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?