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)

Happy 1st Birthday

Last Wednesday (11-11) was our little boy's first birthday and I am a little late posting photos! As a family we decided to keep the day low key - just us and little man. We lavished him with attention and little snacks. Since he has been a late comer to food, we decided to forego the traditional cake and just stick to baby puffs that a friend brought back with them from the United States. Here are a few photos of his special day.

Showing off the amazing shirt Aunt B made

Enjoying his little car and book from the grandparents

Love those baby blues and strawberry blonde hair!

Sister "reading" to baby Brother

Our handsome little boy

Med Evac Flights

Kevin talking to Rita Chapman about the situation
(Photo courtesy of Mark & Kelly Hewes, used with permission)

Last week, Kevin was able to do a Med Evac flight. It was for a 12-year-old girl (Masha) who had developed an infection on her left shin (tibia). Back in February, she noticed her leg had started to swell. Her family did what they could by treating her with indigenous medicine. Unfortunately, the medicines could not help the infection, which made it appear worse than before.  So her family took her to the local hospital in Kikongo. The hospital was now afraid to do anything because they feared the infection had spread into the bone. She was in a lot of pain and was no longer able to walk. The hospital in Kikongo was not able to do much for the young girl, so a local missionary family (the Chapmans) arranged for MAF to do a flight to bring the girl out.

Masha (in red) waiting to board the airplane
(Photo courtesy of Mark & Kelly Hewes, used with permission)

Kevin flew the young girl and her mother out to the missionary hospital in Vanga where they were able to take X-rays of her leg (x-rays in the bush of Africa, how cool is that!). The x-rays confirmed that the infection had indeed spread throughout the entire bone, which was now also broken in multiple places as a result of the weakness from the infection. She was now at a high risk for losing her leg. The local missionary, Dr. Tim Rice, said they would try to do surgery this week on her leg to see if it can be saved.

Dr. Rice praying with Masha
(Photo courtesy of Mark & Kelly Hewes, used with permission)

Then two days later, MAF received another call for a 15 year old boy named Plamedie with another open ulcer on his leg. He had been living with an open sore on his leg for 3 years, but had been reasonably well looked after and wasn’t as serious as the little girl. He still required medical attention, so Kevin flew him and his father out to Vanga as well. Dr. Rice informed Plamedie that his x-rays looked good and that he expected him to make a full recovery without surgery.

Plamedie looking at his x-rays
(Photo courtesy of Mark & Kelly Hewes, used with permission)

Please pray for these young children who risked losing their legs to infections that could have possibly been treated with over the counter products found in a local pharmacy, but are not available to those living in remote villages. I will post updates when we find out more information about Masha's situation and Plamedie's recovery. 

***Update 8 November 2015***
Plamedie is in his home village recovering quite well.
Masha's surgery went well but she is still at a risk of losing her leg. Prospects are looking better for her but she is not out of the woods yet. 

Motherhood Moments #16

Sometimes motherhood looks like this...

A morning filled with birthday party fun! I am grateful for the days of normalcy and I cherish the memories made with our friends here.