Happy Birthday Baby Boy!

This past week we celebrated our little boy's 2nd birthday! Our amazing kiddo turned 2 on the 11th, so these photos are a week late. We celebrated his actual day of birth privately. Our little boy got to open presents from his grandparents and great aunts while sister was at school. When sister came home, we did all of brother's favorite things - went swimming, watched a movie and enjoyed popcorn, and enjoyed banana bread with whipped cream for dessert. It was a good day.

Two days later, we celebrated with friends. We decided to have a water party for our little "guppy." It was an excellent idea since it is so hot this time of year. We blew up some baby pools and filled them with water, water toys, and kids!

We were able to come up with a plastic sheet (thanks for another MAF family) to use as a "slip n' slide." Both big kids and little ones thought this was absolutely amazing!

 We provided the kids with water guns and let them chase the parents and adults.

After the kids got tired of playing in the water, we ate snacks and had cupcakes. Baby boy loves singing "Happy Birthday" and blowing out candles so this was another favorite part for our happy kiddo!

 Overall, it was a great birthday!

Transitions

The past couple of months have been difficult on our little girl. Her life has been filled with so many changes and transitions. We broke our school routine to head to the United States. We lived with grandparents and went to a preschool there. After getting accustomed to life there, we packed up and headed back. But when we came back, we had one less family here, meaning two less friends for her. Next, another friend who lived nearby moved and then left for their US visit. Then school started with a new teacher and a new classroom. On top of that, there is a new family with new kids to play with. But another family here is getting ready to leave on their US visit.

Our girlie has been quite confused by the comings and goings of people, lamenting the changes. For a child who thrives on routine and patterns, these changes have a big impact. They affect her in ways I cannot begin to understand. And no words seem to comfort her. I wish I could explain these things to her and tell her things will be different, but that would not be true. As a missionary, our life is full of constant transition – people come and go, we move constantly between two worlds (here and there), workers change, and we have an irregular pattern of visitors.

The other night at dinner, our little girl pushed her plate away and began to cry. She said she wanted her friends (who are now in the United States). I gave her a few minutes to let her emotions out. I began to explain to her when she turns 5 she can see them (because that is roughly when we are scheduled for our furlough). She said she didn’t want to wait, she wanted her friends now and she was mad because they couldn’t be together. Thoughts began rolling in my head. Why does my child have to go through this God? Why can’t she have a “normal” life with constant routines, friends and patterns?

And just like that, God gently answered me by asking me a question: what makes your family any different from any other?

Umm, well, we are missionaries with lots of transitions???

But everyone experiences transitions – transitions throughout their whole life! We transition from an infant to a toddler, a toddler to a child, a child to a teen, and teen to an adult. Even as an adult we transition – transition from students into workers, transition into spouses, transition into parenthood, transition into grandparents. But more importantly, we transition throughout our lives as Christians.

I am not the same Christian I was when I first found Christ. I have grown and learned and made mistakes and repented. I have studied the Bible and am constantly finding new things about God. I struggle with new types of sins the older I get and begin a whole new type of transition where I relearn the words of God trying to find out how best to live my life. And I struggle. Boy do I struggle…with these transitions.

Perhaps I should stop lamenting about my daughter’s plight for un-changing permanence and instead find a way to better equip her for the many upcoming transitions she will face throughout her life.

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. Ecclesiastes 3:1-8"

Weather Flying Over the Jungle

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Life as a pilot here is seldom glamorous or easy. It is very challenging work demanding quick decisions at high stakes. It’s almost always hot - really, really hot. Except in dry season, then it’s just moderately hot. Fortunately during the dry season, we don’t have to deal with the weather as much, it’s just hazy - really, really hazy. Sometimes the visibility drops to less than a mile in nothing but haze. Because the Congo is both in the northern and southern hemispheres, one part is always in dry season and on the opposite side of the equator is rainy season.  Therefore we frequently have days where both seasons are encountered.

 We received a call on a Sunday regarding a man who was involved in an accident and needed to be evacuated to receive medical care. He was at one of the more remote strips, just at the outer edge of the range of our aircraft. A majority of the flight would be in dry season haze, but before I departed Kinshasa early Monday morning, satellite imagery had already indicated there were buildups and large storm systems billowing to the east of my destination. After a quick intermediate fuel stop, I continued northward. 347 miles to go. The closer I got to the equator, the more and more I could see the last hour of the trip would involve lots of twisting and turning to stay out of the clouds. Eventually, I could no longer avoid clouds and could only fly through. 80 Miles to go.

Not my picture, but it is what a trusty Cessna 206 looks like over vast jungle.

At first it wasn’t too bad, very light rain, and little turbulence; but I began to spend more time inside clouds than outside them and they began to get angry… the downdrafts became significant and the rain loudly pelted the windshield. Something needed to change.  As I left one particularly rough cloud, I caught a glimpse of a hole down and began a steep spiraling turn. This allowed for a maximum descent rate while keeping the speed in check and also kept me in the center of the hole so I could see. The bottom of the clouds was about 3,000 feet above the thick jungle canopy. 30 miles to go. I continued on underneath the clouds and I could now see the rain shafts, and deduce where the turbulence and wind was going to be. But again, the clouds continued to get darker and darker and lower and lower.10 miles to go. 

The clouds were higher to the west, the visibility was still decent, and I could see sunlight poking through and lighting up the trees, so I made a contingency plan to head towards that direction if things got to dicey on my current route and continued on. The bases of the clouds had forced me down to 500 feet above the trees, which I had set as my own personal minimum. Under no circumstances would I go any lower.  7 miles to go. I started seeing some dirt roads that looked familiar leading up to the airstrip but my heart sank as I came upon a huge rain shaft, about 10 miles in diameter centered where the tiny airstrip should have been.  Many times, rain is only an inconvenience; we typically can fly through it with little issue and still be able to see what we need to (as long as we are not in the clouds). But this was - excuse my southernism - a real “frog drowner.” Visibility would have been nil no matter what techniques I would have employed had I flown into it. I flew around the rain shaft to the north to see if I could sneak in on the back side but all I saw was a seemingly solid wall of rain. The other potential issue with rain shafts is sometimes they are caused by microbursts, or very strong and very large downdrafts of air- also something you don't want to fly into at all-much less when you are low over the jungle.

This is not my picture, as I was a bit to occupied to take one. However, this is a good example of what a small rainshaft looks like from the air.

I had plenty of fuel, so loitering in the vicinity to wait out the storm could have been an option. However, to the east (weather here flows east to west typically, not west to east like it does in the states) it just looked even darker, lower clouds and more rain as far as I could see. I had no choice but to turn around turn around and fly the 3 hours back empty. The injured person would have to wait another day. I radioed one of our other planes to let them know my plan and see if maybe they had any other suggestions. They affirmed my decision. I had to return to the only place that had fuel for the airplane within a 350 mile radius. I pointed the nose south west towards higher ceilings and better visibility and began plotting my way back. It was still difficult work; I had to fly nearly 30 miles out of the way to avoid the massive (and still growing) cumulonimbus clouds before I could turn back on course. As I flew further south, rain gave way to dry season and I found myself once again in calm haze.

I crossed the Kasai River and began my descent and soon thereafter landed (my bladder was sooooo happy), and spent the night in one of the villages MAF used to call home. The next morning was clear and calm and I took off with a re-fueled airplane. The weather this time was much different. The system had rained itself out overnight, leaving a high overcast layer keeping the earth below much cooler.  I landed with ease at Djolu, loaded the passengers, and was on my way back in no time. I apologized for not being able to retrieve them the previous day and they graciously understood and applauded my decision to turn back. It had begun to rain very hard about 45 minutes prior to my arrival the previous day and the rain didn’t let up until nearly 4 hours after I made the decision to head back - long after my fuel reserves would have been depleted.

After my return to Ndolo, our chief pilot congratulated me on a well-made decision, and setting an MAF Congo record for the most miles flown to get around weather (700 total). At this airstrip, and many many others, MAF is the ONLY operation to go there. This is just another reason we are here. 

Sometimes I Don't Like it Here

This is not a one way street. The cars to my left were impatient
to get out and took over the left hand side of the street.

When Kevin and I began our journey into ministry, we both felt led as individuals, but also felt told to go as a family. We were both interviewed separately, as well as together to determine if we both felt called to this path. We began training together, attending orientation and many other classes together. We did ministry partnership together and even did language school together. We have been on this journey together, every step of the way, each of us called on this path.

But from the moment we landed in Africa, our paths have split. Kevin goes into the hangar each day, working on what he was called to do, what we were called to do as a team. He repairs planes that take vaccines to villages, he flies doctors into remote places that have no names, he walks alongside other pastors as they go from village to village, and he talks to our national workers daily and is eagerly learning their cultures and languages (he can honestly greet you in over 5 languages now). But what do I do each day? What do I contribute to our “team”?

I have said over and over that our life is very much a roller coaster here – ups and downs, twists and loops, fast moments and slow moments. And sometimes I don’t like it here. I do not feel very valued here when I have my low days. It is hard to remind myself that God has personally called me here when street children bang on my car demanding I give them something; when a police officer pulls me over for having my “blinker on too long” and demands I give them all the money in my wallet; when I have to spend 20 minutes arguing with the person trying to cheat me out of my phone units when I know exactly how much each unit costs; when a vendor stands at my car window while waiting in traffic trying to get me to buy something I don’t need and tries to tell me I must give him money to eat when I buy nothing; when a bus cuts me off in traffic causing me to swerve into another lane and each person in the bus proceeds to stick their head out the window and point and laugh at me while I am now stuck behind them in traffic for 20 minutes and the driver continuously taunts me by sticking his hands out to point at me and clap; when someone only sees me as an easy means for money and not for my value; when I make my daughter scream while removing mango fly larva from under her skin. Yes, sometimes I absolutely do not like it here. It is hard. I do not get to see the things that Kevin sees daily. Where he is told how much he means to someone, where a man cries because Kevin gives him his first Bible written in French/Lingala, where a child’s life is saved because of an emergency medical flight my husband does, where people sing and clap with joy when the plane flies in, where an entire village receives a much needed measles vaccine during an outbreak, where crowds of people wait to talk to the pilot who makes the world different and better for them.

But some days are good days. Some days I make an impact on the hearts of people placed in my path. Some days I get to teach my house helper a new skill that she can use to make herself even more valuable to the expat community and better provide for her family. Some days my value towards our ministry goes beyond supporting my husband in his role, beyond ministry to my children, and goes towards our team mates. Sometimes my impact is supporting other spouses in their roles with physical, mental/emotional, and spiritual support. These are the days I cherish and I see where God has placed me in the paths of others to help them through their low days. So it is perfectly okay to throw in the towel at the end of the day and declare that you “don’t like it here” and confess your weaknesses. It is okay to have bad days. As long as in the end I still see God at work around me and I don’t limit what He does. It is on these days that I am reminded of my calling.

Nostalgia and Perspective

Our little boy started toddling a while ago. I loved to just sit and watch as he circled the couch with his hand gently using the back for balance. When he came to the corner, he would take three steps to the storage box we use as a coffee table. He would circle the box carefully with his hand on top until he reached the corner. Then, he would take the three addition steps by himself to reach the other corner of the couch. He enjoyed circling the couch and would often do it many times while giggling or babbling.

When baby boy was taking these steps around the couch one day when I realized the passing of time. One night your baby goes to bed and wakes up a toddler. One night your toddler goes to bed and wakes up a child. Soon that child grows into a teenager who is then eager for college. And then you stop and wonder when did they grow up? I now have a a little girl who is no longer a toddler and I now have a toddler who is no longer an infant.

It was during this moment that I noticed Maman Cele (my worker) who had walked into the room. I turned to her and sighed audibly. I told her I was sad that our baby boy would no longer be a baby. Maman Cele gave me a confused look and said, “Don’t be sad.” I assumed she did not understand me. I explained I was sad that my baby is growing up. Again, Maman Cele gave me a confused look and said, “Don’t be sad, rejoice.” I must have given her a look that said I was still confused because she continued, “Be happy your baby is alive. Each day he grows, he is alive.”

It was at that moment that I was ashamed. I live in a country where the mortality rate is astronomical – 1 in 7 children die before reaching the age of 5, and WHO estimates put the rate as high as 28% . It should be noticed that an official census of the population has not been taken of the country in a long time, thus the mortality percentage estimates are based on the numbers reported which means the mortality rate could be higher or lower based on an unknown total population.

Here before me stood a woman who has lost a child and who loves my child(ren) as fiercely as she loves one of her own. She was not sad that our baby boy would no longer be a baby but she was rejoicing that he is alive each and every day. That was a tough lesson for (nostalgic) me but I was definitely thankful for the new perspective she gave me. 

St. Nicholas Day

Every evening over the past few weeks little girl has told me "Santa is coming." And every time it caught me off guard. You see, our family has not talked about Santa before and our kids have never received gifts from him. So each time little girl said he was coming, I played it off by talking about how yes he did come in her Peppa Pig book or yes we did see a statue of him in the grocery store. But I have never encouraged her imagination. So imagine my surprise when I was proven wrong!

On Friday (December 4th), it was my turn for carpool and I picked the kids up from school. When I got to sweet pea's classroom, she bounded out of the room and squealed that Santa came and brought her presents. I looked at the teacher for more information but she was busy speaking to another parent. So I gathered all the kids up, got them to the car, buckled them in, passed out snacks, and started plying the kids with questions.

Me: So, you saw Santa today

Girls: YES!

Me: What do they call him in French. Père Noël? (Father Christmas)

Elijah: No, St. Nicholas (Ni-cola...like Ricola the cough drops but with an n)

Girls: Oui! St. Nicholas donné-moi des bonbons (he gave me candies)

Elijah: St. Nicholas was big! I even measured him! He was so big!

Ruth: Il donné des bonbons à mes amis. (He gave candies to my friends)

*The kids proceeded to correct one another on their pronunciation on St. Nicolas (NEE-cola vs. NI-cola...I couldn't tell the difference but they could). This followed by the kids pulling out their bag filled with small taffies and a package of Speculoos cookies and caressing it with much relish.

After talking to some of the other moms, one was able to talk to a Belgian friend to get more information. December 6th is St. Nicholas Day, a day where the patron saint (Catholic) is celebrated. He comes to town mid-November and travels to churches, schools, and businesses delivering treats to all, usually special cinnamon biscuits (Speculoos). On December 5th, there is a feast in his honor at all households where he could show up as an honored guest if he wanted. That night, children place their shoes by the chimney or in the foyer by the door along with hay and carrots for his horse and beer or coffee for him. During the night, St. Nicholas will go door to door with his assistant Père Fouettard (Black Peter) who will place chocolate letter candies or small toys in the shoes for all good children. For the naughty children, they will wake up to see a birch branch stick for which their parents are to punish them or if they are especially naughty, Black Peter (either a black man or a man with soot covering his face, interpretations vary) will place the child in the sack and send him to Spain! Sometimes when St. Nicholas is in a hurry, he will leave a bag of gifts on the door step and will knock on the door as he is leaving.

St. Nicholas and Black Peter
What? You were expecting something a bit different, weren't you? 
He wears a Bishop's rope and red cape with a miter 

After learning more about the holiday and knowing that our girlie goes to a Belgium school, I now realize that she had been studying him over the past few weeks, even learning cute songs which I mistook for regular nursery rhymes (I had to look them up after paying attention to the lyrics). So, we decided to celebrate the holiday by making cookies and setting out our shoes for candies. Since girlie is only 3 and actually saw the character I felt kind of bad saying he wasn't real when in fact, he was very much real to her, I didn't mind playing along this year. Especially since it emphasizes that "Santa" has nothing to do with Christmas which is a celebration for Christ. So we can keep our Advent countdown traditions, birthday party, and Christian songs separate.

Cookies for the feast

Making cookies

Making cookies

St. Nicholas came!!!

Photographs

As many of you know, my father died when I was only 4 years old. It was on this day, December 1st, 30 years ago (1985). While I do have a handful of memories of him, I do not have much more. I own 8 photographs of my father and me together. I have a few more of a combination of my mother and him, but not many. This is all I have and it is more than my younger brother. There is not a single photo of the two of them together.

When I found out that our baby was going to be a girl, I became obsessed with the idea of making certain that she had more than 8 photos of her with her father. It became a passion of mine, photograph after photograph after photograph. But one day I looked at all these photographs and realized something was missing - me. In my personal desire to give my daughter what I never had, I took away something from her, our photographs. I cannot go back into the past and add photos of us together but I can make new ones and plenty of memories to cherish forever.

(Source: Jocelyn Frey)

(Source: Jocelyn Frey)