a case for procrastination

In general, procrastination tends to get a bad rap.  The putting off until "a better time," the "getting to it eventually," the "I'll wait until I can do it really well."  These are phrases that you might hear your perfectionistic child say.  Or words that your rather, um, lackadaisical kid might utter.  Or, perhaps, they are phrases that echo right in your very own head.

And so it is with me.  I have been a list-maker for as long as I can remember.  I carry around my hopeful string of "to-do's" and find myself at the end of the day (week, month…) with only a handful of those items dutifully checked off.  I've yet to figure out if this is in fact a result of being overly optimistic about just how much I can accomplish each day, or disorganization/easy distractibility on my part, or plain old laziness.  Regardless, it is part of my character, and while I don't so much chastise myself about it anymore, I am aware of my tendency to "put off until a better time" those things that perhaps should be done in a more timely fashion.

I should note here that while I am a procrastinator by nature, life has kept my plate fairly full for the last little bit.  I wasn't going to bring up the detail about moving a family of 6 five times in the past 2.5 years, but I decided that it's probably a detail worth mentioning.
 
So now, as my children sleep upstairs and my husband finishes up work several states away before joining us here, I am sitting in our new rental home, surrounded by half-opened cardboard boxes, partly-filled cabinets, haphazardly-placed furniture, and rediscovered toys strewn about…and I write.  Because while that may look like procrastinating to some, it is just goodness, plain and simple, for me.

Because as I reflect, I find myself blown away, yet again, by God's goodness.  After a year (or more) of a lot of discomfort, disappointments, darkness, and seemingly dashed dreams, these past several months have brought me the gift of so much light and renewed hope, and gratitude like I just can't describe.  We have, after those 2.5 years and all those moves, made our way back home––to the place that holds a community and support and opportunities and sense of belonging like no other.  I find myself still awed by the journey that we had to take to finally make our way back here, and I am grateful for all of it, even the hard stuff.

So, back to procrastination (hello, distractibility!).  I've known that we were heading back here since early March.  We secured this rental home in early May.  I chose this location primarily so that our Caroline could be part of the phenomenal elementary school community that Joshua and Madison had enjoyed, thrived in, and loved during our time here a few years ago.  I knew that the older kids' middle school assignment would be okay––not bad, but not terribly remarkable––and I was okay with that.  That year of homeschooling reassured me that these kiddos make the most of every experience, and I trusted that they would do just fine.  And so I gathered all the paperwork for both schools last month when we were in town, and put them in a very safe place so that I could work on them and get our kids enrolled and ready for the new school year.  And that paperwork has remained in that same very safe place for the last several weeks.  Untouched.  Unopened.  Waiting to be filled out "when I had the time."

Admittedly, these last weeks of summer have been even busier than usual.  This last month alone has seen us packing up and moving all of our worldly possessions here to Greenville, driving down for a visit to Chris' parents in south Georgia, driving even further down for a wedding/family reunion in Fort Myers, FL, then a return to Louisiana for Chris' work, a board exam for me, several goodbyes to friends in Baton Rouge, and a return here for the real unpacking and settling down.  So, honestly,  not really so much time to tackle several pages of paperwork and dig up immunization records, birth certificates, proof of residency, etc.  Right?

So anyway.  Once we got the very basics in place here at home (kitchen is functional, everybody has a bed to sleep in), and I finally sat down to complete (okay, start) the enrollment forms, I received a phone call.  As in, literally, I was filling out page 1 of 13, and the phone rang.  The extraordinary school for gifted and talented students in town, a public school that I have heard so much about, called to say that Madison was invited to join the 6th grade class this fall.  She had been wait-listed back in 2nd grade, and I had declined the invitation at that time because we were leaving the state, but (half-jokingly, but more than half-hopefully) asked that she remain on the wait list just in case we eventually made our way back here.  And I honestly had forgotten about it until this spring when we learned that we would, in fact, be returning.  When I called the school then, I was told that she remained on the waiting list and was at #3…and later in the spring she was #2…and a few weeks ago she was still at #2.

And then, on Wednesday of this week, she was in.  Just like that.  A student had moved away, a spot opened up, it was available for her.  Amazing.

When I told her the news, her big beautiful brown eyes opened wide and she jumped up and down.  She hugged me tight, wanted all the details, and rejoiced like she had just won the lottery.  

But wait.  There's more.

As I was speaking with the admissions lady, I shared with her that I was just sitting down to fill out paperwork to enroll both of my middle schoolers in the neighborhood school when she called.  When she inquired about my other middle schooler, I assured her that he was not eligible for admission because we didn't live here in his 2nd grade year, so he obviously hadn't taken the standardized test that they use as criteria for inviting children to the school.  Silly admissions lady––of course I would have inquired about getting Joshua in if he had taken that exam.

Silly me.  Turns out, according to admissions lady, that they do in fact look at scores from later grades, and she did in fact have Joshua's scores from 5th grade right in front of her, and they do in fact have a spot open for an 8th grader.  And so now, inconceivable as it still seems, they are both getting the tremendous opportunity to attend this exceptional school.

And I find myself face-to-face with yet another (another!) experience in which I can do nothing more than stand, sit, kneel, weep in amazement at God's goodness.  His unbelievable, unpredictable, unfathomably perfect timing.

Not because this is the best school in the nation, or even in the city.  But because it feels like the best opportunity and fit and gift for these kids, right here, right now.

It feels like––it is––grace upon grace upon inexpressible grace.

God's perfect timing.  That phrase, that idea, sometimes seems trite, like just another cliche.  That is, until you stand in the light of that timing.  And trust it.  And lean into it.

My husband's key verse through this tumultuous past year: Trust in God, and lean not unto your own understanding.

My understanding is so very limited.  So. Very.  Limited.  Oh, that I could have the eyes to see that truth all the time, and that I would finally learn, once and for all, that trusting is the wise choice, that the self-starter in me must let go, and that leaning on Him is really, truly, where it's at.

Somehow, in His timing, ALL things work together for good.  All the things…they eventually work together.  Thank you, God.

And so, as it turns out, it was good that I hadn't trudged through that mountain of paperwork after all.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart
    and lean not on your own understanding

Proverbs 3:5

like scales––my messy beautiful

                                                                                          source

So.  Sure, it's been close to a year since my last blog post...even though I promised myself and anyone who'd listen that I was going to try to stay consistent in posting.  That alone should be enough for this {only semi-rehabilitated} perfectionist to withdraw, give up, stick to journaling, and just get back to my normal, blog-writing-free life.  But then a few things have happened.  First, I've had some trusted friends ask when I'm going to start writing again.  And I, too, have felt a gentle-but-persistent urge to get back to this wonderful, therapeutic, perspective-giving activity that I so enjoy.  And finally, my absolute favorite blogger posted a few challenging and inspiring essays, and then recently asked those of us with an interest in writing to contribute to her blog.  Friends––all that together is enough to light a little fire under me.  So, here goes.

I've had a hard year.  A really hard year.  The whole take-our-family-to-Africa-for-three-years thing, followed by the come-home-after-only-three-months-because-of-religious-violence thing, well, those were just the beginning of my challenges.  As you might have gathered from my last post, my husband and I were officially not on the same page with regard to the decision to return home.  And that sort of discord, on a decision that huge, is fodder for all sorts of trouble and pain and sorrow and guilt and grief and uncertainty.  And we experienced it all, and then some.

It just didn't make sense.  It didn't make sense that anyone, marching under the flag of religion, would perpetrate deadly violence or violent threats against anyone, but especially other religious people whose very lives were devoted to following God's call.  It didn't make sense that after my dear, earnest, faith-filled husband and I had given up most of what our culture considers successful (great jobs and schools, stability, house, cars, furniture, clothes, 401k, you name it), in exchange for what our faith calls successful (service, sharing our gifts, obedient submission to God's desires)––that it simply didn't work out.  It didn't make a drop of sense that when my best friend, my partner and deepest confidant, my great love––that when he and I were faced with the very same facts and reports, at the same time and in the same setting, we drew wildly different conclusions about what would be the best course of action.  It made even less sense that on returning to the United States, my husband would take a job in the one place that I had explicitly stated that I didn't want to live (and that he simply could not bear to accept a job in the one place that I very much wanted to live).

It was all so messy.  My imperfect, but pretty wonderful, marriage.  Not so wonderful anymore.  For the first time in memory in this relationship, I was feeling things like insecurity, doubt, fear, and profound sadness.  Everything just felt so upside down.  Like when you're a kid and you're hanging on a playground metal bar by your legs, and staring at the world while the blood rushes to your head and your hair hangs down below.  You know that you're looking at all the same things and people and places.  But it all still seems so foreign.  That's what 2013 was like––my amazing, grace-filled life just looked so foreign.  Relationships that had been so rich and important were suddenly so tense and hard.  Activities that had been natural and easy somehow became taxing and exhausting and overwhelming.  Despite glimpses of the lightness and laughter and joy that had characterized my life, more often than not it was just a struggle.  There was a lot of struggle.  But because of our faith, and because we are firm believers in marriage and the covenant that we had entered into, rather than walking away, we walked in obedience.  Instead of giving up because we weren't "feeling it," we stayed the course knowing that love really really really is a choice.  It is a verb.  It is a doing, not just an emotion.  And yes, it stayed messy and hard and almost hopeless for a really long time.

And then somewhere in all of that mess and pain and grief, I allowed myself to stop.  To stop striving for a return to my old life.  To stop convincing myself or my husband that we needed to get quickly through this tough phase of our marriage.  To stop trying to manage and control and plan and force.  And instead I just allowed myself to breathe...and to let go...and to lean in to the life that God has given me here.  I've heard that humiliation can lead to humility.  And perhaps that was the work that needed to happen in me.

Slowly, I started to embrace what I did have, instead of mourning what I didn't.  I began looking for job opportunities for myself, to plug in with our kids' school, to relax into the idea that maybe this was where we were meant to be, perhaps for a season or perhaps for even longer.  And that idea was starting to be okay, because my joy does not come from my circumstances, and my contentment is not a product of what I have.  Those qualities come from my gratitude, my awareness of how great and big and good my God is.  And when I finally allow myself that perspective, I get to see that the grace and gifts that I thought were missing had in fact been right here all along––I was simply too sad to see them.

And it was then, just as I began to embrace the messy, that I so clearly started to see the beautiful standing right there beside it.  It was then that the light and the laughter and the joy started to return.  My marriage––that single most important of all human relations––was starting to heal.  The communication and connection that I so desperately missed were showing up, and better yet, sticking around.  Through a series of happenings that were nothing less than God being present in ways that were almost physically palpable, the mess of 2013 blossomed into the miracles of 2014.  The very hard work that we had been doing in marriage counseling has begun to show fruit, in a peaceful and seasoned and loving way, and we are so very grateful.  Other important relationships are healing as well, but this time with a depth of love and understanding that I find both authentic and comforting.  My husband recently decided to pursue a new field within his medical practice, that of palliative care, in which he will be able to use his tremendous personal and professional gifts to ease suffering in a way that seems almost tailored for him.  And––big bonus––it will allow him much more predictable hours and time with our family.  Then, as he looked for fellowship opportunities within a few hours of our beloved old town of Greenville (where I wanted to return), my husband heard news that a brand new fellowship in palliative care medicine––the first in the state!––had just been approved...30 minutes from where we hoped to live.  He has since been accepted to be that "first fellow" in the program.  Days later, I was offered (seemingly out of the blue) a position with the absolutely wonderful pediatric practice where I had worked previously.

All this has left me feeling a lot like Paul, the disciple-formerly-known-as-Saul, these days.  The book of Acts describes how Saul––thinking that he was doing the right thing all along––gets knocked right off of his horse and struck blind.  Then after a few (certainly long, hard, and seemingly hopeless) days of this blindness, he is approached by a man who prays and places his hands on Saul's eyes, and immediately, we are told, "something like scales fell from Saul's eyes, and he could see again."  Me too, Saul.  Scales that previously blinded me to the truth and beauty of my life; they are gone now.  I have learned so much through my own painful and frightening experiences these past months.  Though I would never have chosen them, they chose me, and taught me things I am so grateful to have learned, and I wouldn't trade that for anything.  I have learned more patience, more compassion, more humility.  When I hear stories of people daring greatly, yet things still not working out as planned, I have a richer empathy for those involved.  When I hear of couples journeying through unpredictably hard times, or of marriages moving toward separation, I am still deeply saddened, but I now understand the pain at a depth that I simply couldn't before.  When I feel the sting of disappointment or disapproval or anger from those closest to me, I am more equipped to understand, and to give grace.  Because when you've been a recipient of such extraordinary grace, you've just got to be a grace giver as well.

The scales are off...for now.  Surely they will grow back in some other area, and I may need to be knocked clear off of my horse again (please God, not anytime soon), but for now, I am better for the hardships and messiness of this last year.

And frankly, I don't have words to adequately capture how magnificent much of these past few weeks have been.  There has still been plenty of hard in the middle of all this wonderful, but I am learning that this life is going to have its share of both, the messy and the beautiful, and that is okay.  I am okay with "both/and"...as long as I pull back far enough to see not only the big picture, but the Hand that holds and guides and comforts each of us through every messy and beautiful moment.







I am honored to note that this essay and I are part of the "Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project" — to learn more and join us, click here.  And to learn about the book, Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, click here.

change of plans

I have started this post several times and found myself just staring at the blank screen, not sure of how to share some of what has been going on for us in the last several weeks.  But as a reader and follower of other blogs, I know that it is important for me to remain truthful about what is happening in our lives––that's part of the beauty of this relatively new form of communication: blogs let those who care for us know what is happening in our lives.  So here's what is happening in our lives.

We have returned to the United States.

This was not part of our plan.  Our plan was to give three years of our lives to mission work.  Our plan was to educate our children in our home, in southern Tanzania, living among others who chose to give of their lives in a similar way.  Our plan was to "tithe" roughly ten percent of our working years to serving God by serving His children on the African continent.

And while all of that was prayerfully and carefully discerned and considered and accepted and promised, and while our intentions were pure and well-intentioned, there were unpredictable challenges in mission that ultimately made our remaining there impossible.

After our wonderful month of language classes in north Tanzania, and our fun little respite at the beach, we were grateful to have finally made it to our mission site in late February.  My previous post details some of the joys we experienced on our arrival, as well as some of the struggles, none of which were insurmountable.  However, just a day or two after I published that post, we learned of an uptick in violence in Tanzania.  Specifically, violence fueled by religious tensions and having resulted in the murders of a number of religious persons in the past three months.  That news alone was scary.  While there were no specific threats to the area where we were, I was alarmed to hear that violence perpetrated by radicals was increasing in that previously very peaceful country.

And being who I am (careful, information-seeking, detailed, and mother), I began to do my own research.  I don't feel like I need to share all of what I learned, but the overwhelming spirit of the news articles that I read was that Tanzania was no longer the tranquil place it had once been.  There were churches burned in Dar es Salaam.  There were priests attacked and murdered in Zanzibar.  There were riots (some only 30 minutes away from us, in the city that had our closest supermarket) that resulted in a number of deaths.  There were threats for more violence against religious places at Easter time.

I must articulate again here that there were no threats to the mission site where we were located.  We never felt that there was violence directly aimed at us.  There was no imminent danger to our area or our family.

However, I did not want to wait for imminent danger.  Although the leadership at the hospital and abbey in Ndanda felt that things in that area were safe, they all admitted that of course there were no guarantees.  Each of the individuals who I spoke with there voiced understanding of my concerns and agreed that if I did not feel safe, then we should do what we felt was best for our family.

I felt very strongly, considering the rise in religious tensions, that staying in Tanzania was not the best plan of action for our family at this time.  But the process has been hard.  Especially hard because while I felt so insecure and frightened about the safety and well-being of our family, my husband continued to feel that we should stay in Ndanda.  He felt very safe there and did not believe that there was a potential for danger in that location.  My thoughts, however, were that extremists who had already attempted to stir up trouble in the town of Ndanda may return, and that we should not try and project our rational thinking on those whose very actions are irrational and unpredictable.

And––as I stated to our mission organization's board––as a mother, the safety of our four children remained foremost in my mind.  I could not take the risk that they might be harmed through this experience, no matter how noble the cause.

And so, after a whole lot of hard conversations, prayer, and consideration of many factors, we decided to come back to the U.S., and we arrived to my parents' home about two weeks ago.

We are so very grateful to be back, to be safe, to be together.  This experience has grown us, changed us, and challenged us.  It has brought life into even greater perspective.  But there is much work ahead.  My kids will complete their homeschool year at my parents' home.  My husband is starting a job search that he didn't expect to do for another two or three years.  I will have to find a new home for us and schools for the kids once he finds a job.  Our kids will have to move once again.  We are mourning the loss of a long-held dream as well as working through our different responses to our experience there.  We ask for your prayers as we start this new and unexpected chapter.

It's hard to understand the reasons why we would feel so strongly called--for so long--to be missionaries, only to have returned after such a short time.  After so much planning and moving and giving and leaving, it is difficult to see what the greater plan is.  Yet we know that there is one.

I will say that through this very challenging and humbling time, I have been able to experience God's incredible grace in amazing ways.  I have received such extraordinary support from family and the few close friends with whom we shared the news of our return.  Through encouraging phone calls and understanding emails, and now a few loving and consoling face-to-face encounters, I have been lucky enough to almost physically feel the unmerited favor of God all around me.  There are blessings throughout all of this.    

And so we move forward, one step at a time.  And we continue to place our trust in the One who knows us, loves us, and promises to always to be with us...no matter what side of the planet we land on.  And that is enough for us, today and always.

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect

 in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses,

 so that Christ’s power may rest on me.

2 Corinthians 12:9

And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces

 perseverance; and perseverance, character; and character, hope.  Now hope

 does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts

 by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

Romans 5:3-5

  

arrival to ndanda

As I sit in our new home in Ndanda, I still find it a bit difficult to believe that we are finally at our destination.  It’s been a mighty long road here, but I trust that this is where we are meant to be, and we are doing our best to embrace the experience.

I am writing off-line once again (with plans to publish this post sometime soon), as our home does not have internet access yet.  That has been a struggle for me, mainly because it has made me feel especially disconnected with family and friends back in the states.  It’s been hard to not be able to pop onto the computer and instantly send and receive email, or keep up through facebook, or check out the latest U.S. and international news.  But of course, that disconnection has made space for the far more important connections that are right in front of me: the ones within my family and my prayer life.  And boy has there been a lot to pray about.    

We arrived to Ndanda last Thursday, after a glorious couple of days on the beach of the Indian Ocean in Mtwara, about 2 hours from here.  

While there, we not only enjoyed spectacular views and snorkeling with amazing jellyfish, starfish, sea anemones, crab, and brightly-colored fish and coral, but we also had a much-anticipated reunion with our friends from our mission formation. 

Justin and Lauren have been working as teachers in a secondary school in Mtwara since last August and we have leaned heavily on their experience and advice as we planned for our move here.  It was a real gift to reconnect with them, share a short but fun vacation time with them, and especially to introduce Jacob to them, as they have been praying for him since we all lived together in Los Angeles last spring.  

I’ve written more than once about how very much I love time at the beach.  Waking up to views like this was an extraordinary way to begin our time in southern Tanzania.

But despite all that natural beauty and the joy of being with good friends, we were anxious to finally get here.  Have I mentioned how long we’ve been anticipating this arrival?

And I guess that with all that planning and anticipating and hoping and praying and dreaming and wondering...the actual experience of transitioning into our lives here couldn’t help but be a little anticlimactic. 

That is not to say that we have not been warmly welcomed.  Everyone from the hospital administrator, to the abbot of the monastery, to the religious sisters and brothers (both German and Tanzanian), to the staff, to the few ex-patriates living here, to practically everyone we meet--have been so kind and thankful for our arrival.  We have been encouraged to take our time as we get settled, to please communicate whatever needs we may have, to enjoy the slower pace of the Tanzanian culture.  And we are doing just that.

Nevertheless, it is not easy.  I’m not sure what exactly I was anticipating in our very first days here, but there have been a few unexpected discoveries.  One of the main ones was my realization of just how little English is spoken here.  We have been told that easily 98% of the patient population speaks only Kiswahili--and I’d guess that that goes for the general population as well.  So as we meander through this beautiful campus, as we begin to venture into the marketplace, and as we join the community in worship and meals and just daily conversations, our Kiswahili knowledge is really being put to the test.  And it is humbling.  We really did learn a lot in language school, and I am so very thankful to have had that training, but it’s a daily challenge to both understand and communicate with most people in our lives now.       

Another surprise was just how hot and humid it is here.  Having grown up in south Louisiana and having spent most of my life in the southern U.S., I thought I was ready for the balmy weather here.  Not so much.  The days are hot and sticky, and the nights are not much better.  We are already just becoming accustomed to sweating...a lot...like all the time.  Okay, I may be exaggerating a bit, but it really is very warm, and our little floor fan has become one of our most treasured possessions.  On the bright side, there has been a cooling rain almost every day (that makes for difficulties in drying the laundry outside, but I digress), and in just the six days that we have been here, the mornings and evenings seem a tiny bit cooler, and we know that this is literally the hottest time of the year. 

The other unanticipated realization was that there are no other American or European families here.  There are a few other ex-pat adults, and we are gleaning from them every bit of wisdom and advice that we can (before they, too, leave in a few months)--but no one with kids.  These other ex-pats have been kind and hospitable, and they even had a lovely dinner party for us last weekend.  We are so grateful to have these connections.  However, it was a little disappointing that the young families that were here just a year or two ago have moved on, and it doesn’t seem that any replacements are headed this way.  

BUT, having said all of that, I cannot end this post without acknowledging how amazing our kids continue to be.  They just keep finding and creating joy and adventure wherever they are.  Joshua has been welcomed by a bunch of local boys with whom he has played soccer, he’s learned lots of new Swahili vocabulary,  received gifts of fresh fruit, and has even taught some basic English phrases to them.  Madison pulled out her watercolors on day one here, and has begun to add beauty and warmth to our home with her sweet artwork.  She is also taking an even greater interest in helping to care for baby Jacob.  Caroline was so excited to unpack our suitcases and discover treasured books, dolls, and almost-forgotten dress-up clothes.  All the kids are embracing the many new experiences like handwashing and line-drying the clothes (not sure how long that excitement will last), walking to and bargaining at the market, purchasing and boiling fresh milk, making homemade yogurt, and especially making our house into our home.  Chris did a quick orientation at the hospital and then very clearly articulated that he first wants to be sure that the kids and I are settled before officially starting his medical work here...and I am so grateful for that.  And our little love Jacob--that guy just remains so happy.  Amidst all these changes, he hasn’t missed a beat.  He eats well, sleeps well, plays well (he recently figured out how to make a little fake cough and is cracking us up with his antics), and brings joy to all the people we’ve met and to all places we have been.         

And our week was HUGELY brightened when we received our very first care package yesterday...not surprisingly it came from our angels in Houston, Pat & Kathi, who hosted our gang for the latter half of last year.  Surely these faces give you some idea of what a joy it was to get a little taste of home in these early days in a new land.

happy 6 months, sweet jacob

Happy half-birthday, our precious little one!!

How can it possibly be that Jacob is six months old already?  I'm thankful that keeping this blog has helped me to be more mindful of how rapidly time continues to pass by.

It truly feels like just a few weeks ago that we were anticipating "baby brother's" arrival...that we were adjusting to life as a family of six...that we were learning who this wonderful new person in our midst would turn out to be.

And now, as I sit in our simple temporary home in northern Tanzania, dealing with an extremely slow internet connection that only occasionally allows me to upload pictures, I have a chance to realize the blessings that have enriched our lives since August 19, 2012.  I am filled with gratitude for sweet baby Jacob and the love and life that he brings to our family.  As I wrote to friends recently, he has turned out to be the gift that we didn't even know we needed.

His warm, engaging and endearing personality is not lost on a single person he meets.  No matter the age, ethnicity, or language of persons who cross his path, each one seems so taken with this baby and his loving attitude.  We are one lucky family to have him in our midst.


And in these six short months, what a ride he has already experienced.  From his birth in Houston, to our cross-country drive to Georgia and South Carolina, to our month in Louisiana at Christmas time, to our trans-Atlantic journey to Tanzania, Jacob hasn't missed a beat.  Without a doubt, his relaxed persona has made a big difference in making for so many great memories.





So what do I want to remember about Jacob at this age?  Well, everything, but most especially...

• how he smiles that gorgeous gummy smile when he sees one of us approaching
• how he sometimes wakes up singing in the morning, and what a beautiful a sound that is
• how he makes everyone around him feel so funny/special/loved
• how he is rolling over all the time now, and how he recently figured out that sleeping on his tummy is way more comfortable...and how wonderfully he has slept at night since making that discovery (happy dance!!)
• how he is starting to enjoy his first solids this week--"Cerelac," made by a European company and very similar to baby cereal in the U.S.--and how Madison has already asked when she will get a chance to feed him
• how he has taken to so very many changes so readily, how he rarely cries (and when he does, I know I need to pay attention), how he just is joy, all the time...and how I wonder if this is predictive of his personality later on...and how I really don't want to mess that up! 
• how his siblings still clamor for time with him, how they never tire of snuggling with him or trying to make him laugh his precious belly laugh, or how they are constantly amazed by the new things that he can do
• how he adores his daddy...and how his face lights up every time he hears Chris' voice or sees him nearby
• how he still opens his mouth wide onto my cheek, chin, shoulder, etc., so often...I don't even care if he is actually rooting for milk that he might have missed--I just love that it feels like precious, slobbery kisses to me
• how he is keeping his daddy and me young and energetic, because really, what choice do we have?  :)
• and finally, I want to remember how he reminds me, every single day, that God is so very present in my life...right here...right now

You are deeply loved, our sweet Jacob.  Thank you for being you, and for making us, us.

safari...wow

I don't really know what to say other than that...wow.  We were fifteen days into our lives here in Tanzania and we had the opportunity to go on an actual real-life safari this past weekend.  Like, in a bumpy jeep.  Down rocky gravel roads on a warm and sunshiny day.  In Africa.  I guess I figured that we'd eventually get the chance to do something like this, but I sure didn't expect it to be so soon.  Or so amazing.

Some of our fellow Kiswahili students suggested that we get a group together for a safari, and after a couple of days of indecision, we decided that this weekend would be a good a time as any to go for it.  So we gathered with a few friends early Saturday morning, loaded up the kids (yes, Jacob too, and yes, he seemed to enjoy the ride and was a total trooper the entire day), plenty of water, snacks, and a picnic lunch, as well as lots of free space on our cameras, and we were off to the Tarangire National Park.  I'm told that this park is about 90 km from our language school here, which translates to about 55 miles...which on these particular north Tanzanian roads translated to an almost three hour ride.  

But it was absolutely, positively worth it.  

I'm just going to stop talking so much now and show you some pictures.  Because, just wow.

(if you click on any picture, you can view them all in a larger size)

We loved seeing such amazing creatures in their natural, beautiful habitat.

The zebras were playful and moved so easily together as a group and as individuals. 

The antelope were as graceful and as shy as you would expect them to be, and the males, with their huge, curving horns, had a majesty about them that was hard to miss.

The lions (who, we are told, are tough to catch a glimpse of some days) were so peaceful as they rested near the water, seemingly oblivious to our jeeps and cameras and curiosities nearby.  

The baboons didn't miss a beat in their mass migration across the shallow river...even as our jeep pulled right into the middle of said river and parked there for several minutes.

 And as for these guys...well, they deserve a blog post all their own, because they are my very, very, very favorite of all.

After an almost twelve hour day on the road, we returned, exhausted, grimy, and oh-so-happy.

Going on this safari was an extraordinary and moving experience--truly, such a privilege.  Being in this gorgeous land, living among incredibly kind and loving people, and now getting the chance to see such spectacular animals...I don't know what to say.  We are richly blessed.  

There were moments that I had to actually remind myself that this was real life and that we are really, finally here.  I am grateful for the adventure that every day brings.  It is all a gift, and we are so thankful.

kiswahili school, wiki moja

So after that wonderfully relaxing week of rest in Dar es Salaam, we have just completed a whirlwind week of adjusting to a new home/awesome language classes/meeting people from around the world/putting the kids in their language school/having our brains stretched farther than they've had to stretch for quite a while/and oh yes, an absolutely spectacular safari which must be a post for another day.

Phew!  And it really has been that full and that busy, but somehow in the midst of all that newness, there has been very little stress.  We have never felt rushed, we are enjoying daily tea breaks and long, leisurely meals, we are sleeping so very well (all six of us, thankyouverymuch!),  and we are just thrilled to be here.  What is it that the developing world has figured out that we in the West seem to be missing?

Of all the fun and useful new vocabulary that we've learned in our Kiswahili course, my hands-down favorite is an expression that I hear at least four or five times a day.  I hear it when I apologize for my choppy attempts at speaking this beautiful language, or if I arrive late to class, or if the kids spill something, or when something gets lost or broken, or we forget something that we were just taught, etc.  And the single-word response is this: hamnashida.  It's pronounced /HUM-na-shee-dah/ and it essentially means "there is no problem."  I know what you're thinking--we're in the land of the Lion King, so why not "hakuna matata"?  Well, in the two weeks that we've been here, I have yet to hear that particular phrase.  Yet, the lovely "hamnashida" is spoken, really almost sung, several times every day.  And I think that what I love about it is the fact that it seems to capture what I have seen as the spirit of the Tanzanian people.  There is a welcoming nature to practically every person we have met so far--they are warm and hospitable and seem genuinely happy, both in their own lives and as hosts to the many "muzungu" (white, western) people that pass through their land.  I also think that the spirit of "no worries" in some ways reminds me of my home state of Louisiana, where this same sort of relaxed, "let it be" mentality is so readily embraced.  While I know that there are drawbacks to being laid back all the time, for now, I am grateful for the break, and I am enjoying the experience of leaning into the spirit of hamnashida.

And as for our first week of language classes, it's been fantastic.  I'm not sure what our expectations were, but whatever they might have been, they've been exceeded.  By a lot.  We are in very small classes (our beginner's class of 8 was split into two groups of 4), our teachers bring experience and patience and fun to each class, and we are enjoying some less-traditional learning methods that add an amazing new dimension to the whole experience.  The course director told us on the first day that this institution is big on "active, participatory learning," so as part of our classes we have the opportunity to learn in a number of different ways.  In just these first five days of class, in addition to learning lots of  important grammar, we've sung Kiswahili songs, played games like Bingo and Scrabble to help solidify our vocabulary, and we've spent one-on-one time with native Tanzanians to brush up on our dialogue skills.  This week we will go to a market and practice both our grasp of food vocabulary as well as our Kiswahili bargaining skills!  Be assured that we are learning a ton and being humbled--a whole lot--every day.

And those kids who were feeling a little homesick our first few days in the country?

They are doing just fine.

Joshua continues to amaze us and everyone he meets with his Kiswahili proficiency.  Our teacher said that when she sees him on campus, she speaks to him as fast as she would to a native speaker (and trust me, that is mind-bogglingly fast), and Joshua understands every word and responds like a native as well.  This weekend he's enjoyed his first soccer experience when one of our neighbors' sons stopped by and invited him over.  He said he had a great time playing ball outside with a group of boys and then enjoyed some time on his friend's Playstation.  You know, since we moved our family 8800 miles across the globe so that our boy could get in some Playstation time.  Kidding, of course.  We couldn't be happier that he is thriving on so many levels.

Madison and Caroline continue to be each other's best friends and are enjoying language classes as well.  All three big kids are in class together, but the teacher meets each one right where he or she needs to be challenged.  They are loving it.  And they, too, get cool field trips and experiences.  This week they made Masai beaded jewelry, trekked through a forest, chose what animals they will carve from wood later, hiked around a beautiful lake, and prepared (with lots of help) a delicious African meal for us and our teachers.

And our sweet baby Jacob, now 5 and half months old, is busy making friends and influencing people all over the place here at language school.  Although there are a whole lot of cultural differences that we are learning to navigate as we go, the love that people have for babies seems to cross all cultural lines.  And despite his mommy's characteristic worries (this time focused on the guilt of putting him in childcare while I attended classes), Jacob is doing remarkably well.  He has a one-on-one nanny who adores him, speaks to him in Kiswahili all day long, and brings him to me when it's time for his feeds.  So we see each other in the morning, then at our chai break at 10, again at lunch time, and then when classes are done in the afternoon.  I am most grateful that this aspect of my language school experience is going so well.  Thank God.

I have so much more to say and many more pictures to post, but it's late, and my tired brain needs to rest before we launch into another happily-jam-packed week of learning.  For now, I'll just say, asante sana for your thoughts and prayers.  Wishing much amani (peace) to all.