Another Day in "Paradise"

She ducked her head and stood upright as soon as I pulled out of my driveway.  And, as I got out to shut our gate and get back in the car, she remained that way, feigning that she was just standing on the corner one house down from ours. 

But I had already seen.  I saw her stooped over and digging through the garbage bags sitting by the road. 

I watched her in the mirror and saw her resume her garbage picking when I turned the opposite direction.  Deciding to turn back her way, I pulled up next to her.  She kept her face down and back to me as I rolled my window down.  I don't know if she was ashamed or afraid I was there to chase her off.  When she finally did turn to me, I saw a grandmother's weathered, tired face. 

I realize dumpster diving is a popular hobby for some in affluent countries.  There are even websites dedicated to best practices.  Totally serious.  But even one website I looked at encouraged divers to, "Choose another job when possible." 

For so many, there isn't an option.  And it happens every trash day that there are hungry people digging through mine and my neighbors' refuse.  One man's trash...another man's treasure. 

Rotting food mixed in with diapers, dirty paper towels and all manner of unsanitary mess should never be a treasure.

***

You can tell from the lines on her face
You can see that she's been there

***

Nearly every shop here employs car guards.  Honestly, it's job creation because what is a guy or gal expected to do when a theft or vandalism occurs?  You give them some change to tip them for watching your car, for helping you load your bags and for helping you back out of your spot.

That day, I walked up to my car, arms full of groceries, and, instead of passing the bags to the car guard, I gave him my car keys, asking him to unlock the door for me. 

And that is when I realized I made a mistake.

I watched this 20-something year old fumble with the key as he tried to figure out how to unlock the door.  What comes as second nature to a 20-something in the States does not come naturally to a young man who has never owned a car.  It never occurred to me he had never even unlocked one. 

I felt embarrassed for him and berated myself for putting him in that position. 

***

Oh,
Think twice
'Cause it's another day for you and me in paradise

***

I see this sight every day.  Every. Day.  People walking on the side of the road.  I have lived here over a year and a half and it is still not something I am "used to."  The hardest ones to watch are the elderly and the mamas with babies walking next to them or strapped to their backs.  I huddle my kids close to me even in a parking lot.  How do these mamas walk these highways with their toddlers walking next to them?

Have you ever complained that your car doesn't have a/c?  I used to.  Now, I see how ridiculous I can be in light of the fact that I really should just give thanks I have reliable transport. 

Even the young adult pedestrians cause turmoil in my heart.  How is it that I get to have a car just because I was born into the "right" family and blessed with friends who support us?  How do they rise before daybreak to walk across highways and across towns and then work all day...in the humidity that suffocates or in the wind that chills (depending on the season)...without proper hydration...or enough food? 

I pick up the women and the elderly.  I'm too wary to pick up the young men unless they are younger than pre-teen.  I have been blessed by a lot of really neat people this way.  The small talk can be pleasant and uplifting. 

It can also be awkward.  Like when I picked up a young woman because I didn't like the look of the two men trailing her on a road with lots of tall brush.  I commented how it must be hard to walk in the heels she was wearing.  You know, small talk.  And her response was not unkind but it was honest and I have never forgotten it or how resigned she sounded when delivering it. 

"When you are poor, you don't have a choice."

I never meant to insult her.  But what she speaks is truth and it has been a reminder to filter every word before it comes out and test how it might be received by the listener. 

And every day.  Every.  Day.  I see the walkers who don't have a choice and I am wracked with guilt.

***

She's got blisters on the soles of her feet
She can't walk but she's trying

***

We are fans of Vusi.  He sits outside the grocery store sometimes.  He sits because he cannot stand.  I don't know his condition but his feet are shrivelled and it looks as if he did not fully develop in the womb.  So, he sits on a modified skateboard.  Low to the ground where he always has to look up at people who stop to give him food or chat.

He even has to look up at my seven and nine year olds when they stop to speak to him. 

How does it feel to always be low to the ground, hands covered in dirt, always having to look up to and for the hands that bring you food?

How does a handicapped man survive in a place where jobs are hard to find for even the able-bodied? 

And, yet, he has the kindest smile.  And we are fans of Vusi.

He makes about $125 a month from his pension.  $70 of that, he pays a taxi driver to transport his 10 year old daughter and 13 year old son to and from school.  They can't walk to school because it's too far. Vusi pays over half his pension so they can continue their schooling.

And then he begs.  He takes a taxi 30 minutes into town, always hoping the money or food he will earn from begging will make up for the taxi fees. He pushes himself with calloused hands along the pavement to position himself in front of the grocery store.

And he wears that smile all the while.

My heart rejoices every time I see him.  My heart aches every time I see him. 

***

Oh,
Think twice
It's just another day for you
You and me in paradise

Just think about it
Hmm-mmm
Think about it

***

I live in an area where people come for vacation.  Even though I'm not an ocean person, I can see why people flock here every school holiday.  If you look beyond the beaches and the flowers that bloom all year long, though, you will see there is no such thing as paradise for a lot of the people who live here.  For the hungry, the weary, the walkers, the handicapped, the poor, every day is the same.  I will never again listen to Phil Collins croon those lyrics to "Another Day in Paradise" without remembering that paradise can have shadows that disguise the hell. 

They Have a Story

 From time to time, I want to share intimate stories with you because God can teach us through them.  It's hard to share these because it can so easily come across as, "Look at me and aren't I one truly awesome being."  That is so far from reality.  Living here humbles me daily and has shown me over and over my excess and my selfishness and my weak faith and my utter inability to do anything lasting without Christ and that I am no one's savior. I want to share these stories because we all have something to learn from them. Please don't praise us because then we just might start thinking we are all that.  And we're just not. 

May you be as blessed and challenged by Sanele and Syrin's story as I am.  

*******

As he lifts the burger to his mouth, his sleeve slips down and I see the armband that proclaims, "I love Jesus."  And I am relieved.  It gives me an idea where to go with this conversation.

The truth is, I'm not good at knowing what to say sometimes.  Put me in a group of moms and I don't get stumped.  We relate to each other.  But put me with a young man who has walked 10 kms, hoping to get to eat and I just don't know.  Is it embarrassing if I ask where he lives?  Is it painful if I ask about his family?  Is he uncomfortable being the beggar while I watch him eat?

It all started about 20 minutes before...

As we approached the drive thru lane, we saw a figure in tattered clothes, hiding in the shadows.  The fact is, living here has trained us to be on high alert and study every situation for danger.  So, for a moment, we paused because you just never know who else may be lurking.  As we pulled closer, we could see a sweetness in his youthful face and decided/hoped/prayed we were probably safe.  He extended his hands in a humble gesture and asked for money because he was hungry.  Brian asked if we could buy him dinner and he eagerly nodded but stayed in the shadows, moving along with us in the drive thru lane but keeping his distance.  We got the food and pulled into the parking space but saw him hesitate.  Maybe he'd been burned by empty promises before.  Brian hailed him over and he pulled his skinny arms out from his armholes where he kept them in a futile search for warmth.  He thanked us profusely and went to sit down on the dark curb with his dinner. 

And the sight of this little boy eating in the dark and cold just does not sit with me so I figure God will be good enough to tell me what to say because you can't just leave a kid like that. 

So, Sanele and I visit.  Years of recruiting showed me my favorite way to get to know someone is to just ask questions.  Which is good because it took pressure off me to do the talking.  I learn Sanele is in 7th grade and 15...though he looks no older than 12.  Malnourished kids look much younger than they are.  He lives with his grandmother and older brother.  His older brother, he says, is hiding in the bushes across the road to keep an eye on him.  It turns out there are other teens who "smoke drugs" who sometimes rob Sanele after people have given money to him.

He is 15 years old.

And he just told me he's been mugged.  Multiple times.  In the same kind of steady conversation like a kid might tell you he has homework.  Just a fact of life.

I run to the car to grab something and, when I get back, Sanele has a friend.  Seriously, I have no idea where he came from.  There are shadows everywhere.  So much for being alert.  Another teen, he's Syrin and he's 16.  He's also here to beg.  I see kindness and sincerity in his eyes, too, and I see he is hungry.  So, back to the line I go.  I look out to see a third boy has joined them before he runs back across the road into the shadows.  That must be the big brother, coming to snag some fries, but he is off before I return.

We talk about school and how Syrin loves soccer and has been playing since he was three and how amazing it is to watch people who move like they are one with the ball.  You can see the excitement when he talks about his favorite sport.  And, when I see that Sanele nods that he likes soccer but is not as effusive about it, I ask if maybe he likes drawing or music and it turns out he likes to draw and I see him light up when he talks about it.

We also talk about that bracelet Syrin is wearing and how he believes in Jesus and how he loves Jesus "very much."  And we talk about Sanele's necklace that he made out of a zipper.  It's seriously a zipper and he was so proud of his workmanship.  

You know, they really are just regular teens.

But then we talk about things that regular teens outside of poverty don't normally talk about.  Like how these boys walk 20 kilometers roundtrip each Saturday and Sunday night just to beg for money and food.

Syrin is who tells me they live 10 kms from there.  I want to know more.  "Doesn't it take a couple of hours to walk that distance?" I ask.  He tells me, no, they run the distance.  They leave McDonalds at 8 pm to run home.  I ask if they are safe running; if anyone ever bothers them.  He says not really because they run near where they know there are security guards.  And they've learned not to come during the week because the weekends when it's safer.  The guys who do drugs have "made enough money" by then.  I'm relieved to hear that.  And yet, I'm not okay with it.  It's not right that a kid runs 20 kms in the dark and cold (or ever) just to eat. And that they get mugged.  Nothing is right about what they tell me.

These boys melt my heart.  I love that they don't ask for more.  I hate that they have to ask for any.  I love that their eyes are soft and sweet.  I hate that boys with hard eyes put fear in them.  I love that they are willing to share their stories with me.  I hate that I am only hearing them because they have no food at home.  I love that the Lord gave me this moment.  I hate that I can't do more.  I love that they are sincere in their gratitude.  I don't need it, but I love good manners in a kid.  I tell them this was a gift for me, too.  That God blessed me with them. I encourage them to stay in school and make right and honest choices.  Again, what can I say to them?

Before I go, I ask if I can pray for them.  But here is where I really struggle for words.  How do I pray in a way that they understand God loves them but it's so hard to explain why they had to run 20 kms to eat?  That is always hard for me..."Lord, provide for them," when it often seems so helpless.  Yet, I love that, as I prayed for them, I heard Syrin utter, "Amen." They trust the Lord even when it often seems so helpless.

And, tonight, I think of all the other things I could've/wish'd I'd said but all it comes down to is, I hope they saw Love.  I hope they saw Jesus' Love.  I hope they know it's not from me.  It's all from Him.  I could only give them a few minutes of love.  He is a lifetime of Love.  I pray that Love gives them hope. I pray that Love whispers to them in the dark and cold that they are not alone.  I pray that Love ran ahead of and all around them and protected them from harm.  I pray that Love provides enough for them, much more than food.

*******

Lord, Jesus, I really don't know what to say sometimes.  I don't know what to do.  I feel helpless most days when I see so much need all around and there is just no way to make it end.  It isn't fair, it isn't right, it's not what you want for people.

But, Lord, I love that you minister to young boys' hearts in ways I cannot.  I love that about You.  You have such a heart for the poor and for children and I love that you use simple people to step in in even little ways.  That, even if I didn't have the words, You modeled the actions because You are deeply compassionate toward the wounded and the poor.  Thank you, Lord, for letting me hear even a small bit of their story.  You used simple children to step in my life in such a big way. Teach us, Lord, to use our money wisely and keep our hearts open widely.  Soften our hearts for the wounded and poor because they have a story that can bless and challenge us. 

Tuesday Mornings...Zulu Preschoolers

Just beyond these hills...

Down this dirt road...

Tucked into "the bush" around this bend...

Just past this house...

And this one...

Lies a church...

That doubles as a preschool during the week...

They are adorable, aren't they?

Most of their moms are still in high school and unwed.  The school is open five days a week while the moms are in school.  

Buhle makes me laugh.  She is one smart girl, charming and oh-so-busy for a nine month old.  She finally decided I was worthy of a smile yesterday.

Until I wouldn't give her Apelele's yogurt. Then she gave me this look...

Here's a little look around the preschool.

The toilets...

The "play ground..."

There are two swings hidden beyond the trees.  But you couldn't pay me to put Anniston in them as there are also things called Black Mambas, Green Mambas and Boomslangs that live in these parts.  I would love to see the grass cleared and a playground set there one day.

The cribs...

The kitchen...

The teachers cook twice a week and the kids bring their lunches the other days of the week.  Lunch can be rice or beans when the teachers cook.  On other days, lunch may be an orange or a bag of chips or some yogurt.  One of those per child, depending on what the family can afford to send.  The kids are fed porridge every morning for breakfast.

Speaking of teachers, here is one of them, beautiful Anna.  She is helping me learn some Zulu relevant to the kids such as, "I need to go potty," "I'm hungry" and, it must be universal, "He took my toy."

 Their toys are well-loved (okay, tattered, in some cases).

In fact, there is a team from McKinney coming next month if you would like to share some gently used toys that don't have a zillion pieces and that are large enough that little ones can't choke on them.  Three little babies make their way around the concrete floor among the older kids.

Specifically, would your kids like to share gently loved blocks (mega blocks or wooden), Little People type toys, plastic kitchenware, wood puzzles appropriate for 3-5 year olds...anything that would challenge these little minds as they grow?

This little boy might like a small truck, too (no small parts, please, like wheels on Matchbox cars).

He was pushing around the trailer bed of a truck whose cab was missing.  And he was completely happy.  But I kinda think it would be fun to see him with a whole truck.  :)

If you are able to donate (please don't feel like you need to buy) toys that your kids have outgrown, these kids will take your toys from gently loved to well loved in no time.  :)  There are up to 24 of them, after all!

If you don't have toys but would still like to help, the team will be buying a rainwater barrel so the teachers no longer have to lug water from a faraway tap for cooking and for the kids to wash their hands.  The cost is about $350 and will provide clean water for a long, long time.

They will also purchase a new gas cooktop to make cooking easier and plaster and paint to seal the walls as winter is quickly approaching.

If you're moved to help, I bet these kids would give you another thumbs up...

And maybe Buhle will even share one of her smiles with you...

(They are SO worth it!)

Mondays at Murchison

I mentioned I'd share a bit on each ministry we are involved in, so here is the incredible

Murchison Community Centre!

When we came on a mission trip with a team from NC last April, we fell in love with the kiddos at this place.  On any given weekday, over 70 kids, ages toddler and up, come to be loved on and be fed physically, emotionally and spiritually.  There is a feeding scheme, a music academy (you should HEAR the awesomeness that is a room packed with kids strumming guitars and singing with voices all Africans seem to be blessed with), gym, reading room, playground and even a basketball court because God is intentional like that.

What I mean is, Brian gets to coach basketball...

And Noah gets to be coached by his Daddy...

All those basketballs were paid for with support our financial partners provide (a HUGE thank you!!)...

God makes kids like Noah; competitive kids who like to play sports.  Kids that Noah would connect with...

Because God is good like that.

God also makes kids like Tyler; those who would rather run around and use their imagination.

I think, every time I looked at Tyler those first 30 minutes, he was being chased...

Seriously...

He didn't seem to mind...

Yes, God made some Tyler-types for him to enjoy...

Okay, so there is always at least one of "those kids"...or five...in every bunch...mine are usually three of them...

Because God has a sense of humor like that.

All the while, our Annie Girl napped in the car, windows rolled down, snoozing to the sound of laughter and of singing and of basketballs being dribbled and of Tyler being chased (he's loud).

I got to play with these kids.  We sang songs and danced and hugged and then there was some playing of this international crowd pleaser...

Yep, Duck, Duck, Goose.  With sweet little African accents and lots and lots of laughter.

And then there were mouths to feed...

And then there were dishes to clean and dry and then it was over. A very busy, fast time.

A very full time with very special children.

Okay, all children are special.

But these are extra special.

And we get to do this every week.

Because God is awesome like that.

What We Are Doing Here - Daily Living

I realize I should give an overview of what we are doing here on the coast of SA these last three months.  People know portions of it but maybe an overview pulls it together more.  I'll break these ministries up in future blogs and post pics but here is just an intro.

Although we miss the farm life greatly, one of the benefits of living in a town is that we are a lot closer to everything.  It's been a lot easier to be more hands-on and have more depth of relationships.  We also have more variety in opportunities to do ministry. 

With the boys in school, Brian and I take turns taking care of Annie and the household while the other is working.  We are really thankful scheduling has worked out so that both of us can live out our God-given ministry passions while balancing family life, our first priority.

Here's a quick look at our week:

MONDAY
Morning is our time off.  As for the afternoon, Brian spent all of first school term volunteering as head basketball coach at a local high school.  Brian + Basketball + Coaching Teens = PASSION  :)

Now that it's basketball offseason, Brian will still coach at the school a couple days a week but now has Monday afternoons free to spend at the Murchison Community Centre.  The centre serves the youth in that community by providing a feeding scheme, reading program, music academy and gym.  He will initiate a basketball program while the kids and I play with some of the younger children.

TUESDAY
Brian spends the whole morning at our partner church in a staff devotional and pastors' meeting.  We appreciate NSC, our partner church, for the way they have embraced us as part of their staff!

He then coaches at the high school in the afternoon.

Afternoons are also spent preparing for our evening discipleship group.  We are taking 12 youth leaders (young professionals) through Francis Chan and David Platt's Multiply study the next few months.  The kids love having their grown up "friends" come over, but hate going to bed 15 minutes early Tuesday nights!  ;)

WEDNESDAY
Youth group happens on Friday nights so our whole morning is spent planning with some of our key leaders.  This is a vibrant group, so brainstorming sessions are always a blast!  Here is where we plan programming for our youth group of over 120 students, grades 8 to 12. 

THURSDAY
I LOVE spending my mornings at the Genesis Care Centre!  This is such a special place that primarily serves those battling HIV.  I am so blessed every time I walk through those doors.

Brian coaches at the high school in the afternoon so we tag team.

FRIDAY
We have devotions at church and then Anniston and I are about to start volunteering at a Zulu church preschool.  There are about 16 kids, ages five and under.  Their moms are primarily unwed teens.

Youth group happens in the evening. Over 100 youth attend weekly.  Brian is there to give oversight and sometimes teaches as well.  We are taking them through the Beware of Christians documentary.

In addition to the above "set" ministry times, we spend a lot of time preparing. We prepare for our discipleship group, plan for the team coming from our home church in June (YIPEE!!!), plan for the sports camp we started last year and will return to in June, research for Friday night youth and Brian preps for his twice weekly basketball Bible lessons.

In between all this, we are mom and dad and doing all the same things we would do at home; playing in the yard on pretty days, knocking out homework, hanging out with friends, exploring our new town, etc. We love that our kids are able to fit into a couple of ministries with us.  Anniston attends our Wednesday meetings and hangs out with us during Tuesday night discipleship group.  She's a champ in meetings, even the three hour ones!  Thankfully, our youth team is accommodating and so extremely loving to her.  I'm excited for her to learn some Zulu from her new friends at the Zulu preschool.

The boys will begin going to the Murchison Centre with us Mondays.  Noah is excited to do basketball lessons with his Dad and Tyler will be great playing with the younger kids.  They've also befriended two of the boys we see some weekends when they beg on the corner where we shop for groceries.  It means a lot to us that the kids can get to know the kiddos we've come to love on.  They are as much a part of this as we are.  We are thankful for that.  Some of the lessons are hard.  Through it all, we pray they are learning compassion.

Enough for now, more to come later!

Where I Belong

There was a time when I thought Texas was for cowboys and Cowboys, for tumbleweed, for people who liked to say, "fixin' to," because why waste time on the letter "g", people who rode horses to the store and an endless horizon of flat land.

That time was 1992. I was a high school freshman and I thought the Air Force had lost its mind. I was sure they couldn't have known what they were doing, moving a mountain loving girl from Colorado Springs to Dallas. You know, where there were no mountains. Just lots of people with horses and no letter g anywhere on that huge horizon. I liked our life in Colorado, just like I liked our life in South Korea and in Virginia and in all the other places we lived before then. They were all home until the Air Force uprooted us. 

Here's the thing.  I'm not sure I've ever known where home was. My mind alway races when people ask where I am from. Do they want to know where I was born, where I went to high school, what my nationality is?  Is my Mom from North or South Korea?  (SOuth, people, South. NOrth Korea looks down on the idea of leaving.  Think of it as, "SO what, you're leaving?!" And, "NO way you're leaving!" Never say you didn't learn something useful from this blog). Being a military brat meant we lived anywhere from 11 months to three years in a place before the Air Force decided Dad was needed elsewhere.  It never took long to feel like I belonged, but there is a difference between feeling like you're accepted and you belong and feeling like you're each other's people. As in, I get how and why and what they think and I also think like them.

Over the nearly 20 years I lived in Texas, it happened. I felt them becoming my people.  It probably began to take root by my senior year of high school but I nearly missed it when it came down to my college decision...the Air Force Academy or Texas A&M. One offered a $250,000 scholarship, four years in the mountains, men in uniform, a chance to see the world and to continue in our family tradition of serving our country. In the end, oddly enough, it was the lure of the Aggies' "Howdy" tradition that made me choose to stay in Texas.  That and they also had men in uniform. (Tee hee).

I am not really sure how it happened, but the transformation to becoming a Texan became complete when, for my 18th birthday, I asked for WESTERN BOOTS and an ENORMOUS BELT BUCKLE to wear with THE ROCKIES my friends and I wore so that I could go DANCING three nights a week where I could really implement what I was learning in JITTERBUG and COUNTRY WESTERN DANCE LESSONS.

Which becomes a problem when your parents send you to college to learn stuff for your future and things of that nature and all you wanna do is dance, Daddy. It became increasingly clear I wasn't learning enough in class as I ended up on scholastic probation my first semester.

Maybe I should've done a little less boot scootin' and a lot more studying. 

Evidently. 

Anyhow. 

Which of these doesn't belong?



Listen, I know it was the '90s and all sorts of talk of diversity was happening, but there is still something even I find humorous about an Asian chick donning boots and going boot scootin'.

It's okay. You're not racist. I am giving you a pass on that one. 

Somehow, as "Redneck Girl" found its way into my heart as my favorite song, as I began to date a Texas panhandle boy (who wore a uniform...tee hee), as I learned to spell "y'all," as football became so important to me I was hoarse every weekend, as I learned to recognize what a sky looks like before the tornado sirens come on, as I began to call every soft drink a Coke and as I finally ventured beyond chips and salsa in my foray into Mexican food, I became a Texan. I was a candidate for one of those "I wasn't born in Texas but I got here as fast as I could," bumper stickers. Aside from a short stint in Scotland after graduation, from 1992 to 2012, you could find me somewhere within Texas boundaries. Me, Jerry Jones, Dairy Queen and the Alamo.  

Can I just say, I saw a promo for Honey Boo Boo and I had a little concern they might be from Texas but then I was relieved to learn that particular "redneckognize" crew is in Georgia. We dodged a bullet, Texas.

Anyway, if Texas is special (it is), I can't even begin to tell you how special McKinney is. I knew it when we went to a wedding there in 2001 and Brian and I agreed that was where we wanted raise our family. We moved there later that year and my hunch was right. Over the ten years we lived in McKinney, I had more than one conversation with others who sensed the same thing I did - there is something special about that piece of Collin County. There's a reason it is in the top five best places to live in the U.S.  There are just a lot of quality people there and it's a great place to raise a family. But I better hush or y'all will move there and some things are just better left a secret.

And then, in late 2010, God made it clear that our family was moving far away from our beloved Texas and all the loved ones we stocked up there. It most certainly had to be God because nothing could ever move Brian away from his Texas Aggies and Mexican food. Unless Honey Boo Boo lived in Texas and then it might be a different story. 

So, fast forward to 2012, when our family spent our first year in South Africa. What God did was amazing. He took us to a place of belonging and contentment in a short time. So much so that, when we went home in December for a visit, my feelings smacked me in my heart and left me trying to put to words what I was feeling. Why did "home" suddenly pierce my heart after being content for so long on another continent?  What was that feeling that snuck up on me as I drove into McKinney for the first time in nearly a year?  It hit so hard, it made me literally shout at Custer Road, "You are beautiful!" 

A road. I was giddy over a road. And I talked to it like it was a human and I told it it was beautiful. Like I had a crush on it.

What can I say, a finished construction project is a beautiful thing.

I sat up tall and on the edge of my seat that first drive and probably every one after. I was so excited to be among the familiar, among my people.  I wanted to soak it all in and give it a great big hug.   To see and touch the people who have been part of our lives since 2001 and who kept us afloat emotionally because they texted and Facebooked and made us stay connected.   To drive by our old house and see what has changed.  To drive the roads I knew by name instead of forever giving directions according to landmarks.

Like we do here...

"Turn left at the slipway.  Yes, the slipway after the road slightly curves right, you will take that first robot (What is a robot, says America.  It's what we call a stoplight, says South Africa)."

I've had a heck of a time learning street names because, heaven help me, street signs are optional in some parts of the world. 

Then again, in our new town, we have to focus so much on the pavement to avoid potholes, I would never have the time to look for street signs anyway. 

"Yes, take a left at the pothole shaped like a chicken wing, then you take a right just before the pothole shaped like a leprechaun. Hang left again when you get to the pothole where someone has actually potted a plant because Sarcasm begged for it."

Anyway, so here I am shouting proclamations of love at roads and I was left asking myself,

"What is this I am feeling?"

Thankfully, a friend home from Zambia put those feelings to words in a blog post the very next day so I didn't have to. 

I know these feelings she describes. Once we left, I didn't look back. I was wholly and absolutely focused on the joy that was there before me.  And, yes, I missed my family, my friends and my church SO MUCH but there was never a moment when I wanted home over the home God was making for us. People told us we would hit a wall and we never did. God did that for us. He took that which was familiar and comfortable and easy and replaced it with that which was unknown, and hard to understand and challenging. But, there was always peace in the midst of it. He kept us focused here so we wouldn't turn back and wish for there. 

So, thank you, Mitzi, for putting those feelings I had to words so I could really grasp why maybe yelling words of affection at a road was not as absurd as it seemed. 

I spent December content to know that the time we had there was a gift, no matter how short. So, it was a bit of a surprise to me when we neared the end of our trip and I was about to meet some friends a final time and unexpected emotions snuck up on me. Once again, I found myself driving along a road when the question hit me, 

"What is this I am feeling?"  

I had a wonderful time at home but we were also really excited about getting to our new home and getting back to work. I mean, we were E*X*C*I*T*E*D. So, the feeling that hit me was unexpected. Was I longing for home for the first time in a year?  

And then, as I sought desperately to pinpoint what I felt, a song came on and I knew then that God was answering a question I didn't even know how to ask.  It was Building 429"s song, "Where I Belong."

God was taking me back to a place where "Home" is redefined...

"All I know is I'm not home yet"

He was gently reminding me...

"This is not where I belong"

And taking my eyes off the familiar and comfortable and easy...

"Take this world"

And setting my eyes back on Him...

"and give me Jesus.

This is not where I belong."

And, y'all, driving along a road in a place I used to call home, He took what little I've learned of what having a hometown means and, while I still and will always love Texas, He reminded me 

"I have this blessed assurance holding me..."

I'm not Home yet.

How Rumors Get Started

Yesterday afternoon involved a dead car battery on a busy road, getting rear ended by an angry man who couldn't understand why I was inconveniencing him by not moving a car that wouldn't start...so he decided to give me a little nudge...with his front bumper, calling the police because the guy went a little cray-cray, Tyler wanting to do karate on the "mad face man" for yelling at his mommy, two good Samaritans who sided with me and took the brunt of the man's yelling and even got between Mad Face Man and me in case he really lost it, a jump start, deciding to stop at a neighbor's house to fetch a stray frisbee and a couple of balls, meeting his pet monkeys that screeched at us and tried really hard to horizontally aim their urine at us, having the battery die again in his driveway, noticing that our radiator was leaking like rain, sitting in a locked car with pepper spray in hand as I waited for help and, finally, another jump start.

Which might explain why I was out of it and ready for bed by 7 p.m. last night.

Meanwhile, a friend had to pick Noah up from school when all this excitement was happening to Annie, Tyler and me in another town. She had an errand to run so Noah went with her. Unfortunately, when zoning people or landlords or whomever decides these things got together and made plans, they didn't think, "Bank will go here and bakery/laundromat/Hallmark shop/coffee shop/bookstore, etc. will go here."

Or maybe they did but the person pulling for an adult shop won.

Whatever happened, it is an unfortunate fact that there stands an adult shop near the bank where my friend was going. Despite all her efforts to park anywhere but in front of "Adult World," the best she could find was a spot one row over, but with Adult World still in sight.

Unfortunately, Noah learned to read some time ago. Because he's eight. This, coupled with his darling childhood need to know everything, led him to wonder aloud,

"What is Adult World?"

It's possible my friend would've traded places with me right then if she could've, Mad Face Man, monkey urine and all.

So, my friend, who just wanted to make a quick transaction at the bank, found herself trying to explain to a missionary kid she has known about seven weeks what such a business is all about. In her good judgment, she finally replied simply, "It's just a place for adults."

My son, in all his preciousness, got excited, and said, "Oh, yeah, we've been somewhere like that before!"

Oh my word. What?!

I, in all my embarrassment, tried to figure out who/WHAT/how/WHAT/when/WHAT/where did he get confused?

Hair World?

No.

Disney World?

Never been there with the kids.

Sea World?

Maybe?

All I know is, it's going to be really awesome when we have our parent/teacher meetings next week and Tyler's teacher wants to know what's up with the neighbor's dog eating his frisbee and a monkey trying to pee on him after he almost did karate on a mean man on a busy road because mommy's car wouldn't start and leaks green fluid.  ("Yes, ma'am, that really did all happen in a two hour span.
And, yes, ma'am, monkeys can pee horizontally.  I know, I didn't know either.  And, sure, therapy sounds good.") And I look forward to the look of disappointment in Noah's teacher's eyes when she asks what's up with taking him to places like Adult World and mommy collapsing on the couch with a bottle of whiskey at 7 p.m.

Totally kidding on that last part.

That's how rumors get started, you know.

Where's the Beach?

It's all around us!  We arrived at our new home on the east coast and new ministry partner in mid-January after a whirlwind trip home in December. It was such a fast and furious but much-blessed trip to Texas. We even got to see S*N*O*W!

Which seems such a distant memory in the coastal cloak of humidity of our new home, an hour south of Durban. Oh, my word, the sweat.  

The upside to humidity is my hair has gone curly and I go to bed each night not knowing what new level of volume my hair will achieve by morning. 

What I think my hair could look like:

What satan wishes my hair would look like:

What society thinks my hair should look like:

What my hair actually looks like:


Anyhow, December was a blur as we split time between our families in central Texas and the panhandle of Texas. We weren't able to see everyone we wanted to see but when you have a lot of people you love, there is not enough time!  We are thankful for the special memories we made in such a short visit.  We got exciting news of a niece or nephew coming in August (yea, yea, YEA!).  We also got to spend a couple of days making memories at Great Wolf Lodge with my family.  Nothing says "Christmas" like Santa at a water park.  Another special treat happened when a really sweet family gave Brian's whole family free tickets in their suite at Cowboys stadium so we could go to the Cotton Bowl.  We got to watch Heisman winner Johnny Football lead our Aggies to a huge win against the Sooners, which offered some consolation for 
missing the entire season of watching our Ags.  I haven't missed an 
entire season since 1995.  Brian, a second generation Aggie, hasn't 
missed a season since before he even knew what a season was.

Sometimes I wonder if God finds humor in the fact that we spent our first year in South Africa while the Aggies spent their first year in the SEC racking up an 11-2 record and a Freshman Hesiman winner.

Sometimes I wonder.

We are so thankful we got to go home but we were also really itching to get back to South Africa and get back to work!  We are sweating settling in to a new ministry, new province, new church, new school, etc. and we are looking forward to the year ahead! We have partnered with Norwegian Settlers Church, which is no longer made up of either Norwegians or settlers but it is a church that was first started by Norwegian settlers.  And it is chock full of really warm (hearted in case you thought I was still talking about the heat,
which I totally could've been) people who have embraced us and made us feel so welcome already.  God was definitely at work as we transitioned to our new home.  In one week, we:

- packed and re-packed...and re-packed...good gracious, that 50 lb weight limit is a joke.  Don't they know Velveeta cheese and cans of refried beans are essential souvenirs from home?
- said goodbyes to our loved ones and to Freebirds and Taco Bueno
- flew to SA and, just because I have to...the kids made it across the Atlantic with no (ahem) "extended bathroom visits." We are 4 for 4 now!  Yahoo!  Annie shaved it close at Dulles when I had to make a mad dash to the bathroom to change her as they were about to close the gate.  Still, FIST. PUMP.
- arrived at our old home near Jo-burg
- got our things loaded onto a moving truck the next morning
- drove 8 hours to our new town (the kids could hold it for an entire flight across an ocean...the cat could not make it 15 minutes and 
that is all I will say about that except we made that trip in record
time)
- learned what real humidity feels like...you have been put to 
shame, College Station in August
- looked at houses to rent
- chose a house to rent
- moved in the next day
- went to five stores to buy school supplies...I put the "pro" in procrastinator
- labeled school supplies as required by the school (every pencil, uniform, shoe, even crayons...sweet mercy) and, finally,
- started school.

Goodness.   Just remembering that makes my head sweat.

I am so serious that God kept us sane in the insanity!  Writing names on wood pencils in ant-sized print...times 34 pencils.  If I've ever had a moment of near losing my mind while here, that was a contender.

We are so excited to be in Margate and I promise there is much more to share beyond the humidity and the bathroom success stories and failures of our family members. Which, that statement sets the bar so low, you should be ecstatic when I tell you about the roach I killed the other night.

Just let it be known, not everything is bigger in Texas.

Somebody please come take me back to Texas.

I kid, of course!  We miss our J-Life family and the gorgeous farm but we have fallen head over heels with the new ministry God brought us to and I can see myself maybe learning to love the ocean. Idk. For me, oceans have always meant sharks, salt water that makes you sticky and sand that makes its way into "crevices"  and is so far gone, recovery is unlikely and you may as well say a eulogy for it.

Anyway. The bottom line is, if they sometimes film Shark Week in our waters, I say the sharks can have our waters. We will keep playing on the sand that we are eulogizing.  

Some people take their family to the beach to play in the ocean. We take our family to the beach to stay on the beach. 

As for what life on the coast looks like for us, we will share details in coming days.  Living in a town instead of the farm provides us much more opportunity to develop even more relationships and we are extremely thrilled about the work God's given us!

Praises

- the transition could not have gone smoother

- we love our landlady and her family

- the boys are settling into their new school and making friends

- God's affirmation in our move

- gift of being able to jump right into ministries that fit our passions
- we haven't seen any sharks yet

- they have monkeys here

- deodorant and cold showers, even if the water is brown

Prayers

- protection...living in a town means we have to be more aware

- wisdom as we begin discipling the youth leaders 

- provision of sports camp counselors for our June camp.  We are praying for 24 counselors and have about 8 confirmed. Please let us know if you know college age-ish fun people with a heart for youth and missions. Athletic background is a plus as it's a sports camp but that is not the highest priority. 

- God's guidance as Kenneth and Teri Ussery lead a team here in June.  We are soooooo excited about hosting a team from our church!  Pray for God to build the team with skill sets we need...making kids feel special, compassion for the hurting and light construction experience.  

- for the teams from Hulen and Rockwall coming next week to be so blessed as they come to bless others. Pray for their prep and time here.

- for our parents and siblings as we are apart