We got an innocuous-looking piece of paper from HOPAC a couple of weeks ago that raised a topic we were hoping to avoid for several more months: the weighty matter of what we are doing next school year.
Besides "I plan to stay" and "I do not plan to return," there was also the wishy-washy option of "I am undecided," which we gratefully selected. Actually, because we were so overwhelmed by thinking about this decision, we uncharacteristically failed to hand in the paper on time but had to be hunted down for our answer.
That bought us some time, but we've got to give a firm answer by early January, which means that it is officially Decision Time. I personally feel like my mind is constantly spinning through this important question and so I'd really like it settled sooner rather than later. And our kids, too, need some clarity on what life will look like after June. Emily just had her last football match of the season and, even more than losing in the finals, she was upset because she didn't know if it was her final game in a HOPAC uniform or not.
In an effort to move things along, we had a family meeting this past week to gauge everyone's initial thoughts and reached unanimous consensus....we're all equally undecided on what to do. In some ways, this is a really good thing: we have managed to find joy here but we also really love it back in the U.S. It's the best of all worlds...except when you need to actually make a decision.
Leaving the U.S. to come here was a radical decision but it was an easy one. It was a very clear path and everything fell perfectly in place as we felt God's hand leading us in every step. However, it was also more of a leaving "for now" rather than "forever." We did feel like we'd be back in NJ sooner or later and so saying goodbye to loved ones felt easier. Although I have learned to never say "never," leaving Tanzania feels like it will be more of a "forever" leaving, and just imagining saying farewell to very dear friends already makes me sad. Overall, it feels like the longer we're here, the easier it gets. It seems a shame to leave just when I'm finally feeling conversant in the language and we are learning kids' names and beginning to really impact their lives.
But New Jersey is home, too, and we have a lot of good ministry opportunities awaiting us there, We love our school, church, and community there. Friends and family eagerly await our return. And it would be really great to have an easier daily life, good health care and a cooler climate.
On the advice of our friend Mike, we read a book called "Discovering God's Will," by Jerry Sittser, before we moved to Tanzania. The book debunks the misconception that many people have that God has one clear path for our lives. Rather, if we are prayerfully and faithfully pursuing God's will, any number of paths will be glorifying to Him. I do feel like this is the case here - neither one is "wrong" or "right."
There are so many pros and cons to both decisions that I won't bore you all. But please be in prayer that, whatever the decision, we feel at peace with God's leading and that we'll be equipped to carry out whatever tasks and challenges face us in the coming months.
Friday, November 28, 2014
Thursday, November 27, 2014
Thanks-giving
Right now, most of my U.S. family and friends are sleeping peacefully, dreaming of the turkey, pumpkin pie and fellowship that await them later today. I'm sitting here sweating profusely at 8 am with a day ahead of me that includes service-learning in the quarry, a trip to the market, and marking grade 11 journals. In other words, a normal day.
Due to a fluke in the school calendar last year, we had off from school both for Thanksgiving and the day after, and we also had U.S. family visiting, so even though our celebration was far from "traditional," (we went to the beach that morning), it still felt familiar. This year is really the first time there feels like there is a giant hole in my celebration calendar and I do feel homesick.
Thanksgiving is by far by favorite holiday. I love it all - the meal planning, food preparation, worship service, watching the Macy's parade on TV, the eating, fellowship, board games, the 4 1/2 day weekend, and even the leftovers. And we're planning to re-create some of those favorite traditions on Saturday with some of our HOPAC family. At last count I think we'll have a celebration with 29 of our U.S. friends!
However, as I sit here reflecting on all I miss about home, I'm reminded that the true purpose of this holiday is not all about the food and the family, but rather the action of actually giving thanks. And I can do that anywhere, anytime, and in any way. I don't need pumpkin pie to do this.
We've got a lot to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. Among the many things, 4 stand out:
* Health - particularly Josh's recovery from an appendectomy. Continued protection from malaria, dengue, and serious injury.
* Home - we're in this beautiful home for another year. I am thankful for it every day.
* Community - we've got an amazing community here and also back home. We are so thankful for the love, support and prayers we receive!
* School/work - we feel very thankful to be a part of this amazing international school called HOPAC. There are so many great things that we get to experience.
Wherever you are, have a wonderful Thanksgiving! And don't forget to really give thanks.
Due to a fluke in the school calendar last year, we had off from school both for Thanksgiving and the day after, and we also had U.S. family visiting, so even though our celebration was far from "traditional," (we went to the beach that morning), it still felt familiar. This year is really the first time there feels like there is a giant hole in my celebration calendar and I do feel homesick.
Thanksgiving is by far by favorite holiday. I love it all - the meal planning, food preparation, worship service, watching the Macy's parade on TV, the eating, fellowship, board games, the 4 1/2 day weekend, and even the leftovers. And we're planning to re-create some of those favorite traditions on Saturday with some of our HOPAC family. At last count I think we'll have a celebration with 29 of our U.S. friends!
However, as I sit here reflecting on all I miss about home, I'm reminded that the true purpose of this holiday is not all about the food and the family, but rather the action of actually giving thanks. And I can do that anywhere, anytime, and in any way. I don't need pumpkin pie to do this.
We've got a lot to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. Among the many things, 4 stand out:
* Health - particularly Josh's recovery from an appendectomy. Continued protection from malaria, dengue, and serious injury.
* Home - we're in this beautiful home for another year. I am thankful for it every day.
* Community - we've got an amazing community here and also back home. We are so thankful for the love, support and prayers we receive!
* School/work - we feel very thankful to be a part of this amazing international school called HOPAC. There are so many great things that we get to experience.
Wherever you are, have a wonderful Thanksgiving! And don't forget to really give thanks.
Friday, November 21, 2014
African Appendectomy Adventure!
last Friday, we had no idea that we were about to enter 4 days of craziness. Josh had woken up that morning with significant pain in his lower right side, which had come out of nowhere. Being the kind and compassionate mother that I am, I told him in no uncertain terms that his class was leading assembly and he was going to school, period. But we were worried enough to start Googling his symptoms and had a working theory that this might be appendicitis although we convinced ourselves that we were overreacting.
I took one look at him after school and knew that things were serious. He couldn't even walk upright and was clutching his side in pain as he walked. Every bump in the road that we drove over (and there are many bumps here) caused him to wince and cry out in pain. Once I got him home, I saw that he was also running a fever. As soon as Tim got home from coaching football, he took him to the local clinic.
Josh has had a rough couple of weeks and has been to this clinic not once but twice for X-rays on both hands (no fingers broken, just badly sprained). While they were sitting in the waiting room this time, the doctor that had treated Josh in the past remembered him and greeted him on his way out the door for the night, asking how his finger was. Tim explained that, although the finger was healing, we now suspected appendicitis. This doctor immediately dropped his things and ushered Josh into a room to examine him. An exam and an ultrasound confirmed that he had appendicitis, and the doctor recommended going downtown to the hospital immediately. (Side note: this doctor even came downtown to check in on Josh several days later - I was so impressed with him!)
Thus began a flurry of calls to our insurance and to friends with medical backgrounds. The number one worry on all our minds was, Is the care here in Dar acceptable? And if not, where should we go and how should we get there? This to me was the worst one hour period of the experience. Tim was with Josh and I was with Charlotte. Trying not to panic while sorting through options and getting childcare settled was extremely stressful. I'm very thankful to Amy and Lauren for being clearheaded thinkers and keeping me (mostly) grounded. Once Tim and I were together again, I felt much better. This whole experience has confirmed to me that we are a really good team and much stronger together than apart.
Pretty much from the start, Tim and I felt very uncomfortable taking Josh anywhere outside of Dar. We believed that time was of the essence and there were just too many unknowns with flying him to Nairobi (not the least of which was that it was Friday night and even getting to the airport could have been a multi-hour process). When our doctor friend said that Aga Khan was very experienced at appendectomies, we felt a lot of peace with the decision. In fact, it turns out that another appendectomy had been done earlier that afternoon! Even this hospital, although probably less than 10 miles away, felt really far away from home. Traffic is unbelievable, and our multiple visits to and from the hospital involved a traffic ticket, dangerous debris in the road, crazy drivers, a near-overheating of the car, and an attempted extortion of money to park in the free hospital parking lot.
The next 3 hours in the ER were a blur. More testing was done, including a CT scan, bloodwork was completed and an IV tube was inserted into Josh's hand (which was extremely painful. I'm sad to say he inherited my deep veins so it took them two tries). Just before 11 pm, he was wheeled up for surgery. We were hoping that we could stay with Josh until he was put under anesthesia, but unfortunately we had to wait outside. And by outside, I mean actually outside in the open air. I spent a lot of that time quietly freaking out that we were probably getting bitten by malaria-infected mosquitoes.
Although we were promised that the surgery was very fast, between 15-30 minutes with some recovery time, that was not the case. I had mentally given myself an hour and 15 minutes before allowing myself to panic and unfortunately we passed that threshold. Fortunately, I really felt a sense of peace and calmness and I know it was due to the hundreds of prayers being offered up around the world on his behalf. We were so thankful for our friend Marc, who posted Facebook updates on our behalf since we did not have a working smartphone.
It turned out that Josh's appendix was actually tucked away differently than most peoples' and so it took longer and required a bigger incision. It also turned out that the cecum, which is the adjacent part of the large intestine, (which I only learned after looking this up) was also badly infected and so Josh was put on strong antibiotics.
Finally, the surgeon emerged to say that all went well. He then showed us the appendix in his surgical tray, looking like a curved swollen pinky finger or little hot dog. It was "fresh," meaning "covered with blood" and I really did not need to see that at all!
We then waited a long time for the nurse to wheel him into his room. We were literally in the middle of the OR corridor (or as they say here, the "operating theatre") and the surgeons were getting antsy because another emergency surgery was about to happen.
In this hospital, the 2nd floor houses both pediatrics and chemotherapy patients (which I find to be an interesting combination). Therefore, Josh's roommate the first night was an adult cancer patient. Hooked up to chemo drugs, she was in evident pain and crying out in Swahili most of the night. There was only one chair in the room and so I tried to sleep on Josh's bed with him. It was a surreal, out of body type of experience. At around 3:30 in the morning, Tim left to get stuff from home and returned around 7. I went home around 1 pm and decided to spend the night at home with the girls (which turned out to be a really good decision, because multi-night sleepovers are difficult for everyone).
Josh was in pretty bad spirits that whole day. He was in pain, but unfortunately the pain relief in this hospital involved a morphine shot in the posterior. He was nauseous from the anesthesia, couldn't get comfortable and wasn't interested in doing anything. It was a long day for Tim, made longer by the fact that a stranger entered his room and tried to extort money from them...so Tim felt uncomfortable leaving Josh alone for any length of time, including getting himself food. Thankfully we were moved to a private room which had AC (albeit frigid AC), and a little couch for us to sleep on. We also got a final viewing of the appendix (now housed in a specimen jar).
I took the girls and Josh's iPod the next morning, both of which cheered him immensely. He also got a visit from his buddy Carson in the afternoon. The hospital wouldn't allow kids under age 12 (except siblings) in the room and so Josh had to walk out to visit with them. That tired him out so much that he slept for 2 hours afterwards and also started running a fever.
Although I was very impressed with the surgeons, the nurses were pretty hit-or-miss. Some were good, some spoke excellent English, most did not. I was really thankful for my Swahili lessons when I had to ask for his temperature to be taken. After about the first 12 hours, they stopped checking his vital signs, which was a bit unsettling. This hospital had excellent technology in some respects (CT scan), but they didn't even own a digital thermometer! Therefore, Josh had to hold the old-school variety under his armpit...then they'd forget about him so it would be in there for 10 minutes...then it would be in Celsius so I didn't know what it meant, anyway. But thankfully he only had one fever that came down with Paracetemol (aka Tylenol).
I was also thankful for my Swahili lessons because it has helped me to understand Swahili-accented English so much better. I often acted as an English-English translator between medical personnel and Josh!
The hospital had a little snack shop and restaurant which had pretty decent, reasonably-priced things (including the most Western-style coffee I've seen in Dar). Unfortunately, they did not serve food on Sunday (although this information was never posted anywhere) and so I was pretty hungry. Thankfully our friend Mark brought some things that evening.
Josh was not allowed to have any real food for the majority of his stay. He was offered broth, gruel, and black tea with sugar. Unfortunately, he didn't like either the gruel or the tea. The repeated rejections of the tea (Tanzania's national drink) greatly upset all the medical personnel. They said multiple times that drinking tea is necessary for the healing process (which I doubt is backed up by scientific evidence, but I forced Josh to take a few sips anyway).
As with hospitals in America, next steps are usually unclear. A lot of time is spent waiting around and then, BOOM! you're discharged.
The total cost for everything was $3.3 million Tanzanian shillings, which sounds like a big number but is right around $2,000 USD. Unfortunately, our medical policy has a $2,500 USD deductible so we're probably out of pocket for the whole thing. But we are grateful that medical care is so inexpensive here. I am wondering what an equivalent U.S. surgery would run - tens of thousands of dollars? It was also amusing that we got a 3 page itemized bill, listing every single item used during our stay, including such things as "surgical blade size 10, 493.75 Tsh" and "Syringe 2 cc, 2@ 129.99 Tsh" (the total cost for those 3 items is less than 50 cents U.S.).
Overall, I feel everything went about a smoothly as an emergency appendectomy in a Third World country can go. So many people here supported us with childcare, meals, visits, transportation and prayers, and we really felt the outpouring of love from around the world. Thank you, one and all, for the part you played in our African Appendectomy Adventure!
I took one look at him after school and knew that things were serious. He couldn't even walk upright and was clutching his side in pain as he walked. Every bump in the road that we drove over (and there are many bumps here) caused him to wince and cry out in pain. Once I got him home, I saw that he was also running a fever. As soon as Tim got home from coaching football, he took him to the local clinic.
Josh has had a rough couple of weeks and has been to this clinic not once but twice for X-rays on both hands (no fingers broken, just badly sprained). While they were sitting in the waiting room this time, the doctor that had treated Josh in the past remembered him and greeted him on his way out the door for the night, asking how his finger was. Tim explained that, although the finger was healing, we now suspected appendicitis. This doctor immediately dropped his things and ushered Josh into a room to examine him. An exam and an ultrasound confirmed that he had appendicitis, and the doctor recommended going downtown to the hospital immediately. (Side note: this doctor even came downtown to check in on Josh several days later - I was so impressed with him!)
Thus began a flurry of calls to our insurance and to friends with medical backgrounds. The number one worry on all our minds was, Is the care here in Dar acceptable? And if not, where should we go and how should we get there? This to me was the worst one hour period of the experience. Tim was with Josh and I was with Charlotte. Trying not to panic while sorting through options and getting childcare settled was extremely stressful. I'm very thankful to Amy and Lauren for being clearheaded thinkers and keeping me (mostly) grounded. Once Tim and I were together again, I felt much better. This whole experience has confirmed to me that we are a really good team and much stronger together than apart.
Pretty much from the start, Tim and I felt very uncomfortable taking Josh anywhere outside of Dar. We believed that time was of the essence and there were just too many unknowns with flying him to Nairobi (not the least of which was that it was Friday night and even getting to the airport could have been a multi-hour process). When our doctor friend said that Aga Khan was very experienced at appendectomies, we felt a lot of peace with the decision. In fact, it turns out that another appendectomy had been done earlier that afternoon! Even this hospital, although probably less than 10 miles away, felt really far away from home. Traffic is unbelievable, and our multiple visits to and from the hospital involved a traffic ticket, dangerous debris in the road, crazy drivers, a near-overheating of the car, and an attempted extortion of money to park in the free hospital parking lot.
The next 3 hours in the ER were a blur. More testing was done, including a CT scan, bloodwork was completed and an IV tube was inserted into Josh's hand (which was extremely painful. I'm sad to say he inherited my deep veins so it took them two tries). Just before 11 pm, he was wheeled up for surgery. We were hoping that we could stay with Josh until he was put under anesthesia, but unfortunately we had to wait outside. And by outside, I mean actually outside in the open air. I spent a lot of that time quietly freaking out that we were probably getting bitten by malaria-infected mosquitoes.
Although we were promised that the surgery was very fast, between 15-30 minutes with some recovery time, that was not the case. I had mentally given myself an hour and 15 minutes before allowing myself to panic and unfortunately we passed that threshold. Fortunately, I really felt a sense of peace and calmness and I know it was due to the hundreds of prayers being offered up around the world on his behalf. We were so thankful for our friend Marc, who posted Facebook updates on our behalf since we did not have a working smartphone.
It turned out that Josh's appendix was actually tucked away differently than most peoples' and so it took longer and required a bigger incision. It also turned out that the cecum, which is the adjacent part of the large intestine, (which I only learned after looking this up) was also badly infected and so Josh was put on strong antibiotics.
Finally, the surgeon emerged to say that all went well. He then showed us the appendix in his surgical tray, looking like a curved swollen pinky finger or little hot dog. It was "fresh," meaning "covered with blood" and I really did not need to see that at all!
We then waited a long time for the nurse to wheel him into his room. We were literally in the middle of the OR corridor (or as they say here, the "operating theatre") and the surgeons were getting antsy because another emergency surgery was about to happen.
In this hospital, the 2nd floor houses both pediatrics and chemotherapy patients (which I find to be an interesting combination). Therefore, Josh's roommate the first night was an adult cancer patient. Hooked up to chemo drugs, she was in evident pain and crying out in Swahili most of the night. There was only one chair in the room and so I tried to sleep on Josh's bed with him. It was a surreal, out of body type of experience. At around 3:30 in the morning, Tim left to get stuff from home and returned around 7. I went home around 1 pm and decided to spend the night at home with the girls (which turned out to be a really good decision, because multi-night sleepovers are difficult for everyone).
Josh was in pretty bad spirits that whole day. He was in pain, but unfortunately the pain relief in this hospital involved a morphine shot in the posterior. He was nauseous from the anesthesia, couldn't get comfortable and wasn't interested in doing anything. It was a long day for Tim, made longer by the fact that a stranger entered his room and tried to extort money from them...so Tim felt uncomfortable leaving Josh alone for any length of time, including getting himself food. Thankfully we were moved to a private room which had AC (albeit frigid AC), and a little couch for us to sleep on. We also got a final viewing of the appendix (now housed in a specimen jar).
I took the girls and Josh's iPod the next morning, both of which cheered him immensely. He also got a visit from his buddy Carson in the afternoon. The hospital wouldn't allow kids under age 12 (except siblings) in the room and so Josh had to walk out to visit with them. That tired him out so much that he slept for 2 hours afterwards and also started running a fever.
Although I was very impressed with the surgeons, the nurses were pretty hit-or-miss. Some were good, some spoke excellent English, most did not. I was really thankful for my Swahili lessons when I had to ask for his temperature to be taken. After about the first 12 hours, they stopped checking his vital signs, which was a bit unsettling. This hospital had excellent technology in some respects (CT scan), but they didn't even own a digital thermometer! Therefore, Josh had to hold the old-school variety under his armpit...then they'd forget about him so it would be in there for 10 minutes...then it would be in Celsius so I didn't know what it meant, anyway. But thankfully he only had one fever that came down with Paracetemol (aka Tylenol).
I was also thankful for my Swahili lessons because it has helped me to understand Swahili-accented English so much better. I often acted as an English-English translator between medical personnel and Josh!
The hospital had a little snack shop and restaurant which had pretty decent, reasonably-priced things (including the most Western-style coffee I've seen in Dar). Unfortunately, they did not serve food on Sunday (although this information was never posted anywhere) and so I was pretty hungry. Thankfully our friend Mark brought some things that evening.
Josh was not allowed to have any real food for the majority of his stay. He was offered broth, gruel, and black tea with sugar. Unfortunately, he didn't like either the gruel or the tea. The repeated rejections of the tea (Tanzania's national drink) greatly upset all the medical personnel. They said multiple times that drinking tea is necessary for the healing process (which I doubt is backed up by scientific evidence, but I forced Josh to take a few sips anyway).
As with hospitals in America, next steps are usually unclear. A lot of time is spent waiting around and then, BOOM! you're discharged.
The total cost for everything was $3.3 million Tanzanian shillings, which sounds like a big number but is right around $2,000 USD. Unfortunately, our medical policy has a $2,500 USD deductible so we're probably out of pocket for the whole thing. But we are grateful that medical care is so inexpensive here. I am wondering what an equivalent U.S. surgery would run - tens of thousands of dollars? It was also amusing that we got a 3 page itemized bill, listing every single item used during our stay, including such things as "surgical blade size 10, 493.75 Tsh" and "Syringe 2 cc, 2@ 129.99 Tsh" (the total cost for those 3 items is less than 50 cents U.S.).
Overall, I feel everything went about a smoothly as an emergency appendectomy in a Third World country can go. So many people here supported us with childcare, meals, visits, transportation and prayers, and we really felt the outpouring of love from around the world. Thank you, one and all, for the part you played in our African Appendectomy Adventure!
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Thrive
Last week, I had the privilege of attending a Thrive conference (www.thriveministry.org) right here in Dar es Salaam.
Thrive's mission statement reads: "Our mission is to encourage and empower Global Women to thrive and to be their advocate." They further explain: "There is tremendous energy and momentum to get workers on the field but a lack of intentional effort to provide spiritual, physical and emotional support once serving overseas."
For 4 days and 3 nights, myself and about 50 missionary women from all over East Africa were pampered with an air-conditioned hotel, pedicures, haircuts, and special treats from the U.S. There was also an amazing speaker, fabulous worship time, and lots of time to reconnect with God. It was incredible to meet people for the first time, but already "know" them through many of our shared experiences in living in Africa (the culture shock, the language barriers, the problems with electricity/water/police stops/roads/health issues).
The theme song of this ministry, which we sang several times over the length of the conference, was by Casting Crowns. The lyrics go: "It's time for us to more than just survive. We were made to thrive."
Despite this amazing conference, I realized that a lot of the time, I'm not thriving. I'm just surviving.
This has been a really hard week for me. We've had significant power outages every day this week, our refrigerator is still not working fully (even when the electricity is operational), Josh injured himself twice (once requiring a visit to a clinic for X-rays). It's getting hot. Really hot. The A/C in our car doesn't work. We had a flat tire. Despite my best efforts, it feels like we've got 10,000 mosquitoes in our house. I'm sick and tired of "African time." We have had no city water for over 2 days now (thankfully we have a large backup tank).
There's the usual stress of trying to learn Swahili, do my part-time job and parent 3 kids in sports with late games and the need for homework help every night. And then there is the added stress of hosting a Halloween party for 40+ people and preparing costumes for next week's Pamoja week (like Spirit Week) - both of which are challenging in the U.S., but here require Herculean efforts. Everything - even making a "simple" meal - takes time, patience and an extraordinary amount of energy. Some days it is just too much.
Can I thrive here? Can I do more than just survive?
It certainly seems like many people here are thriving. I'm definitely thriving more than last year, as there's certainly a learning curve to living here. But there were people at the conference who have faced so many more obstacles than I on the mission field (armed home robberies, significant bouts with malaria/dengue, carjackings) and yet are staying, happily. They are thriving. It's very humbling to hear their stories. In many ways, I felt like a fraud at this conference...I'm still a "short-termer" and I don't live in a village. I've been blessed with good health, good financial support, an amazing house, a great school for my kids, a community of English-speaking Christians, and good security. And despite all this, it's still really hard for me to thrive here.
To thrive certainly doesn't mean a lack of hardships, but rather how one responds to them. I think it's expressed in the other lyrics of the song Thrive: "Joy unspeakable. Faith unsinkable. Love unstoppable, Anything is possible!" Anything...even my thriving in Africa.
Thrive's mission statement reads: "Our mission is to encourage and empower Global Women to thrive and to be their advocate." They further explain: "There is tremendous energy and momentum to get workers on the field but a lack of intentional effort to provide spiritual, physical and emotional support once serving overseas."
For 4 days and 3 nights, myself and about 50 missionary women from all over East Africa were pampered with an air-conditioned hotel, pedicures, haircuts, and special treats from the U.S. There was also an amazing speaker, fabulous worship time, and lots of time to reconnect with God. It was incredible to meet people for the first time, but already "know" them through many of our shared experiences in living in Africa (the culture shock, the language barriers, the problems with electricity/water/police stops/roads/health issues).
The theme song of this ministry, which we sang several times over the length of the conference, was by Casting Crowns. The lyrics go: "It's time for us to more than just survive. We were made to thrive."
Despite this amazing conference, I realized that a lot of the time, I'm not thriving. I'm just surviving.
This has been a really hard week for me. We've had significant power outages every day this week, our refrigerator is still not working fully (even when the electricity is operational), Josh injured himself twice (once requiring a visit to a clinic for X-rays). It's getting hot. Really hot. The A/C in our car doesn't work. We had a flat tire. Despite my best efforts, it feels like we've got 10,000 mosquitoes in our house. I'm sick and tired of "African time." We have had no city water for over 2 days now (thankfully we have a large backup tank).
There's the usual stress of trying to learn Swahili, do my part-time job and parent 3 kids in sports with late games and the need for homework help every night. And then there is the added stress of hosting a Halloween party for 40+ people and preparing costumes for next week's Pamoja week (like Spirit Week) - both of which are challenging in the U.S., but here require Herculean efforts. Everything - even making a "simple" meal - takes time, patience and an extraordinary amount of energy. Some days it is just too much.
Can I thrive here? Can I do more than just survive?
It certainly seems like many people here are thriving. I'm definitely thriving more than last year, as there's certainly a learning curve to living here. But there were people at the conference who have faced so many more obstacles than I on the mission field (armed home robberies, significant bouts with malaria/dengue, carjackings) and yet are staying, happily. They are thriving. It's very humbling to hear their stories. In many ways, I felt like a fraud at this conference...I'm still a "short-termer" and I don't live in a village. I've been blessed with good health, good financial support, an amazing house, a great school for my kids, a community of English-speaking Christians, and good security. And despite all this, it's still really hard for me to thrive here.
To thrive certainly doesn't mean a lack of hardships, but rather how one responds to them. I think it's expressed in the other lyrics of the song Thrive: "Joy unspeakable. Faith unsinkable. Love unstoppable, Anything is possible!" Anything...even my thriving in Africa.
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