RIP - or not.

Rest in peace.

What does that mean? Do we actually mean that? Rest in peace? When someone dies, do they actually "rest in peace?" 

I doubt it.

I looked up where this phrase came from; and of course, the Catholics came up and more than even the origin of the phrase was it's original Latin and how to properly pronounce the "ce" sound (it's like "kay" in case you were wondering).  It did say that it has to do with the soul and body resting in peace until they are re-united on judgement day.  I don't know about you, but if my body at any point becomes worm food, I'm pretty sure I don't want it back on judgement day. I'll take that new one, Jesus, please, please... 

a post for progress

I was talking with a friend of mine tonight about her recent conversion to the "hippy" life.  Then I mentioned how quickly my little hippy conversion happened. Like... in the course of about fifteen minutes.

Then I thought, the garden (what else?).  The transformation from last year to this year - for a piece of land untouched by anyone really... but me (occasionally with help)... it's pretty dramatic.  See?

June 2012/April 2013

what those idiots on pinterest don't tell you

[Disclaimer. There are two ways you can read this. You can think 1: My stars this girl complains a lot...  I'm disgusted with her attitude. OR 2: My stars this girl complains a lot... but it's funny and I'm going to learn from her mistakes - while having a good laugh.]

11: Grow all my own herbs and veggies.

The garden.

My precious, wonderful, well-loved garden.

The soil kind of sucks and is mostly full of roots from the trees I chopped down last year.  It's 99.9% ready-to-throw-in-a-kiln clay and therefore the plants struggle to form roots like truth struggles to permeate through the liber... oh wait. I probably shouldn't say that.

So I decided I'd build raised beds and use the topsoil that I could scrape up and pull the roots out of, mix it with manure and compost, and at least give the plants a chance.

And then I did what any good innovator would do and scoured Craigslist for free pallets because there is no way I'm going to go buy wood. And I found some!

Behold.

one: make soap

Make soap. As in, oils, water, lye.

I can grate up a bar of Fels-Naptha, mix it with baking soda and borax and call it laundry soap without any real thought.

I've been doing all kinds of research (probably more than is necessary) on how to properly make soap.  Yesterday, I had finally scrounged up all the necessities and got to work.

Thanks to this easy to follow post for clear directions!

ready!

a journey to self-sufficiency

Simply put, necessity breeds creativity.  Take, for example, this picture of Jeanne and Lucie making bracelets:

I would have never thought to use my toes. I would have searched for tape until I didn't want to make a bracelet anymore. 

It started last summer...

I can't wait for peas to grow

(I wrote this over the summer, and was gently reminded of it by one of my kids a couple days ago. So here it is.)

For the record, what was once a forest in our back yard is now a mildly-successful somewhat recognizable as a type of garden-ish space.

Of course, given that I planted everything so late and since the weather has been exceptionally warm lately, perhaps I can decorate the Christmas tree this year with pumpkins?? Maybe I could even carve an angel into a pumpkin and place it atop the tree?! And you thought angels glow. (Glew? Glowed? What should that tense be?)

This is why people in Upstate New York plant gardens before mid-June. But I lived on a bus, and it's not about the final product right now; it's about the process.

[normal people don't do this]

October 26: Had a surprise interview with Asante in Kampala, Uganda

October 27: Was asked to join a tour for Asante, beginning November 5.

October 29: Packed my bags to leave Kampala, found out that because of the hurricane I'd be delayed two days.

October 30: Asante, yes.

October 31: Actually left Uganda. Spent the night in UAE on the way home.

November 1: Arrive in JFK and learn I indeed do NOT have a flight to Rochester. Bum a ride off friends of my mother.

November 2: Arrive home. Unpack. Repack. Sleep. Laundry. Decide to throw a thank you dinner for my supporters, make a bunch of phone calls, run errands. Fill out paperwork and application for a job I already have a flight booked to get to.

November 3: Unpack more. Repack more. Sleep a little. Prepare for the dinner.

November 4: Church. Make oodles of chapati and other prep stuff for the dinner. Have the dinner. Visit friends. Go home. Finish packing. Sleep.

November 5: Fly to Portland, Oregon. Spend the afternoon with a friend, then get dropped at an address. Knock on the door. Ask, "Am I supposed to be here? I'm Amy." Am welcomed in and later ask, "So, who are you and why am I here?"

November 6: Picked up by Asante director and taken to airport to pick other chaps. Training.

November 7: Training. Ha. Training.

November 8: Pile on bus and head to Idaho. Sleep in hotel.

November 9: Pile on bus and head to Wyoming.  Bus dies. Sleep in hotel.

November 10: Wait in the hotel to hear about the bus. Get flights arranged to fly to Minneapolis the next day.

November 11: Leave hotel early and fly to Minneapolis. [END TIME CHANGES FOR TWO MONTHS.]

And.... now I'm sitting in the airport waiting for the Choir to arrive!

Phew.

i can't think of a decent title for this

Alright, friends.

Here’s the scoop.  If you have been following me on Facebook, you have probably been wondering what on earth is happening to me, and where on earth I am.

Let me tell you: I wake up at what I think should be morning [2am, 4:30am…] and ask those very same questions!

Well here we go, friends, hang on to your seats because it’s been a wild ride! (Actually, you will be fine. I’m the one that needs to buckle.)

here in your courts

Devotions in the African Children's Choir are beautiful times of being together. I miss them. Twenty to thirty to forty or more people; our ACC family, hosties, friends, church members - singing songs they know, learning new ones, and looking around smiling as Luganda or Kiswahilli words unite to praise God and we are reminded of the beauty of culture and language and God's sovereignty and grace that brings us together.

One of my absolute favorite devotion songs has lyrics that decorated my sound board on tour and now my garden at home. 

"Here in Your courts where I'm close to Your throne, I'll find where I belong." 

Where I belong. We spend countless hours trying to figure out where we belong. As if the lyrics implied that the time at His throne would give us an answer like "home" or "tour" or "Africa" or "Haiti" or anywhere else on this earth. 

No. You find where you belong as your knees mark the floor because you are already there. At his feet. In His courts. Where you - where we - belong. 

I love Africa. I have more than loved my time here. I wish it wasn't so quickly wrapping up. But being here does not put me "where God wants me." Being home does not put me "where God wants me." Being on a bus does not put me "where God wants me." 

Living my life with Him in His presence at His throne listening to Him and following where on this earth He choses to place me - 

That is where God wants me. 

The Moment

The moment when you step off the plane and realize... They are here.

The moment you step out of baggage claim and all those next to you frantically look for their names on paper... And your eyes find your family.

The moment you realize that because of the fair and the traffic and an accident and your taxi stuck in the middle of it means your time with your kids may be cut short... It is surprisingly peaceful.

The moment you step onto the school property and are told, "Wait here" and so you begin your search for your babies from your assigned position... It is a stunted emotional high. 

The moment they see you and your eyes meet and they come bolting towards you so hard and so fast they nearly take the wind out of you when they hit you with their hug... It is perfect. 

The moment Deborah says, "Auntie, remember how at Auntie Katy and Uncle Bubba's how I couldn't swim? Now I am a good swimmer and even I know all the strokes!" ... You beam. 

The moment it's time to go and they are physically pulling you and won't let you leave... It is painful, for two reasons...

The moment Charity looks at your eyes and says, "Auntie let me wipe away for you your tears like you used to wipe mine," and gently catches your face and uses her thumbs to dry your cheeks... It is hilarious and can only result in more tears. 

The moment you walk away and know... Even though it was so short, it was totally worth it. 

leaving on a jet plane

It's that time again - that time when I pack my bags and peace out of town! 

For nearly two years I lived on a bus full of wonderful Africans.  Two groups of people that quickly became my second and third families.  I learned about their cultures, languages, tribes, cities, villages, families..... I realned how to tark with my L's and my R's arr mixed alound.  I learned to sing countless songs in languages I don't know and how to shake my cabina with the best of the white folk.

All the while, looking forward to the day when I could walk on their soil with them and experience their homeland as they have experienced mine. 

Well, friends....

Three more days.

We are on our way to Chicago. Actually, we are on our way to camp and we're stopping in Chicago on the way. Time is running very thin - the kids fly home on Friday. How has it been five months already!? Even I am not sure. We had our last and 100th concert on Sunday, then spent until this morning staying at the church. I love those bits of time together as a family. The next few days will be busy, full of emotions, and as I wave goodbye to my second choir - my family, I'm finding myself spending my little bits of free time researching flights to Uganda...

tick tock

Time.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.  A couple weeks ago I was convinced the wall in my hostie was ticking because I could hear the clock... but it was nowhere to be found.

Time.

I spent time looking for that clock.  It was driving me crazy.

I heard ticking on the bus a few days later, right after Uncle Garry threw away the clock that didn't work. After roaming around the bus with my ear to everything possible, I discovered the clock.

In the dashboard.

Always ticking.  Oi da.

To God, a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a day.

On tour, a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a day.

February's Support Letter

(Keep an eye on your mailboxes!) 

Dear Friends,

I’m sitting in a warehouse turned Youth Center in northern California while fourteen Africans play what I think is baseball…? But there are no bases, no baseball, and no bat. There are instead four pairs of sneakers in four corners, a tennis ball, and twenty-eight bruised forearms.  In Creole there is a word, “Degaje” – which means to make due with what you have.  I think they’re pretty good at that.  Not always because they have to be – but because they don’t allow their circumstances to dictate their abilities. 

This is the African Children’s Choir at it’s best. 

Time to Hit the Road!

Have you ever sat by your phone and simply waited for it to ring? I mean seriously. Staring so much that your eyes glaze over and your phone ceases to be one and morphs into a blurry mess of many.

But you have no idea if someone is going to call you.

So do you sit by your phone and wait? Or am I alone in this one?

"We used to go to church, but then they started using the Bible SO MUCH."

This past week someone asked me, "Were you the one up there singing last Sunday?"  And so I said yes, that was me.  And he said, "Ahh, yeah, I thought so.  You know we haven't come to church a lot lately, last week was the first time in about 8 months." And I answered, "Oh yeah?" Then came the answer that made me so proud of my church:

"We used to go a lot.  Back when they did more sketches and they didn't use the Bible so much.  But now, it's just not the same.  Bible, Bible, Bible."

And a great big high-five to every single staff member at Crosswinds.

Church should be that way.  It should use the Bible.  "Bible, Bible, Bible."  That's the point.  Learning about it and being challenged by it and worshipping the God that wrote it all.  Together, one big giant family.

I encouraged the person that told me this to keep coming back to church.  I said the Bible is good, it should be used so much - and he said hesitantly, "yeah..."

Dear Crosswinds, kudos to a job well done.

the emotions of fall

I think about my children every day.

No, forget that.

Every hour.  My beautiful African babies that I was so blessed to spend 16 months with on the road.  I miss them terribly, and I have an extremely hard time accepting that it has been nine months since I have seen them.  Time flies by in ways I'm just not willing to accept.  Soon it will be one year since tour.  How does that even happen?

December 6, 2010 we North American Aunties and Uncle stood in the DC airport waving at the top of the escalator as our children disappeared out of sight, and we stood there. Helpless. Tears flowing, hearts full from our time together but completely empty as our precious babies were now on their way back to Africa.  It was cold outside - freezing actually. I remember walking around downtown DC in my ginormous Kermit the Frog coat, enjoying every last moment I had with the Aunties before we too parted ways.

December 6 was easily the single hardest day I've experienced.... maybe ever.

But the days leading up to it, the months, they were beautiful.  Wonderful.

Fall, 2010. It was the best.

in the storm

I was dreaming about a puppy.

Actually.  And it was a tiny, adorable chocolate lab that my dad had brought home after work.  We named it Yukon Cornelius, even though it wasn't a Golden Retriever (the true plan in the Thompson house right now in our search for a new dog).  Little chocolate lab Yukon was sitting on my lap and I was trying to get the Wii to work, and in a strange combination of the past day's events, Steve Job's resignation altered our Wii's ability to function properly and so I hopped into my little electric motor Jeep, Yukon in tow, and away we went to fix the Wii. But the battery was dying on my "car" so I had to stop at the charging station, but again, Steve Job's resignation altered the charging station's ability to properly charge my toy Jeep's battery, so I went to plug it in again and

Content

Content.

Read that word again.

Do it. Look up, and read it again.

How did you pronounce it?  What meaning does it hold for you right now, in this moment?  Content or content?

Interesting, eh? How those words are the same, yet, not.

Question: Are you content with the contents of your life, right now?

Hmm.  I dream a lot.  I don't mean daydream of things to be or what I want/wish for, I mean I dream, a lot.  Most of the time it's foolish nonsense like oodles of sawdust coming out of my mouth, flying frogs living in the tree house, or how I've become a world-renown baker because of my amazing chocolate cake.

But lately, I've been dreaming about other places.  Places I've been before - Asia, Haiti, Tour.  I'm talking obscene amounts of dreams about other places.  I regularly wake up wondering where I am - not an uncommon thing for me, since on tour I rarely knew where I was at any given moment of the day, let alone when I woke up.  But these dreams are so real, I feel so much like I'm in this other place... and when I realize I'm just at home I find myself disappointed.  Then I ask myself,

"Am I content?"

Truthfully, I don't even know.

Four nights ago I dreamt I was in Asia.  Once again visiting Missy & Carly, taking part in their daily tasks, joining in on the ministry and loving every second I got to participate in the work that they are doing.  We walked through the burned out section of town, talked with a few locals, I went to Russian with Carly, and went to another M's house for church.  When I woke up, I was lonely.

Three nights ago I dreamt that I was on tour again.  I was with our beautiful children of ACC 35, geared up for a concert in Colorado.  Together we had devotions, freaked out because one of the costume bags was missing (which wasn't uncommon in real life), and I made a concert order with Uncle Tony.  We then walked in our two concert lines to the sanctuary where hundreds of people had gathered to enjoy the beauty that is Choir 35.  When I woke up I cried - because it wasn't real.

Two nights ago I dreamt that the compound in Haiti where I lived was trying to integrate itself more into the town around it, and so they were selling the missionary houses, opening up the gates all the time, and putting in another community garden.  I had gone down with Missy to purchase the house I had lived in before, so that I could join in on the projects.  I walked around the house and found myself thinking back on the days when I called that place home - and was so peaceful knowing that I'd call it home again.  When I woke up I was sad.  What a lame adjective - but for the truth.  I was so sad.  I want to be there again.

Often I look around at the people here and I wonder how they don't get bored.  People that have done the same thing every day for years.  Even my dad just celebrated his 25th year at his work.  It's incredible - really, that doesn't happen very often.  But I can't imagine.  It's just not for me.

With all the struggles I endured in Haiti (you won't find them here, but ask me if you like) I thought I learned a piece of what it meant to be content.  In my own words:

It's times like these when the verse, "Be still and know that I am God" are what you need to hear the most, but want to hear the least. One of the biggest lessons I learned during my six months in Haiti was to be content. Content with what I'm doing, with what I'm not doing, with where I am, with where I am not. I spent a lot of time in my house while I lived in on that island: and was it in vain? Certainly not. God taught me more in those early morning hours, as the sun peeked through the palm trees behind my house and into my living room where I sat and read my Bible with a lovely cup of coffee. The warm Caribbean sun in its orange glowing beauty poking through the slats in my windows; God beginning yet another day with his warm breath gently blowing my curtains, whispering to me, "I have a plan... just you wait."

Pfft.  It's awfully poetic as I read it now, but honestly.  I'm not done learning that lesson, and I probably won't ever be.  I do know, however, that I'm more "content" when I'm overseas.  Missy has often said, "If I lived in the states, I'd be miserable." It's not what she's made for.  Built for.  She thrives, and I mean THRIVES when she's overseas.  Asia. Where she is now.  Thrives.  That's not to extinguish a desire to be "home" - with family, friends, in a "world" where people speak your language, you can buy fruits and veggies at the store even when they aren't in season, and where you can worship freely.  But it's just not where God has called her to be.  No sense pulling a Jonah and spending three days in a whale.  Gross.

I'm finding myself more and more realizing that desire and calling God has placed on me to be overseas.  And I know that it's not time to go yet.  And that, my friends, is paining me.  I'm struggling to be content in a place I don't ultimately want to be.  I'm learning how to be content in the waiting.

Content with the contents of life, right here, right now.


"Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord, we will wait upon the Lord, we will wait upon the Lord..." 

Asia with Missy:

 ACC 35

 Haiti, with my Advanced English Class

You know if you...

... live in NY when there are only two seasons: winter & road construction.

You hate those lists too, eh?  They drive me crazy.  Mostly because they all list the same things, but are about a different thing.  Winter & road construction: True of just about any location north of 38º?  Exactly.

However, in my re-entry, I've thought, "I'm clazy.  Nobody here understands."

So I'm pulling the hypocrite card here and making my own, "You know if you've traveled with the ACC if..." list.  For us Aunties & Uncles out there, you know what it's like.  Now is when you nod in agreement.

Ready?  Alright.

You know if you've traveled with the ACC if:
1.  Long calls and short calls have nothing to do with the phone.
2.  "Countdown!" may be any assemblage of numbers 1-23, give or take a few, on any given day.
3.  You went to Vegas with your own poker chips, except you're cool, so you call them tokens.  You even signed them yourself - and they were used, and they were worth something.
4.  You start many sentences with the word "Even."
5.  "Bag checks" are not verbs, they are nouns. Running, skipping, singing, dancing, lovely wonderful nouns.
6.  You have shaken your cabina in praise to the Lord.
7.  You know what a cabina is.
8.  When you are asked, "Auntier may you pray with me?" you go find a game.
9.  You don't go shopping for khakis, you go shopping for travel pants.
10.  You can hold your susu for exactly two hours, as scheduled.
11.  You have slept in a luxurious bed, on a leaky air-mattress, a couch, a cot, a bus seat, a pew, & the floor, in one week.
12.  You have sung and danced to the same songs every day & night for 16 months straight, and you still love them, somehow.
13.  You were completely lost the first week you went without a minute-by-minute schedule handed to you on Monday.
14.  You had 23 children at age 23.
15.  You want to go to Africa.  Every day. Want to go to Africa.  Want to go... to Africa...
16.  Your current "address" has been two simple characters: V1, V2, V3, or V4.
17.  When asked, "Where are you?" the only answer you can give with confidence is "V1," "V2," "V3," or "V4."  And if you've recently switched, sometimes even that you don't know.
18.  You have translated English to... English.
19.  You have been greeted in the morning by dozens of warm, joyful hugs and asked, "Are you fine?"
20.  You were blessed, challenged, and loved, daily, by a beautiful group of little African children - and they meant, and mean, the world to you.

Yes?