to have regular "date nights" both in Bundibugyo and in Kampala, mostly, this meant nice food and some dedicated time spent on my appearance (10 minutes tops), before an evening devoted to reconnecting... to paying attention to each other. Despite my sister's dire warnings I wore not one lick of sunscreen the whole time. Perhaps a bit on my nose if we were on vacations, but beyond that nada. Believe me this was a big mistake. Facial cleanser? You've got to be kidding. And most make-up just did the humidity slide right off my face whenever I tried. So here I stand at the ripe age of 37, staring at a face that has seen kinder days armed with nothing but a 10th grade understanding of skin-care. Which was just about the same time I put on make-up on a regular basis. Let us just say that while fashion does come around in circles, the bright blue eye-shadow that I once sported will not. What's a girl to do? Let's not even devote ourselves to the theological questions surrounding application of make-up, lotions, recovery gels and the time or money devoted to personal vanity and appearance.
But yes, if I'm being brutally honest, which I know is one of my weaknesses, I have to admit that I like the way I look with make-up on AND I also like when my face is free of blemishes and red itchy dry spots. So here I am at the bottom of the waterfall and there is not one piece of my Ugandan survival raft that is of any use.

The flylady has been immensely useful in organizing and cleaning (I'll save that line of thought for another day) but for skin care and make-up tips I have learned to trust the cosmetics cop. My new cyber friend (although she hasn't a clue I exist) is Paula Begoun. My neice Christina, another skin-care diva, introduced me to Paula's book "Don't Go To the Cosmetics Counter Without Me" and I have been relying on her information ever since. Paula's website... found right there on the side bar has handy free advice on most products (cleansers, lotions and make-up) as well as step by step videos for the clueless, like me. Just go to the LEARN tab on the main page. She has a team of researchers that test and report on most of the beauty products for a given year (hence the "cop") and fill you, the average customer, in on which products actually do what they say they will and which are a bunch of overpriced crapola. In my 2 months of trial and error, she has steered me true every time. I'm still learning and experimenting. Mostly indulging in a little bit of peace in the bathroom while small children pull on my shirt trying desperately to rope me into solving their problems. Which are my current favorite products? This post is already too long, so that'll be next.

A MK's look at being sick

2009-11-10T15:52:00.002+03:00

So Joe's been down with a flu-like sickness this week. Evidently it is flying around the middle school and on Friday he was in bed with fever, cough and sore throat. He's been miserable for the last few days. He wants to eat then gets full after a few bites... then throws up. His head hurts and he alternates chills with fever. Not fun. In response we have been pushing fluids, popsicles, ibuprofen and encouraging tons of time on the sofa watching Netflix instant play movies or TV shows. It is evidently a virus of some sort. And of course, being in America right now, the ever present question... is this swine flu? Hmph. Not sure, he's recovering today so my guess is no. But in the midst of fever, achy body, and known cases both in the community and the academy, who can say for sure. When Joe moaningly questions from the sofa, I answer with a vague "Maybe, it is tricky to know." Louisa, listening from the other room FREAKS OUT. She is positive her brother will die. I calm her down with lot's of reassurance and she seems fine.

This morning on our way to violin lesson, it comes back up.

"Mom, I thought swine flu was deadly?"
"It can be. But there are lot's of things that are deadly. Even normal flu can be deadly."
Lot's of silence.......
"Hmmm, well is it like Malaria then?"
"A bit. You can die from malaria and lot's of people do, but also you can recover from malaria."
"I almost died from malaria."
"Yes. "
"I turned blue."
"Yes."
"But then I got better and everybody who gets malaria doesn't die."
"Right."
Lot's of silence....
"Oh. So swine flu is a little bit like malaria, right? WHEW! I thought it was like Ebola."

Candy Tickets

2009-11-10T01:05:00.002+03:00

Too cute.

Facebook

2009-11-10T00:11:00.002+03:00

The thing I love about blogs is the opportunity for long or at least some what long and introspective entries. It can border, I admit, on inspecting your navel and then broadcasting for all the world to hear. But in general, I like the feeling that I can cast my thoughts out into the internet wind and perhaps someone, somewhere gets a chuckle or too.

When I was little, perhaps 3, my mother made a bunny shaped birthday cake for me. My birthday flits around the Easter holiday and that year it was probably a bit close and viola a beautiful shaped cake. Since my sister and I are only 16 months apart, I am sure the said cake was not an easy task and when it was finished and iced Mom sat it in the middle of the dining room table and went upstairs to get me. I am sure I was so excited to bounce down the stairs and see the cake just for me and in the shape of a bunny no less. Instead as the table came into view there was my little sister. She had managed to climb on top of the table and was throwing junks of my now decimated cake at us. Tory was laughing, I burst into tears and my mom dashed for the camera. Her presence of mind is amazing, but it was also that need to record, to share what I am sure was not extremely funny at the time, rather than lose her cool. Of course, as the years pass it is one of our favorite family stories, fueled by that very picture of a grinning toddler with her hands full of cake. The emotion that could have been very negative flipped on its head to be something positive and funny.

I guess my blogs are a bit like that. In the past they have been attempts to squeeze the laughter out when we could of our time in Bundibugyo. To process out loud our furlough time in Durham, to plead for prayer this summer for Kev. A sense of connection and remembrance. As we continue to re-acclimate to the US and now to New England, the need to blog has decreased and my posts are sporadic. And now I have become newly attached to Facebook. Which promises connection with minimal effort. Not quite sure how I feel about it, except that it is cool to be able to keep in touch with lot's of people, to glimpse into their lives if only at the surface level. To share random thoughts and quick snapshots with friends both old and new. It feels a bit like the American definition of community. Ha! Now I know I'm going through culture shock.

Weather

2009-10-08T03:12:00.002+03:00

It had never occured to me how tied my view of color and temperature are. Weather, yes, in a broad sense. In BGO when everything was brown and dusty it was usually very hot and dry, and when everything was green and lush it was usually rainy and wet. In North Carolina, three seasons out of the year are reasonably green and warm. Summer is hot and muggy, but the skies are bright and the trees are green. By the time winter rolls around... and by winter I mean temperatures in the 50's, the trees are bare, the sky is gray, even the grass is bit dull. You can see your breath and you know it is just freezing weather! Perhaps a dusting of snow might be in the forecast.
Here in Exeter, it has been in the 50's on and off for a couple of weeks. It is very confusing as this started in September. The trees are still mostly green, the sky is a brilliant shade of blue and many folks are still running around in shorts. I am cold, but in a brisk sort of way. The brightness of the sky and the warmth of color all around seem to taunt a Southerner like myself. As if to say, "this isn't cold... this is refreshing!" Ha. I'm not fooled. Everyone that hears me open my mouth wonders where I am from and then looks sympathetically when I annouce we just moved from NC. "Just wait." they say. I murmur something about dressing appropriately. They respond "Yes, layers." or "learn to appreciate the outside winter sports." Hmmmm. I think to myself. My guess is I am about to see and experience more snow this winter than I have in 37 years of living. It will be fun. It will be fun. It will be fun. It will be fun. It will be fun.

Ikea

2009-10-07T05:32:00.002+03:00

Fortunately for us, Kev's sister and brother-in-law arrived just minutes after the movers pulled up. I LOVE Ikea furniture but the concept of "some assembly required" is definitely a bit of an understatement. At one point Dave looked up at me and said, "Did that box really say 31 of 72? Tell me we don't have 72 boxes of furniture to put together." I sheepishly shrugged and said something lame like, "We did move from Africa." We were extremely grateful for the furniture that our home church pulled together for us prior to our arrival in Durham. But as we made plans to move here, we decided it was time to bless other folks in need with much of what we had been given and invest in some furniture that we thought was both beautiful and functional. Furniture that well... matched. There was very little discussion about where to go to buy such furniture. Ikea draws forth such an emotional response from both of us. When we were first in Uganda and evacuating in and out of Fort Portal due to rebel warfare, our place of refuge and safety was a former Swedish missionary compound. All of the houses there felt beautiful and safe. They were well but simply decorated with various Ikea pieces that were likely easy to ship to such a remote location. So when we considered how to furnish our new home here in Exeter, we were drawn to a similiar style. Beautiful, yet simple. Ikea.
Of course, that was before it occurred to me that when we arrived at Kahunga Bunyoni all of the furniture was already assembled. As we stared at the 72 boxes with screwdrivers and allen wrenches in hand, I began to think that maybe, just maybe, we should have bought furniture from Craig's List or Rooms to Go. Something that perhaps might not invoke the "safe" memories but would arrive...well...together.
Dave and Janis worked tirelessly for days putting together tables and chairs, sofas and beds, dressers and wardrobes. As my family would say they worked from "can to can't." (From when the sun comes up and you can see until it goes down again and you can't see anymore.) I did think the queen size box spring might be the straw that broke the camel's back... imagine having to assemble 150 different 1 inch by 20 something inch slats into rubber pieces that first must also be attached to various wood pieces that form a frame of sorts. We won't even mention the need to assemble and adjust the 25 or so center piece double slats to reflect a hard or soft bed preference. Of course, now fully assembled it IS the most comfortable bed I have ever slept on...
All of this to say, we love our Ikea furniture and we love Janis and Dave.
And while the house is still not fully unpacked, the kids are all happily attending school, Kev is teaching, our internet/phone/cable services are hooked up and the whole family has been to see both dentist and doctor. So for all intents and purposes we are settled here in Exeter. It is a lovely place to live. And did I mention the Ikea store that is just outside of Boston? It is a decent drive, about an hour or so away. But Nate is thrilled that we have to go through a complicated underpass, over a high cool looking bridge and through a long tunnel to get there. Anything to please the kids...

Welcome PEA Students

2009-09-17T15:17:00.002+03:00

Introducing Kevin Bartkovich to any PEA students or parents clever enough to find our blog, here's a favorite YouTube video illustrating the need for further math instruction.

Joe Liles

2009-07-28T18:13:00.002+03:00

A dear friend of ours is having a truly amazing adventure hiking the Appalachian trail. He's hiking the 2200 mile trail from its Southern tip in Georgia up to the Northern tip in Maine. A long journey that started back in May and should finish up sometime in Sept. Wow! Myhre's, I definitely thought of you guys. His blog is wonderful-- images included. See the sideboard for the link.

The Movers

2009-07-27T06:13:00.002+03:00

The Movers arrive tomorrow morning at 7am. So of course, being the queen of denial that I am... I am pausing in the very last stages of my packing frenzy to update the blog. I've got a strong cup of coffee on board and that "there just aren't enough hours in the day" panic to see me through. After a week long marathon of household fix it projects, my parents headed back home to Belmont with all four kids and Jazz. The house has an erie quiet, an almost silent echo, made all the more loud by the 148+ cardboard boxes. Who knew we had all this stuff? I'm down to the last four boxes, all marked "Odd and Ends." Which basically means all the stuff that should have been put into box 10, or 22, or 57. But as said box was already sealed shut when said item was discovered in an "unlikely place" got tossed instead into a now generic misc. box. I can foresee the unpacking nightmare now. Like the DVD remote which was inexplicably on the floor wedged between two large sealed cardboard boxes, or the coffee pot filters that were hiding out in the back of the drawer. I'm tossing all kinds of things in the rush to finish up. Little bits of games that have rolled under various pieces of furniture. I am sure these will be crucial in the months to come as the games themselves are unpacked and the kids describe that one missing item that I have a vague memory of chunking in the overflowing garbage can. Sigh. But for now the goal is simple. Have everything ready for the movers to load onto a big truck with as much organization as I can muster by daybreak tomorrow morning. Plus, have all the things crucial for the next month hidden from the movers so that they remain in our care rather than packed on the truck.
After that, Kev and I will enjoy our last two days in Durham for a good while. It has been a wonderful place to live. A place full of memories stretching back 20 years for me and even longer for Kev. A place with a quirky progressive quality and yet still comfortably Southern. A place full of many people whom we dearly love and treasure. With shaky confidence we send our boxes on to a new place, with the hope that Exeter will be just as wonderful for us and for our kids...

Rehab

2009-07-03T00:56:00.002+03:00

Yesterday, Kev and I put on our work-out clothes and headed to the gym. I have to admit, it is a pretty sweet place for cardio-rehab. The Duke Center for Living is an amazing facility staffed by a great group of doctors, nurses and physical therapists. Kev goes on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays for about 2 hours each morning. He gets his blood pressure and heart rate checked before, during and after excercise and is pretty much monitored continually. All part of the process of re-establishing his confidence (and mine) in returning to a very active lifestyle. So far, so good.

On the home front, we are continually being blessed by wonderful food and fun visits. This is so helpful as our days (my mom and mine) are spent trying to pack up the house and navigate taking care of the kids. The twins have enjoyed their chances for play dates... which also gives us a bit more breathing space and productivity! We remain thankful for our friends and family.

Discharged

2009-06-24T22:38:00.003+03:00

Just a quick WAHOO! to say that we have been discharged from the hospital and are now resting comfortably at home. Just a day shy of 2 weeks. We'll be open for visits tomorrow. Kev loves to see folks, but a 10-15 minute stretch is about all he can handle right now. Give us a call if you'd like to pop over... 919-381-4637.

Instant Replay

2009-06-23T12:59:00.001+03:00

Before events get too far ahead and the details begin to blur, it is probably therapeutic for me personally to throw out an instant replay version of the scariest few days of my life...

Around 11:00 on Thursday, our 15th wedding anniversary, Kev and Joe went for a jog. They had been working out together (along with Louisa at times) so that both kids would be in minimal shape for upcoming summer sports camps. Several days each week they either played soccer at the park, shot some hoops, or jogged through the neighborhood. On Thursday, Joe and Kev decided to jog. They jogged down to the park to run some sets of stairs. Joe ran 5, Kev did 10 then Joe says that Dad needed some water and to walk rather than jog back to Englewood Ave (our home street). Once they got to Englewood, they jogged uphill about three blocks and then decided to finish with a hard sprint from our drive way to the top of the block where Alabama intersects with Englewood. Joe remembers racing past his dad and getting to the stop sign first. He turned around and saw Kev slowly jogging, then stumbling, then collapsing.

A car drove by and told Joe to go get his mom, that he was calling 911. Joe ran the 100 or so feet to our house to get me. Another man was walking his dog and also called 911. Another man, Eric, was driving down Club Blvd on his way to get some more supplies for a job he was working on in the neighborhood. He needed to get to Hillsborough Rd, but instead of going all the way to Hillandale and then over, something told him to turn onto Alabama and cut through our neighborhood instead of his usual route. He turned onto Alabama and saw Kevin collapsed at the end of the block. Eric had just finished his CPR training. He dashed from the truck and began chest compressions. Joe entered our house screaming for me to come quickly, that Daddy fell down in the street and wouldn't get up. I sprinted to the top of the block where I could see a crowd forming and Kev lying in the road. As I ran up, Eric told me he had just finished CPR class. That Kev needed air but that he didn't know him and so hadn't given him mouth to mouth just compressions (exactly the right thing to do in that situation). I, however, did know him and began to alternate Eric's compressions with mouth to mouth. The whole time wondering if this was really happening.

EMT arrived from both the local fire department and the hospital after about 4 minutes (which seemed like an eternity). They took over CPR. Let me tell you, enthusiastic compressions is a definite euphemism. They cut off his shirt, applied the defibrillator paddles and shocked him. Eric took off both his hat and shirt to try and pad Kev's head from whacking the ground so hard. They shocked him 2 or 3 times with no response. Every body's shoulders seemed to drop, as they began strapping him onto the stretcher. "Can't you shock him one more time? Don't give up, yet." I pleaded. "We can't shock him again, right now." He had flat-lined. "We've got to get him to the hospital." EMT loaded him into the ambulance, and told me to follow them to Duke. The defib guy looked up and said, "I think I've got something." Kev seemed to take a very abnormal looking shallow breath. Three hands immediately tried to find a pulse. Nothing. "We've got to go." And they loaded him in.

John, one of our neighbors helped me get the kids back to the house (Joe, Nate and Savannah watched nearly the whole thing. Louisa was at camp.) I grabbed my keys, called my Mom and yelled at her to get here as soon as possible, hugged a sobbing Joe and assured him this was in NO WAY his fault and dashed out the door. Joe began e-mailing our teammates in Uganda and South Sudan to ask them to pray, and told John that he should call Nanny Rachel to come help with the twins. John let our church know what was going on.

I drove, sobbing the 3 minutes to Duke University not knowing whether Kev would be declared DOA (Dead on Arrival). I prayed that frantic generic "Please Help" prayer. Once I got to the ER a nurse said she would check to see whether he was alive, while I called Allan, our pastor and left and unintelligible message on his phone. I called WHM and they immediately started praying. I called my brother and he assured me he was en route. The nurse came out and told me he was breathing but in very serious condition and that I needed to go to a smaller more private room for the doctors to talk with me. I knew what this meant. This was the bad news room. This was the room you go to and they tell you that your husband has died. A social worker came in to help me deal with the situation and I'm pretty sure I told her the only help I needed was for her to find out if my husband was alive or dead. She came back moments later to say he was alive, but a lot of people were working on him. I asked her to leave so that I could pray. A few minutes later, Allan (our pastor) arrived with the doctors. We sat together, while they told me that Kev had been shocked in the ambulance and had regained a pulse, he had been breathing some on his own but not enough when he arrived at the ER. He had been intubated, but had struggled during the process (my only sign of hope during the next 24 hours). He was now on a ventilator. They were running tests to determine what had happened and had started a cooling procedure to minimize significant brain damage. They told me that the early CPR, especially Eric's chest compressions, had likely saved his life. BUT, and for the next 24 hours I was to hear this BUT after nearly every statement, Kev's brain had been without normal oxygen for 8-15 minutes. The chance that his cognitive function would never return was likely, which meant that they would also need a copy of our living will, especially as it pertained to being in a vegetative state.

Duke had in place a new, cutting edge cooling protocol to increase Kev's chance of recovery. Since he had been without a pulse and normal oxygen flow to his brain the chance that he would be in a vegetative state was high. As they ran more tests they did find that he had a mild to moderate aortic valve issue. They ruled out both heart attack and stroke. Within 2 hours he was up in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit in critical condition, on life support and was being cooled to 33 degrees Celsius (91 degrees Fahrenheit). They would keep him at that temperature and in that condition (completely paralyzed to prevent shivering and under heavy sedation) for the next 18 hours. They would warm him back up slowly over 6-12 hours and then it would be another 24-72 hours before the drugs wore off and we could see if he would wake up. So, on Thursday night the best timeline they could give me was perhaps he might wake up by Saturday evening BUT the likelihood that he would remain in a vegetative state was significant. Nobody could predict how his brain would handle the lack of oxygen.

Most of that time is a blur, but what was significant to me was the way everyone seemed to wrap their arms around us. Multiple, multiple folks connected with Duke and us through either Science and Math or Blacknall quietly stood beside us. Nurses, doctors, so many people associated with Duke in one way or another made sure we were taken care of. Katie, our Sunday School Leader was by my side interpreting and explaining. Amy arrived shortly after Allan and stayed with me throughout those first two days. Mom made lightening fast time from Charlotte. Arriving to be my main emotional support. Doc was steadfastly calm and influential. Newland providing much needed hand holding. Cherie began coordinating meals. Beth made sure Joe and Louisa were okay for days. My sister and her husband Kevin took care of the twins and then took all four children back to her home in Belmont so that I could be with Kev around the clock. To my amazement Chris, the director of the Cardiac ICU was a friend we had just eaten dinner with at another friends 50th birthday party. My dad flew in from Nevada and some of Kev's sisters arrived in person as others kept up over the phone. We were surrounded by people who both knew us and cared deeply for us. Calls began to come in from Bundibugyo and Sudan. Christ School was in the middle of a school strike when they got the news of Kev's cardiac arrest. They stopped striking and began praying for their former headmaster. In Durham and all over the world (London, Spain, Tonga, South Sudan, Uganda...) people were praying for Kevin.

As I cried out to God, pleading with him to explain how this could possibly be him "being gentle with us" (my constant prayer this year as we sought his will for us and for our future) I began to understand more fully the dreadfulness of our situation. I know completely that God can be trusted, that He loves us deeply and yet that did not guarantee a positive result for Kev. Kev could die, would likely never wake up again, and I would be left alone with four small children and without my best friend. This was God being gentle? I ached and my heart was sore. I could only take a deep breath, trust, and continue on at the hospital. Watching Kev's chest rise and fall on the vent. Watching the nurses turn his body every 45 minutes. Listening to the doctors explain yet again the difference between normal cognitive function and wishful thinking. Knowing everyone was hopeful and yet seeing the doubt in my eyes reflecting in theirs.

As I continued to play out the events in my head I knew that God had given us no "if onlys". If only he hadn't been alone, or if only someone had given him early CPR... Kev was getting top notch medical care. He collapsed minutes away from one of the best hospitals in the nation. One of the few equipped with this new cooling procedure. Eric got to him almost immediately and had just finished his CPR training. Kev was running close to the house with Joe instead of in the woods somewhere alone (as was his more common practice). We weren't in BGO. We weren't out west hiking in the mountains or down in a canyon. We weren't even at my mother's house (45 minutes away from a top hospital). Kev's collapse happened within a very narrow window of near perfect timing to insure his best chance of survival. Would it be enough?

On Friday, they began bringing his body temp back up to normal. By 9:30pm the nurses turned off the paralytic drip and restrained his hands (so that if he did wake up he wouldn't yank out the vent tube). We settled in for a long wait. We were told Saturday evening would be the earliest he could begin to wake up, that Monday even Tuesday might be likely. He was very heavily sedated. I needed to "re-orient" him by talking to him loudly and clearly and consistently until he woke up. Telling him it was okay to enter into the pain and confusion that waking up would surely bring. Telling him it was safe to come back. Was Kevin even still in there? As the drugs started to wear off, I plugged in his I-Pod and played some classical music, then some of his favorite songs from our time in Uganda. As he began to involuntarily twitch, I continued to talk non-stop in his ear. "Don't you dare leave me. I love you. I can't do this by myself. We have four kids. I know it hurts but open your eyes and come back to me." And he opened his eyes. We gasped. No one said he could wake up so soon. We were only 30 minutes into the expected 24 hour talking marathon. "Can you squeeze your left hand?" A weak squeeze. More and more of the ICU staff gathered around as we cheered and talked to him. Withing 15 minutes he was breathing on his own. Katie asked him, "Do you want that tube out of your mouth?" He raised his eyebrows in the Ugandan non-verbal affirmation signal. After the tube was out, he asked "Why am I here? What happened to me?" He was clearly confused, but his cognitive recovery was assured.

The next few days were a blur for both of us. He suffered from significant short term memory issues for the first 24 or so hours as the sedatives cleared his system. We lovingly refer to that time as his "Dori-Day" (from Finding Nemo). During that time we also learned that his aortic valve was severe rather than mild/moderate. The choice was simple. He had to have open heart surgery to replace his faulty valve with a new mechanical one or die. I like to say that on the Thursday of his collapse it felt like someone shoved us off a steep cliff unexpectedly into deep water. We weren't sure we could even swim. On Tuesday, we stood at the edge of the same cliff. Held hands, told each other "I love you," and jumped into the water. Of course, with life boats waiting at the bottom. Still very scary. But with the strong sense that God was watching, as an active participant and that we were surrounded by people who knew what they were doing professionally, medically. We were within a community of loved ones supported by their prayers and emotional support, rather than alone.

Kev came through the surgery like a champ. He has a new carbon valve that should dramatically improve his heart's ability to pump the needed blood throughout his body. His life long heart murmur now replaced by a mechanical clicking sound. Days later he received an internal cardiac defibrillator (ICD). While his doctors are 99% sure that his valve was the real issue and cause for the cardiac arrest, the ICD is his insurance policy. If his heart ever begins to enter a life threatening rhythm again, this device will try to pace him out of it while it charges up. If the pacing function doesn't work it will then deliver up to 6 shocks... although 1 should do it... to shock his heart back to a normal rhythm. Just like the paddles used by EMT except that these "paddles" are transmitted through a wire straight into his heart muscle. Totally fascinating and reassuring.

How do we explain that Kev will walk out of the hospital only weeks after he coded on the street? Even with all of the favorable conditions surrounding his collapse the odds still were not in his favor. Both doctors, extremely experienced, have told us that they have never heard of someone surviving what happened to Kevin. The best theoretical odds with the new cooling protocol gave him only a 30%-40% chance. (Fortunately this is information no one shared with me last week.) Everyone wants to shake his hand. To meet the man who survived.

We can only hold forth that God was good and gentle with us. Not that this recovery was "payback" for years of service in Uganda, nor that it points to some special future work that would have gone unfulfilled with Kev's death. There are certainly many people out there for whom death was the outcome, whose worthy, amazing lives were cut off too short. Why did Kev survive?? Surely that is a question we won't have answered this side of eternity. Yet while we have no answers, no cliche pat response, we do feel that Kev's recovery is a sign. A big neon, beautiful glaring sign of God's power and faithfulness. A sign that points to a time when God's Kingdom comes to earth in full power. When death is no more. When evil is overcome. When horrible sickness and loss are abolished and God's glory abounds. When crying turns to laughter, and sorrow to joy. When our loved ones open their eyes and come home. Obviously that world isn't here yet. Problems abound and suffering is persistently tenacious. But there are signs, miracles if you will, that point to another reality, to a future hope of something far different. Kev's recovery from death stands as one of those pointers.

Kev should have died on our anniversary, yet he lives today. We're continuing to plan for our upcoming move to Exeter, rather than for a heart-wrenching funeral. We give thanks to God. We thank Him for the skilled hands who took care of us here at Duke and for the many, many people who lifted us up in prayer and surrounded us with love.

Well on our way

2009-06-23T00:31:00.000+03:00

The ICD procedure went very well... although the surgeon did tell me that Kev flat lined for about 12 seconds unexpectedly during the procedure. Everything was under control and the surgeon pushed forward rapidly attaching the wire to Kev's heart and restarting a good rhythm. Thanks for your prayers. I'm glad I knew nothing about that until the end. The ICD is functioning well now and has already helped me get a good night's sleep (well, except for the late night blood draws, blood pressure and temperature checks). It will pace his heart down if it beats faster than 200 beats a minute and "thump" him if his heart goes into another V-Fib. Now we are just waiting for his blood levels to adjust to the coumadin and we can be discharged. I can hardly believe that we are at this point. Praise God. To Him be the glory.

ICD

2009-06-22T14:04:00.003+03:00

Kev goes in this morning to have his ICD put into his chest. This internal cardiac defibrillator functions like a pacemaker and will provide an internal shock straight to his heart if he should need that in the future. It should be a simple procedure, but is not without risk. They will need to thread a wire down a vein and screw it into his heart. Then his EP team will have to put his heart into V-Fib (the same life threatening situation that caused him to flat line) and allow the device to shock him out of it. So although the team says that compared with what he has been through this should be a "walk in the park", I remain a bit nervous and am praying. Would you please join me?

Doing Laps

2009-06-18T16:00:00.005+03:00

Today my wife and I visited Kevin and JD at the hospital. Kevin has been moved out of the ICU to cardiac rehabilitation. This was my first time seeing Kevin since his fall last Thursday, one week ago today. It is remarkable at how far he has come, and how fast. I joked with Kevin soon after greeting him that I had missed my narrow window of beating him in a math competition, hoping I might have caught him three days earlier when the effects of heavy sedation were still wearing off. Without missing a beat, Kevin replied with his characteristic wit, "What window?" and proceeded to tell his Celsius to Fahrenheit conversion story.

We talked about this experience, recounting how over the past several years he had noticed marked decline in his aerobic performance, wrongly attributing the effects of poor aortic flow from the valve defect to age or lack of training. With hopeful hearts, we spoke of the new potential for life after this surgery.

Soon into our visit, Kevin's nurse came in to tell him it was time for his exercise, but first asked Kevin to rate his pain (I assume on a 1-10 scale). She asked, "About a three?" And he discreetly put his thumb up, and raised his eye brows in unison to gesture, "Higher." But Kevin is never one to complain, and he is persistent in the face of challenge.

Kevin got situated behind a walker, and with JD at his side, proceeded to make 3 laps around the floor, about 1/4 mile of walking within one day of heart surgery. Jane and I stood by near his room, holding out the watch and pretending to be timing his splits, noting that each lap was faster than the previous. Kevin gladly participated in our game.

After saying goodbye, Kevin back down for a rest, I left with a new found thankfulness for friendship, health, and life. As I left for Chapel Hill to run an evening track race, I silently dedicated the effort to Kevin.

I am thankful for these days we've been given, and for the eternal home we're promised in Christ. In many ways after Kevin makes his full recovery, it may appear that nothing has changed. But, I believe for all of us, we can live life with a poignant reminder of the daily gift that this life is for each of us.

Show me, O LORD, my life's end
and the number of my days;
let me know how fleeting is my life.

Psalm 39:4

(The blog posts from the past week have been written by Scott Ickes, friend of the Bartkovichs and former Christ School teacher)

Successful surgery!

2009-06-17T05:35:00.002+03:00

The valve replacement surgery went extremely well today! Kevin did well through the surgery and is recovering faster than expected. Tomorrow is expected to be a hard day with pain following the operation. So please pray for Kevin as he presses on through that. And please pray for the family, especially JD, to get some rest.

Praise the Lord for this successful surgery, and for His abundant mercies on Kevin and the Bartkovich family!

Prayers for surgery on Tuesday

2009-06-16T04:34:00.005+03:00

After reviewing some tests, Kevin's physicians decided to do a valve replacement surgery tomorrow (Tuesday) in the late morning. This is a common, yet serious, procedure, and we appreciate your prayers through the process.

We thank God for where He has placed Kevin during this time: in the hands of some of the world's most skillful physicians. Please pray for them as they operate tomorrow, and for Kevin's body during the procedure.

O LORD, you have searched me
and you know me.

You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.

You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.

Before a word is on my tongue
you know it completely, O LORD.

You hem me in—behind and before;
you have laid your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,

even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.

Psalm 139:1-10

Mathematical prowess

2009-06-16T04:19:00.002+03:00

As a demonstration of his full mental function, Kevin performed two not-so-normal math feats today. First, he beat JD to 100, counting by prime numbers! Second, he converted the temperature that his body was lowered to from Celsius to Fahrenheit faster than a Blackberry calculator. Depending on how well you know Kevin, this may or may not surprise you. Needless to say, we're grateful that that math wiz is sharp as ever. Thanks be to God.

Up and at 'em!

2009-06-15T04:47:00.002+03:00

Kevin and JD are happily together at Duke, and will remain there for the next few days as Kevin gets some tests done. The first being a heart catheterization, which will take place on Monday. Kevin has made remarkable progress today: he walked around, talked to the whole family and other visitors, and showed his mental sharpness more and more as the sedatives wore off. Even the lapses in short term memory have been improving. All of this is miraculous news, and we're filled with thanks for Kevin's life, and for the strength and support of the Bartkovich family, friends, and church.

Please continue to pray for the Bartkovich family as things settle and medical decisions get made (possibly) this week. As you can imagine, there is likely to be quite an emotional toll from looking back over these last four days.

Hospital Food and Hope!

2009-06-14T06:27:00.003+03:00

Some more great news on this Saturday evening. Kevin was awake and doing well today. He continued to talk with JD and the family, cracked some jokes, and ate a meal...and even managed to comment that it was not so tasty, which is a great sign! (Though we are hoping he gets some better meals down soon!)

Some of the sedation drugs are still wearing off, so his interactions are still somewhat colored by the medications. We're still asking for prayer as the drugs become metabolized and a clearer picture of his prognosis can be seen. As we look towards the next few days of tests and continued recovery, we're very hopeful, and extremely grateful at this fast and strong progress.

Please continue to pray for continued healing, for rest and recovery for Kevin and the family, and for wisdom for the physicians. To God be the Glory!

Praise the Lord!

2009-06-13T06:08:00.003+03:00

Kevin has regained consciousness!!!

This evening, after the sedatives wore off, Kevin regained consciousness, opened his eyes, asked questions, and sustained breathing. This is amazing news, and we're grateful to the Lord. As to be expected, Kevin was tired and is sleeping through the night. Tomorrow will be a busy day of talking with the cardiologists and probably running several tests.

We covet your continued prayers for Kevin. There is still uncertainty about his prognosis, but we are filled with Hope. Please pray for his full healing, and for his energy and memory to come back readily as he regains strength.

With joyful hearts, we thank Jesus for his death-conquering love.

Friday Afternoon Update

2009-06-12T21:18:00.005+03:00

Kevin remains in critical but stable condition at the Duke Cardiac ICU. We learned that he did not have another arrhythmia during the cooling procedure, which is very good news. After 18 hours of cooling, the doctors are now allowing his body temperature to raise back up to normal. Sometime this evening they will take him off of the sedatives and paralytic medications. After the medications wear off, Kevin may start to come around within the next day or so.

The Bartkovich children are staying with close family friends in Duham and are doing well, despite the circumstances. The family is being well loved by family and friends who have come from all over to offer support.

Please focus your prayers for:

Miraculous healing for Kevin, for minimal or no brain damage and full recovery
Sleep for JD. Beginning tonight, she will likely go for 2-3 days without much rest
The children as they struggle through the uncertainty of their father's health

Please pray without ceasing.

Urgent Prayer Request

2009-06-12T05:51:00.004+03:00

Dear Friends who Pray,

We desperately need your prayers. Today around lunchtime Kevin and Joe were out for a run and Kevin collapsed from ventricular fibrillation, causing cardiac arrest. Kevin is now in the cardiac intensive care unit at Duke. To minimize inflammation, Kevin is receiving a cooling therapy whereby his body temperature is lowered by about 8 degrees. He will be under heavy sedation until Saturday, and there are many unknowns while he remains in critical condition.

Please pray for Kevin's healing, and for the Bartkovich family: JD, Joe, Louisa, Nate, and Savannah.

"He is before all things, and in him all things hold together." Colossians 1:17

Jam

2009-06-09T16:06:00.003+03:00

One of my life long goals has been to make home-made jam. I find there is something elemental about picking the fruit and then "putting it by" for later use. Plus, just like knitting, the whole process is addictive. I love the abundant piles of fresh fruit. The nagging question, "What are we going to do with all of these strawberries, raspberries, peaches, blueberries... Can we possibly eat all of this?" I love the gleaming, steaming jars of fresh jam lined up on the counter after an afternoon of work. The hot sudsy water, the sterilizing, the peeling, the cutting and dicing, the enormous amounts of sugar, the stirring and timing, the testing and adjusting and finally the filling and wiping and processing. My family loves the jam and squeals or sighs with delight. Especially when homemade bread is rising and baking in the oven at the same time. PB&J's are a life staple for our family. The whole house smells delightful and I get a deep sense that all is right with the world. Odd, I know.
This past week we went down to Traveler's Rest, SC to celebrate Lydia and Gabe's wedding. What a nice time. A breathtaking outside ceremony filled with deep blue skies on a grassy hillside, overlooking lush green mountains. A beautiful couple, supported by a whole host of family and friends and capped off by delicious food, good conversation and lot's of glass tinkling kisses by the newlyweds. My mom graciously agreed to keep the kids and so Kev and I had a wonderful weekend away. We sat mesmerized by the new Star Trek movie and ate wonderful Indian food in downtown Greenville. We walked along the river and talked. We saw some friends from our week at Sonship last October, and hugged the necks of many friends and former teammates from Uganda at the wedding. And along the way we stopped at a little road side stand and bought a whole big basket of local peaches. Pounds and pounds of peaches, an abundant "what are we going to do with all of these peaches" amount. So yesterday I bought myself an early anniversary present...an official canning pot. No more hot water splatters as I try to fit the right amount of jars into a too small pot. Wahoo! I spent a truly relaxing day in the kitchen, surrounded by the smells of peaches and challah bread. Using the right equipment, with mostly good recipes and lot's of laughter and fun. And as I went to bed last night the counter top was lined with peach/strawberry jam, peach syrup (the first attempt at jam- a hilarious mistake) and peach butter. Yum.

27 Fling Boogies

2009-06-03T14:56:00.002+03:00

One of my online mentors is the FlyLady. Several years ago while still in Bundibugyo, I started shining my sink and organizing my house into zones. With four kids, it doesn't take long to live in CHAOS (Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome) and for the house to be completely cluttered. I realize this sounds like a walking billboard for the FlyLady (I apologize) but I do believe that she is on to something when she compares the clutter in our homes to the cholestral in our veins. Both clog up our lives. And as much as I hate cleaning, I hate cleaning up clutter even more.

The 27 fling boogie is a 15 minute or so challenge. Basically, you run around the room, or dig through a closet and you toss into a box as many things as you no longer need, want, or can use. You know those shampoo bottles that are 2/3s empty, lotion from 5 years ago, masacara that is dried up... or how about (for me personally) the shoes that the kids have outgrown but that still end up scattered all over the front entry way. 27 items being the goal. I stop no matter what at the 15 minute mark. Once you have your box you can look at the items and decide, "Could this bless someone else?" If the answer is yes, give it away or take it to Goodwill. We've been blessed abundantly by people this year! If no, toss it in the trash and move on.

Before we begin packing our boxes this summer, we are all taking the time to boogie. As we attempt to declutter we are keeping the words of William Morris in mind:
"Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful." Now there's a challenge!

Open your test booklets...

2009-05-27T18:50:00.003+03:00

I adore standardized testing. I'm equally sure that I should not admit that. There's something about the 12-30 minute chunks of time so neatly punctuated by "You may begin." and "Put your pencils down and close your test booklets." I like bubble sheets and the butterflies that begin fluttering in my stomach as soon as the test starts. I love how the right or wrong answer almost pops off the page. I love the whole atmosphere surrounded those end of year evaluations. So surely it comes as no surprise that my children do too.

This week we find ourselves surrounded by the Iowa Tests of Basic Skills, a comprehensive survey of what Joe and Louisa have learned this school year and a way to measure how they are doing compared with other students in the same grade across the country. Beyond being one of the few hoops to jump through as a home-schooling family in North Carolina, it also provides the much needed skill of performance under pressure, double checking their work, and a comprehensive review of a variety of subjects. In addition to the ITBS we are also sitting for a writing test, ever the weak point for homeschoolers to try and gage what we need to review before public school in the fall. Thanks to Karen who suggested this years ago. It has been and continues to be a wonderful tool. Since Joe finished fifth grade math years ago, (making the ITBS a bit deficient in assessing where he is now) he also completed the Iowa Algebra Aptitude Test last week as well as North Carolina's EOG (End of Grade) practice tests in Math for grades 5, 6 and 7. Did I mention how much we love to take tests??

As the temperature rises and the days stretch out towards summer we are nearing the end of our school year here at the Great American Adventure Academy. With a myriad of summer camps and field trips left to go I think it is safe to say that we have all enjoyed our time together. It seems odd to think that this phase of our lives is coming to a close. Next year, they'll enter into a different world both academically and socially. Kev and I will resign as their primary teachers, handing them over to the school system in New Hampshire. We'll slip quietly into the background, asking each afternoon how their day was and whether they need any help with homework. In truth, we are all looking forward to the change. Louisa is looking forward to a large classroom full of more potential girlfriends, Joe to hanging out with peers who feel that being a smart alack is a worthy aspiration--rather than his parents who see it as a character flaw. I'm sure there will be bumps in the road ahead as we all adjust to new roles and relationships. But as for now, we're finishing strong. Like kids all over the country, they'll ponder their questions, mark their bubble sheets with number 2 pencils and enjoy the warm nearly summer sunshine this afternoon.

Recent Good Reads...

2009-05-25T19:25:00.002+03:00

I'll spare you what many would call the romance drivel that I constantly consume. I find nothing so entertaining or pleasurable as a good romance novel. I'm not very particular. I'm not very fussy about good writing, even whether the plot is especially well developed although obviously those things can each be helpful. I only ask that there are clearly good guys, bad guys, and a herione who is gutsy. I demand a happy, everything is tied up with a romantic bow ending, even if it has to be an especially unrealistic one. Kind of the grown-up version of Once Upon a Time... Blah, Blah, Blah.. Happily Ever After. Kevin and probably many of you just despair over my woeful lack of desire for a prize winning novel full of well-turned phrases, complicated characters and plots within plots.

However, on occasion I do read for edification. Not usually fiction, although a few do creep in from time to time. (Usually only when Kev puts his foot down, and hides my other books, or when the kids need a read-a-loud.) Here's a list of the notable ones both fiction and non from the past few months:

the curious incident of the dog in the night-time by mark haddon (lower case- his choice)
Paul, the Spirit, and the People of God By Gordon Fee
Acedia and me: A Marriage, Monks, and A Writer's Life By Kathleen Norris
John for Everyone By Tom Wright (Volume 1&2)
Last Child in the Woods By Richard Louv
The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Look at Four Meals By Michael Pollan
Living Gently in a Violent World: The Prophetic Witness of Weakness By Stanley Hauerwass, Jean Vanier and John Swinton
Huckleberry Finn By Mark Twain

Any of which I would reccommend.

New England Bound

2009-05-14T18:45:00.002+03:00

In Feb. of last year we left our home in Bundibugyo and came back to North Carolina for a much needed extended furlough time. We have loved this time of rest and reflection, visiting most of the churches who have supported us over the years, hanging out with people who have prayed for us and for our growing family, meeting new friends who have entered right into our lives at this stage and became dear to us. We've home-schooled our kids together. (Joe recently said thanks again. "Mom, thanks for giving me a year to understand kid's culture here before I have to deal with middle school. I think jumping right in would have been awful.") And been amply rewarded in that sacrifice. They are fantastic people, eager to learn and express themselves. As for Kev and I, we have, for the first time in a great many years had the chance to just slow down. To start with a fresh slate and order our days with an eye towards making time with God and quiet reflection a priority, instead of being dominated by the "crisis of the moment." We've each had big chunks of time each week to spend in solitude with God. I really wanted God to have written our future plans in big letters somewhere on our great 10-week camping adventure last year. I think I really expected Him to be speedy and dramatic in letting us know what we should do. Instead, we've been spending time learning more of who He is. The whole process of future decision making/which path to take has been slow and meandering. We've talked with folks we trust, been prayed over, pursued various options that interested either one of us, gotten into heated discussions (fights), and waited to see which doors the Lord would keep open. In the end, we realized that most of our options both overseas and here in Durham had closed.

Two doors remained open and what a gracious gift... both formal offers came in on my birthday. Both wonderful prep schools in the New England area, both beautiful situations for our family and for us. With two good options in hand, Kev accepted a job in the math department at Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire. Of the two, this position and location will allow me to pursue a seminary degree at Gordon-Conwell.

We are simply delighted about this new direction for our family. Of course, we are shaking our heads at the nearly polar opposite situations that the Lord has provided for us. Bundibugyo to Exeter is quite the leap. Part of our decision making time has been releasing our need to go to the hardest place possible. To fully unclasp our desire to be back in Uganda and influential in the work at Christ School. To trust God to take care of that and to accept that He could give us more than we could ask or imagine. To trust that He knows the situation and circumstances in which He wishes to place us and our family.

So we are wrapping up our summer here in Durham, as well as our time with World Harvest as missionaries. Both feel bittersweet, a mixture of excitement and sadness as we transition both location and identity.

Beautiful faces...

2009-05-13T19:36:00.002+03:00

Just a few recent photos of our beautiful children. This time in the States has been a wonderful blessing for us as a family. We are so thankful for the support both financial and emotional that has sustained us during our extended furlough. As we look ahead to the future we wanted to take one more opportunity to say THANKS!

Alpha and Omega

2009-03-06T19:05:00.002+03:00

I'm beginning the study of biblical greek. Now, mind you I am taking the Flylady's approach which is all about babysteps. So for now, I am just learning the alphabet slowly but surely. Nate and Savannah find this hysterical. "Dat's not the right way! It goes like dis, mom... A, B, C, D NOT Alpha, beta, gamma, delta!" or "Dat's not eta, dat's an H!" Joe and Louisa are fascinated that I have to work on handwriting. They are delighted that mine tends to be as sloppy as theirs and needs just as much practice. The very pronunciation of some of the letters has been interesting. It seems that mathematicians and biblical scholars say some of the letters differently. So, if the upcoming Duke/Carolina basketball game isn't enough... you should hear our household pronouncing pi.

A night-time glimpse

2009-02-25T22:37:00.004+03:00

Last night, I walked into the kid's room to do my pre-bedtime check. They were all sound asleep, fully covered by treasured quilts and blankets listening subconsciously to the background "white noise" of the rain forest. Joe and Louisa share bunk beds, rotating each month so that they each get a turn on the bigger bottom double bed. Their heads are barely discernible underneath the mound of pillows and animals. I think they both try to employ my sister's favorite trick of hiding beneath so much stuff that a potential burglar would bypass them in favor of a more accessible child. Nate and Savannah sleep side by side in matching Disney toddler beds. They, too have an assortment of comforting items. Savannah has become a fan of small stuffed dogs and pooh bears of various sizes. She carefully places them underneath her blanket and quilt in what can only be described as a "Mommy Dog with her puppies" arrangement. Her hair is braided, just like her sister's in a somewhat successful attempt to limit the dreaded cotton like tangles that spring up each morning. Nate sleeps in a gray, much loved polar fleece hat, rubbing the tag of the same fleecy cloth baby doll that has comforted him since he was 4 months old.
Their room is an assorted mess of new and old treasured toys... a large wooden castle sits in one corner with various Playmobil, Imaginext, Schleich and generic army guys arranged in different battle scenes. Rogue detachments of soldiers and bands of fierce animals are strategically placed throughout the room, which can make these night time checks a bit tricky for a mother in bare feet. Louisa's desk is covered with her "science equipment" and secret journals. Her reference books lean up against a framed picture of Liana and Naomi. Joe's desk is sparse in comparison. A large two headed dragon looks over his bottle top collection and a library copy of the next book on his reading list... Little Women ("Mom," he says after reading the first chapter, "I thought this was about miniature people.") His wooden staff, leans against the corner. A train table that doubles as a duplo station dominates the middle of the room. Cars, trains and duplo creations are scattered around with wild abandonment. New shiny hotwheels are side by side with Kev's boyhood favorites. Nate refuses to use any block that is not red, while Savannah builds really, really tall multi-colored towers that topple over and leave blocks in unexpected places. A riding horse juts out near one of the windows, a throwback to my childhood and a great favorite of all four kids. Nate's sleeping beauty dress is in an elegant heap at the foot of his bed along with one tap shoe, one cowboy boot and several of his favorite truck books. Savannah's harmonica and magnifying glass lie in the middle of a wide assortment of Louisa's make-up and fingernail polish. Clothes of various sizes and states of cleanliness lie here and there, some peeking out from under a dresser or bed, others blantantly thrown in the very middle of the floor. Sigh. All in all it is a disorderly kid's room that oozes with the comfort of well loved and heavily played with toys. The birds of the rain forest chirp loudly, someone sighs and rolls over and just as I am ready to walk out, Nate reaches across the toddler rail and holds Savannah's hand. As I watch, she scootches closer and drifts back off to sleep with a contented smile on her face whispering, "Natie, you're my best friend."

Not Together

2009-02-22T01:32:00.002+03:00

Dear Friends... as many of you are aware my marriage to Kevin is one that crosses many divides. But none so severe as those passions that come forth during basketball season. For a UNC gal married to a Dukie, these few months leading up to March Madness are both sweet and emotional. Since Kev is also a Maryland fan, it seems most games have some emotional element. As UNC and Maryland go into overtime this Saturday afternoon, there are lot's of loud groans and exclamations of delight. We are definitely not together as we pull for our favorite teams and urge them on to victory. Our children look on in wonder as they make the mental shift from rat hockey (our favorite athletic pasttime in BGO) to ACC basketball.

CSB Update...

2009-02-02T02:05:00.003+03:00

This was posted earlier this evening on Paradoxuganda- the blog of our former team leaders, Scott and Jennifer Myhre. We are thankful that the school is in such good hands, both divine and human. We rejoice in the good news of exam results! But perhaps even more we rejoice that CSB continues to be a place where kids have a chance to excel, where the staff are challenged to grow as teachers and as disciples of Christ. We rejoice that the Kingdom is pushing forward in a place of oppressive darkness and opposition. Please join us (and the team in Bundibugyo) in praying for the students and staff at CSB and for David and Annelise Pierce as they continue to pour out their lives to lead the school forward.

The 2009 school year begins tomorrow . . . and so tonight our WHM teamjoined the CSB staff for a prayer walk, bathing every corner of thecampus in praises and supplications. David shared a few words aboutthe faith of Caleb in the Bible, who was not intimidated by the giantsin the land of Canaan because he sensed God's power to be more real. Annelise kept us moving from dorm to dorm, classroom to classroom, insmall groups and then all together in a circle of prayer. We preparedthe way for the students by asking God to do great things: to protectfrom disease, to give a passion for learning, to provide adequatefood, to inspire teachers, to draw forth worship, to change lives. Itwas a beautiful tangible picture of our partnership, and a way for usto collectively acknowledge that like Caleb we know that the God weserve is the One who can bring true change to CSB.
And our vision of hope was boosted by the weekend's news of the OLevel exam results. Christ School emerged as the leader in Bundibugyoonce again, with 5 students in Division One and NO FAILURES. To putthat in perspective, we had 5 of the 8 division one scorers in thedistrict, but only 51 of the 435 students. That means a Bundibugyostudent at CSB was 8 times more likely to score in the top tier thanaverage. And in our district more than 10% of students fail, but noneof ours did. We still have a long way to go to meet the highestnational standards, but this was hopeful news.
And so we meet the new year. The giants in the land are real(alcoholism, abuse, cheating, mediocrity, rebellion). But the grape-cluster vision of what God can do makes it worth the risk to moveforward.

Third Culture Kids

2009-01-21T17:47:00.003+03:00

The past two days have been a wonderful mix of excitement and tears. This past term in school we have been studying the US Civil War (I have to clarify since both Joe and Louisa thought we would, of course, be studying the one in South Sudan). We've been reading Fields and Fury, Huckleberry Finn, and the Gettysburg Address. They've read about slavery and war, but it hasn't hit home yet. It is, as if, they are reading about another country. A country they aren't really tied to. Somewhat like Narnia. Interesting, yes but not personal.
In preparation for Martin Luther King Jr. Day, both kids read a book from the library about his life and times. Joe had been exposed before to the Civil Rights Movement in America, Louisa had not. Somehow the book clicked for her. I don't know if she has just now lived long enough in the US to connect with its history or whether the pictures in the book looked more like normal life than the Civil War photos, but she connected. She was horrified about separate water fountains and bathrooms. She kept putting the book down to stare out the window and to run into the other room to find me. "Mom! Did you know that... WHY would people, HOW could people treat other people like that? Is this REALLY true?" Then we all sat together and watched as CNN played the "I Have a Dream" speech. No typed notes, no teleprompter just amazing eloquence and at the end Dr. King turns over the speech and just preaches (the famous I have a dream segment). We watched the thousands upon thousands of people cheer. Then Joe says, "Next they're going to kill him."
Meanwhile, I am fighting my own emotions as I watch my children learn about this country of their birth. They don't yet identify themselves at the heart level as Americans and they definitely struggle with being white Americans. Joe points out how ironic it is that white people see themselves as so different from black people when looking back at the old non-color black and white footage of the speech everyone just seems varying shades of gray. At any rate, to him it is hard to tell the difference.
In the morning, we woke up to nearly 4 inches of SNOW! Throughout the morning it continued to snow, swirling and adding to the surreal feeling of being in a southern winter wonderland. The kids made snow cones with fresh snow and chocolate syrup, snowmen and snow angels. Jazz ran around barking (which is unusual) and scooping up snow with her nose. They all had a marvelous, cold, wet, snowy time. And at last we huddled in front of CNN to watch Obama take office. As Aretha Franklin sang Louisa perked up, "Hey! I think I know this song!" I just roll my eyes and sigh. We watched Obama's graceful handling of Robert's transposition of the oath. I just roll my eyes and sigh. And then my children are jumping up and down, "Obama is president! Obama is president!" "FINALLY, an African is president!" As we all calm down (no small thing with four children) and listen to his speech, I am most touched by his reference to America as a patchwork quilt. The point that unified and reconciled our very real differences make something both useful and beautiful. I look at my children, still in the midst of figuring out who they are and where they belong. My hat goes off to President Obama, a third culture kid himself, for what he has endured, for what he has become and for who he inspires my children to be.

Letting go...

2009-01-16T20:29:00.002+03:00

I am reminded today that our adjustment this year is not just about figuring out how to negogiate life in the US, but a continual realization that we are no longer involved with Christ School. A daily letting go of the school, students and staff that occupied much of our waking hours and (some of our sleeping ones too!) over the last 10 years. Today the team in Bundibugyo travels over the mountains to a nearby safari lodge to pray, play and plan for the future. These were always good times for us as a family. A chance to get away from the daily bustle of life and re-connect with our team, discuss our vision for Christ School, hear what other's on the team were hoping and dreaming for the various ministries and people with which they were involved. It was a time to dream, to connect, to push forward towards a sometimes different future, a different stage in the establishment of the school. A time to talk of big changes and small ones, a time to celebrate the victories of the past and take deep breaths and hear encouragement for the things that didn't quite go as anticipated.
So there they are this year dreaming and planning. And here we are uninvolved. The truth of our "handing over the school" feels harder this week somehow. Not that this planning retreat makes it any more true than it was when we said goodbye and left last Feb. We do believe that the Lord brought us to BGO to start Christ School, to use our particular strengths and gifts at that particular time and for those particular students and staff. And we also believe that He brought the Pierce's for this next particular time in the school's history. We hold both these truths in one hand and yet our sorrow about letting go and turning over the school in the other. Today the tension is greater than it is many days.
We need your prayers not only for the planning that will be happening over the next few days by the team in Bundibugyo, but also for us to continue to trust that God knows what He is doing and that ultimately it is His school anyway. We remain thankful for the part we got to play and look forward to His plans for our future.

One question...

2009-01-13T18:50:00.002+03:00

As we process more specifically about our future.... (since I keep saying to people, "pray for us to know what to do next year" and Kev keeps reminding me, "Uh, it would actually be THIS year.") this question keeps popping into my mind:

Where and how can I best show reckless and extravagant love? Which I guess is actually two questions.

Please pray for us.

Advent Conspiracy

2008-12-15T18:46:00.002+03:00

Our tree is up... a six foot artificial pre-lighted deal from Rite-Aid. To keep it out of reach of both twins and Jazz we have it on top of a small table, which means that the top of the tree doesn't quite fit. One of our favorite Christmas books is "Mr. Willoughby's Christmas Tree" about a smiliar situation in which every Christmas tree seems not to fit and has to have the top chopped off. Our children are tickled to have such a tree themselves, although due to the non-tree like nature of our tree we simply bend the top backwards and out of sight. It is loaded from top to bottom with unbreakable plastic balls and all sorts of home-made and store-bought ornaments both from America and Africa. With several strands of small metal balls and gold tinsel strewn by all four children, it is quite the sight to behold. They are especially delighted by it, and of course, by the fact that we can leave the twinkle lights on all day long (a definite no-no in Uganda where that would have drained our limited solar power.)

Two days ago we made sugar cookies, rolled out the dough and cut out tiny cookies in a variety of shapes. The kids sat on the floor and watched them bake. Then we slabbed on vanilla icing, sprinkled them with green and red sugar crystals, poured ourselves big glasses of cold milk and ATE ALL OF THEM. It was a little bit over the top, but a good memory I think.

I find myself still gazing around in wonder that we are here and not in Bundibugyo. I have loved the Christmas season in both places, but this year especially I am enjoying the pure American style with which we celebrate this holiday. The twinkle lights, the advent wreaths, the Trader Joe's Advent Calendars, even the huge toy catalogues that come in the mail are all fascinating and tend to build up the excitement that surrounds the birth of Jesus.
Many things have changed or come into existence since we've been in Uganda... Blackberries, self-checkout counters and DVRs just to name a few. But our favorite hands down is YouTube. We love the imagination that springs forth from time to time. And while "Beware of the Doghouse" has had us laughing for DAYS our current favorite is the "Advent Conspiracy." Michael and Karen this made me cry thinking of you guys and what you have done for the people of Bundibugyo and what you are currently doing for the people of South Sudan.
Click on the link below if you're interested:

> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVqqj1v-ZBU

Jet lag, Crash and Christmas

2008-11-21T16:37:00.002+03:00

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.

The Missional Church

2008-11-02T22:38:00.002+03:00

We've been talking a lot lately about what it means to be a "missional church" here at Blacknall Presbyterian. I don't know if I could give you a decent description of what that really means, but a couple of weeks ago, I'm pretty sure I caught a glimpse.

It is probably the inner nerd in me popping out, but I have always been somewhat addicted to the front row. Whether I'm in school, church, or even a movie theater, I am pretty committed to being as close as possible to the front. I don't know if secretly I think that the closer that I am, the better I will be able to process or enjoy whatever is being shared...that somehow there is a better connection born out of proximity. Or if it just feels wrong relationally to be seated further back. In any case, we have ended up in the second row at Blacknall most Sunday mornings, which gives us a pretty good view of the pulpit.

One Sunday, our associate pastor was preaching on this whole topic of going forth from the church, engaging our communities and in general "being missional" where ever we are. As I thought about this challenge, I glanced over at Louisa. (She has just graduated into third grade and thus out of children's church age range. She is "big enough" now to sit through the entire morning service without too much wiggling.) This particular morning she was completely engaged in what Abe's dad was saying. I took a quick look up at Dave in the pulpit and noticed that sitting right in front of Louisa were two of the spiritual pillars of our church. A godly couple who are deeply devoted to Jesus, to prayer and to a vibrant relationship with Him. Gloria laid hands on and prayed for Louisa at her baptism. Jack was the elder up front with our pastor when she was baptised. I don't really have the words to describe what I felt or saw... but somehow there was this intricate web as Dave preached about "going forth" to Louisa as she sat between and behind Gloria and Jack. Dave preaching to her, through them. A missionary kid who went forth from Blacknall to Africa as a 2 month old, listening and looking through them, back up at Dave.

I know that Louisa misses her African home and friends. I have held her and rocked her as she cries when the sorrow becomes too much. How thankful I am that Louisa LOVES Blacknall. I am so appreciative to be in a church that values not only the going forth, but the coming back. She feels the bond of home and family here, from this church who supported her, loved her and prayed for her during her 8 years on the mission field and has now welcomed her (and the rest of us) back with open arms. And now she runs down the halls here, giggling with her girlfriends, sitting in Sunday School, or eating in the fellowship hall on Wednesday nights learning more each week about Jesus and His church. Learning more about who she is and who she wants to become.

So that morning, a couple of Sundays ago, the picture of the word going out to my child, through the loving community of believers, and her focused attention as one who has gone forth being reflected back through them to the pulpit brought tears to my eyes. While I would have a hard time describing how to be missional, I do know that on this particular Sunday morning it felt as natural as breathing... the going out and the coming back all wrapped up in the love and support of the body of Christ.

Kickin' Caramels

2008-10-26T17:25:00.002+03:00

In the small town of Black Mountain, North Carolina there sits a wonderful little shop that sells homemade chocolates. Just recently, Kevin and I attended World Harvest Mission's Sonship Week Conference just down the road from Chocolate Gems. We enjoyed hugging the necks of folks we have a long history with and entering into relationships with new, now dear to us friends. We left our four wonderful kids with my mother (I can hear those gasps!) and had 5 nights and 6 days of time away to expand our view of the gospel, to contemplate who we are and who we serve. We took a long hard look at ourselves in a safe place full of other people doing the same thing. We took a long hard look at Jesus. We grappled with the inconsistencies between what we say we believe and what we do. We opened the door to the hurt and sorrow of the last 10 years, of both our failures and our wounds. And we were reminded of the great, deep and true love of one who doesn't accept us based on our performance. One who is jealous of both our attention and devotion.
It never feels good to uncover the places in my life that don't measure up. I mean, who really likes that? And is that what this faith race is really about... becoming more worthy? And what happens when trying harder doesn't cut it? Or when my dedication to my performance perverts my faith? Everything about our Sonship Week experience thwarted the prevailing wisdom of "try harder, just believe more."
Our worldview challenged, we drove home sharing together what we learned, what we each "heard" and felt. We realized that the perfect analogy of our time this past week was the unusual candy that surprised us both at Chocolate Gems. Kickin' Caramels are sweet, delicious, melt in your mouth wonderful, pieces of dark chocolate coated caramel loaded with cayenne pepper. It's quite the surprise to eat one. It surrounds your mouth with an "ahhh" type sweetness and then the "kick your butt" spice just pours out. Your eyes get wide and start to tear up as the sweetness is replaced by the heat. They are difficult to eat yet strangely addictive.

Ellerbe Creek

2008-09-22T18:23:00.002+03:00

When should a naturalist NOT hug a tree?
When it is covered in posion ivy!

This morning we went on a nature walk through Ellerbe Creek. Ellerbe Creek is right beside Indian Trails Park, which is just down the road from Oval Park, which is a few blocks from our house. Ellerbe Creek is a beautiful example of nature, with wooded trails through wetlands and forest. Louisa, Mom and I hiked through the trails to study our local environment. Mom says that we do this to start our week off in a good way.

This morning I saw a hummingbird. It was so quick that I didn't get a good look at it. It was getting nectar from flowers, but whizzed off when we came. There were also some berries that reminded us of bloodberries at the ARA in Uganda. We smushed one to see what the insides would look like. They looked just like bloodberries, very gushy but were sunset purple instead of blood red. They were less juicy than bloodberries but Mom said they could still stain our clothes. If you were wondering about the joke at the top of this, we saw many poison ivy vines wrapping their way around trees. Most were as thick as my arm and super, ultra hairy. We read a sign explaining how to recognize vines and trees by looking at the bark instead of craning our necks to look up fifty feet to see the leaves. Before the sign we almost touched a big hairy vine of poison ivy, beacuse it looked cool. That would have been a mistake we would have been itching to stop.

Unfortunately many of the plants there are non-native and spread quickly. This is a problem becasue it kills off native plants, giving animals that are specialized for this area less good food to eat. This happens because people plant non-native plants in their gardens, but these plants have left their specialized predators behind in their native countries. Soon these plants spread to nearby fields and woods and choke out the native plants. For example, this has happened with English Ivy and Honeysuckle vines. (We learned about something similiar at Zion National Park. There is a type of grass, choke something, that burns very quickly but grows back even quicker. This continues to burn and grow back until it is the only thing left in the area, because native grasses can't grow back as fast. It came to that part of the country because its seeds were used to pack china plates in.) After learning this we are considering destroying the hill of ivy in our front yard and planting some native plants instead. Mom learned that the berries like Ugandan bloodberries are actually elderberries and can be made into a jam. Louisa is learning about slugs and snails, because she found a slug on the trail.

What living creature has hairy limbs?
A tree covered in poison ivy.

By Joe
Age 10

Pirates and Cardboard Boxes

2008-09-17T03:31:00.003+03:00

It turns out that in NC you have to file a notice of intent to homeschool your children. The process is all shockingly simple. We had to fill out a single form and attach documents proving that both Kev and I have graduated from high school. The website strongly advises that the process can take 4-6 weeks, so imagine our surprise and delight when four days later our official card came in the mail. The Great American Adventure Academy is now in session! Actually, we've been going strong for several weeks and have hit upon our first independent study period. Kev and I decided to compose our school schedule around a rotation of four weeks of standard curriculum followed by1 week of an independent/self-directed project for each kid. Their first project time was fantastic! They chose to study the Outer Banks of North Carolina. So we pulled out our camping gear and headed off to Cape Hatteras National Seashore. We built sandcastles, played in the waves, collected seashells, learned about sea turtles and the ongoing battle between conservation and development, saw the Wright Brother's Memorial and climbed to the top of the Cape Hatteras lighthouse. Joe and Louisa became Jr. Rangers at two more programs (flight and seashore rangers) and overall had a wonderful experience. The weather couldn't have been nicer. But what really made the trip special was hearing the twins sing as they went to sleep that first night, "I love the tent, I love, I love the TENT!"
Today we are back in Durham, and everyone is diving into a study of pirates. Of course, the thought that Blackbeard may have buried his treasure on Ocracoke has added to their fascination. Along with the pirate maps and treasure coins that we purchased at the gift shop! Nate and Savannah especially love putting on their pirate hats and vests, swinging swords and yelling "ARgh, Maties!"
As for me, I am looking around our house realizing that we STILL have cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked. And although the tape is starting to fray, the big yellow welcome home sign from Blacknall is still above the fireplace. It is time to take the last few steps towards establishing our home here. Time to recycle the cardboard, and put everything in its place. Time to not be moving in still, but to be moved in. Those boxes do feel like the last tenuous thread tying us still to our lives in Bundibugyo and while part of me longs for the aesthetic peace of a neatly unpacked and organized home, another smaller part aches at the closure. Of course, even as I write that I hear many of you laughing "Honey, even if you unpacked everything your house will never be organized!" Four kids and a dog tend to assure that I live a chaotic existence no matter what my lofty aspirations might be!

Jazz

2008-09-01T18:11:00.003+03:00

Jazz is a very nice puppy, even though she nibbles sometimes. We got Jazz from the animal shelter. It was very loud there and stinky. They had 195 dogs there when we went to pick her out. That is a lot of dogs! We walked down the hallway and when we looked both ways we were surrounded by cages of dogs. There were five different hallways of dogs, and so many cages. We wrote down the number of her cage and her name and turned it in. Then we went into a room to play with her. She was so energized and not bitey. She kept licking me and everyone else in the family. She was not too wild. We looked at two other dogs, but they were too crazy and Nate and Savannah didn't like when they jumped up on them. So we picked Jazz. Joe and I were both happy. We thought we would be able to take her home right then, but we couldn't becuase of paper work. We had to wait for one week. So we thought about her a lot and picked out stuff for her like her own collar, tag, dishes, food and treats. Then she finally came home to live with us.

She is black with a green collar. She is smaller than KC. KC was our dog in Bundibugyo. He is a collie and we miss him. Jazz makes other dogs bark at her, especially our neighbor's two dogs. She has mastered the stairs. She likes to lick Nate, but he is not so happy with that. When I was crying, she gave me a big doggy hug and lots of licky kisses. She is outside right now, going to the potty. Jazz sleeps inside in her own dog crate. Nate and Savannah are not supposed to go in, but sometimes they do. I really like her and I don't want her to die. I'm glad we saved her from the animal shelter.

Written by Louisa, age 8

Identity

2008-08-27T21:28:00.003+03:00

A few days ago we went to the park that just re-opened right around the corner from our house. It is a wonderful place. There is a big grassy playing area for soccer or baseball, stadium like seating "grass style" on the hill, a fence protecting little wanderers from the road and a varied assortment of normal playground equipment at the far end. We love going to the park and hanging out. When we arrived a few days ago there were quite a bit more children than there had been on the other mornings and Joe and Louisa took off to play in a semi-large group of kids. Kev and I trotted off with the twins to the far end to play on the sliding board.
A while later, Louisa ran over all flushed with exertion, very happy and exclaimed.... "Finally, I found some Africans to play with!" Hmmmm. So we sat there on the park bench as I corrected her notion that these kids had also just flown in.
She looked shocked and said, "Oh! So you don't think these kids have ever been to Africa?"
"No, probably not. But their ancestors once lived in Africa and then they came here, so these kids are Americans just like you, but with an African heritage. So instead of saying they are Africans, you would say they are African-Americans."
She still looked thoughtful as she ran back over to re-join the game.

Today, she was reading a story about Walter Mosley and how he came to write his first mystery novel. Alice Walker was his inspiration. As she continued to read she came across the words "African-American" again. She paused and looked at me.
"Do you remember what this means?" I asked.
She rolled her eyes.
"It means that person or that person's family or ancestors came from Africa, but they now live in America, so they are kind of both."
"How can you tell if a person is African-American?"
A very lengthy pause as she stares out the window.
"Welllllll, sometimes that person has darker skin. But not always."
"What do you mean?"
At this point she stares straight into my eyes (no small thing with Louisa) and with great confidence says, "Well Mom, that's what I am, and just look at me. You can't always tell."

Well, good to know that she, at least, is not dealing with compartmentalization issues.

Compartmentalization

2008-08-26T23:13:00.002+03:00

"So what are you doing now?" As more of our community here welcomes us back, this seems to be the most popular question. Our long absence unbroken by a previous year long furlough (only shorter quick visits-- or long maternity confinements) makes this time feel and look unfamiliar to many of those who love and support us. What does one actually do on furlough or Home Ministry Assignment (HMA) anyway? As we try to answer that very question for others, we realize that we are also grappling to answer that for ourselves.
For now, we are homeschooling the kids together. Enjoying them, their brilliance and their emotional, stubborn sides as we guide them through the learning process as defined by the NC end of year goals. It's a fun way to spend several hours each day. While this limits the time Kev and I have to converse, to pray, to study... we know that it is the right thing for our family. The conversations that flow as we spend lot's of time getting to know our children are priceless and helpful as we look towards the bigger issues of our future plans.
We're reading lot's of world view challenging books, studying scripture individually and in small groups within our home church. Plugging in where we can and in general enjoying being back in Durham.
After years of being "a world away" both geographically and emotionally, we are comfortably settling back into our families and their lives. Weddings, anniversaries, even phone conversations are not things to be taken for granted. We know the sacrifice of not attending those, of missing not only important milestones but also just the everyday grind in our loved ones lives. As we would say in Bundibugyo, "we are available" and our family and friends are "available to us."
Of course I'm beginning to have Sydney Bristo moments. My life for the last number of years has been carefully compartmentalized. Like a chameleon, I step off the plane and adapt to whichever culture I'm faced with. I have my more current Bundibugyo life, and my previous America life. Both separate. Before, this has been pretty easy to regulate. After all, we have just popped over for visits, long enough to run out to Wal-mart and Sam's to load up the requisite number of trunks, and in general sipped from the fire hydrant of American living for a brief period of time. After too short conversations with friends and family we've hopped back on yet another transatlantic flight. Sure, I can describe my life in Bundibugyo to my friends while I'm in America... but I can't feel it. I can't see the subtle and not so subtle ways I've changed because of it. I'm far too busy remembering how to "Be American."
My prayer during our ten week camping adventure was to allow the process of decompartmentalization to begin. To somehow merge the two me's back together. Okay, I realize this sounds a bit schizo. But what I'm really trying to get at is the self recognition that our time in Bundibugyo has changed me, in some ways radically so. And I would really like to live out of that changed reality rather than revert back to the American me that I was before or the more "out of touch with America" missionary me that is so easy to hide behind.

Double Trouble

2008-08-01T15:38:00.002+03:00

High heels, hamsters, Noggin and WIC...where to even start?

We have landed firmly, warmly but definitely not quietly on Englewood Ave! Our family and friends at Blacknall and Science and Math have gone all out to make sure that this house feels more like home than we thought possible. Everything from sofas and plush chairs, fans and lamps, to hamster cages and a fish tank have been graciously given to us. We even have enough bookshelves to fully unpack our books! As all of life seems right now, the generosity pulsing around us in prayer and support is overwhelmingly wonderful. And we are grateful, so grateful to return to the States and be enveloped in such loving care. We are learning slowly but surely to breathe deeply and just rest, to allow the last 10 years of life in BGO to swirl around us in memories powerful and painful, poignant and provoking. We are trusting the process of quietly trusting the Lord to re-grow a passion for what He would have us do, not only next year but here and now, in this place.

As for our children... Joe and Nate aged significantly by shaving their heads (although Nate immediately asked to have his hair put back on!) within days of our arrival. Savannah declared that under NO circumstances was she going to wear a dress to church. Louisa grew several inches overnight and is just as beautiful as ever. We have discovered the preschool channel "Noggin" and have realized the need to set limits on TV viewing in a home with no solar panels and thus unlimited "grid" electricity.

Nate and Savannah are growing more than ever into the cliche of double trouble. In the last few days they have liberated the hamsters. "But Mommy, da hamsters needed to SEE me! I like dim SO MUCH!" We managed to re-capture one, but Lightening, Joe's hamster, has made good her escape and is living under the floorboards in the kid's closet. Last night we heard her moving, chewing and generally making a lot of noise above our heads and then down the inside of one wall. Sigh. So much for the redemption of rodents this year. Kev is trying hard not to glare at me with every scurry. We do have a food bowl strategically placed to try and lure Lightening back to the comfort of her hamster paradise condo. I'm trying not to envision a population explosion of white furry hamsters in our walls. Yikes.

The twins are also fascinated by the hardwood staircase that connects the upstairs bedrooms to the rest of the house. They run down it, hop up it, go up and down backwards and push their toys from the top to a deafening crash at the bottom. Until yesterday this was not too problematic (although I did say earlier that as a household we aren't very quiet!). But yesterday, the dynamic duo adorned in pink plastic high heel princess shoes decided to chase each other down those same stairs. Kev and I heard the thump, thump, thump, tumble, tumble, scream, tumble, crash and were dashing through the house immediately. We caught Nate as he hit the bottom step. Savannah managed to stop her fall halfway. Both were shaken up, Nate has a good sized bump on his forehead and vowed not to wear "deese nice shoes" on the stairs again. Savannah spent the rest of the morning re-enacting the fall for anyone who would watch in slow motion. "fiwst, I went down like dis, den my shoulder went like dis..." Has this diminished their love for the stairs? Not one bit. But they are very wary of those pink high heels.

Nate and Savannah both qualify for WIC (Women, Infants and Children) a welfare program for low-income families to help with the cost of milk, juice, cheese, cereal, eggs, peanut butter and beans. It was both surreal and familiar to sit in a packed waiting area for 3 hours with other mothers and families, as we were weighed, measured, pricked, counseled and evaluated. Everyone was very nice, both English and Spanish intermingled as moms and other caregivers jostled babies, toddlers and older children while waiting for their number to be called. Joe and Louisa managed to find two empty seats and curled up to read their library books, while Kev and I chased and entertained Nate and Savannah. Our welfare system is that strange mixture of organized chaos, with definite guidelines and rules but managed (at least in the Durham office) by compassionate doctors and helpful administrators. It reminded me of BGO... once I was that person measuring, weighing and handing out help. Now, like much in life these days, I'm on the flip side.

I'll save my reflections on potty training twins for another time, for now I'll just say that peer pressure can be a good thing. Then again, so can chocolate chips.

Packed up and ready to go.

2008-07-09T00:13:00.003+03:00

"Are we going home?"

"Yes," I answer, briefly, quietly.

"To the blue house? With KC?"

"No, we're moving to another home... the one in Durham."

And so here we are, making one last sweep through Nana and Pop-Pop's house, piling last minute items into yet another cardboard box. Kev rented the moving van this morning and now it is loaded and ready for an early morning departure. The packing of the last week reminding me more than ever of our usual "packing to go back to Uganda" routine. The emotions of transition, sorting through items to be left behind or given away. Carefully packing what seems like crucial stuff to various family members. Yet this time, I don't have a weight limit. I'm not packing and re-packing trunks to come as close to the golden 70 pounds as I can. I don't have to worry about making room for "comfort food" or a multitude of other things we just can't get in Uganda. Instead, I'm surrounded by a sea of cardboard boxes, various pieces of furniture and mundane everyday items like a kitchen trash can or a bucket of cleaning supplies. I can pack exactly what I need, and if I forget something I can run out to a nearby store on arrival. I don't need to worry about jet lag or travel hiccups at the airport. The trip to our home in Durham is slightly more than 2 hours (just long enough for a movie and a couple of songs). The road is familiar, smooth and well maintained. And best of all there is a host of family and friends waiting there to welcome us and help us adjust.
I remember well our first few years in Uganda, always living on the edge of what felt like a very surreal life. By the end of our time there, we had adjusted to the nature of life overseas, especially the life and culture in our little outpost of that part of the world. Now our home here is the place that feels surreal. Somewhat like a movie that you know you've seen before and really enjoyed, but can't quite remember. Just yesterday, I stood for an entire ten minutes in the cleaning section of our local Wal-mart trying to remember which products I needed to buy for which type of cleaning. After awhile my mom asked what was taking so long... I realized at that moment that I was looking for Vim (a bleach cleaning powder), Doom (a bug spray), Omo (clothes detergent), Jik (liquid bleach) and other familiar african brand products. With great kindness she put the right products in the buggy as I looked intently and thought "oh, yeah... Soft Scrub, Comet, All..." to myself. And today, as we made a quick stop at Lowe's for some gardening supplies, I stared in great disappointment at the wide selection of shovels and the pitiful selection of what I really wanted... a hoe. The two available were rather flimsy and small-headed with really long handles. "How am I going to dig with that?" I thought to myself. The thought of using a shovel to dig a hole seems unfamiliar and cumbersome after the powerful yet graceful swing of my Ugandan hoe.
We always say that our children are resilent. That they are flexible and tolerant of immense changes in their young lives. I'm praying for that same ability over the next few weeks and months. I am so thankful to be where we are right now, where we will be this next year. As much I as I felt called to Uganda and our life in Bundibugyo, I am rejoicing in returning home to Durham. If only I could remember the hundreds of little skills that help to make life in the States run smoothly... instead of the constant bombardment of those that made my life in Bundibugyo work.

Tick Bites

2008-07-02T02:01:00.003+03:00

Tomorrow we will have been at Nana's house for two weeks. As always we create quite the hurricane as we enter! Her house is always so neat and tidy and then our four kids blow in and laugh and squeal and pull out all of "Nana's toys" and before you know it the whole place is a diaster area with my mother and me running around cleaning up every 45 minutes just to stay on top of everything. Add to that the sheer amount of food to feed us and the clothes piled in front of the washer and dryer... whew! Fortunately my parents always seem super excited to see us and we do have a fantastic time here and are well loved and cared for... but quiet and unobtrusive we are not! Especially right now, when all of our "stuff" from Uganda and our previous life in Durham (stored for 10 years) is also all over the place as we begin to organize and pack up for our upcoming move back to our home in Durham. Wahoo!!! It'll be a busy next week or two as we get everything together.
To add to my personal medical history, I discovered that one of my numerous tick bites has developed a concerning rash (bull's eye like). Add that to the fierce headache I had all day two days ago and so now I am being treated for both Lyme's disease and Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. I'll post a picture if the rash gets more impressive.

Falls Creek Falls, Tenn

2008-07-01T21:00:00.002+03:00

Another wonderful park, another beautiful hike, another fantastic playground, an outdoor swimming pool with not one but two bouncy diving boards and the most amazing swing suspension bridge. The limit load was 6, so we patiently waited our turn to cross to the other side. Just long enough to make you catch your breath, it hung suspended over a river 30 feet below. The kids immediately dubbed it the "Shrek and Donkey" bridge and re-enacted the crossing from the movie, exclaiming loudly "I'm not looking down, I'm not looking down..."
We had a wonderful time, yet again, but there was no doubting that at this part of the trip we were all very aware that Nana's house was next.
Our Great American Field Trip Adventure is drawing to a close, as all things must do. It has been a wild time, full of wilderness and swimming pools, hikes, family and friends, great food and more hotdogs and smores than I can count. The kids have been so flexible, so gracious, so uncomplaining that we continue to rejoice that this is our family. They have learned how to set up camp, search for firewood if permitted, dismantle the tent and get it back in the bag, roll and unroll their sleeping bags, survive extended road trips many times lasting 8-10 hours at a time and thrill with us over amazing hikes lasting 3-4 hours. They are walking sources of information for many of the national parks we have visited and I think the need/desire to hike and explore God's creation is really deep within their hearts. We realize what a great priviledge and blessing it has been to even have the opportunity, time and resources to do this sort of thing. I am sure it will fuel our collective dreams far into the future. I am hoping to post a slideshow of some of my favorite photos soon. If I can figure it all out. Thanks for reading!

Meremac State Park

2008-07-01T20:37:00.002+03:00

This is a fantastic park in the south eastern part of Missouri. The biggest attraction, other than lot's of cool places to hike is the Meremac river. This a wide, somewhat shallow, slow moving river that winds its way through the park. The campgrounds are beautiful and our campsite was near a big sandy playground. We spent two full days floating down the river in our inner tubes (one of the highlights of the whole trip). From the drop off point to the campground was about 1 1/2 hours. Even Nate and Savannah floated in their own tubes squealing with delight as we got into a massive water gun fight. It was fantastic. We went on a nature walk one morning and found a smaller creek with little fish of various shapes and sizes and even crayfish! The kids were so excited to try and catch everything with their crocs. Nature at its finest. Older kids than ours had permits to explore some of the caves and were grinning excitedly with their hard hats and cave lights. "WOW! I wish we could do that!" Joe exclaimed. Hmmm. These same kids were covered in slimy mud from head to toe, and I do mean head to toe. We could barely make out their eyes and even their hair was coated. The cave exploration definitely looked like a full body experience. We explored several safe (non-permit needed) cave openings on our walk, which seemed fine with me and certainly seemed dangerous enough for Joe and Louisa. Quiet, dark, dripping and well, cave-like. The type of place where a dragon or other fierce monster might be living. At the bathhouse, that night, I noticed the Rocky Mountain Spider Tick and Lyme's Disease warnings posted on the door. Great. Kev had noticed five smallish ticks on his legs after his hike to get the car from the river float drop-off point. I found a few on my legs that were tiny. The next morning I found five more attached to various parts of my torso. The kids each had one or two that were attached. Now we'll just have to watch for fevers and rashes as we head back home.
Before we left Uganda, we had talked of this year in the States being one of redemption. I would like an ant farm inside the house (Kev shudders at the thought that we are bringing them in and feeding them!), a set of hamsters (redeeming our view of rodents) and anything else I can think of that has educational value! So it was with great delight that I happened upon a smallish garter snake beside the playground. I called to Joe and stepped gently on the snakes tail to hold him in place. Now you should know that prior to Uganda, I have always loved snakes. In Uganda, no way, it is clearly a battle to kill as many as possible, but back here.... Joe came dashing up and lept back in horror. "Mom, what are you doing???" "Here," I said, "reach down and grab him by the back of his head and pick him up." Boy, I tell you, the power of a mom's confident voice. His eyes lit up and he immediately reached down and scooped up the snake. So for the next thirty minutes Joe and Louisa got a hands-on lesson on non-poisonous snakes and how very cool they are. Then, of course, we released him back into the wild by the banks of the Meremac.

Kansas

2008-07-01T20:21:00.002+03:00

"When you hear the tornado siren go off, then grab your valuables and head to the bathroom."

As you might guess, this is not quite the welcome I would have hoped for at the Kansas KOA. After leaving Evergreen, we had plans to drive as far as we could and then stop at a KOA to spend the night. We had seen the severe weather warnings and with "The Wizard of Oz" rattling around in our heads we were eager to get across the great plains as soon as possible. Of course, the best laid plans... after a few hours, we stopped at a rest area to use the facilities and run around a little bit. Joe and Louisa decided to pool their coins together and buy a soda. As they counted their dimes and nickels, they rejoiced to find that they had enough for not one but two sodas. They approached the drink machine with glee, bought their Pepsi-Colas and we took off hoping to make the border before 9pm. Alas, an hour and a half down the road we hear loud wailing from the backseats. Louisa had just realized that when she and Joe were counting their coins they had taken out all of their crushed pennies (you know the machine where you put in 51 cents, pick the engraved picture, turn the handle and presto a crushed penny with a picture of Mt. Rushmore, or a shark, or a redwood, or well you get the picture comes out the slot at the bottom.), the pennies that they have been collecting along with their Jr. Ranger badges at most of the sites we have visited. Where were these pennies now? Back at the picnic table, at the rest stop. What is a parent to do? The chance that these pennies were still there was minimal. But how do you look into two miserable faces and not even try to go back for them? So back we went and shock of all shocks, there they were in two neat little piles. Needless to say this 3 hour delay made it impossible to get where we had wanted to be by nightfall. So, defeated, we pulled into a KOA in the very middle of the State. Only to find out, as I checked in that the KOA where we had hoped to be had already had three different tornadoes touch down and were in the middle of a nasty storm. Our clouds looked really threatening too, but despite the warnings we slept through the night without one siren going off and with only minimal rain. We packed up the tent in record time the next morning and headed out. Thankful for delays in travel and crushed pennies.

Evergreen, Colorado

2008-06-30T00:13:00.002+03:00

From the moment we stepped wearily out of the mini-van we were treated like royalty. What a wonderful feeling to unfold legs and arms, unbuckle the kids and tumble into Kev's sister's house. Nate rushed by both Aunt Andrea and Aunt Gail to hug Uncle Loren, and declare, "I like you so much." We each had our own bed, the showers were wonderfully hot and the food was amazing. Shrimp with freah bread when we arrived, homemade gourmet pizza the next night (and let me tell you this is pizza that torments your taste-buds even in memory it is so fantastically tantalizing, and after years of team meeting pizza we are pretty good judges!) and mexican lasgna with stuffed mushrooms on the third evening. Kev and I celebrated our anniversary in style (14 years), surrounded by family, eating good food and laughing into the wee hours of the night. Our kids got to hang out with their older cousins (who they hadn't ever remembered meeting before), learn how to play poker, and veg in front of a big screen TV while they played with Gail's new dog. All in all a welcome respite from life in a tent. Kev's brother is set to get married this August, so knowing we would see each other again soon, we hugged one last time and headed off for Kansas.

Mt. Rushmore and Crazy Horse

2008-06-28T03:32:00.002+03:00

"We are experiencing ground water problems... Wash clothes at your own risk." Hmmmm. So that explains the murky brown water pouring out of every faucet at the Mt. Rushmore KOA. Sigh. Which, of course, reminds me that I've been fascinated by the road signs on our trip. I love the "Rest Area. Watch Out For RATTLESNAKES," "Dangerous Curves Ahead," "Steep Decline," "Limit 6, No Running or Jumping," "Strenuous Trail," "Susceptible to Windy Gusts" and "Danger During Storms." Somehow I have started to treat them like merry, good natured fortunes posted right along the road for all to see and heed. And I find myself wishing that our life, our spiritual journey came with such advance warnings. (Kev thinks I'm insane about this.) I even like the "speed limit 55 and Go Slowly Construction Ahead." That seems to sum up our journey these days, go slowly- construction ahead. As we see Mt. Rushmore and Crazy Horse, we are well aware that our trip is mostly over, that we have yet to see any writing on the wall of what our future holds... (I keep waiting for red spray paint on the side of a mountain or something.) That we will need to proceed even more slowly this next year, that there will surely be time for construction in our lives- emotional, spiritual, mental, physical.
Meanwhile, Joe and Louisa have correctly identified all four presidents on Mt. Rushmore (Core Knowledge would be proud,) found the NC flag on the walkway, learned about Crazy Horse and even gone on a 1 1/2 hour horse ride (without us!). They've jumped on a huge jumping pillow, slid on several long slides (Nate's favorite) and made quick friends at almost every stop. Blessfully unaware of any future angst, they live in the present the way I want to, enjoying every stop at full speed.
Our only hiccup (Cheds you will appreciate this.) was realizing hours down the road that we LEFT BABY at the Crazy Horse memorial. Near the end of our time there, we turned around and Savannah wasn't with us. After several long minutes of screaming her name and dashing around to all the potential places she could be, I ran back to the viewing platform and there she was. I should have known to go backwards first. For several weeks now we have dubbed her the "Pokey Princess." She strolls along at half speed where-ever we go enjoying things that no one else sees... a bug, a butterfly, the light dancing on the trail. Sometimes she just plops herself down and plays in the dirt. Sigh. So anyway, by the time we had re-located her and herded all four kids through the pottery-filled gift shop (I swear designed for people to break things) my nerves were a tad frazzled. I simply forgot to include Baby (Nate's very very VERY precious baby doll) in my mental head count. By the time Nate realized that Baby was not with us, we were far to far to turn around and get him. I was just sick. Nate was wailing. Everyone in the car was trying to problem solve. Finally, we called Crazy Horse and after several hours of looking for him (the description was a very well loved pink and purple cloth doll who had just had Dr. Pepper spilled on him and then was dragged through the mud) they found him in the theater wedged between two seats. He got a first class ticket to Nana's house via USPS. To make sure he wasn't scared or lonely those kind ladies even tucked in a small stuffed buffalo to keep him company. For now, we are filling Nate's head with stories of Baby riding on the airplane, eating peanuts, drinking soda and looking out the window. He's terribly sad and misses Baby tremendously, but is fascinated that his doll is having his own grand adventure.

Yellowstone National Park

2008-06-26T15:00:00.002+03:00

I completely underestimated Yellowstone. Months ago, I put it on our "map" as one of the cultural sights that the kids simply must see. Even though I knew it was the first National Park in basically the whole world and that many people had already described it as a place of great beauty and wonder, I mistakenly thought it was a smallish touristy type place largely dominated by Old Faithful. On the day we arrived we marched straight up to the massive viewing area about 3 minutes before an eruption. Indeed, within 3 minutes the geyser erupted and shot an amazing amount of steam and water high up into the air. The kids were shocked, spellbound and eager to stay to see the next eruption 80 minutes later. I thought, "Great, check this off the list and on we go...." But first we headed back to the visitor center to get all of the Jr. Ranger and Young Scientist worksheets. At Yellowstone, we discovered you can also check out a backpack which has a supercool thermal radar like thermometer. This gun like device allows you (or in this case the kids) to zip close to a high spring, geyser, or mud pot, aim the red laser light from the gun at the target, mash the button and presto the digital read out displays the temperature. I can't describe how neat this was. Right beside Old Faithful is a huge serious of thermal oddities right alongside a boardwalk. The kids zipped up and down going from geyser to mud pot to hot spring recording their temperatures. Even the ground near the geysers were hot AND many of the geysers changed temperature just before eruption. Nate, of course, was less than enthralled... the whole place smelled a bit like day old, slightly rotten boiled eggs. He kept yelling, "STINKY VOLCANOES!" everywhere we went. It was pretty cold here, snow still on the ground in places, so Joe and Louisa gloried in standing in the midst of various warm (but stinky) steam showers. In one place getting so steamy that their hair was wet afterwards! That first day we managed to see Old Faithful erupt three times, a definite highlight of the whole trip. But what to do the next day? More geysers! Nate was horrified, but on we went mile after mile of eruptions and bubbling brews. An amazingly huge fairy tale land of steam and brilliant blues, greens and whites. And then, on a lark, we stopped to see the upper and lower falls. It was as if time stood still for all of us. A beautiful canyon of yellow stone. I had no idea. At the far end a huge beautiful waterfall. This was one of those scenes to stare at for hours and still not be satisfied. So we saw no bears, not even one. But hundreds of buffalo and just like the cows in BGO, they ended up on the road stopping traffic! Yet another taste of home for the kids as we continue to connect with God's creation on this side of the ocean.

Grand Tetons National Park, Wyoming

2008-06-24T03:47:00.000+03:00

In all of my dutiful research of the past several months preparing for our Great Adventure, Jenny Lake Campground in the Grand Tetons was the epitome of tent camping in the national parks. In season, this campground often fills by 7am. One guidebook even described the before dawn “ritual” needed to obtain one of the coveted spots in this beautiful secluded campground. All of the campgrounds in the Grand Tetons are first come only, no reservations and we were arriving at the cusp of the busy season early June. Our dream (of course) was a spot at Jenny Lake, our realistic goal was a spot anywhere in the park. After all we were driving from Utah, a 7 hour drive that meant we would arrive no earlier than 4pm. What joy and delight when we arrived to find several prime spots still open at Jenny Lake. (by the next day the campground was full by mid-morning) We couldn’t believe our luck as we pitched our tent in a big site, with a variety of beautiful trees all around, a view of the Tetons as we opened our tent door and the sun rising on our backs. The highlight of the day was Louisa’s ability to correctly identify the two piles of skat as Moose without first consulting her “Scoop on Poop” book. What a Jr. Ranger! The next day we took the ferry across Jenny Lake and began to hike up to Hidden Falls and Inspiration Point. Still feeling energetic after 2+ hours we started on the trail into Cascade Canyon. We meant to hike only 10 minutes in and then turn around. An hour later we were still hiking in, fascinated by the sights and the trail that was completely covered in snow. I’m sure we looked quite bizarre, we saw so few people attempting the hike. Joe and Louisa had elected not only to wear their more comfortable crocs, but also declined the offer of warm socks. So there were my African children clamboring around nearly barefoot in the snow and loving it. By the time we turned around to begin the hike back down to the lake, Joe and Louisa were making ever larger snowballs and balancing them on their heads as the walked. It was a truly magical hike and we collapsed weary but satisfied that night in our little home under the stars.

Antelope Island State Park, Utah

2008-06-24T03:46:00.000+03:00

Another primitive campsite, another vault toilet but this time we were surrounded by the mirrored beauty of the Great Salt Lake of Utah. The remains of the great inland sea stretched before us at our beachfront site, in the background the majestic snow covered peaks of the Wasatch Mountains rose all around encasing us in a surreal peaceful beauty that not even the numerous lake flies could distract us from. The kids headed down to the water while we pitched the tent. “Mom, we can’t possibly get into the water. It is covered in POOP!” Joe announced nearly an hour later. All Nate would say was, “AHHHH, STINKY! STINKY!” Hmmmm. So off we went on a hike up to Buffalo Point, climbing a smallish looking hill, that in reality was quite steep, rocky but beautiful. The top outcroppings covered in wild flowers and wild celery with moon like rocks jutting up and out. A café at the bottom of the trail sold icy drinks and buffalo burgers. Delicious! Next we hopped in the car and headed to the visitor center where we discovered that the water was NOT covered in poop, but algae and brine shrimp. It was however pretty odorous and definitely salty. “Can we swim here?” we asked the gal behind the counter. She looked quizzical as an older woman laughed. “You can’t really swim… but you can float, just don’t put your face in the water.” Okay, then. Off we went to put on our swimsuits and join the thirty or so other folks that were playing at the water’s edge. The salty content was shocking. We walked out about 100 yards and were still not quite waist deep, but we decided to give it a try. We each sat down and quickly lifted our feet up and WOW, with absolutely no effort we were floating along the surface of the water with our heads up. Now, I love the twins, but my body has never really recovered fully from the sheer size and volume of their collective pregnancy. My abdominal wall separated, and my last visit to the OB/GYN confirmed that only surgery could repair the inch wide damage. Since their birth, floating on my back is possible just not enjoyable. Ahhhh, but here no problem. We each drifted apart, effortlessly floating on a peaceful sea with the reflected beauty of the mountains and the snow surrounding us. It was spiritual somehow. I won’t try to explain it all here, but this is the place for me that calmed my soul… floating unrealistically in a sea of long ago, not needing to tread water or exert any energy beyond just being still and enjoying the beauty all around.
Okay, but was it stinky? Yes. Even as I floated in my calm, peaceful bubble of tranquilty I only had to gaze down to see countless little brine shrimp (think Sea Monkeys) and big chunks of slimy green algae floating serenely next to and over me. Hmmmm.

Great Basin National Park

2008-06-24T03:44:00.000+03:00

“You can drive up to the trailhead to the glacier this time of year, but the trail itself is still covered in several feet of snow. So unless you brought snow shoes….” Baker campground at around 10,000 feet had just opened the day before but still seemed to be covered in snow. Lower Lehman Campground at 7,000 feet only had sites left that were too small, unlevel and rocky but Upper Lehman Campground at nearly 8,000 feet was BEAUTIFUL. So we pitched our tent in a huge site surrounded by aspens and pines, across the way from a rushing creek and multiple tiny bridges. Our kids opened the door to the bathroom and looked quizzically at the vault toilet, until Louisa said, “Oh! This is a cho with a toilet seat! No problem.”
One of the reasons we stopped to explore Great Basin National Park was the free 25 pounds of pine nuts campers could harvest here, but alas, the season was not until September! Sigh. Instead we explored our campground (a wonderful nature hike itself with rushing streams, rocks to climb and limitless paths to explore as we gathered downed dead wood for our fire). We did indeed go to the glacier trailhead where Kev surprised the older kids with an impromptu snowball fight. Great Basin also has one of the more beautiful caves in the nation. Who knew? We spent the afternoon touring the cave with a very helpful and patient Ranger. The cave itself was so ornamental that at several points along the way we had to slide sideways through the openings of stalagmites and stalagtites. Carlsbad Caverns had impressed us by its sheer size and large scale features. Lehman Cave captured our imaginations with its otherworldness. Plus, the kids had a real life Ranger almost all to themselves and spent the tour bombarding him with endless questions and comments. He in turn had questions for them, which they took turns answering while we fell back a few steps and just looked at everything with amazement. At one point in the tour all of the lights were turned out and we got to pretend we were explorers a 100 years ago, looking at the cave by candlelight. All very cool, and the stuff which causes dreams to be fuller and richer for years to come. The nights were cold, bright and clear. We had wondered whether the sky here could possibly show us more stars than in BGO. Both have little to absolutely no light pollution, but the altitude and the air quality at Great Basin really showcases the night sky. There were SO MANY stars visible that even picking out the familiar constellations was impossible for us. We just gazed in amazement.

Sparks, Nevada--- Pop-Pop's Place

2008-06-24T03:15:00.002+03:00

After a wonderful, but cold Memorial Day strolling amongst the coastal redwoods at a local state park and putting our toes (or in Nate's case most of his legs) in the Pacific Ocean, we headed through Donner Pass, down past Reno and into Sparks, Nevada. The welcoming arms of Pop-Pop (my Dad) were wide-open as he ushered us into his apartment and right up to a table loaded with fresh hot pizza. The kids bounced all over the place, Nate and Savannah examined (read unscrewed) all of the door stoppers, while Joe and Louisa plopped down on his sofa and began to try and tell him all the various things they have learned as Jr. Rangers. We must have shown him about a zillion pictures of our travels, while our bellies were full from chinese food and ice cream sundaes piled high with all the good stuff. (He is currently working (short term) at a power plant in the local area, so it was fun to get the chance to visit him while he is "outwest." Mom heads out there next month!) Chocolate face pancakes and other more adult food from IHOP were on order for breakfast. So with full tummies and a solid night of sleep we hugged one last time and then set off across the state to our next destination....

Confessions

2008-05-26T00:58:00.003+03:00

We've been all together in a tent for 6 weeks now and other than a few minor tent and airbed repairs, we are all in one piece. For more descriptions and pictures scroll down- we've been unconnected for several weeks so I'm posting multiple ones now.)
So okay, confession.... somehow I envisioned this trip as not only an introduction for the kids to American culture and a chance to experience the wilderness and God's creation for an extended period of time, but also I saw myself waking up for the sunrise each morning. I saw myself spending hours sketching some of the sights that we were seeing and having long quiet times of reflection about our time in Bundibugyo and conversations with God about our future. Somehow in my mind's eye I am alone or with Kev as we look at vista upon vista.
Reality yet again crashes in and over my expectations as four smallish high energy children bounce around me. We have had a wonderful time-- but each morning I find myself begging for a few more minutes of warm, deep sleep and my contemplation of the incredible extravagance of God's creation occurs with a 35 pound pre-schooler strapped to my back whispering "Wow!" in my ear and holding the hand of an eager 9 year old as he yet again wanders too close to the edge of a cliff. And in an unexpected and yet expected way a far more beautiful thing happens- a 45 minute conversation with my child about the things that are important to him, peppered with "Wows! and Look Mommy!" from my other son. And I have time to listen to his dreams and to look and share their amazement.
We are still waiting to see that "writing on the wall" for what our future holds, but our wondering about what's next for our family hasn't stopped us from simply being here now, enjoying this grand adventure for what it is and being thankful for each other and this time to re-focus on our family and our God.