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.

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. 

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...

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. 

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.

ouch, my heart.

I successfully woke up at 4:58 this morning. I went to the boys room to greet, and went up the stairs wondering, "How? How does this go? How many times can I hug them before they actually have to get in the car?" Haha. Several hugs from ALL the boys and about 6 hugs from Jonah and Reagan later, the two piled into the car and I got in the driver's seat and said, "Who's ready to go to New York!" Jonah shouted out, "ME!" I wish. I stepped out and waved goodbye with tears in my eyes, as the rest of the chaps and I watched Uncle Craig pull away to the airport with two huge pieces of our hearts. Stacy and I then got in the van to start a mad shopping trip to fill all the holes in the children's suitcases. The combination of over exhaustion and being emotionally drained led to some very hilarious situations, for example... I laughed so hard I cried when Stacy didn't think Target was open because the lights on the sign weren't on. The sign doesn't have lights, and upon this realization, we spent 4 or 5 minutes sitting in the car laughing so hard I had to use two napkins from my bagel to wipe away my tears and blow my nose. We then walked in and noticed the phone books sitting next to the automatic doors, so we delivered them along to Customer Service. We also chatted it up with a man from the UK in front of the un-open Payless across from Panera. I asked him if he wanted to make the store clerk feel pressured to open up early with us as we stared in the windows, he just said that the store here wasn't as good as the parent store in the UK. Maybe that meant no?

All in all we had a successful shopping morning and the children are fully equipped to go home. Their bags are almost all packed, their things are getting in order, God is preparing all our hearts for the days to come. We can do it. We have been blessed with these children: to teach them and train them and love them so that they can go back to Africa and do the same to others.

Stacy also told me that the reason the pages in the book from last night were missing:

Some of the boys wanted to write Jonah and Reagan notes before they left. And they didn't have paper, but they had a Madagascar book.

I love our kids.

the end has come

The night should be over.

I should have been in bed hours ago.

I shouldn't be writing this right now.

I'm getting up in 4 hours to say goodbye to two of my children. And yet, it's like I can't go to bed. I sort of figure... that at this hour, if I sleep for more than 4, I'm going to get further into a rem cycle and it's going to be harder for me to wake up. It might however, be hard for me to fall asleep... as I've been sick lately and Nyquil makes the night so peaceful :) But I actually want to wake up to see the boys off in the morning.

I don't know how to say goodbye. I'm 24 years old and I'm about to experience an "empty nest" as I learn to adjust how to live without children that weren't mine in the first place. My face is stained with tears from this morning that I've been too busy to wash off. The house is a mess, there's a cake sitting out on the counter uncovered and the ant/fly problem in this house will automatically deem the ginormous platter of chocolaty sugar inedible by morning. It's okay though - we wouldn't have eaten it anyway. Just like the cake I made the other day... when I made two cakes instead of one. What was I thinking? And why do we use cake to celebrate? Fireworks are so much better. And how many people actually like cake? If it doesn't come with ice cream, why bother? And the ice cream just makes it soggy. But this is not about cake.

Tonight I went up to the boys room to say goodnight and I found myself climbing on the top bunk with 6 of the boys to read a "Madagascar" story book that at least three of the pages were ripped out of. The story made almost no sense, and it was part of a little kids mini series, so it didn't even end: the story just kind of.... stopped. It'd be like the story of the three little pigs, and the book ended on "He huffed and he puffed and he blew the." House down? What? No. The End. But the boys and I were nestled all in as I read the book, and I loved every second of it. Come Monday night, I won't get to read with them anymore. I won't get to climb onto the top bunk and be surrounded by six of the boys as I read a book that doesn't make sense. I don't know how to handle that.

I think about home and I am so excited to get there. I'm excited to sleep in my own bed. I'm excited to throw/give a ton of my stuff away (living out of a carry-on size piece of luggage has been lovely, and though I wish I had thought about the color selection a little more [almost all black....] ... simplicity is lovely.) I'm excited for Christmas at home. For freedom to do what I want when I want. Bathroom stops are no longer scheduled. Woah.

We are all ready to go home: but that doesn't mean it's easy. Aslan, it makes me think of Aslan. Is He safe? No, but He's good. Is it easy? No, but it's good.

Lord, give us the strength to get through these next few days. Help us persevere. Help us be strong examples for these little children we love so much, in our times of weakness see us through. Thank you for what you have given us. Thank you for Choir 35.

How many more?

Our tour has been incredible. It has been difficult. It has been filled with laughter, tears, pictures, "I love you Auntie" notes, and incredible growth.

Today I've been thinking about how this tour is so quickly coming to a close. We arrived here at Mirembe House on Tuesday - and counted joyously the high number of twenty days we had here together. How can it be only seventeen already?

Today Charity came to me and put her head in my lap and said, "Auntie, may you help me to remove from my hair the grass?" And as I picked the bits and pieces out of her hair I thought, "Often I feel like the mother monkey, if only I ate the stuff I picked..." Today I thought, "How many more times do I get to do this?"

Grace, my dear little Grace, has drawn me beautiful pictures two days in a row. On most days, her words are fairly harsh, and even in her playful laughter she tries her best to put on a tough tone. She's actually quite hilarious and very fun. She becomes the most tender, dear little girl when she secretly draws these pictures and does her best to get it to you - through others. Yesterday one of the other girls gave it to me. Today Harriet brought it to me. Both are covered in flowers and hearts and say "Auntie Amy" in giant letters, and "Grace" in tiny letters beneath. Give the girl a crayon and some paper and the rough exterior melts away and she's just a sweetie. How many more pictures will I get from her?

Brian, in devotions tonight, sat back with Stacy and I and did everything in his power to be close to us. He rested his head on Stacy's shoulder and picked up my foot and put it on his, played with my toes, was just close. Stacy and I both thought, "Brian? This is Brian? A bit odd for Brian... Brian?" But as he examined my toe-nail polish I thought, "Moments like this, they are special... and Brian, yes Brian, in all his rough and tough boy-ness knows that moments like this are special. And he's soaking them in." How many more of these moments will I have?

A few weeks ago the "Remember when's..." started flowing from our mouthes. "Remember when we convinced the children that salad was the greatest thing ever?" "Remember when we had to use a school bus to go to the 25th Anniversary Gala?" "Remember when we stayed in Uncle Gym?" "Remember when we spent an hour singing worship songs in the hall?" Often these are received with an, "Oh yeah!" from another and as we reminisce over the past 15 months on tour I am reminded of how thankful I am to have been on the road with these children and this team of chaperones. I know that it is all a part of God's plan, and the things that we've experienced over the tour have brought us to this time. Our beginning on tour was created so that the end could be even better. These children were brought to America so that they could go back to Africa. We have loved them, taught them, grown with them, disciplined them, tucked them in at night, prayed with them, sang with them, played countless games of Skip-Bo, Soccer, & matching game with them, driven across the continent with them, believed in them, and in a couple short weeks we will put them on a plane and pray that as they transition back into life in Africa the impact we have had on them will stay strong as they grow older. We pray that as they think back on their time in America, they will see God's hand stretched out over their lives and continually follow Him in all they do.

Time is coming to a close here, goodbyes are on their way. But it is good. We have been blessed to know one another. I have been blessed to be on Choir 35.

the beauty of names

Sometimes I find it completely fascinating to find out what names mean. In Choir 35 we have always known that Stella means "star" - and until recently, I didn't know what the other names meant. So I googled them... ah, dear Google.

So here we go, all of Choir 35:

John: God is gracious

Benson: Son of Benedict

Rogers: Warrior

Jonah: Dove

Reagan: Little King

Brian: Noble, strong, victorious

Derrick: Ruler of the people (Derrick has wanted to be a president for almost all of tour!)

Alex: Defender/Defending men

James: Supplanter

Charity: Love, generous

Brenda: Sword

Ruth: Friend, compassionate

Grace: Good will

Ritah: Pearl

Priscillah: Ancient

Faith: Confidence, belief

Stella: Star

Esther: Star

Deborah: A bee

Naomi: Beautiful, pleasant, delightful

Ivy: Ivy. haha.

Peace: Tranquility

Eunice: Good victory

I love it.

when two negatives don't make a positive...

I like rocks.

Priscillah Grace Nyambura. The girl loves rocks. Loves. And we've spent a decent amount of time trying to convince her that she doesn't need to pick up rocks. I think as of late, it's been a pretty successful mission.

But she's passed on her affinity for these rocks...

to me.

Currently, there are four little rocks in my coat pocket (the ACC coat pockets are deep - it's cause the manufacturers knew we have children?) Anyway. Four little rocks. And they are special to me. And for a while, I hid the fact that I had these little rocks in my pocket, because I didn't want Little Miss Prisc to regress into her habit, plus, I felt kind of silly keeping rocks in my pocket. My bags are heavy enough on their own, I don't need someone to pick up my coat too and say, "What, are you keeping rocks in here or something?" Because then I'd have to say yes.

But today, reading Joshua, I realized - liking rocks isn't so weird. And holding onto rocks that are special or symbolic to you isn't so completely bizarre. Why? Well, dear Joshua, tell us the story again, will you?

"And Joshua said to them, "Pass on before the ark of the Lord your God into the midst of the Jordan, and take up each of you a stone upon his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the people of Israel, that this may be a sign among you. When your children ask in time to come, 'What do these stones mean to you?' then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it passed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the people of Israel a memorial forever." (4:5-7)

Then, you see, it occurred to me: God used rocks to help people remember things. "Build a memorial" "make an alter" "sleep on this stone then name the place it rests on because of what happened here" and it goes on. God used rocks. And if I even recall correctly... the 10 Commandments were written on... um... pieces of plywood? Oh, no wait, rocks.

One dear little rock in my pocket is in the shape of an arrow. I found it the night that Faith, Priscillah, Naomi and I were on the bank of a river skipping rocks across the water. Or should I say, the night that Faith and I were skipping rocks across the water and Priscillah and Naomi were finding big rocks and hucking them about a foot into the water (their muscles grow bigger each day, rest assured). And this tiny rock in the shape of an arrow is special to me, because I think of those girls doing those things. It's also special to me because it reminds me of where I'm going. See, on this stay with these girls I had a mini-panic attack in that after tour, I have no idea what I'm going to do. I don't have a job, I don't have plans. I'm going to visit Missy, then... what? I don't know. Collect rocks or something stellar like that. Maybe open a rock shop and make all kinds of money - or rather, open a rock pawn shop. I'll trade you my pretty blue-ish rock for your pretty diamond rock. I'll be rich.

Seriously though. I have no idea what I'm going to do. And so this arrow-shaped rock reminds me that even though I'm completely clueless, God has a purpose and a plan. He knows which way I'm going to go. It's peace in a promise I'm reminded of constantly, thanks to this tiny little rock.

So. Rocks. Cool? Sure. Do I like earth science? Why, no. Not even a little. So why is one of the rocks that I carry white with a blue shimmer? I don't know. But I think it's pretty, and when I look at it, it reminds me of the time when Ruthie picked it up and said, "Auntie, a gift for you!" The same night that I was reminded of the beauty of God's creation as we walked along the shore of the Alaskan Pacific and saw a bazillion magnificently colored starfish littered across the rock wall of the ocean at low-tide (that was tonight... but doesn't it sound more epic if it's worded as though it was long, distant past?) I think so. So that little gifted rock from Ruthie stands to me as a "memorial" of this night.

And I no longer think it's weird, because God used rocks as memorials too.

Vaseline.

Ew. That clear petroleum jelly known for its moisture locking-in qualities, slimy gooey-ness that makes me think of dancers and teeth.

This is Faith.

Notice the shine on her lips? That's right, it's vaseline.

And today, my lips are just as shiny, because each time Faith stays with me in a host family, she makes sure I'm all glossed up. If it makes her happy, I'll dab that slimy stuff on for her. Dear Faith, I love you.

Michael W. Smith!

Last night the choir got to sing with Michael W. Smith! They did fantastic a fantastic job, and we all had so much fun!

this always makes me smile.

My favorite part is Stella at the end... seeing what she would look like if she was large. This may be her only time to see that. Ever. And she's hilarious.

inspired

Today I watched a large portion of the movie "Julie and Julia" and though I'm still deciding if I actually like it enough to want to finish it, I'm feeling inspired to write on my blog. Cliche? Yeah, totally. My ways are changing. oi.

It's almost as though I've just finished watching "You've Got Mail" and the sound of Tom Hanks & Meg Ryan's voices slowly speaking as their fingers click through the words are luring me into typing away as though a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils really is that inviting.

Alas, here I am with what I feel is nothing too significant to write about. I cut my lip on a gum wrapper about an hour ago, and I believe that to be a sign of pure talent. I changed the layout of my blog (isn't it pretty?). And I spent almost the entire morning sitting on a couch in a church lobby frittering away my time in the best possible manner, as can only be done on a day off such as this.

The iron is sitting next to me with the sewing kit, two costumes, and a ripped pair of trousers -all begging for my attention. And I think, and think. Technically I suppose I don't know what I'm doing. I hear the church receptionist mumbling away words that surely mean something to those close enough to hear the consonants. The children are downstairs in school, and in an hour I'll have rehearsal with them. I love rehearsal.

There is a certain joy that comes in teaching. Especially when you teach things you love. Lately my main goal in rehearsals is to teach the children to love music. I've been playing songs for them - last time the variety went from Josh Groban singing Ave Maria to the Super Mario Brother's theme song. Training their ears to hear the perfect fifths and the majors and minors and the sevenths and the rhythms - the beauty of the invisible that captivates so many and pulls us into this world of perfect amazement. Like following the wind - you can't see it and you don't know where it's going but the breeze is lovely and carries with it this romance, giving you goosebumps and that breath of fresh air your lungs crave. Music.

Now I should watch August Rush.

I want them to love what they do. Every time they step onto the platform I want them to sing their hearts out - singing the same songs they've sung for a solid year with joy and adoration to the God that created the mystery of music and the beauty that is found therein. Love. Joy. Fascination. Amazement. I want them to have it - for music, and for God. I want them to love what they do.

So... now that I've written something and my inspiration is dwindling... there you have it. A point.

I want our children to love what they do.

in the course of a year

One year ago today I woke up at the dreadful hour of 3:30 am, boarded a plane and moved to Haiti. Has it really been a year since that day? I remember the moment I stepped off the plane onto the tarmac with no idea where I was going – knowing only that when I got out of the airport I was to look for the tall white man. Crazy? Absolutely. Then together the tall white man (Dan) and I would travel to the guest house where the rest of the whites were, and wake up the next morning only to hop into a blue taxi van and travel to an island where I would make my home for the following six months of my life.

It was on that island where I learned to be content with where I was, what I was doing, where I wasn’t, and what I wasn’t doing.

On that island I couldn't go anywhere alone. I made wonderful friends – some whom I could easily communicate with; others, mmm, not so much.

On that island I learned a new language – seventy-five percent Haitian Creole, twenty-five percent “make noises and hand motions until they know what I’m trying to tell them.”

There I went without the Internet, a phone, television and radio, and sometimes electricity and running water.

Sometimes I think my life was completely crazy.

From that island I boarded an eight-passenger boat with twenty-five other people, four suitcases, a keyboard, a giant bag of charcoal and a pile of tied-up chickens; then watched as the shore got farther and farther away and the man behind me quickly bailed water from the boat with a five gallon bucket.

Perhaps “crazy” isn’t an adequate enough word.

This year on that island I fell in love with an orphan girl named Mari Tarez. She stole my heart away with her broken spirit and her deep, lonely eyes. Through her I was humbled. With her I learned a sliver of what it means to have God as my Papa. Because of her I feel as though those six months of loneliness, frustration, restlessness and growing were completely justified and worthwhile. I’d do it again for her in a heartbeat.

On that island I learned that wonderful security and comfort comes in the simplicity of a mosquito net.

This year I walked the fence between principles and love. What kind of thorny fence is that??

This year Acts 3:6 has made me dance with joy and weep with brokenness. “Silver or gold I have not – but what I have I give to you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, get up and walk.”

This year I spoke the following sentence: “Mom! When I get a bowl of cereal, I don’t have to look for worms in it before I pour the milk!” Funny, the things we get used to doing.

This year I went on a fantastic road trip with my best friend all over New England. Together we spent a day driving & $30 in gas to find a Ben & Jerry’s so we could get a free ice cream cone for lunch, only to wind up at a sketchy gas station in Maine. On this trip we went to Yale. We camped in Cape Cod. We slept in the parking lot of a gas station just inside New Hampshire because we hated Vermont that much. We saw a show on Broadway. We got lost in Boston. We had the time of our lives.

This year I graduated from college. Before April, I couldn’t even remember what it’s like to not be in college.

This year my roommate got married. My sister started college. My best friend moved to Asia.

And I started living my dream.

This year I took up residence on a bus with twenty-three beautiful African children and seven other adults.

This year all the things that God has given me passions for have come rolling together to form the first stepping-stone in my life as a “grown-up” – and it is happening here, with the African Children’s Choir. Music, children, traveling, global ministry, choirs, it’s all here in this one thing. Could it get any better than this??

Looking back at where I’ve been in the course of just twelve months, I can’t believe the kinds of things I’ve done & learned. I feel as though I’ve become an expert at sociology & ethnographies (it’s amazing the kinds of things you can tell about a person by their car). I’ve slept in so many different places & houses I often wake up and have no idea what town I’m in – let alone where the bedroom door is located (an extremely odd, semi-uncomfortable feeling…).

This year I am thankful for opportunities, for the people that God has brought into my life, for the things I have learned, and for the places I have been.

It has certainly been quite the year.