Small mercies. . .

In the chaos of a move to another continent, we have seen small mercies in abundance. . .

in our last wedding  in NJ being full of laughter and golden light, a perfect farewell to the career that has carried us for 10 years

in a friend willing to fly to Baltimore to ease the exhaustion of our last 20 hour drive before our flight and remind us of the love and care that surrounds us

in surprise visits from busy friends to send us on our way and hugs that brought laughter and warmth during long hours on a plane that followed

in each of our bags weighing exactly 49 lbs when we checked in at the airport

in the girls' walls painted the perfect shade of lavender in our new house to match the new blankets I had brought from the States for their beds

in the only large scrap in a bag of fabric being deep purple and enough to cover the bulletin board in their room

in a family moving from Nairobi 2 weeks ago and leaving the exact four beds we needed for our new home in Kijabe -  that fit the rooms like they had been made for us

in friends we met 5 years ago for a photo-shoot welcoming us and guiding us throughout the first overwhelming shopping experience - sacrificing precious hours to give peace of mind, saying "who knew, then, that we would get to do life together?"

in the only large white refrigerator at the Nakumatt (and last of that one in the store) being the perfect size for the space in our new kitchen

in the frame for the white board left in our home being the perfect width to stretch the canvas brought from home to hang in our new living room

in the hospital retreat being days after we landed so I can see the hospital in full, its structure and vision, and see the wisdom and kindness that will surround me

in our curtains, carefully packed from home, being the perfect size for our windows despite my lack of foresight to measure

in the bag of jumbo marshmallows left on the upstairs shelf that we ate while we unpacked

in meal after meal to welcome us and homemade cinnamon rolls and zucchini bread  to allow us to focus on settling and not on food

in our house being one of few that will get unlimited internet so we can upload and download pictures with ease

in the girls sleeping through the night perfectly in our move and seeming unfazed by jet-lag so they could start school our second day in Kenya

in the ancient blinds we found in the back of our kitchen cabinet and the tapestry needle I threw in our bag at the last minute to restring them so we have perfect light and privacy for our room

in a birthday party when we had been here less than a week so my girls feel a part of this world here, and scraps of ribbon and a silver beaded belt to make party appropriate costumes at the last minute

in birthday hats and signs and balloons for Belle, when I had not even figured out which day her birthday would fall

and finally, in a letter, written 27 years ago to my mom as a second grade assignment. We were told to write 20 years in the future from wherever we were. I was a few years off, but after we bought our plane tickets, my mom pointed out the date at the top -

September 24 . . . the day we arrived in Kijabe.

In a stilted 7 year old hand, only learning to write, I told her "I got a new job today. . . I have a white uniform and special gloves. . . I'm heading for Africa. I figure it's best. Well, I have to go now. bye. Love, Arianna"

Simple mercies and reassurance, that in all the goodbyes and hellos, the confusion and transition, that all is as it was planned to be.

Day One Victories and Failures

Day one, victories and failures.  

Victory, girls had first day of school, both happy as clams.  New friends, lots of learning and playtime. Paid tuition, piece of cake. 

                 

Failure, no hot water for showers, not sure what we will do tomorrow. . .maybe get dressed and walk to guesthouse for showers?  (Wait, it's working!  Arianna has the magic touch:). 

Victory, Arianna's shopping trip (thank you Erik and Amanda!!). We have a functional and downright awesome kitchen.  Dove soap.  Magnetic kitchenware hanging thingies (always wanted those).  

Failure, plugged the kitchen-aid into the wrong outlet and killed it. . .first casualty of 220v power.

Victory, all of our bags made it to Kenya and we cleared customs/immigration in thirty minutes.  

Failure, one bag went AWOL somewhere along the way, maybe in the airport or the back of a van? 

Failure, internet setup, both wireless modems are ineffective

Victory, 3G working on phones now so we can communicate with email at least.

Big victory, iPhones unlocked and SIM cards cut and working.  

Victory, found wonderful ice cream.  Failure, it melted, can't plug the fridge in until tomorrow (freon settling and whatnot)

Victory, good time with wonderful friends and mentors.  We are following in great footsteps. 

Victory, setting foot in town and feeling instantly at home.  Absolutely no failure here:)

           Emma, our neighbor's dog

Sweet Home

I am sitting at a beachside cafe in New Jersey.  We drove up to shoot a wedding for a friend of a friend of a friend.  We plan to drive back overnight, pack the remainder of what we own, and move to Kenya on Monday.  Sweet home Alabama comes on the radio.  Surreal and strange this whirlwind of packing and goodbyes has been.  

Alabama had been a sweet home, as were Winston and Greenville and Atlanta.  As will be Kijabe.  

The sounds, sights, and smells will be different high on the mountain.  No mourning dove, no pine trees and azaleas.  Instead roosters, monkeys, acacias, and the St. Bernard-Rottweiler mix that will be our new companion.  

I wonder when I will hear sweet home Alabama come in Kenya?  How surreal will that be?  It will happen, and I will become nostalgic.  But hopefully, by that time our new home will be just as sweet.  

"I'm home anywhere, if you are where I am."  Rich Mullins

**in Birmingham, first leg of the trip to Nairobi, Hakuna Matata comes on the airport radio - quite appropriate:)

Hao Tong

t-minus 5 days until we leave.  We have been about to leave for forever, months of preparation, selling, and saying goodbye. And here we are - 5 days. My lasts have been punctuated with joyful depth and tearful wonder. . .

last parties in golden light with giggling children

           our last dinners with dear friends where I cling to aloha and not goodbye in intimate, layered,  
           easy conversation

last playdates filled with comfortable imagination and impossible games of pretend

        last stolen moments with my nephews savoring rambunctious smiles and satisfied laughter
           
               last hugs from sisters that seem only to reaffirm a love that crosses oceans

last weddings where I wrap myself in black formal gowns, transform, and savor the joy that comes with capturing well the beginning of the rest of a life together

my last shifts with unprecedented busyness punctuated with long hugs that spoke louder than words

           last moments of encouragement from mentors that became friends as they poured life and
           passion into my doctor's heart

last moments, satisfying in the way they engage the heart and gut and mind. . .

Tears have come in expected and unexpected waves, and I have thought often of the Chinese words "hao tong." By a twist of linguistics, it means "very painful" and also literally "good pain".   Pain comes with a shot or needling, but that hurt brings healing.  The rending of our hearts as we prepare to move to Kenya carries this dichotomy.  The certain good of deep friendship and the pain that comes in transforming those relationships into something new.

Every tear confirms that we have a built a life here that we love, that we are preparing to bring this part of the world to Kijabe and Kijabe to our nebulous corner of intricately woven relationships that refuses to have reasonable boundaries.

Five days, and we are ready to go - overwhelmed with gratitude for the friendships that have made these last moments so perfectly difficult.

Glimpses

"You know nothing, John Snow".  

The oft-repeated line from Game of Thrones played in my head repeatedly through our time at Samaritan's Purse Orientation.  I stood on a mountain and listened to Ed Morrow, director of World Medical Mission, tell stories of his ministry in impossibly remote and hostile places.  I heard tales from Jim Moore, a ninja medical technician for Samaritan's Purse, who gave example after example of what he called "God's on-time supply chain" in which equipment would arrive in the warehouse at the precise moment of a need arising at a hospital in Africa. . .or when he traveled halfway around the world to repair a life-saving device and found the necessary replacement part literally sticking out of the sand in a desert junkyard.

I picture heaven less as streets of gold and more as the experience of perpetually having my mind-blown.  Finally seeing the behind the scenes - the plans that were orchestrated, the perfection, the love, the purpose.  Nothing accidental and nothing at all short of amazing.

I feel this week as if I saw just a little glimpse of it. . . that Ari, the girls, and I are just 4 drops of water in a massive tide.  We are being carried along by those around us, following those who have gone before us, and preparing the way for those behind.  Though it might appear chaotic or random at a glance, the tide is actually moving in perfectly orchestrated harmony.*

Orientation was just that. . .a reminder to orient and look north and have my mind blown.  Realizing that I know nothing, but catching a glimpse, an absolutely amazing glimpse, of just how loved we are.

*yes the tide is working in perfect harmony, but no, it is not Crimson as far as I can tell:)

"For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known".

What ifs

              Last week, we rested with my family in South Carolina. My mom and dad brought  together the men and women who have loved me from the day I was born, and they surrounded us with the peace that comes with unconditional love. I soaked in bits of wisdom on the waves of the lake, laughed so hard my sides hurt around the dinner table, got up on skis for the first time on a dare from my daughter,  and shared in the joys and struggles of my sisters, aunts, and uncles.  I paused for a moment, reveling in the humbling and certain reality that we are surrounded by phenomenal people who love us fiercely.

             From there, I headed north to Bristol for the beginning of our Samaritan's Purse Orientation. As I flew into Tennessee, the news flooded with the story of Dr. Brantly's fight with Ebola.  The risks involved in our journey confronted us on every screen and in every story. Kent Brantly is one of us -  literally - a Samaritan's Purse Post resident who had sat in our seats only 12 months ago. 

             Our colleague faced the crisis we feared, and we watched Samaritan's Purse mobilize -  seeing first hand the passion and love of the organization that has adopted us . We talked about replacing fear with strength, replacing worry with trust. I called David in tears and we played the "what if?" game.  What if the risk became greater?  Would we still go? And we rested in the insanity of the answer - Yes.

           Sitting in orientation, I listened to the stories of doctors who had come before us.  My heart resonated not with the stories of the best days or sunsets or safaris, but in the moments where God's strength resonated in weakness. Where He met them in the Rwandan genocide or the Kenyan bush or in the clefts of the Sudanese cliffs - the stories when the impossible was solved with the perfect plan,  the dilemma was reconciled with improbable schemes, and where provision came in desperate need. 

           The one thing we know for certain is that we are loved, and that whatever happens, this love is bigger than any illness or danger we could encounter in the world.  This love is so amazing that we don't want to miss a second of it because of fear.  So we go, not because it is safe or noble or even known, but because this is next for us and He goes with us.

-ari

Closing Time

We finally closed on the sale of our house this week. We are relieved, but too emotionally and physically exhausted to respond with much as far as tears or celebration.

Four months of hyper-vigilant cleaning, endless repairs and showings to make everything presentable and perfect are exhausting.  But, for all the stress and work, it was a wonderful home for us - absolutely beautiful and full of character and love.  There wasn't a single room where I didn't build or paint or tear out a wall. . .but it was a labor of love and will forever be a cherished place.

Now we are on to a new temporary home, an absolute blessing.  Chris, a nurse and friend of Arianna's  from the hospital, has given us the upstairs of her house. It is wonderful to have a new, safe, happy place in Birmingham for the next two months.  

Our girls have grown up what seems like years in the past weeks, spending time with their grandparents and best friends in South Carolina and South Georgia.  Annabelle, our strong-willed girl, taught herself how to swim, Madeline rode roller-coasters, body surfed, and caught crabs with bare hands.  

The biggest marker of the change was our last round of rabies shots today.  The first time, Annabelle screamed bloody murder and Madeline almost passed out from worry.  The second time was a little better.  Today, both girls hopped up on the table, didn't even flinch, and volunteered to hold Arianna's hand when it was her turn to be stuck.  

The coming weeks will be a blur of weddings, visiting family, and Samaritan's Purse orientation.  We will live out of suitcases and make memories and do more laughing and crying.  And then we will go, leaving home for home, leaving friends for friends, family for family.  Goodbye and hello are now sharply real.  We are nervous, excited, overwhelmed, optimistic, and all other emotions rolled into one.  Most of all we are grateful, for our family and friends who have absolutely saved us in the past weeks, and who are quite literally sending us on this crazy journey.  You who have fed us, clothed us, moved us, taken care of the girls, showed up when we didn't know we needed help, and prayed without ceasing -  thank you so, so much!