What has become of our world?

The team brought a few boxes of Cracker Jacks and I swiped one this morning to have with my morning tea (I was going to share it with my coworkers . . . but I didn’t!).  I’m disappointed in the “surprise inside”!  The jokes didn’t even make me laugh.  Here, you try:

Q–Why do sharks only swim in salt water?

A–Because pepper water makes them sneeze!

See?!

On another note . . .

yesterday Derek and I went with a couple of coworkers out to Kolfe to take photos of the beneficiaries there.  Kolfe has such a a different feel than Lideta, which is in the heart of Addis.  Kolfe is dusty, rocky, quiet–it feels very rural.  I wanted to take all the kids home and give them a good scrub . . . but then as they ran through the rough roads they’d just get all dirty again.  I was struck again by the weight of poverty as a woman wept over not having enough food and support to live on.  At the same time, I was again amazed at the ability of the human soul to have joy in the midst of what (in my eyes) is abject misery.  The kids laughed and jostled for a look at the camera screen–and then they shouted in glee as they saw themselves and their friends.  The mothers smiled and said, “Do you see how my child has grown?!” 

After all the families left, I sat on the dirty church step in the soft dimming light and just soaked in the quietness of the community.  Past the corrugated tin fence, I could see green tree tops and hills rising into the mountains.  Oh my soul, lift your eyes to the mountains, and be reminded of the One who is your Help!

paradox (and sheep wat)

The paradox of life happens every day, but I don’t always notice it.  Tonight, I was laughing with friends and team members over Balderdash (and fond Bomgaars house memories), weird dreams, and Monty Python.  Just a few minutes later, I walked into my house and the pungent smell of simmering sheep wat filled my head.
This is my life, has been my life for nearly two years.  In less than three weeks, this reality will be replaced by a far different one that will at the same time be strange and familiar.  I don’t know how to prepare for that kind of transition.  I don’t like sheep wat, but I’m not sure how to live without its presence in my life.
But somehow over the next days I must say goodbye—to minibuses and honking traffic, to dodging donkeys and goats and Isuzu trucks, to being yelled at on the street and being greeted with warm hugs and kisses, to injera and sweet macchiatos, to my friends, my staff, and the project beneficiaries.  It’s an impossible task, and I’m not sure I have the strength to do it well.
Yet as I struggle through the pain of goodbyes, I have been given great joy.  Yesterday at the project office we had a clinic day with the Baltimore team.  Through the course of the day, the four random kids who are all inexpressibly precious to me came by.  I got to hold Deborah in my arms, and we swayed in the crisp morning sunshine.  Abel called for me, holding tightly to my hand as we slowly walked to the candy bag.  Fozia came and smiled her charming toothless smile as she waited on the steps.  Alemayehu brought his young-teenager attitude that covered over his little-boy heart; he let me hug him and put eye drops in; and in the sparkle of his dark eyes I was filled up to overflowing.
So tonight I’m peaceful.  I’m sad about the goodbyes, but I’m glad for the joy I have.
I’m going to smell like sheep wat in the morning.

I’m going to post again . . .

Someday.
There’s a lot in life I wish to do Someday; I only hope I remember to live on the days I’m still waiting for Someday.
Life has been incredibly busy and very draining the past weeks.  It seems as though my mind is constantly wrestling with TB, or grad school, or suffering, or health insurance, or HIV training courses, or buying a car, or sick beneficiaries . . . my heart is struggling to be in this world, to know how to leave this one for that one, and to do it all while living today and hoping for Someday to come soon.  I’m not doing it well and feel more often than not that I’m just going to fall to pieces.  My world is not changing little bits at a time; no, my life, my home, my place—everything is going to be uprooted and then I will have the painful process of finding fresh dirt to plant in again.  Sometimes I can’t wait to get on that plane and head back across the ocean; other times, though, I can’t fathom leaving and I beg for these last 26 days to last a lifetime.  This is my life, and I am leaving it.  I don’t doubt there are good things ahead of me, and I’m looking forward to so many sweet things about life over there—but the future doesn’t take away the sorrow of what is now.  And now I need to learn how to say goodbye, so long, I love you.
Someday, oh, Someday, there will be wholeness. There will no more leaving, no more wrenching of hearts, no more fear over the unknowns, no more tears to be wiped away by soft white nettellas.
Someday.