Birthday!

Funny how birthdays have changed shape for me since living in Sudan.

I have to admit, I resisted them, just a little, feeling like life was rushing by too fast, feeling like it was a marker of all that I had or hadn’t done that year, and all the crazy thought that particular year of my life was supposed to represent.

Happily, this year finds me just plain happy to be alive. I learned that the average age of a woman of South Sudan is 35, and I realized that begrudging another year rolling past was a luxury of the rich, when most of my friends in Sudan (though many didn’t know how old they are), were pretty happy to see another rainy season come their way.

I started to see those little wrinkles around my eyes as a celebration, an ‘Ebenezer’, like Hitherto the Lord has helped me…

I wrote this poem in the last days in Sudan, and it seems appropriate to revisit today;

Memorial

These wrinkles,

crinkles

that edge my eyes

were not here a year ago,             

As these things go,

I might have covered them

moisturized,

wished them away-

but not today,

hard earned under beating sun,

worn in by tears like pounding rain

slowly bending rock,

there’s not a lot of me

I’d trade away these days.

These days growing older

seems a fragile gift                              

s h a t t e r e d the myth

that we’re better young-

No, age is a gift,

a battle won

and in this desert land,

my age is the average span,

and those who journey on

are counted b l e s s e d-

best

to flash these wrinkles,

twinkles

in my grateful smile

folded in my belly laugh

m e m o r i a l

for those who shall not this way

ever pass

 

Eco-Heaven!

When we arrived in Chennai, on India’s Southeastern coast, we were greeted by steamy air and winding streets, which were surprisingly busy at 3 am. I immediately liked the bustling late night crowd, the women in colorful Saris and the number of folks casually stretched out on the side of the road, street venders who were just waiting to sell a few more chapatis before closing down at 5 am. It was all at once completely unique and somehow incredibly familiar, as it had many of the now familiar attributes of cows wandering across the road, horns honking and impossible stacks of items balanced precariously on bicycles we had seen hundreds of times in Africa.

We found our way to a fabulous Eco-Resort on the beach near Pondicherry, where we spend the week. It was a tract of land that had been heavily impacted by the Tsunami, but had been restored with wonderful diversity of plants and grasses, and had many small innovations that we’ve come to love in places like this that were built with the rest of the world in mind. Each of the residence were built by artists and architects who had lived on sight and contributed in the days when only artists- in-residence were dwelling there. We loved the long stretches of beach, the organic fruits and vegetables grown on the 10 acre organic farm, the restaurant serving all flavors of southern Indian delights, and the yoga studio, were a violinist accompanied our morning practice with music that would be impossible to guess came from a violin. We road old town bikes around on red dirt paths, under the palm trees, past the cows, the chickens, green houses, and sari-clad women digging in sandy soil or watering the plants with grey water captured from our showers.  I could go on about the long walks, the traditional Indian dancing, the elephant we met on New Year’s Eve, and the full moon rising over palm trees, but needless to say, our favorite part of our time there was relaxing, long talks and extended play times with Shae, Lisa and our niece and nephew, Hannah and Matthew.  Scott and Hannah worked on their hand stands, Matthew and I played hide and go seek,we stuffed ourselves on seafood and Southern Indian specialties like Dosa and Idly,  and all seemed pretty darn right with the world. We’re savoring the slow moments here, and continue to marvel at the grace that accompanies our transition to life outside of Sudan. Not a bad place to start 2010…

 

India

We’ve arrived. We’ll keep you posted as internet permits. Happy, Happy New Year!

 

It’s a wonderful life

Wish you could smell the cookies baking as I write this. I don’t think anything words that I could come up with could hold the feeling of being home with your family at Christmas time, cuddled into the misty farm,  surrounded by fuzzy, mossy trees that look like characters from the Muppet Show. The farm has been a delightful swirl of Christmas lights, things baking, candles and great conversations. It’s been a full week of seeing faces that we love, hearing stories of the year, meet the new babies (hello Sophie and Hawk!), eating things we’ve only dreamed of, and sleeping in beds without Mosquito nets.  We had the chance to see our dear friends Trace and Jonah in concert in Boulder as they wore  Holiday  Garb and played Christmas Carols.  I saw my dear friend Becca and then Scott and I parted ways in Colorado,  and he’s been watching movies, skiing in the Rockies with Uncle Bung, catching up on life a little.  I’ve been seeing my favorite healing types, going for walks and hanging with the family on the farm.  So many small details, like the cold, damp air, the warm showers, the bathroom just steps away from where I sleep, and the familiar and delicious voices on the phone and in person have not been lost on me.

Christmas with Trinity and Xandra

Driving Reindeer in the sleigh with Siddah

There have been few conversations about where we’ve been, and I find this refreshing for this season. We leave for India at the end of the next week, and this life that we just left, the people, the places that are so near to my heart right now, truly can’t be placed into words or easy conversations, so I’m happy, for now, to let them be with me in the quiet moments.  Such a strange transition from that world to this, to the madness and magic of the holiday season, to the abundance of food and the bustle of life around me.

It has been good to land in the midst of people who love us and who we love, to carve out some

Airport pickup by Pirate Dad Griebling and his thugs

moments of silence, to sit with the waiting and wonder of Advent. There are things to do and people to see, but not today.Today, I’m feeling the deep gratitude of having been able to live in both worlds in one year, and for the warm welcome home. It is indeed, a wonderful life.

 

Chamonix

What can we say?

French Alps,

Mont Blanc,

More  amazing food,

Sleeping in,

Long walks in snow,

Seeing our breathe,

Good conversations?

Who knew that the grace of God

Would feel so much like snow crunching under our feet?

 

Le Ruche

We stumbled off our Nairobi flight at 5:30 am Sunday morning. We felt, after 11 months  in Africa, that we’d landed on a completely different planet.  We quickly realized that terminal 5 at Heathrow was a a pretty comfortable planet, and settled in to mint tea and good conversation while we waited for our Geneva flight. We marveled at the tile floors, the toilets that flushed without telling them to, the Christmas lights and the drizzly rain outside the enormous windows.  The sense of order and calm were a welcome site, and I must admit I got a few strange looks, grinning ear to ear as I walked with Scott through the airport.

We landed without event in Geneva (thank you to all you who are praying for us!), and after a few hours  giddy gulping of goat cheese,  olive oil, fizzy water and Wasabi peanuts, we met with our host, Dominique, who is a de-briefer at Le Ruche, the  center where we’d be spending  week debriefing the past year. The center itself, a converted hotel, in the Jura mountains of France, became  a cozy and welcoming landing pad for us, as we transition out of the work in the field.  Not only were we incredibly blessed to have to experienced and generous listeners meeting with us every morning, offering their insight, praying for us, and allowing us to unpack the events of the year,  but the rest of the day was ours to sleep, walk in the damp and wonderful world of early winter,  and  eat, eat eat!  The community at Le Ruche takes turns cooking their specialty, and several staff members joined us each night for a laughter filled dinner conversation near crackling fire. After dinner we’d retire to work on our assignments from the morning’s session, and our new dutch friend, a doctor working in Sierra Leon for nearly the past 5 years joined with us in our annual Advent  tradition,  of reading from ‘Watch for the Light.”

As healing as the debriefing times were, perhaps even more healing for us was the invitation to be part of healthy community, and the work taking place there.  We realized again, the healing power of being with people who love one another and feeling completely accepted for who we are.  We appreciated to much the reminder they shared with us daily, that nothing we could do could make God love us anymore then He already does, and they reinforced, at least for me, that it was OK to leave to work to the next team of people in Sudan, and that resting and wholeness is a much an act of worship as working with the poor.  We were delighted to hear about the work of each person living there, some investing one on one in those returning from difficult assignments, some doing reconciliation work in African countries, some supporting sustain able development work,  which made for delightful conversations around the table, and  inspired us again, that we all have such unique roles as we interact with issues of poverty and renewal.

We said a joyful goodbye on Friday afternoon, feeling renewed, well loved and certainly well fed.  Thank you, Jeltje, Dominique and the folks of Le Ruche for helping us to make this transition back into  our native soil.

For more information about Le Ruche, visit them online at: www.lerucher.org

 

Thanksgiving

As we count down our last few days in Sudan,  we had the opportunity to celebrate Thanksgiving with many of our friends from around the world, and celebrate our time together. We were the only two Americans at the gathering, so we got to make up our own rules for the holiday! We started the morning in devotions, sharing what we are grateful for, and spent most of the day, saying thank you, no, thank you to one another to celebrate, as it was otherwise and average Thursday in Juba (as if there was such a thing). As the sun began to set, we prepared our now traditional (mostly because it was available) Thanksgiving feast, of Spanish Rice and Beans, Salsa, Sausages, and gummy candy from around the world. It was a beautiful last night to sit under the stars and celebrate the people who had come to mean so much to us. We found in the midst of the hard things, we had many, many things to celebrate.

 It was a lovely evening of being together late into the night.  Each person shared their memories of us, and then gifted us with a  sheet-like garment usually warn for special occasions, like weddings. We showed them of with a dance, and Scott’s, of course, was just a bit too smal for him, so he improvised and created a Thanksgiving cape (what every Aid Worker turned Super Hero needs on Thanksgiving).  Needless to say, I think we’ve created a new holiday tradition.

   It’s hard to say goodbye to this place. For every hard thing, you realize that something beautiful has gotten to you- the children playing in the streets, the mother’s meticulously sweeping dirt compounds, an entire household gathered around a television under the stars. The morning greetings and the laughter has become a way of life to us here, and we truly will miss many many things. It seems good and right to say goodbye on Thanksgiving. What else could we say, really, but thank you for loving us, thank you for being you, thank you for marching on and moving forward in the face of so many challenges.

 

 We turn our hearts toward this journey home, thankful, being the telling of it, for the faces that await us there, and we hold the tension of the ones we love here, and might not see again.

We remember you friends in Africa, friends at home, friends all over the world, for journeying with us. We are thankful for you!

 

For Today

I’ll have to sit for a long time

 to understand all of this.

After I’ve sat for a long long time,

colored leaves at my feet,

snowflakes softly landing on my hands,

pedals falling from cherry blossoms,

summers green blades pushing through me toes,

I’ll understand

that I’ll never really understand

and that’s enough.

I’ll understand that words

could never hold my gratitude

or bear my sorrow

and I’ll stop asking them to.

But for today,

I’ll walk slowly

feeling Africa crunching beneath me,

toward the work that stretches out to the horizon line,

black hands carrying bundles,

and children singing toward home.

 

 

Somebody’s Birthday…

Hint: the guy without the funny mask

I’ll give you three guesses and a hint who’s birthday it is today. Take a moment, if you have it, to wish him happy birthday (don’t worry if you read this a few days late, all comers welcome!).

 

Accepting Surprises

Accept suprises

that interupt your plans

challenge your dreams,

 give a completely different direction to your day,

and who knows, to your life;

It is not chance,

Leave the Father free  himself

To weave the patterns of your days.

My reading lately has been leaning toward the contemplatives, Richard Rohr, Thomas Keating, Thomas Merton urging me toward accepting the moments I have, rather then the ones I wish could be. They talk of consenting to the moment, even if it’s not what you want or imagined, and asking what can be learned from the situation before you. What is, the great teacher.

  I’m realizing more and more that this sort of acceptance doesn’t come naturally. You really do have to practice accepting and letting go, practice finding the treasures in situations that you didn’t ask for or invite. I suppose the good news is that the more you practice searching these kind of treasures, the more you truly do find. Maybe there is something to that those who seek finding.

Improvising Universal Precautions at the Medical Workshop

 I just had a great  opportunity to practice letting go again last Friday. I  had spent the day before at a Health Conference with the rest of the health team,  teaching Wilderness Medicine, practicing first response to snake bites and improvising first response at remote car accidents. We had a good time together and laughed alot as we practiced splinting and treating our broken arms and snake bites. I noticed I was itchy, and even had a bit of a rash breaking out, but changed my clothes, took shower and kept on teaching. Later in the evening, the rash seemed k

to be spreading so I took  an anti-histamine and headed to bed.  I woke with a day full of plans in my head, to move up river, meet with the team, and a million other small details when I looked in the mirror and saw my eyes were puffy and face and body were covered in a red raised rash that looked conspicuously like the ones I’d treated for allergic reactions in the Emergency Department many many times. After a very brief conference with myself, I realized that my remote location in Sudan was one of the last places I’d sign up to have an allergic reaction, and went looking for my doctor friend to convince me it was no big deal. Unfortunately, she seemed more worried then I was, and soon we’d put in an IV, given some steroids and headed off to the find a doctor of mine at the UN in case things took a turn for the not- so- easy- to- breathe.

  We arrived at the UN to find my friend Randy, a exuberant doctor from India who just happened to have returned home a few days early from repatriation in India. It was wonderful to see a familiar face, and to meet a new friend Pallabhi. We were treated like royalty at the UN field station, and I was happy to get a cocktail of antihitamines and steroids to keep the reaction at bay. Flanked by the my friends, Tabea and Sonja, a German doctor and Dutch nurse who just happened to be at the medical workshop that week, we decided to take advantage of a MAF plane that just happened to be in the area to pick up passengers from an other organization. My friend Daniella, a German ICU nurse who just happened to be going out on R & R was a welcome companion in case the reaction continued.  We we flew together to Juba where Scott just happened to be stationed, and he was able to board the plane with me that happened to have an extra place for him.  Scott and Daniella sat on the tarmac, giving me an another steroid injectiton  in into the IV when a colleague I’d met in a far away village strolled up to ask what we were up to. He’s a family practice doctor with 30 years experienc in the States, retired now and working in  a remote part of Sudan. You guessed it- he just happened to be flying to Nairobi with us for the weekend.  By the time we arrived in Nairobi,  I felt like I was watching a greater hand weave all these little miracles into the tapestry of a tender concern for me. I didn’t mention that the rash and didn’t return again untili we’d safely landed on Nairobi’s, and had stepped foot into the hospital.

  It  turns out these things don’t just happen at all.  It’s humbling to

Chocolate fudge cake, and after doctor treat

thing of the way things might have gone if we didn’t have all the details conspiring to bring us safely to Nairobi.   It has again reminded me the power of people praying for before we knew we needed it. I know it doesn’t always go that way, but today, I’m feeling really grateful that they did last week.  I spent the day with another sobering gratitude, realizing that my friends in Sudan would not have had the option to be evacuated if something went wrong.  And certainly, few people in the world have access to the kind of chocolate cake my husband buys me after every visit to the doctor. 

 The plot continues to thicken.  We’re trying to determine the reason for allergice reaction, as  all of us have a great deal of stock in not happening again. There are many theories, and I won’t bore you with the details.  It’s a bit tricky. The doctors say that it may have been a random event, that will never happen again, or it could happen again next week.  The really tough part is everyone agrees that a remote part of Sudan is not the best place in the world to have another one, and until there are more answers, I’ve lost my ticket to return to my little Tukul, the muddy streets, my friends and neighbors there and the work at hand.

  Tough work, letting go. As I said, I woke up last week with my own plan to start up the Nile, back to life, back to work, and found myself on a plane heading in the other direction.  There’s a very real chance that I won’ t be able to return to life in the field, to the clinic, to the people. It has been a lesson in loving what you have while you have it, not knowing when you’ll find yourself heading in the opposite direction.   It has been a lesson in gratitude for what is, much more then for what cannot be, and most of all, it is an opportunity to consent to plans that are bigger then mine, being willing to embrace them, grieve them when necessary, and move forward.

  The adventure continues, and we’ve all got a front row ticket together.  We’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, if you are ’suprised’ by a flat tire, a sick child, an event, welcomed or unwelcomed, that seems to be taking you in the opposite direction, we’ll invite you to join us.  You certainly aren’t alone. Try saying yes anyway, and see where it leads. It is not chance, leave the Father free himself to weave the patterns of your days.