two :: If it Wasn't for the Taxis

None of the taxis I took today dropped me off at the right location. One of them misunderstood me and then we were locked in by one way streets so he couldn't rectify the mistake. Another jumped out of his car at a spotlight to inspect what was in fact a very flat tire. So, then we had to get out and transfer to a new one, the fare starting over again of course. The third guy decided it wasn't convenient to go all the way in to the grocery store I was trying to reach, so we were dumped out on the side of a busy road with the big red letters of our destination at least perceivable from our distance.

Then I came home and our camera cord was (and is) missing. I'm pretty sure the fault lies somewhere within the span of a plump little 18 month old hand, but I can't prove it and so she remains innocent until proven otherwise. I'm really wishing I could interrogate her though... find out which garbage dump to dig through or which hidden crevice of separated floor boards to press my nose against. It's just plain annoying to lose stuff like that.

After an spending half the day running around (when I had planned to be riding pretty, taxi-style) and getting errands done (the shoes I returned and exchanged for smaller sizes STILL didn't fit when we got home), I am kind of worn out. Trying to pour out thanksgiving right now just sounds exhausting. I did think quite a bit about it today though. It has certainly helped me to start lifting my gaze again and not dwell on all the kind of things I just spent my opening lines dwelling on. I can be sort of a hypocrite.

The best part of this whole day was the morning. The sun rose glorious. It was like all that rain and nasty blowing yesterday just wiped the earth clean and sparkled the glassy skies so we could behold their color. The light just bounced and played off of every conceivable surface, soaring back up to the source where it came from and taking my spirit right along with it. Why are we so incredibly affected by the weather? Really, all our aesthetic surroundings have a profound affect on us, but it is the weather we so often talk of and draw attention to. We even use words like "oppressive" to describe heat or "refreshing" to speak of a warm summer rain. I know it didn't have to happen and sometimes we have to endure weeks on end of miserable weather, but oh how grateful I was for that sunrise today.

Also:

• A morning run along the ocean, waters glistening and sparkling like a thousand diamonds blanketing the rocking sea. 
• The recalling of a favorite passage in an old book, and the comfort it brought as I wrestled with thoughts of why He gives to some and not to others and how to be thankful for what is given to me.
• The sweet idea that played in my head of how I answer the peppery, probing questions of my son and how much God must be like that... giving part but not the whole picture because I just can't wrap my head around it yet. And so those things that seem hard to understand about him, I can be okay with not fully knowing.
• A hot water heater that started working again.
• The joy of learning to knit, of using my hands to make something that will last, and the pleasure of overcoming challenges and feeling like I'm learning something even when it's hard. 
• fresh vegetables that don't cost a fortune, soy milk and mango smoothies... and carrot muffins in the morning.

one :: Maine and Rain and Ears in Pain

Of course today was a good day to come down with an ear infection. He must have known it somehow, perhaps creeping into the living room last night and turning on the computer, scrolling through my high aspirations and deciding to take a swing at them, see how long it would take to make me crack. I didn't crack though, and I think I could end my list right there and it would be enough. But there were other things, and maybe they too would like a few moments to share their story. They may be small, but here I offer them as something for which I was thankful.
1. I couldn't believe it was light already, having been up several times through the night with a sniffling sore throat and a desperate cry to "blow my doooose!!" But the light is creeping in earlier and earlier these days, one of the only signs of spring in these parts it seems,  besides the milky white buds I saw huddling bravely today against the stormy rain. Yes, it was also a rainy day. The light came regardless, and there was gas to heat my shiny red kettle of hot water and there was enough fresh grounds to heap in the bottom of my gifted french press and there was thanksgiving. There were also two who slept on, in spite of one who woke early. But the two who slept are the neediest when awake and so we, the early two, sat on the couch and sipped steaminess and read. And I was thankful.
2. After the rest had crept out and toast had been made, and made again, and made some more, we huddled on the couch together again. I wondered why I was letting them rain crumbs on my furniture but felt happy to because Daddy is gone this week and it's nice to do something different. Sometime eating toast on the couch can be so different it even feels special. We sat there and read One Morning in Maine, which seemed far away from my Morning in Rain but was sweet because Sal's tooth is loose and so is my boy's and there are lots of trees and gulls, and mussels and boats, and I could almost smell the sweet, cool air of the upper East Coast. But mostly it was that they were all sitting there with me, quietly drinking it in and playing with each others hands, which is not something that happens very often, if ever-- at least with all three at once. And so I was thankful.
3. The peaceful couch moment ended and the screeching, writhing ear pain wrestling began, and continued for a couple hours until he finally fell asleep in a heap on my bed. I don't think the boy has ever had an ear infection (at least that I have known of) in his life, bless his heart, and I knew from his wails that something must be up. But medical care here is not always the most wonderful thing and I have somehow avoided taking any trips to the clinic since moving here three years ago. I resolved however, to go as soon as our Ayi arrived, and then he fell asleep right before she walked in the door, so instead I took the other two out for a walk and a romp, telling her to call me in as soon as he woke up. 
Because of that, I happened to be outside when my next door neighbor headed out and told me she was off to the Korean Clinic for her son as well. I had been planning to go to the International Clinic but when she told me this place was far more thorough, and that the International one had no device to check the inner ear, I gratefully thanked her for offering to book me an appointment as soon as she arrived. A short two hours later, walking out with a bag of antibiotics, and a brightened (though clearly infected) little boy, I was struck by his question of whether poor people look the way they do because they don't have money to go to the doctor, or the dentist. I was thankful, but felt how meager it was.
4. Later a friend dropped by for tea and we talked about books and South Africa and child development. It was nice and companionable and somehow made me feel less alone through what can be the most difficult part of the day for me, especially when Josh is away. Sometimes when you are trying too hard to really talk, instead of just be, when the kids are around, it can be frustrating and stressful. But she is just the kind of friend that will leap in and fill cups of water, or hide in a closet, or help color a handwritten newspaper project. Then we ate Chicken Korma and Naan and a Shawarma to boot. The boys ate all their pears and didn't whine much over their meal, so that when she slipped out the door it was already bath time and I couldn't believe how the evening had flown by. 
5. Her fresh, baby soft curls nuzzled content against my chest and that busy little hand played along the lines of my face, and I thought of how much she continues to burrow her way into my heart. When she came out I was, to be honest, aghast, but now I have trouble playing humble when her older brother asks me if I think she is the cutest baby in the whole world. Quite simply I do, even though I know she is not. A few weeks ago she figured out how to throw her 17 month old body over the high walls of her prison-bed and so we took it down and put up the side rail guard. Tonight, though she whimpered a bit and voiced her defiance, she never once climbed down but slowly nursed her sorrows until sleep overcame. And once again, I was so thankful.

Coon Hounds are Tear Jerkers

I started weeping tonight about coon hounds. I'm thinking either this means I have a secret longing to get me some dogs and hunt in the river bottoms of Kentucky, or it's a really well-written book that touches on the emotions and yearnings of life we all deal with, or there is something seriously wrong with me. I was sitting on the boy's bed, one little arm slung over my shoulder, another little body sliding constantly off the mattress and onto the floor at my right, and there I was, voice trembling, trying to gain composure but eventually losing it as tears poured down my face and I lost all sense of who or what was around me outside of the story of this sweet boy and his years of hard work saving money to buy the coon hounds he so desperately wanted.

This seems to happen with some regularity in my life, this weeping and tearing up over any and all kinds of things. I sensed a change after the first time I got pregnant. It was like the floodgates had opened, and little did I realize they would never again in fact be allowed to close. I also realize I am not the bubbliest girl on the block. I tend to look at things through a pretty melancholy screen. It's hazy in here. If you hadn't noticed. So, it may not come as a surprise that I deal pretty regularly with the doldrums. But deal with them I do and though others may find it easier to see life as generally pretty uplifting and charming, this doldrum-dealing has been my particular lot.

My husband read a passage to me this morning from Les Miserables... it was a beautiful description of the contrast between a poor and rich man's perspective on life. The rich man, having much to occupy the "lesser portions of his brain" in amusements, etc. is little moved to think on things beyond himself. The poor man however, spending most of his time working to earn what little he has, is then left with nothing but the earth, the heavens, and humanity around him to turn his mind to. I listened, and wondered. Is much of my bummed-out thinking a result of having too much?

Then yesterday, I ran along the water's edge, listening to a panel discussion from Kindling's Muse on the exodus of Canadian young people from the church. At one point, a panelist mentioned that the culture is informing the message taught in many of these youth groups, rather than the other way around. The message in particular being that God is your Friend and just wants you to be happy. I thought about how I know this danger. But, in spite of all my knowing, I wonder if I too really think this most of the time. My dissatisfaction lately, my unrest and frustrated spirit, could it be because I too sit around thinking about all that I don't have and all that I think will make me happier... and I expect Him to give it to me?

I don't really want coon hounds. But whatever they are, these things that give me unrest, they make my gaze flit here and there and everywhere but here, where I am. They make me shifty, uncomfortable in my skin in this place, unwilling to sit very long and smile at the people around me. They make me worry about future days, days I have no business thinking about or planning as though I were the potter, and not just the spinning, whirring, dizzy and dazed clay.

So, I'm not really sure what the exact reasons are that I always get in scraps with this big brute, this bully Discontent that kicks me around here and there when I think I'm getting along so nicely. I suspect it is many things, some mentioned above and some I either haven't perceived or He has mercifully kept disclosed for now (never more than you can bear, you know).

The thing now is to kick back. That being said, I hope you don't mind if I use this space to practice a little exercise. There have been many who have gone before me in this and have done it much more eloquently or with perhaps greater transparency, but I will simply try to keep myself accountable by posting here, for a little while at least, a list of daily thanks for things whether small or even smaller. An attempt to, if nothing else as I wait and ask for the haze to lift and my gaze to clear up, look for what is given instead of what is not.

As If I Needed Something Else to Do

You have to know I really wanted to write a post about Neil Postman, and some ranting about community and facebook and all that. 

But then I finished this hat, and being my first completed hat (well, there have been two others but one was for a small bear who lives atop the bunk bed and another fit more like a skull cap than a ski hat so I feel like they don't really count) I felt it deserved a celebration. 

My model was dressed by her eldest brother, a privilege he earned for completing some little task this morning. And his desire was to outfit her like a cowgirl. I'll have you know we don't normally do denim head to toe, but that was what the stylist picked and so there you have it.

The recipient of this little number is actually a bit smaller than the model pictured here. She is in fact still in utero and will hopefully be arriving sometime in the next few weeks. Hopefully she likes red.

return to things

It doesn't take long, the reinstating of motherhood. They fared pretty well without me for nearly twelve days, and yet the routine that Daddy had down pat was broken within seconds of my arrival. In a way, I'm grateful the little one didn't cry for him like she does for me, I'm thrilled they were all so helpful and played so lovely together. It made my shoulders light and my heart free when I was so many thousand miles away. It's a mother-love thing, this crying and grasping at the knees. At least that's what I try to tell myself.

So I returned home to fevers and weepy eyes, but smiles all around. And the day routine is slowly finding its way back into my blood. That's what a few too many days away, sitting by the poolside and exploring ancient relics will do to you, make the day routine return slow.

Besides all their beautiful blue eyes and silly welcome pictures taped on the door, it's the little things that are bringing a happy, inward sigh and making me feel at home again. I kept the camera close the last day or two, just to help me see and remember them.

1. Sitting across from bright eyes as they peek over the table, munching lunch and peering intently at puzzle pieces.

2. Running painfully, laboriously up a seaside hill, spitting on the fact it's been two weeks since these burning lungs have tasted fast wind. But the tight calves and cleared mind make it worth it, and the smiling wave from my polar swimmer Chinese friend who laughs gleefully at my slog jog, gives these lips a grin in the hair whipping wind.

3. Walks along the city streets in the late afternoon sun, air warming slowly to the tune of coming spring and my little man at my side, chatting cheerfully as though I were his closest friend. 

4. The sights of familiarity as roasted sweet potatoes pushed on an old cart come rumbling our way.

5. Korean food.  Fresh and light and fully of salty, pickled flavor. A shared lunch in a small, upstairs room, bright with sunshine and the sounds of women cooking.

6. A boy with chopsticks and a silly smile. He seems so old, so grown up and boyish with his cocked hat and serious questions.

6. Baking. With the middle one in tow. Back to flour on the counter, on his shirt, in her hair, on the floor. But back to warm breads and fresh lemon scones, french-pressed goodness and homemade smells in the air.

It's good to be home, in China.

why else do we Live?

And so today is Easter. The day of days, to remember the moment of all moments, when the powers of death were swallowed up in the light of an empty tomb. I have spent the last several weeks in preparation for this day, and it has helped me immensely. Perhaps it prepared me more than I could have realized, for today was anything but a festive day.

I remember as a college girl, enjoying the sunrise services deep in the heart of Philadelphia, the full brass ensemble echoing through Rittenhouse Square as pigeons pecked through the cobblestones and sparrows twittered cheerily in the cherry trees. I remember sitting up on the grassy rise in the backyard of my childhood home, wrapped in blankets, chomping away happily on warm muffins and hot chocolate as the sunbeams rose and we listened to the marvelous story. I am sure today all over the world there were cathedrals and high school gyms ablaze with the sounds of worship and thanksgiving, pomp and celebration. But today, we saw none of that.

Instead of a sunrise service, we were cuddled on the couch reading the Story together. Instead of community of worship, I was trying to unpack with a feverish daughter on my chest. Instead of the sound of choirs and congregations crying out with praise, my lone and simple voice rocked sickness with resurrection lullabies. Instead of an Easter feast with friends and family gathered ‘round, there was peanut butter and jelly, and rice for dinner, with a whimpering, sweaty brow tucked tight against my arms. It certainly wasn’t the festive celebration I would have planned or that I can hope for again come another year, but in many ways it was just what has been planned for all along.

I’ve been reading Cry the Beloved Country by Alan Paton. It is such a beautiful book, on so many levels. If you haven’t already, please, please read it if you are able. This time around, a new voice has stood out to me: the simple, quiet housekeeper who lets out rooms to the suffering minister who has come to Johannesburg to find his wayward son. She is forever serving, allowing Kumalo to bring his prostitute sister and her small son in from the streets, then allowing him to bring yet another young girl his son has made with child. She cares for these girls, feeds the entire group, covers Kumalo with her prayers and her daily small kindnesses. Three or four times throughout the story, she is thanked. Each time, she simply says, “It is for this we were born” or, “why else do we live?”

I keep thinking of her response, her way of living, and I am brought low.

Broken and spilled out. Wounded for our transgressions. With his stripes, comes our healing. His was a life poured out, a cup offered up, a sacrifice laid down.

The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many. Then he turns it on us to do the same. Powered by the same strength, armed with the same love, filled with the same Father-centered purpose, he asks us to lose our lives for the sake of others.

It’s what we’re to be known for isn’t it? It’s what makes us seem backward in a forward driven world. What seems more foreign to a survival-of-the-fittest humanity than giving up your own survival so another can thrive? Who thinks of others before their own interests are met? It seems like death, and indeed it is. For in losing your life, there you will find it.

Today I am humbled by my own ugliness, the sin that creeps up everywhere, clouding everything. I am humbled but I am lifted up. I died with him and now I can know raising life power. I feel defeat and yet I can claim victory because of Jesus. It is all Jesus. There is nothing for me but Jesus. I see him, high and lifted up, the Suffering Servant who bears all our sin and shame, and washes me clean once and for all- and over and over again.

I sit here with my weak little girl, writhing in her achiness, unable to do much but hold and rock her gently and I know that this is just the Easter celebration I need. He came to serve, he gave it all, he lost his life to give me mine, he rose again to make it sure, and I am learning day in, day out, “for what else are we Born?”

egypt :: cairo uncovered

Finally, today, I felt like I saw Cairo. So be prepared... I have posted lots of pictures. For the whole set, click here to view them on flickr.

We headed out this morning to the popular market known as Khan el Khalili, and were dropped off on a dirty side street corner with a finger pointing us "that way" before driving off in the ever busy traffic. We crept hesitantly into what seemed to be back corridors and a maze of secret passageways. Suddenly, a friendly "student" walked up and politely informed us we were on the Egyptian side of the market, whereas the Tourist side was on the other side of the busy street. No matter, this is the side to be on apparently; no tourists and cheaper prices, and of course legitimate handicrafts, food, and goods as opposed to the knock off, made in China junk from the other side of the road.


We soon found out our extremely knowledgable guide was a local university student who is studying antiquities. He led us to the most beautiful mosque in the city, knew all its ins and outs and how to climb the tower, the dates and names of those who had built it, the streets to head down to find the most well known and respected papyrus maker/painter in the city (there was a stack of highlighted guidebooks on the artist's table to drive home the point... he is a legend), the best kebabs, and the Old Spice Market. Now, whether or not this student just "happened" to be there as we teased him about all day, he was still very friendly and compliant, not pushy, and of such vital importance to us (as we soon discovered wandering hopelessly in the maze at his mercy) that we were happy to comply and send him off with a handsome tip at the end of the day.

After spending most of the day climbing towers, exploring mosques, pushing our way through markets and wandering through ancient city streets, we headed down to the Nile for a traditional Falukah ride. This was an old sailboat that took us out on the most refreshing and beautiful early evening tour of the river, especially after a long and exhilirating day of walking and exploring.

After a long day of snapping the camera at everyone and everything else, I thought a little proof that I had in fact been there as well was in order. One posed and one self-portrait are enough for now:)

Hopefully the pictures speak for themselves. I am sitting in a hotel lobby, hocking internet time and it is time to sign off. Good night from Cairo!