hey beautiful child, Daddy loves you...

I spent this morning with the beautiful children at Home of Hope, the orphanage where Isaiah lived for almost 2 years. It is only 10 minutes from our house and I’ve arranged my schedule to go twice a week in the mornings while the big kids are at school and Lilian and Micah play together. 

I still remember what it was like driving up for the first time, now 3 ½ years ago. Our driver carefully drove down the windy, bumpy, steep road to the blue gate. I sat near the front of the bus. Others chattered in their excitement and joy. Me, I sat speechless, eyes closed, head pressed against the window. Sometimes there are only groans and wails for sorrows and sometimes for joy there is only silence, a held breath, awe, wonder, and still an ache for the story that brought us there. This was one of those times. I silently let mixed tears of joy and sorrow fall down my cheeks as we pulled up.

Driving the now familiar route to Home of Hope I notice that what it feels like when I arrive hasn’t changed much. I still can’t quite catch my breath. I’m still on holy ground. Ground where babies are made in His image but no longer live with the earthy ones whose image they resemble, ground where there are too many beds and not enough snuggles, ground where there are too many bowls but not enough attention, too many beautiful faces and not enough tender caresses, too many kids and not enough mommys.

I usually spend my time one on one with kids, seeking to offer a quiet 10 minute respite with no competition for care. It isn’t easy to sneak away, as oftentimes 3 seconds upon arrival three or four of the ones who are mobile quickly wrap themselves around your body begging to be the one who gets the snuggle. Who gets the song. Who gets the peek-a-boo.

Lilian and I spent yesterday morning together with Micah. Both of us playfully competing who got to give the peek-a-boo to just him. Who got to chase him and make him giggle. Who got to lay with him until he fell asleep. Two of us willing and able to provide that to one of him.

That’s what happens most times when I go. I gaze into these beautiful eyes of a mommy-less one and think about what I’m able to offer my kids (even imperfectly) and what I long for the kids of Home of Hope to have.

Micah's birthday party collection

Today that moment came while singing a favorite Thompson lullaby (we've probably sung it to each kid at least 100 times. Lucy maybe 300 times) from Andrew Peterson’s Slugs and Bugs cd. “Hey beautiful girl.” The lyrics go:

“I’ve got your bottle and I’ve got you swaddled and you’re too loud to ignore.

Your mama is sleeping the angels are keeping, so cry no more.

Hey beautiful girl! Daddy loves you, LOVES you, most beautiful girl in the whole wide world.

The stars are all shining

The birds are reclining the squirrels are all nestled down

And the trees in the forest all join in the chorus and sway into the sound

Hey beautiful girl! Daddy loves you, he LOVES you, most beautiful girl in the whole wide world.

I know that moons rise and time flies and sweet little girls get older.

But then when your tooth aches or your heart breaks, will you still cry on my shoulder?

Hey beautiful girl! Daddy loves you, he LOVES you. most beautiful girl in the whole wide world.”

Today I camped out on the floor next to the crib of one of the little ones who has significant special needs. She can’t move any limbs or even her head to stop her drool from spilling all over her now wet and uncomfortable pillow. Not to mention the flies that she can’t swat away that cover her.

So I camped out next to her and I swatted the flies.

And I sang.

And I cried.

And I cried out.  

“Hey beautiful girl. Your daddy loves you, he LOVES you.”

Oh LORD, she IS beautiful. I want their mommy or daddy to sing this to them.

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world.”

Oh LORD I want her to have parents who tell her she is the most beautiful one in the whole world.

…

“I know that moons rise and time flies and sweet little girls get older. But then when your tooth aches or your heart breaks, will you still cry on my shoulder”

I want someone to be achy all over about how she’s getting older the way I ache all over about my 5/5/2 year olds. They’re growing.  oh Jesus.  JESUS!!! PLEASE!! They’re all growing fast and they don’t have parents to feel happy and achy about that all at once.

(the ache and compassion and love borrowed and imparted from Him starting to more deeply sink in).

Shit, shit, shit. Oh Jesus. How LONG?!  

Jesus. Give them a mommy who sees them and delights in them. Who listens to their whole story when they feel rejected, hurt, lonely. My Lucy, what if it was my Lucy? What if it was still my Isaiah? 

(singing through tears)

Yes, beautiful child, Daddy loves you. (The Father loves you. sees you. hears you.) you're the most beautiful child in the whole wide world.

(puddle)

(time to leave)

I tried to sing her all the way to sleep, wondering if anyone had ever done that for her.

But there were too many other beautiful ones screaming over and over again, waking her up. Too many crying for so many things. Too many cries and not enough lullaby-ers. Too many (all so important) kids not enough mommys.

I know adoption isn’t perfect. But being raised in an orphanage isn’t enough.

(And, YES, as I consider my own week, my own frailty, my own brokenness, my own need of remembering and hearing my worth and the Father’s love… As I remember all of that, I see my twin sister next to me who bears the same broken body as me and who bears the same beautiful image as me. and I begin to cry out for more than a mommy for both of us. still a mommy for her, but more than that for both of us.  

I cry out for a Savior from heaven who came. Who wept. Who healed. Who died for us and received God's wrath for us. And was raised. 

Who will return. Who will wipe away all her tears. And mine.) 

my grace resistant life

My grace resistant life

Don’t give it to me for free.

Not your friendship.

Not His grace.

I’ll earn it.

I’ll send enough emails.

Buy enough presents.

Wake up to run.

Stay up late to talk.

I might even try to buy your kids with gifts or fun.

Just don’t make me do nothing.

I’m not sure then that I’m lovable.

Let me inspire you.

buy for you.

write to you.

drive through the night for you.

 stay up late and get up early to try to be enough.

I’ll do whatever it takes.

It’s getting faster. It’s getting louder. It isn’t enough. I’m addicted.

Out out damn spot!

I can’t keep it up.

Don’t let me cowardly jump like Javert, resistant to unmerited kindness.

and yet already I'm losing my soul trying to win the world.

Unweaned.

Resistant to grace.

in friendship. in Him.

Help me.

Save me.

Rest me.

grace me.

I quit.

I'll never be enough.

drink the cup, Jesus. you must.

give me grace. its the only way.

give me a quieted soul.

freedom.

voices of shame: when anxiety over insignificance motivates me

I’m not sure I’m going to try super hard to learn Kinyarwanda.

Before you judge me, hear me out.

Life in Rwanda is giving me an indescribable gift. It kind of feels like a “continued education” class that’s required of teachers every few years. The name of my course is “voices of shame: when anxiety over insignificance or fear of being unlovable motivates me.”

This is a rut I fall into what feels like regularly: wondering if my life will matter; wondering if it will matter in the ways I want it to; wondering if it will matter to the people whose opinion I care about. And God keeps meeting me here, gently but firmly speaking into lies I believe about what it means to know and serve Him.

Many days there is a struggle within me about what “god” I’ll serve. Oftentimes my “god” is my significance/my name/my reputation/my likability and I spend my days bowing down before that god, spinning in circles trying to make sure I’m doing enough to be significant in the world, doing enough to be impressive, doing enough to make sure I’m lovable to God and people. It isn’t a kind god to serve, my friends. It is brutal, harsh, exhausting. But I’ve spent many days at that grueling altar.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to have an impact in the world. I truly believe that’s part of how we were designed. And certainly sacrifice and laying down one’s life are a part of that.

But I have begun to learn the dangerous/slight nuance in my life, when behaviors (motivated by fear-of-insignificance or being unlovable) are sneakily disguised and appear like callings, like following Him. Lots of people assume those behaviors are beautiful and “Christian,” but I’m continuing to see that some of what I do or am tempted to do is (at least partly) motivated by shame and fear, not love. 

I came to Rwanda with only a few things I felt sure of:  I was going to wait 3-6 months to commit to very many things to see how our family’s adjustment is going, and I was going to study (hard!) Kinyarwanda (the local language).

But the past few months I have felt God showing me different things about who I am. About what at least the next little season might have for me. And the things He is showing me there (along with serving and loving my family well) feel like they will take up most/all of the time I have in a day/week. I don’t like always like admitting my limitations that way, but that kind of acknowledgment keeps resonating as deeply truer, freer and feels reflective of a submission to my created-not-Creator position in life.

This isn't a statement about anyone but me. The Holy Spirit really does actively and accurately work in each of our lives. I believe a lot of expats here are meant to learn Kinyarwanda. They were made for it. They are meant to be able to have true, deep friendship, fellowship, teaching and learning capability with folks here, which necessitates learning the local language. Yes many people know English, but knowing someone’s first/heart language is so crucial to real friendship. Thus many really are meant to study/master the language.

But every time I think about learning Kinyarwanda this is what goes through my head:

• I need to start studying the language so I don’t feel like a failure (or so I feel like a “somebody”) when visitors come from the States.
• I need to start studying the language so people here will think I’m committed.
• I need to learn the language because ____ did and I care about what they think of me. or because ______ did and I want to be more like them.
• You suck you suck you suck, Adrianne. Why can’t you just do more? Why can’t you get your act together enough? Plenty of other people seem capable of doing it.

I don’t think those are the reasons most people have learned Kinyarwanda. I think there’s a beautiful, pure, given desire within them that God birthed. But the only voice I hear when I consider it is one of shame and fear.

Last night as Hunter and I talked over dinner (and tears), I realized more and more I felt an emotional and real “would God still love me” if I didn’t _______; would my life be enough if I didn’t ___________. Last night the fill in the blank was “would I be enough if I didn’t learn Kinyarwanda”, but before this specific battle, I have struggled throughout life believing that the harder things are always better. That doing them makes me lovable to God and to others. And so I feel anxious and comply and submit my life to my fears over and over again. Show me the harder, less traveled road, Mr. Frost, and yes, please I’ll take it. But I’ve found on that road I’ve stumbled and been wounded time and time again. I’ve become slave to an impossible-to-satisfy god, even while making offering after insufficient offering.

So for now, I’m going to wait on learning Kinyarwanda.

That could change. At some point (maybe even soon) God might open windows of time for me and make it clear that it is an option/invitation/calling and He might plant in me a true desire for it. But His voice and invitation would sound so different than the voices I'm hearing right now. Voices that enslave, shame, cause me to lose sleep.

Instead, today I’m choosing to submit my life to freedom in Christ. That’s not a permissiveness or laziness as I once feared it might be. But it is a freedom in the rest He bought for me. It is freedom in the truth that I don’t have to do something to make Him love me or to be enough for Him. It is freedom to embrace limitations and constraints shared by humanity. And it is a freedom to embrace how he made me (and to the truth that He delights in that intentional design). And a freedom to rest in His finished work.

For any of you who also are motivated by fear of insignificance or something similar, I hope you too get to start learning what freedom in Christ feels like. It gives way to rest and to joy, and to really learning the limited (but beautiful!) things for which you’re made. And this morning as I worshiped the One true God who gave His life for us, freedom in Him gave way to grateful tears.   

chipped not shattered...

As is true for many newlyweds, Hunter and I received a coffee pot as a wedding gift. Unfortunately, in a clumsy moment sometime in the first six months of owning it, I dropped it on our kitchen floor. But it didn't shatter. However, right at the spout it was significantly, noticeably chipped. The lid was also broken so you couldn't really make it stay on the pot. 

But we kept that broken coffee pot for 8 1/2 years. And I drank coffee out of it at least 90% of those mornings. (yes mom, even when I was pregnant. I know that's still a sore issue). That's 2,792 days of drinking out of a broken coffee pot.  

No one would have argued that the coffee pot was less than effective anymore. No one would have argued if I had decided to replace it. But I couldn't do it. It wasn't broken enough for that kind of investment. 

That image really encompasses a lot about what I've believed about myself for many years. I've believed that there was some kind of line between chipped and broken and since I have so much to be thankful for, so many things going for me... I don't qualify for really needing people to stop for me. Of course I've got some nicks and bruises but nothing in comparison to others who've had it much harder...so I don't qualify for attention, help, concern. I need to buck up and do my part in helping others. I need to ignore my pesky wounds that keep drawing attention to themselves. Maybe if I just serve others enough, care enough about major issues, then my (self-defined) smaller ones will just disappear. Either way I need to just press on.

But. Through a series of activities that I can only really label "God's kind pursuit of me", manifest through friendships, counseling, reading His word and so on, I threw away my old coffee pot and have tried to trash my skewed worldview along with it. That worldview, I think, is getting replaced with a kinder and more Biblical one.

Here's some of what that journey was like.

Last summer I spent a long time studying a passage in the Bible that tells of a day when Jesus was asked by a man named Jairus to save his dying 12 year old daughter. He agrees and is following Jairus when a woman who had a disease where she bled for 12 years came up and touched his garment. While time was of the essence in rescuing the little girl whose story was (as any Emergency Room doc would agree) much more acutely traumatic, Jesus stopped and he stayed with the woman. The scripture tells us that she told him the "whole truth" as he listened to her whole story. And in his staying with her, not just her sneaking up and touching him, she was deeply healed. 

But in the meantime, the little girl died. The story doesn't end there, of course, after arriving at the scene, Jesus resurrects her. 

But that's not the part of the story that I got beautifully stuck on for almost two months. I wasn't stuck on the truth that Jesus went and spent equal care and attention to the traumatized little girl and raised her from the dead. Yes, that's amazing and that might be the part of the story that God has for you today when you read it. But the part that is slowly changing me is the fact that Jesus stopped for the woman whose problems appeared so much less significant. Surely her problems were real...but in comparison with the little girl there was no question?! But Jesus doesn't assess situations the way we do. The broken woman's story, her health and healing was equally significant to Jesus. 

His stopping for her, his valuing her and his listening to her has felt like the permission I've needed to walk up to him and touch his garment and admit what's true. Actually, maybe my problems aren't as bad as others. But they've been affecting our marriage for 8 years. And I think they've been affecting me for a lot longer than that. Somethings not quite right. Somethings wrong actually. I don't feel like I have a lot to complain of, but I feel like I'm broken and needing help. needing rescued. 

And the attention I've needed hasn't bothered Jesus. It isn't stealing from anyone else that I'm receiving care, attention, mercy, love, help from him. His resources aren't limited the ways that I have arrogantly (and harmfully) defined them to be. 

There are many details that I won't share here as they involve other people and they frankly just aren't that important for most people to know. But. Last fall I participated in a counseling group with other women called Healing Hearts, provided by the Barnabas Center in Richmond, VA. The group is being offered two other times this fall, which is part of why I wanted to share my experience with it: to encourage others of you who might be hurting, broken, but reluctant to seek care.

There's real help and hope and redemption on offer and Healing Hearts is a great place to start. I think going through that group is actually one of the things that (looking back) felt necessary for me to come to Rwanda healthier. It is also why it felt surprising and confusing that after all that undoing of lies about chipped/broken that we were sent away from Richmond, after I finally agreed/believed that the work of showing and receiving God's love there was equally valuable and important as doing that in places like Rwanda. 

But, here, too, I can spend time with folks who look a lot like me, whose stories seem more "chipped" than "broken" from the outside appearance. But I don't need to assess that. Their story and life, their health and wholeness is deeply significant to the King. In fact, I think that kind of listening might be part of what He's made me for. 

So, it feels like a big gift to have participated in Healing Hearts (though the counseling group of course wasn't like going on a vacation. it was hard, emotional work!) But I am deeply thankful that I got to spend my time unpacking some of my story and allowing Him to heal parts of me. If any of this is resonating with you, I sincerely encourage you to consider participating in a Healing Hearts Barnabas group this fall. and feel free to ask me more detailed questions if you have them.   

two humbling moments today

Not every day here is earth shattering or perspective enlarging, though every day is a gift. Many of the days we've spent here have felt much like days in the US: wake up, read, drink coffee, exercise, play with the kids, have friends over and go to sleep. 

I'm very thankful for those kinds of days and what they teach me. There is real learning, real beauty, real brokenness and real important work in those kinds of days (where the appearance of my friends or life seems more similar to me). There's lots to learn, receive and do, if I have been given the eyes to see. In Richmond or Rwanda that's true. 

Many of our days look and feel like this sunset: just deeply lovely and fairly comfortable.

sunset view from our backyard

But most days have at least moments in them when I remember more easily: people's stories here really are different than mine. They see things differently. They experience things differently. And there are reasons for that. 

And there's something about the privilege of listening and watching and learning and getting all-up-in others' stories here that (I hope and pray!) is going to make Hunter's Lucy's, Isaiah's, Micah's and my story more beautiful. And prayerfully the impact of our life and work here would similarly draw out more beauty in people here. 

I heard someone say recently that it is only when single threads are interwoven that real beauty (an interesting, ornate or beautiful fabric) or real helpfulness (durable clothing, warm blankets, etc) comes of the thread. A pastor in NYC (Tim Keller) says it this way:

"If you throw thousands of pieces of thread unto a table, no fabric results. The threads must be rightly and intimately related to one another in literally a million ways. Each thread must go over, under, around, and through the others at thousands of points. Only then do you get a fabric that is beautiful and strong, that covers, fits, holds, shelters and delights. God created all things to be in a beautiful, harmonious, interdependent, knitted, webbed relationship to one another. Just as rightly related physical elements form a cosmos or tapestry, so rightly related human beings form a community. This interwovenness is what the Bible calls shalom, or harmonious peace.”

Rwandan fabric. I'M OBSESSED.

I want to be like that. To have my story interwoven with people in Richmond, where we together add beauty and texture to the tapestry we're making and re-making together. But that means them being all up in my business and really being known and doing life together. But I still want it, even from far away. And I want that here, too.

So in addition to days that feel "normal," we have moments many times a week when we realize our thread is getting woven into a different kind--similar in so many ways --and yet so very different. And I hope the effect of what our weaving is like here will make the tapestry more vibrant, interesting, helpful, beautiful.

But the "really being in each other's lives" here means making plenty of "mistakes." it means plenty of humbling (even if quietly humbled) moments. it means asking and receiving perspective changing questions and answers.

I've shared some of these stories already. The humbling ones. Moments like a few weeks ago when Lucy asked a Rwandan friend "why do you wear the same dress everyday?" She was completely shocked to know the answer. 

The day before was a holiday and I asked a similar "innocent" question that left me stumbling into a humbling conversation. I somewhat jokingly (and to complement his work ethic) asked John Baptiste, who goes door to door selling fruits and vegetables, why he was not "taking holiday" like the rest of Rwanda (NOTHING is open that day. everyone is home). He looked at me and then looked down for a moment and then met my curious gaze with deeply kind eyes and said: "I work today so my family can eat." 

My relationship with these friends ought not be just so I can have my eyes opened or have humbling/powerful stories to tell others. These are real, dear, made-in-God's-own-image neighbors and friends. But there is something about our knowing them and their knowing us that is part of God's design in healing and restoring me. and in healing and restoring this broken and beautiful world. 

and so I tell some of the stories.

The first humbling moment like that today happened because I was out of money. Our guard Apollo approached us early this morning (he does more than guard our home: takes care of landscape, runs occasional errands, maintains the garden, etc.) Anyway, Apollo needed money to buy more soap for washing the patio. It is a cash based society so we get money out once a week (or so) from the bank and make it last. But this week we had two things go wrong with the car (80,000 francs), needed gas (50,000 francs) and our gas power/propane tank went out which meant we couldn't cook unless we replaced it (45,000 francs). So when Apollo asked for money (like the equivalent of 5 dollars) I had to apologize because we were literally out of money but would go to the bank later. And 45 minutes later when John Baptiste came as requested to sell us his vegetables and fruits I had to tell him that we didn't have money to pay today. I hated saying no to him. I felt terrible. I think he even travels a bit to bring his food to us.

A few hours later, though, I was rummaging through my pants pockets and found some money I'd left in them last Friday. It was more than plenty for the fruits/vegetables/soap. I came out smiling, carrying it in my hand and told Lilian and Apollo: "sorry! I realized I had some in my pants pockets so I have enough now. here you go." 

And they laughed at me. not (at all) a mean kind of laugh. but not a 'you're so silly" kind of laugh either. They gestured at each other while teasing me in Kinyarwanda something like "wonder what that's like...to forget you have money in your pockets." 

The other moment happened later in the morning. Micah has been sick since Sunday/Monday. We actually felt quite concerned at first because he had a reasonably high fever and his intestines were producing the wrong kinds of things. and those wrong kinds of things were going out both ways. all day/night long. yuck. 

On Monday/Tuesday he tested negative for malaria/typhoid/giardia/amoebas. The first humbling moment regarding illness is that you don't take symptoms for granted here. "I don't believe in medicine" kinds of folks (like me) aren't appropriate/welcome: fevers need to be dealt with seriously and if you have means you get tested quickly because early attention can be significantly important. So we tested him on Monday. 

But the test showed (thankfully!)...it is just a "normal" bug. I can do normal bugs. No antibiotics necessary. You let them run their course. make sure he gets lots of water/liquid. but nothing too worrisome. 

So that's what I've been doing. He's been sluggish and refusing food the past few days but he seemed to turn a corner last night when he ate a few things and had less diarrhea during the night. 

So this morning I left Micah with Lilian so I could fill in for a friend and teach an exercise class. Lilian called Hunter mid-morning because she was so concerned for his health. I was just about home so I rushed in. I came in and found him kind of like this:

Definitely lethargic-ish...but I watched closely and snuggled him for the next little bit and I could tell he was okay. He was laughing, talking, reading, playing...

But I could tell Lilian didn't agree. She kept making her case. She pulled together stool (gross, sorry TMI) and wanted me to take him to the doctor again. She came in every 5 or so minutes to check on him and kept pleading with me. "He's very sick. He's very sick." She repeatedly told me how many diapers he went through, how he's leaning over in pain, etc.

But I didn't budge. Not spitefully, but I really felt confident he was okay. Yes, I agree he is sick and has a tummy bug but I think we can wait it out. 

At this point in the day now that Lilian has seen him dancing and eating a normal-ish sized lunch she would agree that he's okay.

But here's the thing: Diarrhea is the second leading cause of death in children under the age of 5 around the world. DIARRHEA, people. Mostly because of contaminated water and food. TOTALLY preventable illnesses and deaths. THAT SHOULD MAKE US LOSE SLEEP.

Lilian's story has been marked by that. Mine has not. I can watch diarrhea for 3-4 days making sure he is getting (CLEAN!) water that won't exacerbate the problem. making sure he is showing signs of turning the corner. But Lilian's neighbors/relatives don't have that same story/luxury. You see diarrhea for a few days in a kid (maybe even just one day) and you MOVE on it. you beg a doctor for help if you can't afford it. you watch. you pray. You stress because it MATTERS. 

You don't sit on your couch and read stories when your kid has had diarrhea for 4 days. But that's what I did. And it was okay. 

But my heart grew today as I asked questions and as I learned why that bothered Lilian. And it BOTHERS me that she has to think so prudently. (insert plug of me asking you to consider learning about and participating in clean water options around the world. there are MANY ways to help).

My story and Micah's story is getting interwoven with Lilian's and I couldn't be more thankful, even as I'm humbled most days. 

dancing with Lilian at her home with her family for her birthday. it was AWESOME.

our most brilliant idea ever

Every time we'd tell someone that we were bringing a friend with us for the first month when we relocated to Rwanda they would give us these demonstrative eyes and body language that screamed "that's brilliant!" We agree. The idea to ask Brianne to join our family for the transition time (and flight) felt like one of the easiest decisions Hunter and I have made together. it went something like this: 

Adrianne- wouldn't it be amazing if the right someone could go with us and help us for the flight and first month.

Hunter- YES. definitely. who?

Adrianne....hmmmm (thinking about a few important factors: summertime month-long availability. fit with whole family. willingness. awesomeness. long blonde hair who loves the Squirrels. jk.)... 

Adrianne: how about Brianne?

Hunter- perfect. done.

Adrianne- let's call her.

Hunter- okay. 

not the most "spiritual" sounding decision, but it/she felt like God's idea and gift to us then and now.

And so, here is a tribute post to our friend and one of the most brilliant ideas we've ever had.

Ahem.

Dear Brianne's parents and family:Hi! You probably don't agree that this was our most brilliant idea ever (to take your precious daughter/sister so far. so long. to so different of a place). Or if it was...then you're now questioning our intelligence. Fair enough. :)

I'm really sorry we didn't get to meet you before your (beautiful and highly treasured) daughter, my husband and I carried our family across the Atlantic Ocean (with the somewhat significant help of Ethiopian airlines). However, I do want to sincerely thank you for generously sharing Brianne with us and allowing her to go on such a faraway adventure. As I imagine you know better than we do: she is remarkably selfless, helpful, strong, courageous, optimistic, calm, energetic, spunky, focused, warm, magnetic and fun. 

You might not have known this little gem: she's especially calm and helpful when there's projectile vomit from my daughter everywhere in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. hypothetically speaking, of course.

You probably didn't know that little detail about copious vomit/help before, but I bet you won't be surprised that she is sad coming home (and not just about leaving our family!)...but because she managed in 4 weeks to be helpful to our (needy) family everyday and yet had life and joy left in her to move towards more than a handful of now new friends. last night we had dinner with some new friends and their grateful words about her resonated with people in Richmond's experience: she's curious about their life, she listens well and asks good questions, she follows-up about important things in their life. In just 4 weeks she made many new people feel loved. 

Parenting isn't the only thing that makes people who they are (my kids and I are BANKING on this). However, I know she reflects both her maker and her family and so I'm thankful for and mindful of the ways you've positively shaped her to be so deeply beautiful and lovely.    

I know it wasn't nothing to you all to miss out on having her around for the past month. I imagine it felt costly. But it wasn't nothing to us to have her here. I wish you could've seen the way she loved on each of us, served us, played, read, exercised (with Micah. just ask), danced, cooked, cleaned, sang, snuggled. Her presence here was significant.

So, thank you. I promised you (through her) that we WOULD buy her a round trip ticket and we WOULD take her to the airport on time to come home. We're making good on that promise and sending her back tomorrow. However, I cannot promise that we won't look for jobs for her in Rwanda starting next year and hope and pray that she and others will come to Rwanda again to see us. Hope to meet you (here!) next year.

Dear City Church and friends of Brianne's:

Thank you, also, for generously sharing Brianne with us for the past month. The Scripture describes these kinds of visits and help sometimes. Here's one: "I hope in the LORD to send Timothy to you soon, that I may also be cheered when I receive news about you. I have no one else like him, who takes a genuine interest in your welfare. For everyone looks out for their own interests, not those of Jesus Christ. But you know that Timothy has proved himself, because as a son with his father he has served with me in the work of the gospel. I hope, therefore, to send him as soon as I see how things go with me...But I think it necessary to send back to you Epaphroditus, my brother, fellow worker and fellow soldier, who is also your messenger, whom you sent to take care of my needs. For he longs for you all... (from Philippians 2.)

Anyway! I feel confident although sad in sending Brianne back to you. She's kind of a combination of how Paul describes Timothy and Epaphroditus there. My confidence in Richmond being the place for her right now is there because her aches and prayers and joy and sadness for you all and your stories did not wane AT ALL while she was away. When you rejoiced in something she was with you. And when you were sad, she was. She served us and served folks in this community (both expats and locals) very well. She was present here. She held little ones who cannot walk or talk who are older than my children. She danced in the home of a dear woman/friend who makes $100 a month working remarkably hard 8-5 every day. But she came home and even throughout the day she prayed for you and your burdens too. She smiled for you and your exciting news. She isn't coming home with a judgmental or haughty spirit (which is incompatible with God's spirit) having served in and traveled to such a "radical" place. Her heart for the physically poor, the orphaned ones, the neglected ones has surely grown, but not in a way that made her concern for other people (equally made in God's image) but with other adjectives before their names ("wealthy", "lonely", "feeling rejected", "american")  seem less significant or less valuable in any way. The LORD is giving her spiritual eyes and wisdom.

The real Holy Spirit is obviously at work in you all. When asked what she was most excited about in coming to be in Rwanda this summer--in a time in the States when "justice" "care for orphans and widows" and similar heartbeats of God are very (pardon my crudeness) "sexy" to be connected to (and legitimate and important obviously too)--she said "actually I've never really dreamed of going to Africa. I'm just excited to serve your family."  She learned that somewhere people, and it wasn't us. and it was reinforced somewhere. and prayed for by people. She learned never to elevate someone over someone but to know all are broken and all are beautiful. all have dignity and are worth serving and laying your life down for. and she'll follow and serve whomever He leads her to, wherever he has prepared works for her in advance to do, whether that carries accolades and attention with it or not. I pray that kind of real gospel work will continue among you and that that truth will sink deeper and deeper into her and you. I pray that you'll cheer for each other as you serve each other and the world in many important varied ways. she's been a gift to us, but she's coming back to serve and love people there. We are so thankful you sent her with us. She's missed you dearly. 

Dear Brianne:

If your mission statement the past four weeks was to love our family well and help us transition to life here...job very well done. You were courageous. helpful. fun. thoughtful. A gift. 

Thank you.

You, because you were a planned gift and servant from God, armed with His kingdom's power, have been kind of like yeast in bread from Papyrus. Essential. totally noticeable if not present. But if the bread is made correctly, it kind of disappears after it is worked in all the dough. He has blessed our family and our new loved ones here and He planned and chose to do it through you and the specific ways He has gifted YOU. 

I'm so glad the Scripture at church this morning was about how if the resurrection isn't true Christians ought to be pitied among all. You missed things while you were gone. Your life of following Jesus will continue to mean that sometimes following and listening will include missing out or added hardships and sadness. But the resurrection really is true. Follow him wherever he leads without FOMO or fear of the Nile. without need for approval or reputation. Keep following him and live a life that (as a result and by-product, NOT goal) would continue to grow in "pitiableness." EXCEPT. Jesus really was raised. None of your obedience will be pitied in the end.

Your time with us was significant and we love you.

Dear Brianne's Creator:

Brianne was across the board (in her full life of joy and service to you and others) a brilliant idea you thought up. She's more marvelous than we know and I hope you keep showing more of her beauty and your beauty through her to lots of people. thanks for sharing her with us these days.

and lastly:

Dear all our people:

we have a guest room open.

I don't specialize in subtlety.  

Part I: We Moved

So, we moved to Rwanda 2 weeks ago...

And I guess I owe some of you an update on life and such.  The short answer is that is has been really good...and really hard at the same time, really exciting and really sad, and really fun and sometimes pretty boring. And while people told me that those kinds of paradoxes were likely to be the story of our cross cultural living experience, I think I didn't really get it until we all landed here two weeks ago.

The good news is that we had about as easy of a transition as we could have had.  We moved into a beautiful house that was furnished because one of the partners in my company moved back to the states and gave me a great deal on everything. We had the car already. We had four friends who brought cars to pick us and our stuff up at the airport. I knew where I was and how to get around. We had been coached on where to shop. We were able to continue to employ the guard and house manager from departing friends who are fantastic. We had a dinner in the fridge and banana bread already made when we set foot in our house. Internet -Setup. Power - On. Cell phones - check. Everything, in relative terms was so easy. And I knew that.

But then I went to a dinner on Friday night with several other expat families and hearing their transition stories (looking for cars, houses, sharing temporary housing with 15 people or more) I think it sunk in again how easy we have had it.  And that's not to say its "easy" to move 8,000 miles. It wasn't. I had a stress induced stomach ache for 2 weeks before, during and after our transit. It took an act of God (and several friends and family members, and every logistical bone in my body) to get 24 boxes / suitcases out of my house in Richmond, to an airport, onto the plane, out of baggage claim and to our new place.

But, the prevailing emotion as we settle is that I feel blessed. Blessed to have had it "easy". To have a family that is pretty good (has a doctorate in?) flexibility. Blessed to have had so many good friends to say good bye to. Blessed to already know so many here in Kigali that we have been able to host people 5 or 6 times already in the last 14 days.

And if the prevailing emotion is feeling blessed, then the secondary one is sadness. Leaving Richmond was unbelievably difficult.  Leaving family before and at the airport was crazy difficult.  Meeting new people and having to tell them my high school basketball stories for the first time...I mean seriously, who HASN'T heard my high school basketball stories?  Just a reminder that while Kigali is highly concentrated with incredibly awesome people, they are all new people...and that's hard, even as it's pretty cool. 

There's more to this story - the work transition, the fact that we live a block from the best burger joint in town, the study I'm running collecting data on motorcycle taxis (trying to understand why none of them have a working spedometer), the fact that Adrianne and I are heading to a party at the ambassador's house tomorrow night, Micah's projectile vomit Sunday, Lucy's projectile vomit in the Addis Ababa airport, bedbugs, my colleague who graduated from business school and was given 9 cows by friends and family, the things we've missed the most, how I've learned how to ride my motorcycle, and stuff like that.  But I'll save that for Part 2...

Don't worry, Adrianne will be back for the next one. 

Peace,

HT