by the numbers...

Well, we're almost two weeks into being here and we have so much to be thankful for. I know many of you are following us on facebook or instagram, but for the friends and family out there who haven't gotten updates because they're not social media ninjas...here's a bit of a summary. just for some kind of format sake, we'll do it by the numbers:

• 3- number of days it took me (Adrianne) to learn how to drive stick (at all) and in a place called "the land of a thousand hills." my training was more like the sink/swim baby swimming lessons where you throw the kid in and hope instincts work out. But I'm doing it! I've driven the kids by myself all over town this week. I'm so thankful to be mobile! 

1- the number of people driving in Kigali with an RVA sticker :)

all of them- the number of days we've enjoyed Kigali's climate and our awesome backyard. 

1- the number of Steelers Jerseys I've seen so far. 8 the number of days Isaiah has worn his

a bajilliion-- how thankful I am and we are for Lilian. She is our house manager and helps out with everything. Micah ADORES her. and she has made us all feel so at home here.

5- a conservative estimate (bold face lie?) on the number of times Lucy has legitimately cried for a long period of time because she misses her friends and family. this is a book my mom read to us as kids that talks about praying for new friends. she is being brave and making new friends...and yet I find it beautiful and appropriate that she's missing people. yay for good friends and people who make us feel loved so much that we'd cry because we miss them!

please continue to pray that God will provide us with wonderful friendships. and that He'll give us grace to sustain strong ones across the world. 

11- (unless I counted wrong) made-in-God's-image-women in this picture who received sewing training and now have jobs through Noonday Collection. The wife of one of Hunter's colleagues at Karisimbi did a lot of the praying and grunt work to make those jobs happen. a job for these women means the difference between children going to school (even elementary), eating 2-3 meals a day, or not. if you want to read about her and that story, click here: www.noondaycollection.com/blog-1/when-one-women-says-yes

it is these types of stories that excite me so much! pray we'll know where and how God wants me to serve (most of Hunter's service will really be through his work). www.karisimbipartners.com 

10- the number of kids at the preschool (this day) started by friends of mine. before they started this preschool most of these little ones (3 and 4 year olds) would either have to roam the streets without supervision or be locked in their homes all day so their mom and or dad/uncle could work. so many children have this story and so many of them are wandering/playing in the streets all day. if their parents don't work they don't have enough to eat and childcare is too expensive for lower paid jobs. So friends started this preschool at a very affordable rate to make it available and excellent for those families. 

2- okaaaaaaaay. just kidding. jeez. the number of dates we've had since arriving. yay! Hunter is working so hard and I'm not very energetic (and sometimes not even super warm) when he arrives at the end of the night. pray for me that I'll love him better? Pray also for his work that he and they will be effective, that the end product and the means by which they do their work would reflect the truest and best things.  

3- number of dinner parties we've had. so thankful to be received so warmly and excitedly by folks here. and so eager to be known and know others. 

1- number of lizards Isaiah has caught in his bedroom. it is also the number of lizards that lost their tail during the conquest.

0- number of people in Kigali who feel more loved than me. the expressions of people's love and kindness have been overwhelming. before we left and all the parties and thoughtfulness. and since we've been here all the emails. secret hideaway packages. facetime. windows (above) with an enlarged photo of my favorite tree in Richmond. we miss you all so much and are so thankful. 

?? Number of people we've seen working so hard and carrying an unbelievable number of things on their head. my kids are in awe every time. and obviously we're practicing. 

50- number of words he has learned since being here. seriously his vocabulary just exploded. he also is learning Kinyarwanda at the same time and loves to greet people. just like everywhere in the world, babies are a great equalizer here and everyone wants to greet us, hold him, etc. he sometimes is okay with that but usually is still a mama's boy. 

Okay! I feel like that was a lot and yet I don't feel like I told you anything. So, at least there's a start. for anyone who made it to the bottom of this message--here's our mailing address and how to do it! 

Adrianne and Hunter Thompson
PO Box 7164
Kigali Rwanda

a regular letter to us requires 3 US stamps. 
The international flat rate envelopes and boxes are usually the way to go and those are found at the post office. you'll buy it at a flat rate...fill it as much as you can and then pay a little extra (I think?) depending on where you are sending it. it takes about 3 weeks to get to us. 

we're thankful to be here. getting settled in and will update or process more on here soon!

arriving on father's day

After 28 hours of travel with 3 kids, we arrived to our new home in Kigali Rwanda today. On Father's day.

While driving away from our send-off gathering on Friday where, in our dear friend Sutton's words, friends came together to "eat pizza, hug, say goodbye and cry," Lucy, our oldest at 5 1/2, completely lost it. "I WON'T go. I WON'T move. I can't. NO!!" And she continued with her dramatic and sure refusal for 20 minutes, complete with angry and scared tears, yelling and just honest, heartbreaking sadness. 

there were funny moments, like when in response to me saying "oh I hope I didn't forget anything" she said "you know what you CAN FORGET? YOU CAN FORGET  MOVING BECAUSE WE AREN'T GOING." and then there were the worst of the worst moments, like when she said: "can't you just ask God to change his mind. I don't think he put this idea into my heart. can't you just ask him to change your mind so we don't have to move from our house and our friends?" 

those are some of the most heartbreaking words you can hear. this beautiful child made in God's and our image, given to you to love, nurture and carefully and prayerfully launch into this broken and beautiful world, whose Good you want SO badly, looking at you and telling you she doesn't want to go to a place you're going and at least in some young ways, she resents you for it.

Arriving on Father's day feels a bit ironic. 

Hunter, today I would especially want you to know: I love how you want so many good things for our children: safety, joy, happiness, rewarding experiences. you want them to feel seen, known loved, delighted in. you want them to have tons of fun. you want them to feel secure. and you want them to have faith. Strong, deep rooted faith and hope that will bouy and orient them in this world.

So on Father's day I honor you for this crazy move across the world. a move that I'll admit in some ways feels like it exposes and makes more vulnerable some of those good desires you and we have for our kids. (of course that's true in every culture in which you raise children--some of those deep longings are more vulnerable and difficult to nurture than others.) 

But I wouldn't want you to think I just honor you because the work you're doing is so meaningful: using your skills to bless those who are more vulnerable than us, hoping in the end there will be many stories about how Karisimbi's efforts were part of bringing good news of God's faithfulness to those who are poor. Yes I honor you for that and hope our kids will too. But watching you go through the wrestling about whether or not to "say yes", I've watched your great concern and great love for our children shape the decision. 

And I watched how it actually felt simple in the end. Overall, through the process of discernment, it just felt like God showed us to go. And so while we can do lots of things towards our other desires for them, your most important job as their earthly father is to show them what it means to follow their heavenly one, whether that feels like it needs loads of courage or not. I know you'll make this move as you should: tenderly, remembering each of our children's frames and keeping your many desires for them. And I sincerely hope and pray with you that they come to love this decision and love living here. I pray that we will still see evidence that they feel seen, known heard, delighted in, here in Kigali. I pray they will feel secure. I pray that they will have rewarding and fun experiences. 

But I'm confident you've already done the most important parenting job regarding this huge change: modeling what it means to follow Him. modeling what it means to walk with faith and obey. thank you.

(Up in the middle of the night in a new unfamiliar "home" in Kigali, feeling homesick and shaky myself, I think I needed these reminders as much as our kids. This decision wasn't made lightly or passionately. it was made a bit more like Peter looking at Jesus and saying "LORD, to whom shall we go?" it seems like He led us here so how could we not come? 

thanks for leading us the way you have. I love you.

(PS, for all our concerned loved ones! Lucy told us tonight she was really excited and really likes Rwanda a lot more than she thought she would. you could tell she feels really comfortable in the house and she really loves her room. pictures soon, promise.)

why I don't want to go but am still going

“Why I don’t want to go but am still going.” Quite the name of a post, huh? The confidence is just exploding out of the title, I know.

Folks have been asking me why I haven’t updated the blog since our “how it is that we decided to move to Rwanda” his/her posts and, frankly, there are three very easy-to-explain reasons: 1) those words pretty much captured most of what I’ve learned in the past 9 years (related to the decision to move) so I didn’t have much else to say for a while, 2) we’re moving across the world and so I’d rather spend time with people or do the necessary packing work than type something and 3) I’m just so, so sad.  

So that’s what I’m writing about: what it is about being so sad…and scared. And still going.

For all of our marriage (literally) I’ve wanted to move to a developing country. I just really, really wanted to. I was sure of it. After spending half of our engagement living with Zimbabwean girls who had been orphaned by AIDS, I ached to live our life together alongside folks who are beautifully made in God’s image and yet who are impoverished in ways that robs them of many expressions of that inherent beauty and dignity. So I begged, pleaded, demanded, fought, cried, longed, hoped that we would “go.” Not with 100% exclusivity (my heart, like yours, beats for many things)…but certainly with consistency. The ebb and flow of that longing was more like a pendulum swing from slow, quiet, deep guttural longing to explosive need, desire and demand.

I can’t really explain it, but my longings and passions didn’t originate from me and that clarification is a big part of this.


If I were speaking right now I think I would be whispering, as it feels like holy ground, this particular moment of speaking of the unsearchable Weaver: but it is as if while I was tenderly and intentionally knit together in my mother’s womb, He was likewise counting and equally delighting in the number of hairs on Isaiah’s birth mother’s head. And as he knit her, He knit me.  

And we are woven together, though not knowing one another. Forever.

He carefully placed an expression of His love for “her” into me. And so for as long as I can remember after having my eyes opened to faith and receiving the spirit, for reasons higher than my mind can explain, the idea of knowing and being known by, loving and being loved by, and serving and being served by folks in a place like Rwanda has consistently made my belly and heart ache more than other things.

And it still does. The cries of the poor and marginalized cause groans inside me. Their cries and His hearing of their cries are part of my DNA, as I share their humanity and bear His image.

So I am confident that God has planned this story for us. This move to Rwanda.

And yet, even this afternoon the tears are still there. They are different than the ones wept when we didn’t take the job in Congo 6 years ago and when we didn’t get the job in Rwanda 3 years ago. They are different than that mix of unfaithfully bitter tears of an Eve-like woman trying to make a name for herself. And they are different than the faithfully aching tears of a woman made by and for Him, aching for those who are suffering and yet learning to wait on the LORD for His plans and timing. Those faithful and unfaithful ones shed on the same day in the same moments, neither kind really like today’s.

These tears today, while still a mix of faith and unbelief, reflect the reality that while perhaps we are sometimes called to specific places and specific kinds of people, we are all always called to love our neighbor and to honor our family. And we have come to love many and to be loved by many who are here, who we leave behind. It would seem unbefitting of a woman made to reflect the Maker who delights in all of us, for me to feel or act unaffected by this move. His love for people who are here and His sure knitting of me to them, too, move me to tears as we move toward a season when we’ll spend most of our time apart. My tears don’t feel like they confuse me about whether or not He has called us to go, they feel like they speak of other relationships and other loves also knit into me. and the longing for eternity together.

The tears in large part come because when there are things to rejoice about in beloved people’s lives (not in Rwanda), we will not get to physically stand and rejoice with them. And when there are things to grieve about in beloved people’s lives (not in Rwanda), we will not get to physically kneel or lay prostrate with them as we grieve alongside). And so I weep. and still we go.  

how we got here, take 1

Adrianne and I decided that our first blog post would be about why we decided to jump on a plane and move to Rwanda, but here’s the problem: we are super different.  We love each other, but neither of us really thinks like the other person, so asking one of us to write a post about the “why” feels like it would miss half the story.  So here’s my half of the story…

We’re moving to Rwanda because we were made for this.  Not necessarily forever – but definitely for now – this is what we think we were created to do.  I believe I was made for this job (even as I tried to diversify my career, all signs just kept pointing back to me being good at consulting).  I have longed to find a way to do what I’m good at in a way that feels more connected to the “common good” (it’s not that Capital One isn’t good; quite to the contrary, I think it is good; but I just got excited about doing work where the outcome of my job would be a clear and meaningful impact on society, and specifically to do that in a way that would address some of the specific needs that exist in the developing world.  And finally, we just get excited about doing this in Rwanda.  In 2006, we got to visit and when Adrianne and I were getting on a plane to continue our travel, I said “I could live here one day”.  When our journey toward adoption had a path that led us to Rwanda, I was ecstatic, and now to have the chance to have our family live in a place we love, in the place where Isaiah’s life started, well, that’s pretty amazing.

I think there’s also an element to the idea that “going” is easier for us than it probably is for some westerners.  It has its weaknesses, but we are about as flexible as it comes regarding change, and we are also both pretty easy going about life’s finer things.  We also were both exposed over our pre-kid lives to the global south and have a unique interest and love for the people and places that have not yet experienced the kind of thriving that has occurred in the west.  So, the thought of the uncertain, power might be flickering, food might be different, roads aren’t paved and amenities aren’t available kind of life that we will experience in Kigali seems to just fit our personalities. 

So, we are excited, and that doesn’t count other things that I’m excited about, like learning a new culture, a new language and new business practices. Or having a pretty direct say in how a small company like ours will be run from day to day. Or getting to have our kids have friends who are from all over the globe. Or getting to experience the natural beauty of Rwanda and the incredible climate.

But, there’s also a ton of sadness. I knew it would be tough to leave our families.  Being at a distance like this one, even if only for a season is painful and sad.  I didn’t know how tough it would be to leave our community in Richmond.  The incredible people we leave behind make it hard to imagine how it could ever be replicated somewhere else.

And there’s uncertainty and fear, too.  There are pieces of my job that will be new and hard for me.  I’m genuinely concerned for my kids ability to cross the ocean and adapt to life here, and not sure exactly how all that will impact them.  There’s a new set of health concerns that have never been on our radar, and I’m now needing to be much more tuned into the political instability that has impacted the African continent in recent times.

But overall, as excited and prepared and sad and fearful as I am, the overall sentiment for me is that this trail has been blazed for me in advance.  I believe that God was at work in the last 12 years of our lives to author our story and I believe that the particular circumstances around this job, in this place at this time have only furthered my belief that we are walking the intended path.  So, I’m confident that we’re heading the right direction, not sure exactly what is going to look like, and excited to see where it goes.

how we got here- her version

How did we get here? Well there will be lots of stories to tell eventually.

One is about how my parents raised me to understand that we didn’t make ourselves. That if we were on third base (baseball analogy) it wasn’t because we hit a triple; it was because we were born there. And our lives ought to be lived out of that humility and opportunity.

Another story will be about having a community of folks for a long time who have taught me about a Savior who came to bring peace, hope, good news to the poor. And who sends us to do that too, even when it feels like sacrifice to do so.

One will be about how Hunter was just made for this. I mean, seriously made for this: how he was raised to be curious and intelligent about everything, how he is so good at relating to people. How he wants to have an impact on people’s lives using skills and passion he has. How the job came out of nowhere (except to the brilliant author of our lives). There's a LOT to tell you in this one.

But I’ll start here:

One of the most significant moments in my life and in our marriage was the day that with the truest forms of strength and kindness, Hunter looked at me and said “Adrianne, the biggest problem in our marriage is that I don’t think I’m good enough for you… And you don’t think I’m good enough for you.”

Sigh.

Getting at the root of where that problem came from is kind of like seeing an enormous weed and trying to dig it out without disturbing and killing the flowers beautifully and closely surrounding it. You get started and soon realize that its beneath-the-surface root system is remarkably strong, deep, and entangled.

That conversation with Hunter came after we almost moved to Congo-the first time in our marriage we seriously considered moving to a developing country. Hunter didn’t think we should take the job (ahem, the job that seemed perfect to me in regards to alignment of his skills, our passion, the world’s need) and I was furious. Full of anger. confusion. bitterness. rage. I accused him, sometimes out loud and other times only in my head and heart, of not really having faith. Not really loving Jesus. Not really willing to live his life for him. I was full of venom. And it was spilling out all over the place.

How could my desire (unmet though it may have been) to live in Congo and serve Jesus among people who are poor cause such outrage and contempt in me? Disappointment, longing? Sure. But outrage? Figuring out the source of my emotions wasn’t even on my radar screen yet, but the soon-to-be-revealed incongruence surrounding my apparent love for Jesus and apparent judgment of Hunter would by God’s wisdom come to save me and prepare me for this move.

I promise I’m not changing the subject, but: have I told you the story about how 14 months into our marriage Hunter almost died? (of course I haven’t told you, this is my first blog post. Good grief).

Well, in December of 2005, Hunter started getting a high fever—like 104.9—and his body was convulsing a little. So eventually after monitoring it a little bit at home, we went to the hospital. They ran a few tests and gave him some fluids. His temperature came down immediately and his symptoms went away so they assumed he was extremely dehydrated and sent him home. We spent the next day at home and he seemed to be getting better.

Long (with fascinating details that I’d be happy to share another time) story short, 2 days later we were back in the ER with a 104.9 temperature and worse symptoms. A few more tests and the same result: gave him fluids, temperature went down and they were signing the discharge papers.

I called Hunter’s uncle (who is a doctor) and he got on the phone with the Emergency Room doc and famously said “sir, both this boy’s parents are lawyers. You will not send him home until you find out what the heck is going on.”

A few tests later, it turns out 2 days before that, Hunter’s appendix had burst. Upon hearing the news, doctors and nurses came in and took turns shoving on his stomach, causing no pain except the blunt force of their shoves. Turns out while most people’s appendectomies "present" with severe pain in the stomach, inability to stand upright or jump, etc., very rarely the appendix bursts beneath the pelvic bone, protecting the surface from pain (and preventing typical symptoms) while still sending sepsis through the body. Hunter almost died because he presented his appendectomy in a hidden but deadly way.

Back to our story of how we got here.

I believe what the Bible says is true: that we are all turning things into idols, things we worship instead of God—all the time. Pastor Tim Keller in NYC says this:  “The human heart is an idol factory that takes good things like a successful career, love, material possessions, even family, and turns them into ultimate things. Our hearts deify them as the center of our lives, because, we think, they can give us significance and security, safety and fulfillment, if we attain them.”

While it may be true that in educated, relatively affluent parts of the United States (my home) idol-making oftentimes presents itself as materialism, ladder-climbing, keeping-up-with-the-jones', romance/infidelity, and whatever other typical “sinner” symptoms you’ve got. It turns out that while lots of people’s sins "present" differently than mine, my idol-making preferences are equally deadly, perhaps even more so because of how they can remain hidden.

The symptoms were noticeable but only leaked out sporadically: I was furious when Hunter stood in the way of me realizing my dream. You know you’re getting close to your most prized possession when that kind of anger comes out. I was wrong in thinking the treasure I was defending was Jesus in that situation. I was actually defending the right to pursue the reputation I had wanted: to be known as someone who does amazing things for Jesus. Maybe I wasn't trying to keep up with the Joneses, which brought me respect from others and then, pride, but I sure was hoping to "keep up with the Mother Teresas." Hunter was standing in the way of me making a name for myself. The incongruence between my love for Jesus and love for Hunter was the classic gonging cymbal, but I didn’t have words for it.

Other symptoms: several close people around me felt judged, like if they didn’t adopt, if they didn’t move into an urban neighborhood, if they didn’t send their kids to public schools, and so on, that they weren’t radical enough for me. 

Also I name dropped like it was going out of style. So you name drop fashion designers or connections to wealthy folks? well that's no better, just different, than name dropping spiritual giants I'd met at work, learned from, read, etc. My name dropping is just as revealing as to where I put my identity.

When the surgeon removed Hunter’s appendix he told us “it was a hidden exploding gray mass of death”. I think that’s what it has been like for God to uproot some of this sin in me. It was killing me and hurting others around me too.

The past 5 years God has been carefully and skillfully as a surgeon removing and replacing this idol. By God’s grace he has shown me how I’ve hurt others, how I’ve hurt myself in thinking I need to do things to earn his love. Oh how I've shamed myself into not sleeping, into working harder and not resting in order to be somebody. I’m certainly not finished--this idol pops up again and again--but we couldn’t have gone 5 years ago without me spewing venom all over the place and now I think we are going a bit healthier. Hunter and I can sense when I'm believing lies about who I am, and God has given him strength and kindness to speak truth to me. To help pull me out of the trap.

I started out by comparing my story with uprooting weeds from a beautiful garden. As I processed the job in the fall with a dear friend, I started crying recounting some of my history of hurting people with my passion for the poor. What if it was all false? All weeds? I was so excited and hopeful about the job--the one Hunter initiated (not me), but surely God wasn't going to "let" us take it because I am just too bad. Hunter is really excited about the job but I'm too bad to be allowed to go. We talked about all the pruning and exposing God had done. So much pruning, for my sake and others. And I cried more. And then, this image came to my mind:

This itty, bitty teeny little sprout of real life. Like in the Secret Garden when they find life beneath so many weeds.  I turned to my friend and with quivering, surprised lips said, “I think maybe, just maybe, after all the weeding that was done, there might be something life giving in there too. something God actually made in me.“ 

something beautiful, humble, vulnerable and REAL. 

The best news of course is that my little, vulnerable sprout is connected to a life-giving Vine that cannot fail.

So, here we go. Praying that the version of me God is sending will help to cultivate life for my husband, family, friends and those we are moving to serve. Praying that there will remain congruence between God's love for me and my love for those around me. Praying I won't try to do something or be somebody in order to prove my worth, which is inestimable to God, as proved when he sent Jesus for us. 

So thankful to be on this journey with such a faithful Father, Gardener, Friend, Savior and my beloved husband, whose beauty I see more clearly now.