A Sweater

"Lucy, maybe you should grab a sweater," pigtailed curls disappear through the kitchen. Lucy and three more sets of bare feet thump by.

"Daddy's outside," someone shouts.

As she rounds the corner, Lulie calls over her shoulder, "Mmm, I would like a sweater, but I will go without."

And as if the whole ocean could wash out in single wave, the house is silent for a moment. Daddy's home. The whole world tilts toward him.

Gratitude:

1524. Lucy's determination that you can't get out of Hell because they have guards watching.

1525. Her reiteration twice in one week that she actually feels better after she gets in trouble for doing something naughty.

1526. Janie's nod, "Yeah."

1527. Little glimpses into the silhouettes of their conscience.

1527. How Lucy wears a winter mitten to burp her babydoll.

1528. How Jane peeks over at Jack in school, "Is there any way you could be self-disciplined right now, and get your math out?" she asks. "'Cause I'm not in charge of that so..." She trails off.

1529. Jack's patience.

1530. How when I make my pregnant self a whole plate of nachos, Jane eyes them and smiles, "Momma, that just looks so good. I'm glad you get that."

1531. How as we read more of Huckleberry Finn Jane bursts into praying for him one night and Jack adds, "Jane, that was a really good prayer."

1532. Lucy saying, "God gave me two eyes," as she peels her eyepatch off.

1533. Teaching the kids how to make leaf rubbings and Jacks exclamation, "Look! I made mine the color of mold."

1534. Janie whisked away for an overnight Gramma date. And how she sits in the back of Gramma's car as if royalty while we all come to kiss her goodbye.

1535. How she's walking on air when she comes back.

1536. Lucy's, "We miss Jane. I just love her."

1537. How we happen upon Lucy's little treasure trove of ABC gum and throw it away.

1538. Correction: apparently it was everyone's little treasure trove.

1539. How Lucy sings, "Bless me God, bless me God..." as she works.

1540. How Jack strips the sheets off his bed and Lucy's bed to help out.

1541. The absolute BEST family pics ever. Thanks Rosie!!

1542. Jane's moss green sweatshirt and matching owl tee, the soft brown shirt with five-petaled flowers.

1543. How Craig takes the kids outside to dig carrots while I make dinner.

1544. The gentle sigh of Myra's breathing as she sleeps.

1545. Lucy's conclusion as she leans on a kitchen cutting board, "GOD gave us TWO cutting boards."

1546. How it's just a small and superficial blood clot behind my knee.

1547. How my parents aren't anywhere near Kenya's unstable northern border. How their trip in the southern part has been so fruitful.

1548. George. The little boy we sponsor in Kenya, and how my mom brought him a photo book from us, and hugs, and miles and miles of love. The smiling picture she took of him.

1549. Janie's "Thank-you, Daddy," when he rousts her before dawn to volunteer with him.

1550. Listening to a sermon by my brother on itunes.

1551. Dinner with sis-in-law, food made for me, and friendship that makes you feel normal again.

1552. Craig's exhortation: You gotta remember, whatever the situation, you can handle it. Otherwise God wouldn't have put you there.

1553. How every situation looks a little different that way.

A Note

A note of regard, highest respect for the patients, doctors, family in the hospital. They do the very best possible in the worst of circumstances. The care they offer fellow human beings, the dignity against all odds, it would make you cry. They offer what they have -- all they have.

All they have -- puts us to shame.

The Hospital

"Momma," Janie says, "why is it a hospital where they go to die?"

She scoops an almond out of her oatmeal. I crunch cereal. "They don't have some of the things we have, honey." We chew. I sip coffee.

"They have one of the things we do," she says.

"What's that?" I fish around for a pecan, bite it in half.

"Hands," she says.

"And doctors," Jack pipes in.

"Hm," I sigh. "And God."

Jack furrows his brow, looks up, "Why do they have God?"

His elbow brushes my arm. "If people are there," I say, " and they pray, where is God?"

"Right IN there." He doesn't hesitate. As if captured by the idea, he hums between bites, "God-is-in-the-hospital. GOD-is-in-the-hospital." His spoon clanks against the bowl, but all I hear is, God is in the hospital.

Hands and doctors and God.

God is in the hospital.








Gratitude:

197. Emmanuel, well enough to leave the hospital.

198. No malaria in the mosquitoes here.

199. Child prayers.

200. How Lulie copies and prays like a big kid.

201. How Janie practices being easy to correct.

202. The way she erases and makes sloppy letters neat.

203. How Jack JUMPS off rocks, furniture, kitchen benches, the hearth.

204. How WIDE he opens his eyes when something is really funny or scary.

205. The way children memorize -- rote memory -- absorb it and love it until the age of six.

206. How Lulie recites Psalm 1 while she waits on my bed for discipline. How she loves the words before she even knows what they mean.

207. How husband corrects Lulie, "Honey, that's just not what people like us do." Like us, identity.

208. Husband's never ending strength for a job well done.

209. How he preaches: Work at everything as if working for the Lord, not men. And how then, on the longest day of his week, he comes home and rearranges the basement every which way. For me.

210. A tall tower of watermelon cubes.

211. The cradle Gramma made when I was a baby. Myra sleeps in it now.

212. That all my children have clothes and shoes enough for winter.

213. How when I get a scratch I just put a little Neosporin on and never worry that it will grow infected and make me lose a limb.

214. That cousins make good family and good friends.

215. Great decorating advice.

216. That I even get to worry about decorating instead of just staying alive.

218. My feet now cold that will carry me to baby and then bed.

Blood

"Hey Momma," Jane swallows a last potato soup bite, "I want to grow strong, healthy, and whole to help other people grow strong healthy and whole."

Hm. Me too.

She clanks a bowl into the dishwasher and runs after Jack. "I won the battle," she hollers.

They tangle into jammies and gallop to the bathroom for toothbrushes. I wipe down the table.

Emmanuel. He received a unit of blood. He's stronger, but weak yet. They hope to get another unit. Soon.

They make do there in the hospital. They encircle gangrenous limbs, flies and all, with prayer. They bathe fevered brows with words to God. To God! And we pray too, half a world away. Lord, let it be good blood.

Craig's mom donates blood as often as they let her. Platelets too. Why, she's probably given gallons and gallons by now. Never really realized what a gift blood is.

"I'm gonna pray about 'Manwell even though I prayed about it at lunch and in my room." Jack squeezes my neck, "God, please heal Emmanuel. Amen."

And amen.


***UP-DATE

Emmanuel has discharged from the Hospital. He has improved!!
Thank-you, Jesus. THANK-YOU.

A Boy

"Tears are coming out of you." I set down the phone. Jack watches my hands, stares at my face.

I crouch down, poke out bottom lip. "I'm sad," I say.

"You have tears coming out of you." I hug him, shoulders to my chest. Four years old.

My momma called. A boy we know in a far away hospital has malaria. And sickle-cell anemia. His daddy died a year ago. Malaria too. The boy, he's four.

When Craig visited the Kenyan hospital far, far away, he told me, "You go there to die."

I gather my children and we pray for four-year-old Emmanuel. We pray and pray and gather strength.

Our God is able.

My four-year old thunders through the house in cowboy boots, and I hear it echo down the hall.

God is able.

He is able.

Please heal, Emmanuel.
Amen.

6 Kids, 6 Days - Part 5

Puking is a fine art. Apparently when children sprint to a public toilet they quite likely will barf a second too soon. During the slip-and-slide effect, said child may actually careen completely under the toilet. Remember public toilets are wall mount? Sometimes it takes a few tries. Don't lose heart if at first you have a neat and tidy urp only to napkin it off.

On the way home watch for signs of round two mop-up. Pull over at the slightest groan. Most likely the almost empty wet wipe box can double as a has-mat container. The remaining three wipes will shine away an amazing amount of soggy shrapnel. You may feel like you are on a wet wipe commercial for their valiant effort. Of course, it will be dark and nice drivers will light up the smeary mess for your convenient clean-up.

By the time you reach home everyone will feel a little less barfy and just tired. Whoever hops in the shower first may miss another display when sibling pukes explosion style. Then again that may wait until morning. Of course, you'll have company to share the wild ride. Why keep it boring?!

At this point, a 21 gun salute to the modern disinfectant wipe is in order. And to Craig. THANK-YOU.

Here is our SECOND water park visit. This time I am queasy-green and in denial. Thankfully, I did not puke until we got home. Look what I would have missed!






























Just a little taste of the fun we had.

Special thanks to the boys' chaperon who was also wonderful. Feel free to visit his blog HERE and donate if you want. Enjoy the videos of the boys fishing.

6 Kids, 6 Days - Part 4

There is always a lull before bedtime. One night we painted.

Don't children always draw their mothers, the ones that tuck them into bed?

"Tell me about your picture."

The pause is long, as if the images cannot coalesce into English words. There is a woman. An airplane. A cane and swirling light.

"It is Grandmother."

For a moment he remembers a far away place. It's invisible to me. His quiet words splash out onto the table like a stone in a pond. And the moment is gone.

6 Kids, 6 Days - Part 3

"I really like my friends. Can they stay with us for 11 years?" Janie's eyes shine with possibility. Eleven years is so much less than forever. She's thinking I'll probably say, "Yes!"

Sunday we head for the park. Including the boys' chaperon, "Uncle" Chris, we are a party of nine. We walk through the wideness of green grass and tall oaks, pines, a footbridge, rushing river. I remember that morning weaving elbow-to-elbow through church. For a moment the mass of people had swallowed up Janie. And as I had turned to shout for her, a little black boy, quick as if released from a gun, had grasped her small hand and pulled her through the sea. To me. And for just a second, I saw the essence of being a man. I wanted to stare at that reflex to protect, the pool of safety that gathered at his feet. I wonder who taught these boys to be men. As we walk, each one is the epicenter of something extraordinary. And though we cut a wide path no one is beyond our reach.

6 Kids, 6 Days - Part 2

The Fishing Trip





"That the BIGGEST fish I ever saw!" Jack is shouting. His fish swallowed the hook. The other children, clutching their catch run up and down the river bank. Even Jane is bare-handed holding a little squirmer, slime and all. Thanks, Huck Finn. It's a first ever fishing trip for two of our boys.





The kids hold up their fish for us to admire. This after reassurance that they don't bite. Craig puts his index finger in the fish's mouth. Everyone laughs and tries it. I notice the boys' small hands. Eight years old. Only three short years more than Jane. I wonder where the boys were born and who cared for them. I wonder who released them to America.





Thanks to Gramma's fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and apple pie, we finish fishing with full bellies and wide smiles. Ain't nothin' can touch the hospitality on the farm.

6 Kids, 6 Days - Part 1

Jack keeps praying, "And Jesus, please keep Daddy safe BACK to Africa." Sometimes he adds a phrase or two about Janie and Lulie and Momma and him too. We sort of shrug and wonder if he will pray that again tomorrow.


Then, Janie wants to host the African Children's Choir, "Because I want to see a little part of how Daddy felt in Africa," she says. Africa. Daddy. She wants to be like her Daddy, her hero. A small breath of completely-inexperienced-hostess from me and I realize I'll have six children for six days.



(Lulie not pictured.)

Slum kids. They're slum kids. Orphaned. The paper said not to ask about family. 10 days of airplanes and airports, bus rides, duffel bags, fresh clothes and three little African boys land in the middle of our family.




Derrick, Benson, and Reagan sleep in our sun room for almost a week. A little corner of Africa unfolds. They arrive all grins, belly-laughs, and wide eyed fascination with everything they see. Our world is stretched and turned by these three boys. I've never seen such sterling manners and unbridled joy all in one package.

Quarantine Lifted

9:26 am the phone rings. Janie answers. Daddy's in the shower but... "I'll go get Daddy." She marches in, "It's me!" pops our phone through the curtain. Of course, it's an official call when you take it buck-naked in the shower (bless his heart). Over the din of water Daddy clearly hears, "Test came back NEGATIVE." {Sigh}

YAY! Thank-you, Jesus.

And, thank-you all for your prayers.

Quarantine

"I'll give you a treat if you poop, but you have to do it in the little DISH." Yeah. The DISH. The lab gave us an upside down "top-hat" to fetch stool samples from the children. Stool samples, that's right. Guess who got to do the fetching. Did I mention Craig is sporting a strain of African Ghiardia? Oh, and one of the wee ones displayed an awesome spread of diarrhea, fully clothed, even shoes. The clean-up involved a plugged bathtub, lots of bleach, gagging, and my saintly mother. Let's just say I love bleach. And my momma.

They diagnose ghiardia with a stool sample - AKA, no stool sample, no medicine. Apparently the human body will sustain the entire life cycle of the amoeba. Indefinitely. Sooooo, hence the stool samples.

Of course the chillin's wanted to WATCH. Latex gloves, funny scoops, collection cups, I mean who wouldn't?! And Mom's on RED ALERT, the kids GIDDY. Giddy-up.

Then again, at least we can get meds. When the little African babies get this they die. Perish the thought.

Babylegs

Side Note: For everyone wanting more on the Africa story hop onto my momma's photo journal.

Click HERE to meet the people in my last post.

Click HERE for a day in the hospital.


:: :: :: :: :: ::

And in the spirit of pure sweetness, I present Babylegs.

That's right legwarmers are BACK!

Only a few short months ago my friend Heather tried to tell me, and now...























I'm convinced! (Incidentally, Heather writes a blog with an awesome title. Check it out HERE.)
























So, dress insensibly summer. Slap on polka-dot leggies and you're groovin' 'til lunch. Then in the noonday sun pull 'em off and soak it up!

















I think we've only made six or eight pairs...so far. For you bargain hunters, it's clearance season on women's knee high socks. Check out a great tutorial HERE to turn socks into legwarmers. Thanks, Cerissa! Your little Jude looks rockin' in them.
























Think Lulu likes them?!

Adiedo, Kenya - May 2009

So sorry to keep ya'all waiting on Kenya pics. These are snap shots of the village. Adiedo. No running water. Just rain. Until the dry season.

















Dirt floors. Blossoms on the path. A "shower" round back.

















And water collectors.

















I probably run enough water down the drain just waiting for it to get hot or cold to fill an army of these.
























A standard grain silo. The opening up top lets a small child in to retrieve grain.

















Home.

And faith that depends on God. Prayers. Prayers the size of a dirt floor and muddy pond of drinking water, the size and shape of a child's cries and graves for loved ones. And still they pray. Somewhere in their rich voices and straight backs, devotion emerges. The counterpoint of God answers them with the thunder of His presence.

I am impoverished praying small prayers to a small God, my two dimensional cut-out doll version. My kids forget their manners and ask God for the world. They pray He will heal our friends' baby, the one still in her mommy's tummy. They pray God will make this world well and help the cardboard-sign-guy by the road and help our neighbor's grandchild not have a tumor. They pray Lucy's eye will get better and Great-Grampa will know Jesus. They pray as if God will show up. As if he already has.

When have we prayed like that?! When is the last time we prayed for something so great, so embarrassingly huge that it truly depended on God. In the end our kids judge the size of our God by the size of our prayers. Makes me want to pray forever. I can't imagine God's intimidated. Probably delighted.

Anniversary

So today marks a nine year anniversary. Nine years ago I married this man (the one on the right). Here he is in Africa, handsome from half around the world.

Africa. The whole thing reminds me of an IQ test we took years ago. Craig beat my score. An unfortunate and decisive victory. {Sigh} It's laughable now, a couple of measly points and I did the only logical thing a smart girl does. I FREAKED. For those of you who know him, Craig wins at EVERYTHING. He's amazing. :) Think we're competitive? Let's just say we even have blood pressure competitions seeing who can score the lowest blood pressure at the grocery store pharmacy. (Try it, just thinking about it will raise your blood pressure.)

So anyway, I moped around for a few days until finally a very sweet sister-in-law asked, "Do you want your husband LESS intelligent than you?" Haha, touche'. No wonder it is a delight to banter with this guy still nine years later. He keeps me guessing. And who can put a score on irrepressible optimism. Pure gold.

Africa? That was an outrageous idea. Crazy. Out of the question. Worse than an IQ test, another worthy freak out topic. And still I hear my brother's voice, "Well, what kind of a man do you want Jack to be seeing?" And imitating. A fearless one. Honorable and fearless.

The kids still talk on Africa. Yesterday, driving in the heat their giggles weave into the roar of wind blowing through the windows. Through the white noise Jack's voice surfaces, "But, WHY did Daddy go to Africa?" His voice hangs in the air.

Janie takes the reigns, "Because GOD told him to go to Africa!"

What a gift. He went because God told him to. It's as normal as water. God TOLD him to. How inadequate I feel. Or blessed. Spoiled.

Janie's chest swells with a smile. "'Cause God told him to!"

Banana-Banana, Knock-Knock

If I let them, my monkey children would eat a banana at every meal.


















And some inbetween.
























Now that Daddy is home from Kenya Jack continues to pray, "Help Daddy be safe in Africa, A-MEN," constantly.

And Janie informed me, "Hey Momma, you wanna know something that is TRUE?"

"Sure."

Banana in hand, she swallows. I should probably pause at the scary gulpy noise but don't. Eyebrows raised, "Everyday," she blinks, "someone in the whole entire world has to go PEE." Blink. She dissolves into gopher-tooth-grin.

And the fun continues.