Let's Put the Kettle On

Gathering the Good

2012-01-25T13:14:00.019+03:00

Heather and I started back into home school today. It's late in January for a first day back and Heath has been worried that perhaps we're delinquent in our schedule-keeping.

The last few weeks have been (fabulously) filled with brothers (and a brother's girlfriend) for various lengths of time in over-lapping stays. For Byron, there's been plenty of work included in the schedule, but Heather didn't know how to recognize her work (that of gaining an education) in the midst of it all.

With this in mind, we started our day by looking back over January. Marker in hand, I asked H to tell me about the things she's been up to. Turns out, it's been a pretty awesome few weeks of 8th grade. Pardon me as I elaborate...

This month, Heather's had 3 separate sessions of outdoor ed in 3 dramatically different environments. During these she camped, hiked, snorkeled, swam, caught, held and released ostrich chicks, spied on a couple of very shy hippos, observed fabulous birds, swung on vines, watched the always beautiful colobus monkeys and spent time in Maasai homes. She also read, baked, played piano, pursued new craft projects and prepared for and participated in a 2 day equestrian event. The event saw her complete her first ever cross country course, place in a novice dressage test and take first in her class for show jumping. More impressively, she faced down her nerves and rode competitively in front of other people. The School of January has stretched her on many levels.

If we hadn't taken the time to review this morning, would what she's gained have been lost? Would the warm, loosened muscles of her being have receded back to their pre-January selves? Probably not entirely. But I've come to believe that looking back gathers the good and helps us carry it forward. Forgetting to remember reduces the harvest. Before our pause to reflect, Heather was stressed that we might somehow be "behind." Piling the good up before us reminded her that life is filled with gifts and learning, and school has most definitely not been closed.

Learning to Fly (a poem from New Year's Eve)

2012-01-03T10:01:00.004+03:00

Last year
we waded waist-deep
through a dark and shining sky

In the blackness
diamond stars spilled out
in every direction
the contents of some
cosmic jeweler's pockets
casually thrown

The year before us
seemed fragile
a terribly delicate thing

But that night
we walked through
wave after wave of goodness

And I thought oh
this must be how it feels to be steeped
in grace

Tonight
we plunged headlong
into the wind

Moonless and cloudy
the stars hung in clusters
on patches of empty sky
dark portals
from which the blackness shone
brilliant as the light

The year behind had
pushed me down
bending my slender shoulders

But tonight
warmth rushed wildly
over and around us

And I thought yes
this must be how it feels
to fly

-lisa, some time in the first wee hours of 2012

Off to camp at the coast :-)

2011-12-26T05:27:00.003+03:00

Off to the coast to camp on the beach for a week with the family...

Today is Colin's 18th!!

Feeling blessed :-)

See you in the New Year.

xo

Of Christmas and How it Comes

2011-12-11T22:46:00.012+03:00

It's hot in East Africa
press down, weighty
hot

The clouds billow up
and plod along the horizon
rumbling

(empty threats)

And I
I don't feel like
putting up
this spindly
branch called
tree

I am saddened
by recollections
of Christmas babies
and boys with
gleaming faces
taking it all in

Still
we decorate

(perhaps a tad too somberly)

But in the quiet
morning

Bare feet on
cool tile

I am greeted
by our evening's work

So simple
our selections
so home-made

And joy
breaks in

Unannounced
suddenly present

Oh, dear truth
endlessly modest and
unassuming

You stand there
in the stillness

This
this is the
mystery

Christ
dwells
in
me

Emmanuel

-lisa, 11 December, 2011

Gross

2011-11-26T18:27:00.003+03:00

I've just been perusing news about the violence among bargain-crazed shoppers in the U. S. yesterday. "Black Friday" is a national phenomenon when retailers push sales to move themselves out of the red and into the black before the end of the year. It happens on the day after Thanksgiving.

So, we pause. We give thanks. We look around the table and say we're thankful for our families and our friends. We recognize that we are blessed. We say, "I am so thankful!"

But, apparently, it's not enough. It doesn't actually fill us up.

The very next day, we go absolutely mad over manufactured stuff that we HAVE to have.

I'm not above loving a good sale, but the whole thing strikes me as incredibly gross.

We are gross.

And the worst part of it is, we are willingly led down this path. We're told we need this stuff; that our other stuff is outdated and ridiculous.

And we believe it.

Remembrance

2011-11-14T16:44:00.005+03:00

I lit a candle today
not in a church

I lit a candle today
on the shelf in my hall

to say
I remember

I remember that
you were due today

25 years ago
you were due

I wasn't trying to be
morbid

I lit a candle today
spontaneously

because it felt right
to think of you

we made it ten weeks
the two of us

and then you were gone

I lit a candle today
because you're somewhere

and you're holding
a little piece of my heart

-lisa, 14 November, 2011

"Plant Her Flowers"

2011-11-13T23:13:00.014+03:00

Sometimes the light in Africa just goes all golden and everything looks extra, amped-up beautiful.

It was like that this evening. Or afternoon. We go from afternoon, through a brief evening and directly to night here, living so close to the equator. Anyway, it was like that.

I picked up my camera and took a few photos of our yard and Mount Meru. It's a spectacular mountain and I would have built this house with big picture-window views of it but, alas, I didn't build this house and I have to stand in the driveway and look over the carport to see it. Still, it's worth walking into the driveway for :-)

Never mind the mountain, I posted the garden photo above on my facebook wall a little while later and lots of people "liked" it. The photo shows the entry area to our front porch. Mostly, it shows a lot of wonderful potted plants.

People often ask me if I do the flowers. Ha! So funny! I don't have even a tinge of green to my thumbs. My flowers come from Byron. As you can see, he's pretty good with them. I am exceedingly blessed that he takes so much pleasure in creating a beautiful space.

Tonight I'm remembering that when we were very young, twenty-one and twenty-four, Byron and I took a summer course in Arizona's desert that trained us in all sorts of appropriate technology, simple solutions and Biblical mandates for caring for the poor. There was a lovely older couple that managed the base named Bill and Helen Nye. I don't remember hardly any of our conversations, lectures or studies from that summer. It was 27 years ago, after all. But I remember this... Bill told Byron that, wherever we went, he should always plant flowers for me.

I guess Byron took that directive very, very seriously. Tonight I'm remembering flowers in Nakuru, flowers in Loita, flowers in Lisbon and, now, flowers here.

Thank you, Bill!

(And, thank you, Byron. xo)

Self-Pity

2011-11-03T21:57:00.009+03:00

Yesterday I bought something for Jesse's Christmas stocking.
I pictured his pleasure and smiled to myself.

Only later did it occur to me that Jesse won't actually be home with us on Christmas Morning.

True confession: the tea tray before me suddenly grew significantly blurry.

Silly me. Twenty-three consecutive Christmases in our house PLUS he has good reason to be away this time!

Do I really dare to be anything but thankful?

Oh, my... All these opportunities for me to keep growing up.

Burst of Adrenaline (a guest post by Heather Borden)

2011-10-16T19:29:00.009+03:00

As I nervously climbed over the cracking dead log, Dad looked through the binoculars and stared death in the eye. Only twenty feet away was an enormous hippopotamus, staring right at us from the shallow pond. Because hippos kill more people annually than any other African animal, we were certainly frightened. Slowly and timidly, the six of us scrambled over the fallen tree, one by one, to catch a glimpse of those threatening pupils.

Crawling carefully back out of the hippo's view, I suddenly heard splashing water and crashing bushes behind me. Turning around I saw Colin, Dad and Trevor panicking to rush out of there. When realizing what was happening, I dashed through the trees, sprinting for my life! The bunch of us fled in seconds. My heart pounded and my lips spoke prayers that we would come out alive.

Finally, at a safe distance away, we came to a stop. With stunned, pale faces we looked into each other's eyes with astonishment to find that we weren't dead. The hippo hadn't trompled us! In fact, it hadn't even chased us. Instead, it was merely swimming away from us. Beginning to giggle at ourselves, the adrenalin in our bloodstreams faded back to normal.

Close (a poem)

2011-10-02T00:45:00.010+03:00

When you were small
and something was amiss
I would hold you

Sweet salty smell
the top of your warm head
tucked neatly under my chin

You might remain there
only minutes before
the world settled again

(and off you'd go)

Tonight you're too far away
and too grown up
to wander in, pad-foot clad in jammies

But you walk into my thoughts
and wake me
just the same

In the quiet after
a welcome rain
I open my eyes and pray

This is how
I hold you
now

-lisa, 1 October, 2011

Water Like Gold

2011-09-29T18:32:00.004+03:00

Ole Kukan sat on our porch yesterday morning and, in the process of chewing the news, let us know that women in his village are walking 2 hours each direction for water these days. They fill jerry cans on the backs of donkeys then begin the 2 hour journey home again. Over the next couple of days, the water is doled out like the precious commodity it is. Not a drop is wasted.

Have you ever seen how dirty your hands get milking a cow? Or handling a goat? Or just living life in a place where water doesn't flow out of taps on-demand?

I wonder how many times I wash my hands in the course of a day...

I'd like to think I'm pretty careful with water. I consider myself aware. I'd like to believe I'm good about electricity, as well. We don't leave lights on that don't actually need to be on. We've changed most of our bulbs to energy-savers.

Still, I've never walked 2 minutes for water, let alone 2 hours. It's there. I take it for granted. It's a basic human right, right?

Actually, no.

These days, when I'm brushing my teeth, I'm more aware than ever about not letting the water gush down the drain as I stand there luxuriously working on oral hygiene. I turn the water off quickly, not just because billions of people are without the basic provision of clean water. I turn the water off quickly because I know these women. I know their names, not just their faces...

I turn my tap off as an act of respect.

Heather, Home School, Horses and Hip Hop

2011-09-26T15:47:00.006+03:00

The constant motion (commotion) of a good summer has passed. The steady stream of visitors didn't trickle out-- it came to a sudden and startling halt when the Klein crew flew out and we returned to a (much too) quiet house. With Colin back to school in Kenya and Jesse and Trevor not even making an appearance here (the nerve of them to have lives!) the house is a little echoey and strangely tidy.

Heather and I have turned our attention to home school. Ah, the blessed activity that occupies our mornings. Ah, the drain on my brain and aggravator of my nerves; the perpetrator of some-time tears and the sneaky presenter of surprise joys.

Home school has its good and bad. For me, teaching Algebra is bad. And yet, we're making progress. As our third week of classes begins, we're doing ok. Neither of us are flunking out, which is nice. Heather is bright enough, but her teacher is a little cloudy when it comes to numbers. Vocabulary is much more fun. We are decoding the meaning of words based on their Greek or Latin roots. That's just plain entertaining.

But the things that Heather really enjoys are not the things we do at the desk. She loves her riding lessons, hip hop class, piano and photography. (I didn't list the p-words above as they didn't fit in my cute alliteration.) She thinks it's a great travesty that she can only ride once a week so the 3 day clinic (45 minutes on horse-back daily) over this last weekend was a veritable equestrian happy-fest for her. She also has a voracious appetite for musical things and wants/needs more.

So, I'm thankful. I'm thankful for an array of opportunities available in this town that don't come with heavy-handed pressure or out of reach pricing. I'm thankful for Arlene, the woman Heather rides with. I love to hear her telling Heather what the horse is thinking. I'm thankful for Joy, the woman Heather plays piano with. I love the way her face lights up when a piece is complicated and they way Heather feels happy when she's been with her. I'm thankful for dogs and cameras and hip hop and baking. I'm thankful for books and darts and squash and the odd foray into the bush. If we're going to home school, it might as well be fun, right?

Happy school year! I just hope I can keep up.

Of an Evening

2011-09-05T09:38:00.007+03:00

Yesterday evening I was tired. Yesterday evening I remembered that, oh yes, it's not even 4 months yet since that big surgery that slowed me down. It was a relief, in some ways, to realize there was a reason for the way I was feeling. Even though I've been feeling so much better. Even though I just had an incredibly restful time at the coast.

So I retired early. I took my leave from our little gathering of 3 around the outside fire. I made tea for the night guard and wiped down the kitchen counters and thanked God for hot water as I rinsed the day, the lovely day, off my body.

And from my room I could hear Byron and Heather chatting in the firelight. I liked hearing their voices through my window. How really nice for a young girl and her dad to sit outside and chat. (It's a pleasing change from when they argue!) She said something that made him laugh and laugh. It made me smile as I drifted off.

I should go to bed early more often :-)

To Listen

2011-08-26T09:33:00.002+03:00

It seems, then,
that the work of the poet
is to listen

To slow her gait
and to heed
little things

It's the way the palm bends
nodding slightly before
I feel the breeze

It's the hovering of the Qualia
dipping for water
in the falling light

-lisa, 26 August, 2011

Photo Update

2011-08-04T22:38:00.012+03:00

We've had 15 house guests in the last couple of weeks so I've been a little too busy to think, let alone write.

We took 11 of them on a "Safari with a Purpose" and Heather's been snapping photos. She's 12 and has her first camera. Here's a little selection to serve as a photo journal update. All credit to Heather, with thanks for permission to use her pics :-)

Day is done

Gold

The land falls away

Taking it in

Em's joy

Car rides

Bright eyes

Kaleidoscope Days (a.k.a. Jumbled, Happy, Tired)

2011-07-15T21:12:00.004+03:00

Yesterday I was in a remote corner of Maasai--a terribly beautiful valley where the kids have experienced much hunger and a sore lack of education. Yet there is a presence of good there that can take your breath away.

I'm thankful for times in places like that. I'm thankful for the people who teach me about life. I'm thankful for the moonlight streaming into our tent, the soft clean sheets on our camp mats, the smell of the grass and the sound of the wind in the trees.

It's cold and grey in Nairobi, where I find myself tonight. We've come up 6 hours drive from Arusha to get Colin, who has just finished his junior year of high school. (Well done, Colin! One more to go!) We're hanging around in this too-busy, too-congested town so we can attend Chase's graduation tomorrow up at RVA. Chase is a brother or cousin, yet of no blood relation. We've just done life with the Russells F-O-R-E-V-E-R :-)

So we're in this (awful) town but I'm thankful in some contorted way for what it means to Africa--wealth, education, business, success. It's a crazy place. Heather and I stood in a busy, thoroughly loaded and very large grocery store and had a little surreal moment. They were playing "Hotel California" over the in-house sound system and we felt confused and whacked out.

I tried to skype the older boys, who are currently in Colorado. They played a gig in Boulder last night and are playing in Englewood tonight. The call didn't really work but I heard Trevor's voice briefly all the way over here. And I just heard Heather's laugh from the tent that she's sharing with Colin. (It's so good to have him home in our little circle again.)

Life is all jumbled with love and scenarios and voices across the (wireless) wires. I think of so many people and places to hold close and I just feel full.

Full, full, full. The depth of it all is truly unspeakable.

Joy x 2

2011-06-22T15:29:00.009+03:00

I posted a couple of days ago about how it feels to always be saying goodbye and missing people on the other side of the world from wherever I seem to find myself. There's actually a term for it. It's called "separation and loss" and I sometimes get to speak on it when I'm called on to help with seminars on international living, transition-shock and the like.

Here's the flip side: there's also multiplied joy.

I'm sitting at my desk in Tanzania and the bird chatter outside my window is bright. I can hear Byron laughing in the kitchen with the women of the fruit drying project. The banter between them is constant. Yes, he's been pulling his hair out today overseeing several things at once, but he's generally jovial because he knows he's where he should be. We're a part of small efforts making incremental differences on a vast continent. The key phrase is "making a difference."

Shortly before leaving the States I found myself considering all the things I wasn't looking forward to about being back in this home, lovely as it appears. I thought about power rationing and cockroaches and rats and showers that don't work and other things I'm prone to whine about. Each of them seemed worthy of complaint as I enjoyed the very clean, very orderly, very comfortable home of my parents where going for a walk is calming, cheering and easy in the lovely neighborhood of their setting and where there are two Trader Joe's nearby! Two! I admit to feeling a little grim about some of the downsides of this African town.

Just a few days after this pondering, I sat at Mom's perfect little table looking out from her astonishingly clean kitchen to their very tidy garden. And what to my wondering eyes should appear but a fat rat just a-waddling down my parents drive way. What on earth? In the middle of the afternoon he was just strolling along as if he owned the place!

The humor of it was not lost on me.

Turns out, there is no perfect place. There is only my choice to find the joy wherever I am.

And there's a good plenty here.

Truth be told, I am overwhelmed with happiness when I get back to my parents' home and I cry when I leave. But I cried when I got back to Africa, as well; hello tears that reminded me how much I love it here.

I believe I am blessed to get to hold so much joy.

To Hold Two Worlds

2011-06-19T17:01:00.006+03:00

I remember saying goodbye to my parents in an airport for the first time. It was 1984 and Byron and I were leaving for our first 2 years in Africa. I was excited. But as I stood there in that airport, all I felt was pain. I lost my ability to speak and could only cry silently for the last few minutes.

Last Tuesday night saw me saying goodbye to my parents in an airport once again. I had already cried silently in the car on the way there. It was easier not to cry at the actual separation since I was being assisted to the gate. Recent surgery mandated a little help on the way and the presence of a stranger kept further tears at bay.

Goodbye tears notwithstanding, I was longing to be home. When I spotted Byron through the open doors of the arrivals area 38 hours later, I was immediately covered in smiles. It had been a long journey and he looked nothing less than beautiful to me.

We awoke next morning in Nairobi to the jarring news that my Dad was in hospital back in Pasadena after what might have been a very small mini stroke. (For those of you who know him, he's home and seems fine. He was in for about 24 hours and had about a hundred tests, but he's back at 725 with no indication of ill effect.)

Boy, did I feel far away.

Today is Father's Day and I wish teletransportation was a reality. In all these years, I've not found any way to ease the ache in either direction. Sometimes it just plain hurts to hold to worlds.

LA-London-Nairobi-Arusha

2011-06-15T02:14:00.003+03:00

Leaving for the airport in about an hour.
Looking forward to being home.
Dreading saying goodbye to loved ones here.
Big sigh,

Bye!

Facing the Dreaded Task

2011-06-11T02:42:00.020+03:00

Well, today I had a lovely breakfast with a friend from long ago. It was delightful to catch up. I don't think I'd seen Lorinda since we had dinner at their house shortly after Colin was born. He was born in 1993. Yikes! Really? Allow me to recommend having breakfast with an old friend. It was a pleasure.

After breakfast I had a list of errands to face. These days I'm chauffeured around by my mom or dad. Still not allowed to drive, you see, and they are SO graciously helping me accomplish my do-list before departure next Tuesday.

But guess what the first errand of the day was. According to my own instructions, it was "Buy a new bathing suit." Noooooooooo!

Buying a new bathing suit is not a task that faint hearted women should face. Men are TOTALLY different. I know this because I have 4 of them in my life and they couldn't care less what they swim in. They swim in the shorts they have on, their boxers, torn and faded board shorts from a hundred years ago, or, most favorite of all, nothing. Left to their own devices, they would definitely swim in nothing. Dorks.

(Maybe I'm just jealous.)

Here's the thing: I bought a new suit today and it was pretty much a painless event. I was SHOCKED.

Was it painless because I just look so great in a swimsuit? Oh, no. Nothing could be further from the truth. I look, pretty much, DREADFUL in a bathing suit. Especially today. Due to having 2 types of skin cancer cells removed from my face a couple of years ago, I've kept my body out of the sun so my legs are white, white, white. And soft. Yes. I'd love to be able to blame it on having exercise severely restricted for the past four weeks since surgery but, really, they were soft going in. My doctor told me very sternly that my abdominal muscles were on vacation for 6 weeks after the event but the real truth is that they've ALWAYS been on vacation. So, there you go. Whatever! I'll try to be better. Tomorrow, maybe. Or some time. Right now I still have 2 weeks of vacation time left.

Anyway, I took 5 suits into the changing room, narrowed it down to 2 and then bought one. It was a close call between the final 2 but I decided that the one wasn't $40 cuter than the other. Best stick to the less expensive one. And I don't really know why it was painless today. I just looked at myself and said, "Yea, fine. This is cute. Great. Done!"

Here's what I think... I'm 48 and I know a thing or two. I know I'm not the sum total of my parts or the presentation of same. I know life is good and precious and terribly, terribly fragile. I know that I sat with a girlfriend today and we talked about things that matter to us. My spirit and soul were filled by our conversation. Our meeting came in a string of days of beautiful visits with other precious women in my life; women who hold me in their hearts and allow me to be myself there.

My conclusion is this... Meaningful connections restore proper perspective. With heart all full, I understand what it really means to feel fabulous.

Bless you, ladies. You know who you are.

And So We Celebrate!

2011-05-27T04:57:00.008+03:00

I had my 2 week post-op check up today and the doctor said 3 good things. Number one, he observed that Byron is obviously taking good care of me. (As is my mum!) Number two, the wide smile of my abdominal scar is healing nicely. And, best of all, number three, the pathology report says all was benign. We're all so happy about that!

This evening I went out with Byron, Heather and my folks, leaving the house for my first outing since I arrived home from hospital on 15th. We went to the really delightful Technique Restaurant at Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts here in Pasadena. Wow! It was a lovely experience! The food (we chose three course meals) was delicious. The students and staff were friendly, helpful and attentive. The setting was very attractive, yet informal, and the price was amazing.

Tonight I'm thankful for food and family, healing and health.

I'll raise my glass to all of that!

Happy Morning News

2011-05-26T05:45:00.006+03:00

I woke up to happy news today. My friend and very published author, Mary DeMuth, had posted lovely things on her well-read blog about my writing and my book.

The number of books Mary has had published speaks volumes :-) about not just her skill as a writer but the significance of what she writes. Obviously versatile, Mary has published parenting books, fiction, instructive books on writing and getting published, as well as a deeply personal memoir.

But what really stands out to me about Mary is the contagious positivity and encouragement she offers. Mary has embraced a generous spirit that does not horde success. Instead, she celebrates every writing victory any of her friends achieves and I am blessed to be celebrated by her today.

Thanks, Mary! Hats off to you, my friend.

Read Mary's thoughts on Approaching God here .

Feelings? What Feelings?

2011-05-18T20:21:00.017+03:00

How does WHAT feel?

Are we talking about graduating a second son with his degree and everything that accompanies this season of completion and launching? Are we talking about what it feels like to look at him and contemplate the man he has become? Or are we talking about the suspended time and reality of being in the States for a couple of months instead of being in East Africa? Might we talking about trying to figure out how to celebrate life in the midst of painful realities when my little niece gets pregnant, then married, then has a baby at just barely 17? Are we talking about having a total hysterectomy (ovaries, tubes, uterus and all) when I wasn't expecting one? Perhaps we're talking about that I'm still getting frequent notes from readers about "my little book"? Or are we simply talking about me being home sick for my dusty ramshackle town and the friends I share life with there?

These things have all been happening on top of each other in the last couple of weeks so it's all a jumble to me.

I will say this about surgery... I'm thankful. I've received incredible care and expertise. My doctors and nurses were tender and smart and good. Always the joker, God gave me a West African doctor who spoke with humor and wisdom and called me Sleeping Beauty when he stopped by my hospital bed. While we have to wait 2 weeks for the lab report, he didn't feel anything looked more ominous that benign fibroids and cysts. I can't say I like the waiting, but I trust the gentle God who thought it was funny to take me out of Africa to be treated by an African elder.

Do I feel weird about missing some significant parts of me? No. I'm extremely pleased with the work we did together. Together with God and with Byron, my bits and I made four amazing people and I'm now well retired from all of that. African through and through, Dr. Ajilore asked if I was certain I was done having children. I'm 48 but, hey, thanks for thinking to ask.

Recovery is Madeleine L'Engle to the fragrance of lavender and roses. It's Egyptian Licorice tea and "Say Yes to the Dress" with Heather. It's trying desperately not to laugh when my mom's stories are shaking my sore abdomen with giggles. It's a warm duvet and time to ponder.

And as for graduation, I'm still kind of speechless. This I can say: Trevor Byron Borden, I am astonished by who you are.

Yes, that's how it feels.

(Photo credit: Jasmine Guerrero)

taunt not the foe

2011-05-03T09:31:00.003+03:00

taunt not the foe
perceived or otherwise

taunt not the monster
with the cold blood heart

slain villains
felled cretans
murdered murderers

may have well deserved what came

but life is life
and her violent end
though justified
cannot be cheered

Making a Book (Part 1)

2011-04-26T04:28:00.013+03:00

This past week my brain cells have mostly been firing off with words like "abdominal" and "hysterectomy." I've concluded that I'm bored of those words right now and I'd like to think some happy thoughts instead.

A few posts ago, I talked about The Gift of Writing and how I've recently been reminded again just how great a privilege it is that my thoughts were published in the form of Approaching God.

Elizabeth de Smaele wondered if I might share a little about how the book came to be. Thanks for asking, Elizabeth! Thinking on that tale will be a happy distraction from thoughts of upcoming surgeries and stitches and et ceteras (Bleech!)

In 2007 I was in Seville, Spain, at a gathering of the global 24-7 Prayer family. These are some of my favorite folk anywhere--real, ordinary, extraordinary, nothing special, entirely passionate, you-wouldn't-know-them-from-anyone-else activists who pray and live a changed world. I led a couple of seminars and spent one evening talking with an interesting woman that I'd never met before.

Time passed. I suppose someone (I have my ideas of whom) must have tipped the interesting lady off that I like to write and she contacted me. Turned out, she was an editor at Lion Hudson in the U.K. This is why you should spend the evening chatting with people you don't know ;-)

Stephanie met up with me the next time I was passing through England, which wasn't very soon. She asked me what I would have to say on prayer and I told her I thought prayer had everything to do with how we perceive God. She asked me how I would plot out a book on that and I told her I thought I'd look at different metaphors that help us understand God.

She liked it. I was kind of shocked and wondered if I was possibly on something like Candid Camera.

I went back to Tanzania and finally wrote and submitted a first chapter. Then Stephanie up and disappeared! She left Lion Hudson and took off for Dubai where her husband had recently taken a job. I was sure that was the end of that...

But along came Tony. His team had been handed the first chapter submission and, after another long wait, I found out that they liked it! I explained what the other chapters would focus on and they gave me a green light and sent me a contract, which I kept forgetting to sign and send back. (Embarrassing, I know.) Finally I DID sign it and post it back to them some time in June, 2009. We agreed I would have till September 1st to send them the manuscript.

That summer I had several healthy chunks of numerous days in a row alone at home. I settled down to write.

Surgery? Seriously?

2011-04-22T04:34:00.007+03:00

I found out on Tuesday evening that I need to have a total hysterectomy before returning to Tanzania.

(Groan.)

I was pretty shocked. I cried when Byron picked me up and I told him about it. I wasn't expecting to need major surgery to deal with my issues. That's because I didn't know I had sizable fibroids and a great big cyst in my life.

At this point I'm nervous, annoyed and a little overwhelmed.

I find that I'm struggling, too, with spikes of fear.

Hospitals make me feel sick. I felt faint having a mammogram today. It's weird, I know.

But I also know that I'm thankful for help, incredible technology, advanced medicine, a concerned family and caring friends.

I'm thankful to God for timing and leading and provision.

I'll hand my fear over to him.

Surgery is set for 13 May. Before that, I'll be here and there in Southern California. After that, find me sitting quietly at Mom and Dad's.

The Roses Preach

2011-04-17T18:09:00.002+03:00

I wake up to stress on my chest, an unwanted blanket
It's the calendar, the way it's all jammed up
The weariness ahead and the funds
that grumble loudly about needing to be raised

But then
It's cold dew on my feet
The pale pink of fragrant roses
Leaning toward me
As I lift laundry to warm lines
In the early sun

And do they really matter?
These things I deem to weigh so much?

I turn my face
With the roses
Up

Inspired (A handful of people who brighten the world)

2011-04-09T08:44:00.009+03:00

Tonight I am happy, encouraged and challenged by a few people I know...

I'm just so inspired by our friends, Lloyd and Marianne. They are older than we are, of the grandparently age, and they are smart and sharp and soft and good and kind and bright and giving and fresh and out of the box and faithful and bold and surprising and extremely well-read. We sat down with them yesterday evening and four hours raced by like nothing.

I want to grow up to be like them. I want to love God and people and the world the way they do. I want to dare and dream and avoid dull ruts the way they do. I am utterly inspired, called forward and lifted by what I see in them.

I'm also inspired by my sister and her group of friends. Tanya has volunteered at Little Bit Therapeutic Riding Center for 10 years. Byron and Heather and I accompanied her to her Friday afternoon ride and watched as a nine year old boy, who is severely physically impaired but has been riding since he was 2, completed his 45 minute lesson. It was so lovely to see the 4 women (2 volunteers, 1 trainer and 1 therapist) work together with gentle, skilled, loving, attentive expertise, giving their entire mental and physical presence to his success. The horse, Gigi, was no less brilliant. It was a breath-taking display of compassion, commitment and competence tied beautifully into team-work. Seriously, it could make you cry.

Byron asked why Tanya and the therapist don't trade sides of the horse during the lesson so as to give each other's shoulders some relief from the heavy work of assisting the rider. Tanya said that they can't because they both only have one good shoulder each. Their work has taken a toll on their bodies.

I want to be selfless like these ladies.

I find it so comforting to know that there are amazing people doing amazing things, not particularly recognized or applauded, but just getting on with it.

Find out more about Little Bit Therapeutic Riding Center here .

The Gift of Writing

2011-04-05T17:39:00.007+03:00

We're in Seattle this week and last night I had the opportunity to attend a gathering of writers. I don't think I've ever been to a writers' thing before so this was a fun new experience for me as about 150 writers spent the evening talking, sharing, learning and being inspired together.

I was particularly impressed by the main speaker, Jodi Detrick, who is one of five folks who contribute to the Faith and Values column of the Seattle Times. Her perspective was fresh and insightful and it made me happy.

As a guest, I mostly just listened all evening and here's one thing I realized...

I have SO MUCH to be thankful for in the story of how my book, Approaching God, came to be!! Oh my goodness!!

It was humbling to hear these gifted writers talking about how difficult it is to get someone to look at a manuscript and yet I had the extremely odd experience of having an editor ask me to submit a proposal and first chapter. It's crazy!

This morning I am keenly aware that the opportunity to write Approaching God was a direct, intimate and very generous gift to this bumbling little writer.

Thank you, Monarch. And thank you, Lord.

So, Los Angeles, We Meet Again (My Stream of Consciousness Response to Arriving in L.A.)

2011-03-24T01:11:00.011+03:00

I love getting to Mom and Dad's house. It feels good, it smells good, it IS good.

It's SO COLD! My folks crank the heat for us but, with our thin African blood, Heather and I are shaking the whole time. A friend of Mom's stops by with slippers she's knit and we grab them like the life-savers they are! Our feet are happy at last. Thank you, knitting friend of Grandma! Thank you Grandma for teaching her to knit.

People say that women love to shop. I'm not so sure about that. I need clothes but I only narrowly survived my first foray into the stores. I don't know what happened but this one very well meaning saleslady got it into her mind that it was her personal job to dress me. She was bringing all these ridiculous choices and burying me in things I would never wear. And I'm just so compliant! I tried on outfits I had not the slightest attraction to just because I didn't want her to feel bad! I think I disappointed her greatly when I left with my modest selection. And to tell you the truth, I really want to return one of the items but I'm literally scared to death to go back in there!

I love walking in this town! Old Pasadena homes are SO lovely and so entertaining to walk by. Heather and I get to stretch our legs while enjoying each house and garden we pass. We do feel lonely for our dogs when we go for a stroll but we feel so blessed to have pleasant places to wander around. This easy access to exercise causes my heart to feel a little envy. I don't like walking where we live in Arusha.

Tea is good and is the answer to most things no matter where I am on the planet.

I need some alone time. I waked through the grocery store for a few minutes all by myself this afternoon and it felt amazing.

Baby Girl and I slipped into the States under the radar. Byron and Colin arrive tomorrow evening and we have a one weekend family time with The Repko clan immediately after they get in. After that, THE SCHEDULE takes over.

I'm looking to sneak in as much true connection with people I love as possible.

I can culture shock pretty good when I get here, but I love L.A.

Call Me The Travel Queen

2011-03-16T02:09:00.022+03:00

I like to think of myself as a skilled and seasoned traveler... But then there are days like Monday.

So, I'm not carrying much to the States. I mean, for me. I'm not carrying much for myself to the States from Tanzania but I've got some gifts and some requested items and, oh yea, 2 months worth of school books for Heather. Those things are in The Monster Bag. And The Monster Bag is ok because it has wheels and a sturdy handle. The Monster Bag is ok in most situations.

But Monday was not one of those situations. The tricky thing about Monday was that I needed to catch a train to Guildford for meetings. Easy enough. That's why I'm here in the UK for 3 nights before getting to LA. So, the train... Anna, my long-time friend who goes beyond the call of years of friendship by repeatedly meeting me at Terminal 5 before dawn when I randomly fly in to London, dropped me at the station and mentioned that I might want to take the creaky elevator up since I had my little backpack, my little wheelie bag AND The Monster Bag with me.

I rolled up to the counter and confidently asked for a one way ticket to Guildford then confidently handed the nice man my card for the 6 pounds 20 pence ticket. No dice. His machine didn't like my card. I gave him my back-up card. No dice. His machine didn't take to that one either. Now, I knew that I had about 10 English pounds in my purse. I had carefully packed a five pound note and a handful of pound coins that were left from other trips. I knew they were there--but where?

The problem was that I had four currencies in my purse and, while I had tried to sort them into separate compartments, the creeping panic of standing at the ticket counter with rejected cards and no clear option if I couldn't find the right currency, conspired together to conceal what I needed to find. I tried to look very calm and together as I pulled out wads of Tanzanian shillings, Kenyan shillings, US dollars and clusters of receipts in each of the same. But that five pound note was nowhere to be found.

With a skillfully played air of nonchalance, I dug to the bottom of my bag and found English coins that just covered the price of the ticket. OK, yea,Ticket Guy did have to reject a few African coins from the mix, but I managed to finally get it all paid for. I think he was just so relieved that he didn't have to turn me away, but he did say, "Sorry! The lift is out of order, luv," when I inquired about the elevator.

Out of order. I looked to the first flight of steps to the landing, not even daring to take in the second set immediately beyond. I pulled in my core muscles, flimsy as they are, and began the shuttling of bags. I tried to look relaxed and not like I was gasping for air as I wheeled them through the elevated hallway to the descending stairs. I suffered the humiliation of Monster Bag getting caught behind me in the electric gate you have to clear before going down to the platform, but I handled it nicely.

The shuttling down to platform 4 was simple, just embarrassing. I mean, really, it IS embarrassing to look as if you're traveling with a heap-load of obviously non-essential personal stuff. I dream of looking suave with one slim little bag trailing behind me. (Do keep dreaming, dear.) I hoisted the bags onto the train and dropped heavily into my seat. The five pound note appeared immediately when I opened my purse just moments later.

Getting off at Guildford was hassle-free and I blessed the station for being all one level. But that was the last of level ground for me. I now had to hike to Ian's house and leave the bags in his guest room before our meetings began. Fortunately for me, I had a date with the lovely Andrea Percy and her youthful vigor came in very handy as we trudged up the rather steep hill to the Nicholson home. I'm telling you, leaving the weight of that Monster Bag behind me felt like forgiveness! I felt FREEEEEEEEEEEE as we walked away to catch up over some mid-morning tea.

Yes, I dream of being cool as a cucumber when I cross the globe, or the city, for that matter. But on Monday I was just as tired and hot and winded as every other pleb on the planet.

All I know is that these last 3 days of meetings and friendship have been worth every flustered and decidedly uncool moment along the way.

Three Magnificent Women (Happy International Women's Day!)

2011-03-08T15:39:00.009+03:00

Today I simply want to briefly honor three magnificent role models in my life.

#1. Rusty (Rose Marie) Spring. Rusty was my mentor professor when I was student on Westmont's Urban Program in San Francisco in the early 80's. Rusty read my journals and answered with quotes from poets and coffee dates at curious little bookshops in the city. Rusty asked poignant questions and listened well. She modeled a deep spirituality and a willingness to engage the tough questions in life. Rusty just turned 80. I haven't seen in her over 25 years but I love her dearly all the same.

#2. Wanda Moore. Wanda was my teammate in Kenya as we worked among the Maasai in the early 90's. Her "children" were already in college and beyond, except for the twins, who were 11. Wanda was a wealth of wisdom and a constant encouragement to this young mom. She could make an extra mattress on the floor into a luxurious guest bed with her pile of lovely quilts. She helped me see the strengths behind challenging traits in my kids and modeled the most extraordinary faith, even in terrible pain, when her husband, James, died tragically in a motorcycle accident 21 years ago. Wanda is getting married this week and I'm delighted!

#3. Ruth Craig. Ruth coached our leadership team during the years we worked in Europe. Ruth is smart as a whip and as charming as they come. She is poised and strong and gentle all at once. Ruth modeled for me a living hope as she overcame personal sadness and grew into a woman of tremendous authority and influence. Ruth has advised in many halls of power but loves to host noisy gatherings of blended family and piles of grandkids more than anything else. She currently pours a ton of love and care into empowering women at risk around the world. Best of all, Ruth's amazing husband, David, adores her and is her greatest fan.

I am overwhelmed with thankfulness for Rusty, Wanda and Ruth! Thank you, ladies, for always inspiring and calling up the best in me. I'll love you forever.

Andre, Rob, Ray and Ebel

2011-03-02T05:33:00.007+03:00

It's been a weird couple of weeks. Within the span of 14 days, we've been aware of the deaths of four men.

Now, I know that lots of people die every day, everywhere. I think it's the fact that we knew, even just a little, three of these men, and knew the fourth man's organization well. While we personally didn't know them deeply, we are close to people who considered them dear, even intimate, friends . Also, they died in terrible ways. Two were murdered and two died in freak accidents. For the record, two of the men died in Kenya, one died here in Tanzania and one died in Zambia.

I keep thinking of their families; the sudden loss and pounding waves of massive grief. I think of the wives and children and the lives turned upside-down. I think of the hearts of service that brought two of these men and their families to Africa in the first place and the particularly troubling thoughts surrounding the questions of how this could be. I think of the other two men and the fact that, while they weren't vocationally in a role of "serving", they were good men who cared a great deal for Africa and her future.

So, yea, each death has brought layers of loss and pain to our hearts. I can only imagine what those who were really close to them are going through.

Death is not new. It's ancient, like life. But does that make it any easier?

a few of you, so far away

2011-02-15T13:55:00.004+03:00

if i could choose
i would not be this far
from you

the way your eyes light
and your laugh
spills out

there are days
when it makes sense
some how

the long flights
the enormous cost
the loss

i'm afraid, though, that
today is not among
those days

These are the Days as They Unfold

2011-02-02T17:48:00.016+03:00

I find it a wee bit alarming if many days go by and
In them I never feel an urge to write.
I look at myself and wonder if I'm ok.

(Maybe I need to take my temperature.)

It's not that I'm a great writer.
But I am a writer, after all.

(And maybe before all. I don't know.)

So let me just tell you this--
The days have been weighted with a
Still humidity that is not my favorite.

And yet I have no good reason to complain.

I saw the Variable Sunbird,
Sleek and flirtatious in his bold/shy approach.
He comes so close and I, I just hold my breath.

I watched as all the greens outdid themselves,
Shimmering so in morning sun,
And smiled at sleepy dogs collapsed handsomely at my feet.

I answered mails and did chores
That had long fussed at me (tisk tisk)
From inbox and carefully ignored corners.

And last night I held my daughter's hand
As she fevered in her restless sleep.
Of all my work, it seemed the simplest and greatest to be done.

Did Santa Barbara Notice Shaky's Passing? (i wish i could have known him)

2011-01-23T17:45:00.015+03:00

Jesse lost a friend on Friday night. Shaky lived in one of the parks in Santa Barbara and, as I understand it, was a bit of a legend in his community. He and his friends were together Friday evening and he decided to go to sleep before the others. In the morning, Gator, Shaky's best friend and constant companion, went to wake him but Shaky was gone.

Jesse didn't get to the park until Shaky's body had already been taken away. He was told they'll cremate him and wait to hear if there is something that someone somewhere wants done with the ashes. Jesse gathered Shaky's earthly possessions from behind the dumpster where he had been asleep and brought them to Gator and the others. There wasn't much.

Gator had a number for a woman he believed to be Shaky's mama. He didn't want the coroner to contact her about the death so asked Jesse to please make the call. Jesse did. He found out that she was actually Shaky's grandmother and he explained to her that he had some bad news. Of course, she was very upset by it but Jesse let her know that Shaky had been well loved.

Jesse and the men and women he knows on Santa Barbara's streets were not the only ones who loved Shaky. There's a whole group of them who have made friends with this community that hasn't quite made it in mainstream life. They were happy to meet a woman chaplain who has been involved, folks who work at the homeless shelter and others who turned up to offer comfort and support. That night a number of them sat in a circle around Shaky's wheelchair, lit candles and sang hymns. It was not a long gathering, but one that gave friends an opportunity to cry together.

I had been hoping to have a chance to meet Shaky because Jesse had so often spoken of him. "He was a really strong alcoholic, Mama," Jesse would say, by which he meant that alcohol had a very firm hold on him. Life had been pretty brutal and Jesse knew about some of the bitterness and hatred that he had come out of. Shaky's body was pretty much destroyed by his drink and he smelled really bad because he was in a wheelchair and couldn't ever shower, but, "He really, really knew Jesus," Jesse told me. In all the hardship of life, he had encountered a living Grace.

I'm not sure why I'm relating this story today except that it really hit me hard to think of someone storing their belongings behind a dumpster in a park. He was curled up next to them when he passed away. Behind a dumpster. Behind a dumpster!

Some how that image just puts so much of life in sharp relief.

Departures Again (Ug)

2011-01-06T12:40:00.011+03:00

I hate it when the 3 boys leave. Some times I'm able to say it a bit more eloquently than that but the bottom line is the same: I hate it. Heather and I cling to each other and cry after they pull away and I feel like I'm going to be sick for the rest of the day. It's no fun.

There is a boy who’s gonna build homes with his bare hands
There is a son who will sing for all the land
There is a young man and he's lying wide awake
We're all asking how long we're gonna have to wait

There is a boy longing for peace
There is a son who will dance in the streets
There is a young man facing the sky
We're all trying to make sense of how we feel inside

If you'd like to hear Trevor's full song "About Being Brothers"
you can download it for free here .
It's very lovely, if I do say so myself.

Our Buns ;-)

2011-01-05T20:44:00.005+03:00

Well, this is my 500th post!

For the last couple of days I've wondered if maybe the big 500 was supposed to be particularly meaningful or something.

But actually the thing that's on my mind is that Jesse and Trevor are returning to California tomorrow (boo!) and it's VERY important that we record for history that, right now, 4 out of 6 Bordens wear their hair in a bun most days of the week.

So, yea, Borden buns :-) I'd be tempted to say "We've got cute buns" but I'm just so much more appropriate than that. (Cough.)

Happy 500th!

Moments

2011-01-02T07:46:00.025+03:00

A friend asked me about the moments that made my holiday. That's a nice question that helps me savor things.

So, here's my list in random order...

Moonrise-- We sat outside in the warmth and watched the moon come up on as many nights as possible. It was captivating each time.

Table art-- The photo above shows the mosaic table we made in the days leading up to Christmas. It was fun to break tiles and put them back together and see the ocean colors appear as a new puzzle that we get to keep.

Cinnamon rolls-- Byron's Christmas Morning cinnamon rolls are legendary in our family. Jesse made them for us this year and Byron proclaimed them the best ever. I get a sugar headache just thinking about them :-)

Thirst--Unknowingly, Jesse and I each gave the other Mary Oliver's volume of poetry, "Thirst." We both love it but neither of us owned it. Now we both do. I liked mornings at the beach when we read our favorites to each other.

Fragrant gifts-- Byron carved 4 wooden kitchen spoons for me from Olorian collected off the forest floor in Loita. Olorian is African Olive and is precious to the Maasai. Loita is precious to me and the smell of Olorian makes me happy. Also, the spoons are beautiful.

Feasting-- I loved the moment Liz tasted the freshly grilled marinated meat that Byron had prepared for us Christmas Day and the way her eyes got big and it looked like she had just fallen in love. I loved looking around and seeing friends, old and new, celebrating Jesus together.

Creatures of extraordinary beauty--The Carmine Bee Eater on the branch above our camp... The dark blue and deep gold crab Jesse found in the mangroves... Crazy colors just casually carried by these!

Starry night--We walked long on a dark and quiet beach, lit only by stars. Without a moon, the brilliance of the canopy above us was nuts. The tide had risen and the usually shallow crossing at the mouth of the river required that we wade chest deep in warm, salty water. I liked that it was 2 o'clock in the morning on the first day of the new year and we were drenched in powerful beauty.

Conversations-- Around tables, by fires, by the waves, in cars, in the kitchen, and wherever else they unfolded, they made me rich.

All the little moments string together and give us more to weave with.

What were some of your favorite moments from your holidays?

Need Some Christmas Cheer? (or I'm loving Brian Houston's Christmas album, Joy to the World)

2010-12-24T07:19:00.010+03:00

I think what I love the most about Brian Houston's recently released "Joy to the World" is that it makes me smile and snap my fingers.

I don't have an extensive collection of Christmas music so I'm no expert on what's on offer out there, but I do know that I've culled from my small collection because Christmas music needs to some how sparkle. The albums that have stayed in play over the years include a collection of carols done mostly with flute (very pretty), an old Vineyard cd of Christmas music, (dear and unpretentious), a disc put out by The African Children's choir, (cheerful and sweet), and the legendary Sufjan Stevens Christmas album from 2006, (piercingly tender and generally heart breaking.)

Brian's album comes along with an entirely new take on it all and I am refreshed and made childishly giggly by it. Some how, the Irish artist moves from shades of Elvis to happy shuffle to Celtic roots while keeping the whole thing smooth and united in it's warm, grounded joyfulness. His voice is not Sunday school but street and pub and I have a feeling Martin Luther would sing just like him if he was with us today.

This offering, then, emphasizes the Happy in "Happy Christmas." It really sounds like a group of friends having fun together, which, I suppose, it is. But don't misunderstand "happy" to be cheesy or trite. As always, Houston's work touches some chord in me as it plainly reveals truth in a most down-to-earth and user-friendly way.

I hope you'll buy the album and enjoy it with me. Check it out here .

My Book at Sam's Club :-)

2010-12-23T10:25:00.005+03:00

This wee photo was taken in a Sam's Club some where in the States and sent to my publisher who then forwarded it to me. I received it in my inbox here in Tanzania last night late and the whole family gathered around my computer to grin and stare. What a nice Christmas gift to me to hear that Approaching God is getting out there :-)

Thank you so much, friends, for all the support. I feel super and incredibly blessed!

We Lived a Little Better Last Week

2010-12-15T11:23:00.014+03:00

Ole Siloma is possibly the oldest Maasai man alive today. He was our neighbor during the years we lived in Loita, the grandfather of a boy who grew up with our boys. Ole Siloma's family has asked around fairly extensively and there doesn't seem to be any other remaining age-mate from his age group, Ilderitoi. His older brother, another of our neighbors from those years, passed away in the last 12 months.

I wanted to post this photo of our old friend because we saw him last week and truly, deeply, thoroughly enjoyed chewing the news and catching up with him. Ten years ago he gave Byron his beautiful snuff carrier as a gift when we were leaving Kenya. One of my favorite moments in the last week was Ole Siloma chuckling and saying to Byron, "Look what I have to carry my snuff in now!" as he pulled out a little plastic herb bottle that he's recycled from somewhere. It's true, his current snuff container is pretty awful compared to the antique he gave Byron!

I was also very touched that he asked after our kids and wanted us to bring them round so he could bless them. We didn't end up doing that, but I knew it was a priceless gesture.

Other priceless moments from last week include... Meeting an old acquaintance on the road who grabbed my hands and kissed my fingers. Let's be honest, he was drunk as a skunk, but it was sweet just the same. I loved a particularly beautiful evening with new friends... Chai at Ngoto Milai's, whose health I never take for granted so I always wonder if this is our last time together... Seeing Byron and Ole Mesenka, a couple of real brothers, together... Listening to the Colobus monkeys in the trees... Playing in the river with Heather... Conversations with Hennie and Becca... Knowing that a leopard had just strolled across the entrance to camp. Shame I didn't get to see him! I loved reading aloud to the family by the fire and that Colin did such an excellent job driving us over the way-less-than-perfect roads.

There are many challenges and terribly frustrating things about life in Loita but it was a good week. Good work. Good times. Good beauty. I like the kind of exhausted I get from days like that.

It's Good to be Outside

2010-12-06T07:52:00.002+03:00

We leave today for a week of living outside. We have some small projects we're involved with in distant places and we need to get round to visit and catch up with folks from time to time.

Happily for us, this means we'll be in Loita this week. The roads are hard and long to get there but..

Being out in Creation is very soul-restoring.

Looking forward to that.

Advent Thinking

2010-12-03T17:39:00.008+03:00

I'm thoroughly enjoying the on-line Advent Calendar at 24-7 Prayer.

I like focusing my thoughts a little toward Christmas daily and I love the creative ways I'm led to do that by each day's opened "door." The entries come from all around the globe and each one has brought me good. Big thanks to Scot Bower and all who contributed an advent piece to this lovely countdown. (I also contributed a piece but I have no idea which door it's hidden behind!)

Enjoy the calendar here HERE

Moon Gift

2010-11-23T21:38:00.005+03:00

Sometimes the moon
Rises slowly
Weighted girth moving upward
With some sighing effort
Plump, still-life fruit of a moon
Distinctly 17th century

But Sunday's moon
Rose fast and slim
Flat and round and rising
Sliding up against the night
A thin communion wafer of a thing
Shining there quite crisply

And I smiled at the night
The dark backdrop that seemed so strong
And the glowing gift reflecting light
Offered as it hung there
That I might just look up
And accept it

This is How it Works... or Doesn't (the joys of transition shock)

2010-11-11T17:02:00.016+03:00

So I was in the States for about 3 weeks and WOW!

What I just couldn't get over was just how nice everything was and, maybe mostly, how everything just works there. Smooth roads, wide sidewalks, easy shopping, hot water, cold water, electricity, street lights, the postal system... you name it!

Funny, eh? I mean, I do carry an American passport and I do go there about every 2 years and I have lived there plenty and I am 48 and fairly bright... But I just found the whole experience so surprising and kind of overwhelming.

For instance...

I was borrowing my parents little old grey Volvo ( I love that thing!) for a couple of days while I was up to Santa Barbara and a girlfriend decided we needed to go shopping to pick up a birthday gift for me. (Nice idea!) We finished and I jumped in the car and found that it wouldn't start. Turned over but wouldn't fire up. So I called my dad and the call went straight through because there were absolutely no problems with the network. I asked him to listen as I tried to start the car and he decided it sounded like the fuel wasn't getting where it needed to go.

Dad called AAA and they said OF COURSE they would come help me immediately because it was Dad's car and he's been a member for 30 years. The AAA guy was there in about 20 minutes and he was so nice and I never once worried that he might be incompetent or untrustworthy. He cheerfully hauled the car away to a mechanic across town who specializes in Volvos with whom I'd just spoken and who came with the highest recommendations. (I immediately regretted having not told the AAA guy that his tattoos were beautiful. Sheesh. How could I let him get away without that?)

My dad called his Volvo guy down in Pasadena and described the situation. He said it sounded like the fuel pump relay. It wasn't too long before the SB Volvo guy had listened to the car and he told my dad that it sounded like the fuel pump relay. All these phones working and intelligent diagnostics confirming each other and efficient systems! It just boggled me. But that wasn't enough. The car was repaired quickly and for a reasonable price and I got it back in a matter of just a few hours. I just couldn't get over it. It was so simple and safe and honest and well done.

Now, I'm not going to complain about how things are here in East Africa. I love Africa and there is plenty here to cherish. But this simple efficiency, proficiency and trustworthiness surrounding my little Volvo scene, well, that's not how things go when we have car issues here. My word. The number of places Byron has to go to just to get a spark plug that will actually spark... The days spent chasing spares... The mechanics that have made him almost lose his mind... Let's just say that Africa has other strengths to enjoy.

You might say that landing home again in Tanzania has felt a little bumpy in some ways. Transition is always harder when I'm not expecting it to be anything but easy. And it's the funniest little things that get to me. But I came up with a symbolic gesture to help me embrace it all...

I hadn't cut my nails short for the last couple of weeks before I left Tanzania for the wedding in North Carolina and, on the day before the ceremony, I joined Tait and her mom and the other bridesmaids for a manicure. (A manicure!) I had a bit of length to my nails and, I must say, I liked the way my hands prettied up. Over the course of my visit, I managed to keep them nice and I returned to Africa with hands that don't really go with the circumstances of this life. You know, I chop my nails short here, don't put anything on them at all, and try to remember lotion from time to time.. That's what works for me and I'm happy with it.

So, after a few days of bumping into the roughness of transition every time I turned around, I sat down with finger nail polish remover and my nail clippers. Back to reality-- the reality of the life I've chosen. I smiled with every snip, snip.

Hello, Africa... I'm home :-)

Tremper's Big Night

2010-11-01T15:58:00.008+03:00

(This event took place on Saturday, 30 October, and is hereby duly reported by Heather Borden, age 11, almost 12.)

One dark night, Lisa Borden was looking at her beautiful face in the mirror when she saw the black silhouette of a rat run past behind her. Nervously, she called Byron Borden to come find the rat and kill it immediately. Heather ran to get their young Jack Russell Terrier, the outrageous, one and only Tremper Shortman.

As soon as Tremper entered the room he could smell the disgusting yet juicy rat. Byron, Lisa and Heather all had their various weapons ready as Tremper sniffed under the trunk where the rat cowered. Byron lifted the trunk, making the dirty rat scamper for his life. Fortunately, Tremper had quicker reflexes than the rat and viciously killed it with his sharp teeth.

The drama was over.

"These are the days they say we'll remember..."

2010-10-18T08:20:00.010+03:00

A gift of days.
Days too precious to take lightly.
Days to be present in.

Byron and I came to North Carolina for a wedding. Not just any wedding--the wedding of very close friends. We came to celebrate Hunter and Tait's choice of each other. Byron gave the homily during the service. I was the Matron of Honor. And what an honor it was for both of us to be so intimately involved in it all. We linger in the warmth of all we were part of.

A gift of days.
Days too rare not to cherish.
Days to be filled with.

After the wedding, Byron flew back to Tanzania and I came on to LA. My sister came down from Seattle. We stayed up till midnight every night. We didn't stop talking... Not even once. We got time with our sisters-in-law and our younger brother. We enjoyed our parents, especially shopping with our mum ;-)

A gift of days.
Days too extraordinary to rush.
Days to hold onto.

Tomorrow I'll travel up to Santa Barbara to be with our older boys. There will be times with friends; times to tank up on. I'll meet someone I've long-desired to meet. I'll be at Jesse and Trevor's Tuesday night gig. There will be a book release party on Wednesday. I'll return to LA for a second book release party Thursday. My birthday will come. I'll celebrate by attending the Sufjan Stevens concert on Saturday. I'll pack up Sunday and fly home Monday.

These days, these days, these beautiful days.
I am aware--so very well aware--of the gift I've been given.

Sightings and Signings

2010-10-03T16:37:00.009+03:00

So, my wee book, Approaching God, has been released in the UK, Australia, South Africa and the United States. I know this for fact not fiction because I've started getting emails from friends all over the place saying that it has arrived at their door (if they ordered it through Amazon) or they've run into it in a shop.

My first sighting of it (after Jesse carried the one copy to me here in Arusha last July) was walking into Richard and Angie's house on the island of Guernsey and seeing it on their table. Then I saw it in Thames Ditton (London) at the home of Mike and Margit Newman. For my writer friends out there, I know I'm probably making a hoo hah out of nothing, but it really kind of jolts me to see my book lying around in someone else's possession.

But what's really crazy is to hear about other people's sightings of it. I received an email from a young friend named Carlee (from California) and she had just seen it in a bookstore in York, England. My friend, Janelle, picked it up in Melbourne!

Then there's the weird feeling of signing it for people when they ask. Honestly, I feel like a dork when I sign it. But I do it anyway because I think it's a nice thing.

Anyway... I promise not to keep going on about this. I think I just want to celebrate it a little.

So here's to the release of Approaching God!

I'm hoping many people will enjoy it.

We Gather (to dance?)

2010-09-18T08:28:00.011+03:00

It's still dark in Edinburgh but my body thinks it's a couple of hours ahead of Scotland. Arusha time... I like that Africa wakes me up and says, "You may be somewhere else, but this continent is still in you."

I like seasons and rhythms. For the last 7 years, a significant happening in our autumn has been the global gathering of 24-7 Prayer. We've collected ourselves in some great places- Barcelona, Dresden, Seville, London and Amsterdam, to name a few.

But it's not where we are. It's who we're with. We're with friends who believe that prayer can change the world. And after prayer (or with prayer, or during prayer) these same folks roll up their sleeves and jump in to the crazy, messy world around them and start trying to be the answer to the prayers. Last night we heard from a man who has helped see 300 victims rescued out of human trafficking in the last 2 years. They've prayed and worked hard to liberate each one and they continue a supportive relationship with these who are now recovering.

And if when I say "people who pray" you get a drab image in your mind, allow me to burst your wee bubble. There's too much creativity, life and mischief in these hearts for drabness . Even with a grave awareness of the awful pain so much of the world lives with, there is unstoppable joy.

So imagine us here: Scottish men in handsome kilts playing fiddles like their lives depend on it while we, gathered from all over the globe, dance like madmen into the night.

Joy spills out because there is One who hears our prayers and responds.

A good Scottish caleigh seemed the only proper response :-)

School Again!

2010-09-06T14:37:00.007+03:00

Heather and I sort of dragged ourselves to the table to officially begin the new school year today.

Actually, I should say Heather sort of dragged me there. The thought of being back in the school schedule was not my favorite one this morning... Not after the stressful dream that shook me awake just hours before. It was one of those I'm-in-school-and-I've-lost-all-my-homework-and-accidentally-missed-a-million-classes-and-forgotten-to-turn-in-assignments-and-can't-pay-the-bills-and-can't-formulate-an-appeal-and-will-seriously-flunk-out-now dreams.

I hate those.

A friend of mine recently quoted a student we know. "How am I ever going to learn anything if I have to be in school all day?"

It's such a good question.

When my bigger kids were little I was a better, more creative and enthusiastic teacher.

So this is my prayer for the year ahead...

"Lord, would you reawaken my heart to the pleasure (the fun!) of opening a young mind to the endless possibilities that fill this very fine world you've made? Give us patience with math, and maybe some proficiency too. Give us stamina for science, with a heap load of grace. Give us good literature--the kind that makes us laugh or cry or both. Give us poetry that changes us. Give us history that inspires. Help us to explore with wonder and to question anything that demeans or degrades. Raise our expectations and fuel our curiosity. Fill our heads with dreams. Teach us about beauty. Allow us to see you everywhere in everything. And help us, please, to be nice to each other along the way."

Seventh grade has begun.

Here we go!

Stripping the Beds (or I hate it when they leave)

2010-08-27T13:39:00.006+03:00

The boys took their leave
One by one they packed their bags
Their funny things

Half made drums
A snakeskin
Shoes made from old motorcycle tires

One by one
They waved goodbye
Wednesday, Thursday, Friday

A bad week, really

And I am left to strip their beds
To laugh at the remnants
And wonder at the quiet

But they are off to good things
Adventures, life
A good week, really

(And can I honestly complain?)

lisa
27 August 2010

Esther Slips Away

2010-08-26T13:28:00.009+03:00

Today I want to honor the Earl family. On Wednesday morning at 3am, their Esther took her finally bow as a citizen of Earth and slipped her lovely self into the Heavens. Esther was 16, the veteran of a four year battle with metastasized papillary thyroid cancer.

I could try to come up with words that would be worthy enough to carry their pain; to cradle the accumulation of their suffering and loss. But it would be a vain exercise and I would be foolish to try.

Let me say, instead, that the Earl family have shone to me these last years. Their faith has taught me new levels of grace while their grace has taught me new levels of faith. I am so much richer for knowing them.

Esther's daddy writes:

We awake to an empty bed... and empty hearts. There is awfulness all around. We are sad. The weather is sad. Esther's cats are sad. But Esther liked this kind of day. She liked most everything. Esther liked. We would stay doubled over but she would have us rise and receive the grace that is a new day. And Esther loved you all so much! She loved us, too. Esther loved. Thank you to everyone near and far, known or unknown to us. You helped to carry our light and life, gave her hours of joy and purpose. She will miss you and we will miss her banter with you. We're not so up for calls and visits but appreciate your condolences, emails, texts and tweets... Nerdfighteria: you are awesome! Remember: Awesomeness trumps awfulness every time. Death is not the final word but the "next great adventure" as Dumbledore said so well. Esther was never an unhappy lady. She was always happily up for adventure! In our hearts and exploring heaven; that's where we'll find her now.

Our Star was a welcomer. Didn't matter who you were or what badge you did or didn't wear, you were welcome to sit and visit in person or by computer with her. Esther welcomed. Whoever you are and wherever you may be, we welcome you, too, to join us as we remember and celebrate her brief, but glorious life. By tomorrow we will connect you to her official obituary and a means whereby you can give in her memory if you'd like.

You can read more of the story here .

Peace upon your family, dear Earls.

Materialism and the New Minimalists (or Is This Reduction?)

2010-08-18T09:27:00.010+03:00

At first I was intrigued as I read an article on the BBC about today's minimalists who are getting rid of their things and living in sparsely equipped apartments. I was attracted to the idea of shedding stuff and perhaps gaining new spiritual insight through the discipline of reduction.

I'm keenly tuned to my own attachment to things because I'm a person who has had to pack and unpack it all one too many times. Things, things, things. I've moved them between 6 countries on 3 continents. I've also gone through a house fire which took most everything I had of material value. Topping it off, I live in a developing country that reveals my standard of simplicity as relative. I live simply compared to some friends in the States. I live like a flippin' crazy person compared to most Africans. I know full well that my local friends think we're nuts to "need" all of this.

So I was interested in this cult of less, as the BBC called it. I was kind of hoping for an insight that would help nudge me toward being able to lighten the cargo more readily. But I was disappointed. The minimalists turned out not to be very minimal at all. Sure, they have less physical stuff, but they're building up a warehouse of technology all stored in their laptops. They have gadgets and gizmos galore, as Ariel sang, only it's all inside their Macs. I'm sorry but it seems to me that they are still driven by the urge to own, the need to posses. Owning a technology isn't that much different than owning a "hard copy" of something else. The obsession with the latest application or plug in or WHATEVER mirrors any shop-till-you-drop mall crawler out there.

And I believe we're often worse off for being so heavily wired to the cyber universe. The impact of everyone being tied to their computers and glued to their screens is no small thing. Relationships as well as the ability to experience solitude suffer. What's more, materialism or pride in possessions is just as poisonous whether the thing I "own" is made of solid materials or made of electronic impulses and a lot of crazy code.

I'm not out to reduce my home to a monk's quarters, but I am looking for more of the freedom of simplicity in my life. I just don't want to be duped into thinking I've found it if my treasures are out of sight.

Puppy Love and Good Gifts

2010-08-16T10:40:00.014+03:00

New puppies are the best! This little guy was a surprise arrival on Saturday when friends called to say they'd decided they couldn't take the pup they had booked and wondered if we wanted him. He was ready to come home that very day. We were more than happy to rearrange our afternoon, not to mention our lives, for him.

New Pup (short legged Jack Russell Terrier) is still nameless, though we're fond of Tremper Shortman, in honor of Westmont's legendary Old Testament professor, Tremper Longman. It's a compliment in every way as we adore our dogs and Dr. Longman is also well loved. In the mean time, we'll just keep calling him Puppy. Right now Puppy is sleeping on my empty suede boots under the desk.

Speaking of names, we used to have 2 Jack Russells named Harvey and Bristol. Also had one named C. Pete and another named Zero.

I was pondering a list of lovely things that have happened lately, Puppy's arrival being the culmination of them. I was thinking about how each thing was a gift from God and I was feeling very thankful. Quite distinctly I heard God's response: "Well, you know I speak your love language."

Very well, apparently! :-)

MAGNIFY! (Edinburgh 2010)

2010-08-12T19:55:00.008+03:00

I love 24-7 Prayer! I love the people and the passion. I love the way they believe that the world can be changed and throw themselves into what they do.

And what do they do? Prayer, mission and justice. They're all about changing the world by praying like mad and living like crazy. That means they talk to God about the condition of the world around them, they love people actively and reach out practically. So whether it's helping drunk revelers get home after losing it on the streets of Ibiza, offering to pray with a homeless person they are serving a meal to or encouraging each other toward spiritual depth, these friends of mine are not fakin' it.

Byron and Heather and I are very much looking forward to the big 10th anniversary gathering in Edinburgh come September. For the first time ever, there's lots of room at the event because it's in a bigger venue this year. That means tickets are still available!

Join us at Magnify. It's going to be good.

Find all the information you need here.

Seriously. You should come.

(And let me just say it's a little funny to talk about 24-7 as THEY cuz it's US. I am 24-7 Prayer!)

Mama Byron (which is how we say Mother of Byron)

2010-08-10T16:50:00.006+03:00

"Hey dear friend," the text read. "Can you let me know when you get this?"

I knew from the message that there was urgency to Ciska's request. We had been out of cell range for the better part of 3 days on a camping trip with friends but in that spot under the big tree by the dry river bed, there was enough coverage to deliver the brief text. I decided not to bother writing back and forth and just dialed her instead.

So it was that we heard the news that Byron's mom had passed away. It was Wednesday morning in Tanzania and Norma had died early Monday morning (August 2nd), Florida time.

Norma had suffered from Alzheimer's for about 7 years. Even though we knew that her time was coming to a close, none of us were expecting it that week. And even when death is a true relief and blessing, it breaks something that can never be put back together in the same way. Oscar's bride, Byron's mom, our children's paternal grandmother is not here anymore.

Driving home took us through rough, wild, beautiful Africa for about 3 hours. It was fitting, I thought, to be surrounded by all we were seeing. The area reminded Byron of a place where his family used to hunt for the meat they ate years ago in Kenya. I thought of Norma and what a good sport she was on all those trips. There she was, a farmer's daughter and pastor's wife, not enjoying any of the "thrill of the hunt" but getting plenty of the work load! And I know she did it all with a good attitude. Norma loved to work hard serving others and that was often seen in all things related to food. I could just picture her keeping all the camp well fed and cheerfully helping with every aspect of butchering the animal. It made me smile as we bounced along.

We got the news mid-morning and Byron was flying to Florida the following night. How thankful we are that he could join his dad and 2 sisters to grieve and celebrate the farm girl who cared for others so easily and laughed at herself so often.

Norma was 85 when she died. We are eternally grateful for her life.

Filling In

2010-08-06T11:45:00.007+03:00

I attended a special dinner last night to celebrate the upcoming marriage of our sweet friends, Tait and Hunter. Byron was unable to be there :( His baby boy, Jesse, subbed in nicely. What mama would mind being escorted by one of her sons?

Ian says Jesse cleans up well. (Agreed.)

Thanks for being such a nice date, JB. And thanks for the cause to celebrate, T&H!

Dad!

2010-08-01T06:49:00.004+03:00

My dad was here with us for a week. He makes us laugh when he says, "Well, I'll be in Nairobi and I could come down but I don't want to be a bother or in the way." A bother? In the way? He's usually in LA, for goodness sake! It wouldn't matter WHAT we had going on, if my dad turned up in Kenya, we'd definitely be inviting him down to Arusha!

What a joy to have him join us on the last leg of a camping trip with a visiting team. What a pleasure to hear him share some stories around the campfire. His bottom line? God is good. I loved that everyone, age 11 to 50, sat in rapt attention, soaking it up. And I loved that each of us just enjoyed his company so.

Thanks for coming down, Dad! Thanks for enduring the extra days at home alone without him, Mom!

Photo at top: Grandpa Denny and his Borden grandkids :-)

Stars

2010-07-23T22:35:00.006+03:00

It's just that I wasn't expecting it
In my gauzy mesh tent
With the warm breeze blowing through

I wasn't thinking of anything but
You know, rolling over in the night
Finding a new comfy spot

But I happened to open my eyes
And, oh!

The thin black lace of tangled thorn tree
Held back a vibrant sky
So heavy and bright it startled me

Breathless and suddenly awake
All I could feel was
Thank you

Heading Out

2010-07-17T04:48:00.008+03:00

4:44 a.m. and I have that pre-trip wakefulness. Getting up in an hour anyway to make sandwiches and do a last minute list check. Looking forward to joining the fam and a little team. They've been helping at a very rural elementary school many hours off the road. Now they're shifting camp and going to spend a few days hiking and adventuring. Off line now till next Wednesday. Hurrah!

My Book Arrives (and that's a new experience!)

2010-07-13T10:41:00.027+03:00

"I have something for you, Mama," Jesse said, pulling a padded envelope from his carefully crammed backpack. I was standing in the living room with my family and the four travelers who are with us for the next few weeks. It's normal for Jesse to bring us little things from the States, but this time he carried something I'd never seen before--my book! I didn't have the slightest idea what the moment was supposed to feel like.

That was Saturday and the days since then have been very full. It wasn't until today that I had my first coherent response to this rather lovely occasion.

I don't remember stacking Approaching God with the other books on my dresser but my eyes just happened to fall on them all as I was walking by. My title sat silently among the others and it was this plain, matter of fact presence that stopped me. Though I don't presume it holds place among these titles, the stack just said to me, "This is real. This is a book like other 'real' books and anyone might have it on their dresser with assorted recent reads."

It made me happy :-)

Approaching God is an illustrated collection of thoughts on intimacy with God. In it I reflect on relationship with God through the metaphors of Friend, Father, Mother, Artist, Healer and Guide. In his foreword, Pete Greig says, "This exquisite little book leads us deeper into a fuller, more familiar, encounter with God."

It will be available on Amazon UK 1 August. I believe it's available on regular Amazon by the end of October.

Trevor Makes Me Laugh (or Is this how it feels to have grown up kids?)

2010-07-06T13:59:00.017+03:00

It's good to have Trevor home. There are lots of reasons for this but my favorite is that he makes me laugh.

I know it's not always easy to come "home" from college. He's a year away from completing his degree and he has a life totally apart from us. This is well and good and as it should be.

There's always a little dance when grown "children" re-enter the circle of home. We all have to learn newly developed rhythms, and allow ourselves to adapt to a morphing tune.

I think of Trevor as a man, though I guess I don't see it that way 100% of the time. Circumstantial, I suppose, is the way I actually experience it. A couple of weeks ago we sent him off in the old Land Rover into the wild places to set up camp for volunteers who would arrive with Byron the next day. Man work. Then, the other night, he made himself sick with a funny little home-made corn cob pipe and some awful, cheap pipe tobacco right after a meal of rich curries. Dizzy and barfing from silly things=boyish behavior that makes me feel a little sorry for him while also laughing at him for being a dork. Still, I tucked him in that night and cleaned up the bathroom. Boy child.

The next day he rode his motorcycle alone for 100 miles across rough terrain where there was no phone contact. I knew he would then get up in the middle of the night and hike up a live volcano with a group of friends. I knew there would be no phone contact for at least 48 hours. Heading out into the adventure of it, an experienced man with lots of common sense and skill; me confident he could do it, though I fretted a little since that's my mommy right.

A couple of days later Byron broke down away out yonder in the bush. He didn't have phone contact either but he sent a runner to where connection could be made and we got a call saying he needed Trevor to go out and help him. Trevor, who was preparing for his gig that evening at a local restaurant, moved quickly. He got himself replaced, threw a couple of sleeping bags and some bottles of water in the car and was gone. A man, that was, who can be counted on.

Home the next afternoon, he was tired from a lot of driving and hard work. He had forgotten to drink the water he carried and his stomach was grumbling the after affects of roadside food stops. Still, he left on his motorcycle for the home of friends and dehydrated himself further in the sauna. The smoke burned his eyes and his stomach was increasingly complaining about life. That boy person seemed to be the one that convinced him to go out exhausted and sick, yet he did have the common sense to stay put and not get back on the bike late at night. We'll call that nusu nusu, or half 'n half.

It's his telling of these tales that makes me laugh so hard. He gives the blow by blow descriptions with a mischievous grin.

Mostly-man-with-traces-of-boy, I'll take him home with us any time. And I know his little sister agrees. When the movie got to a scary spot the other night, Heather and (best friend) Sianna both jumped a mile each and landed on either side of Trev. They stayed there, heads on his chest, for the rest of the film.

"These are the days they say we'll remember..."

Yes, I believe they are.

World Cup Inspires Africa (and you can too!)

2010-06-12T16:29:00.011+03:00

Ah, the World Cup... I love it. The world loves it. And Africa is nuts about it! Especially this year as it's hosted on this continent for the first time.

Much has been said already about how football inspires young Africans. Desmond Tutu and friends have even made a special point of talking about it.

We know a lot of young men in the HIV/AIDS and poverty ravaged neighborhoods of our city who love the game, play it passionately and hope to find a way out of their circumstances through it. Our Wild Hope sponsored efforts through football equip for success in the WHOLE of life. We've got a lot of great things going on through our Nyota Youth Sports and Community Service Center. The heart of it is football and leadership :-)

Please take a moment and go to our Wild Hope Stories blog and hear about what we're up to and how you can help young Africans through "The Beautiful Game."

Undone

2010-06-10T22:33:00.005+03:00

It's late and I need to get to bed but I can't sign off from this day quite yet. Ever since early this morning, my heart and mind have been heavy with the knowledge of senseless suffering.

You know, there is so much suffering in the world it can become an entity of its own: "Suffering." As strange as it seems, I can almost keep it out there some place when there's just one big impersonal name for it.

But right now, suffering has a single, piercing name. Suffering slips through my defenses when the big generic title is dropped and I hear the name Esther.

Our friends, Wayne and Lori, were colleagues of ours in Europe when, 4 years ago, their young Esther was diagnosed with metastasized papillary thyroid cancer. It's been a rough road since then; one that seems to be moving toward a final destination.

Today, I am equally undone by the uselessness of Esther's suffering (what is the point?) and the honesty of her father's shared journal entries. Wayne has permissioned me to share a couple of excerpts here...

29 April 2010

Esther is not doing well. Next week they will be putting in one or more shunts (tubes for draining fluid) into her right side. All the fluid, and more, that they drained out a week ago is back again. This is very likely a sign of tumor growth. She's uncomfortable and tired a lot and has asked for a hospital bed so she can sleep for longer stretches. Our health care team is looking at yet another experimental chemo and maybe something more. We are willing and Esther is game to keep fighting, so we're not giving up hope!

Still, suffering seems a useless business. I see no value in my daughter's pain. I know the standard answers ("redemptive" "result of sin" "an evil attack" "bigger purpose"). But the only reality is mystery and that sucks. Our faith remains but is changed; we have "put away childish things". We talk about death and dying and living and loving and we wait, and try to dream a little together each day. Esther knows more about these things than any 15 year-old should. The grief for us is like a tightening of the chest, a closing in, a sadness and an anger and mostly, a helplessness. I can't do anything to make my little girl's pain go away! And she's so perfect, to me.

I wish I could tell you more but those treasures are ours for now. Thank you for waiting with us.

Wayne

9 June 2010

Just last Friday evening Esther strolled (or rather was pushed by Angie in a wheelchair) around a local cemetery where she picked out her spot. Am I saying this? What parent helps their child choose a plot? This is not what we want. The joy and sadness of watching two sisters roll the grounds and simply be together was surreal. I cannot explain why hope sustains us even in the presence of innocence undone. Very few people in our culture talk about death and dying or if they do it's "embrace the light/suffering" or "fear not, heaven will reunite us with loved ones". I do not worry about death, at all, though I do not welcome Esther's dying. I do not care about joyous celebrations there; I want to give her away in marriage here! Heaven is Esther doing cartwheels again, her cloud of fire-white, brittle hair shining, waving at waiting earth.

Wayne

*************

How could I possible add any words to that?

Pray for Esther and her family. Their journal can be found here .

Sometimes All the Stupid Things...

2010-06-04T23:57:00.014+03:00

Sometimes all the stupid things that go wrong become kind of a comedy. Or a tragedy. Or maybe a melodrama.

It's just so discouragingly "normal" that the trailer we waited for months to be made finally came home today and immediately has to be re-built in our drive because of all the things that weren't done right. Never mind the fact that it needs to be packed tomorrow and pulled out on safari the following day. Just never you mind that.

Tension was up at our house today as we played catch up on preparations to take a team from the U.S. out into Maasai. We've been pacing it all pretty well, but we made a last minute trip to Kenya on Wednesday/Thursday. Looking over the schedule for the next few weeks, we realized Colin's rugby game on Wednesday might be the only one we can get to. (Reminder: he's at boarding school 7 hours away.) TREVOR, sweet second-born, just arrived last Sunday night and he had never even been up to Colin's school. We grabbed the chance, jumped in the car and made a run for it. Then we grabbed Colin and brought him home a day early for midterm. It was great.

But that just meant that we had to do 2 days of work today and we'll need to do 2 more tomorrow. It's not so bad, really. I shouldn't complain... And I have to admit that I thought we navigated the stress quite well, all things considered.

And yet, as I climbed into bed, I was more aware of the stupid things than I was of any of the things that were good.

Two things happened to change that. Jesse sent a little note and asked me if I had seen that you can go on line and pre-order my book, Approaching God. I had no idea so when I saw my wee book on Amazon, I had a little moment. I just sort of gazed at it and thought, "It must be true, then. This book is going to be published."

Then Trevor stuck his head in the door to say good night and reported that he'd just received a note from Jesse saying he had dropped off one of his hand-made drums at a music shop in Santa Barbara. While in there, he noticed that 2 older cajons he'd crafted had sold, which pleased him. But that wasn't all. It was Jack Johnson who bought them. Jack! Trevor had other news from Jesse--just random stuff about a great evening he had with friends at the Mumford and Sons show in LA. It was all cheery stuff that made me giggle.

A book. Some drums. Some funny things to laugh about. It all reminded me that the stupid things may be truly vexing, but the lovely things outweigh them. Now I blow out my candle and give this day a parting hug. It feels so much better than kicking it on its way out.

Reading but not Writing

2010-05-25T12:22:00.017+03:00

I haven't been writing much. There are 3 other blogs I contribute to and in the last months my contributions have been slim to nil. (Reasons vary and I'm hoping to snap out of it.)

Nelly sent me Rilke's Book of Images and said, "It's ok that you're not writing these days. Just be sure to read good things."

That made me pause and feel comforted as I recalled what I have read since the beginning of the year...

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. Death personified watches the life of one little German girl during WW2. So beautiful! Really astonishing.

Stones Into Schools by Greg Mortenson. More inspiring stories from the author of Three Cups of Tea. Mortenson builds schools in the hardest to reach areas of Central Asia. Great stuff.

When the Heart Waits by Sue Monk Kidd. Thoughts on faith and how it changes as we grow. Lovely.

Same Kind of Different As Me by Ron Hall and Denver Moore. The true story of great wealth, terrible poverty and how two lives come together across the gulf between them. Sweet.

Half the Sky by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. Painful yet exhilarating reading on turning oppression of women into opportunity for them instead.

Sabbath by Wayne Muller. Drawing from many faiths but primarily the Judeo Christian tradition, this book is about renewal and delight in the midst of life. Sweet and simple.

Emotionally Healthy Spirituality by Peter Scazzero. Combining many sources of wisdom with Biblical encouragement to be whole. Draws on many writers/thinkers I've already read so was a review but inspiring none the less.

How (not) to Speak of God by Peter Rollins. Discussions on faith from a very bright young (well, 10 years younger than me) mind. Enjoyed this very much.

A Girl Named Zippy by Haven Kimmel. Reflections on growing up in small-town midwest America. Poignant and very funny.

She Got Up off the Coach (and other heroic acts from Mooreland, Indiana) by Haven Kimmel. More incredibly subtle observations and wicked humor as Kimmel tells the story of her mother's resurrection from junk food and depression. These 2 books must be read back to back. Loved them.

A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller. Miller's journey continues as he discovers the importance of story and how a life should be a really, really good one. I love story and I like this thinking. (But you cannot convince me that he writes at the level of Anne Lamott.)

On-going readings...

The Bible. Most recently I Corinithians and 1 John. Always from the Psalms.

Rainer Maria Rilke. His poetry... sigh. It's like chocolate. I just take a little piece and luxuriate in it.

Mary Oliver. Perfect. Her poetry is so sweet. Beauty in the simple.

Celtic Daily Prayer: Prayers and Readings from the Northumbria Community. Selections here and there throughout the days and weeks. Peaceful. Helpful. Good.

Looking forward to...

Untamed by Alan and Deb Hirsch. I'm a big fan of both Alan and Deb because they are kind and genuine and smart. Deb says this one is more readable than Alan's other books (though I didn't find those difficult to read) because she helped him write it. Ha! That girl :-)

Hug

2010-05-15T09:44:00.014+03:00

I had a dream the other night in which I was hugging a friend. That was all there was in the dream--one very nice hug. In real life, this friend is not much able to hug because of not being comfortable hugging.

Some people aren't comfortable hugging for cultural reasons. It's just not the way it was done where they were raised. Fair enough. I can adapt. I kiss people a lot because that's what we did in Portugal and most of Europe. Hugging wasn't really the thing, but we kissed. And that's nice because I like kissing. Many of my African friends just shake hands. I can do that too :-)

Other people aren't comfortable hugging for unspoken reasons that have to do with painful things. I understand that. And I'm sad about it.

Dreaming of a really nice healthy hug made me wake up hopeful. And it made me think of happy huggings, like the way one of my guy friends in Europe would sometimes lift me off the ground when he hugged me. Or the way two of my married friends will completely enfold me in a double hug. Perfect.

So while we're on the topic, let me give a shout out to Carla Trundle Harding for being the world's best hugger. Byron says if you measure a person's health based on their ability to hug, it stands to reason that Carla is the healthiest person on the planet.

I'm thinkin' he's right :-)

A Gift to Remember

2010-05-11T22:40:00.011+03:00

Mother's Day morning was quiet and little drizzly here in Arusha. With Byron in the States and our 3 boys absent as well, I wasn't thinking too much of a celebration. Heather was home, of course, and our friend, Darrelle. I was content. I certainly could not have anticipated the sweetness of the morning.

I knew some plans had been hatching between H and D so I snoozed in obediently. Then they appeared, woke me and invited me to breakfast.

At the table there was a lovely little necklace from Byron and I loved that he had planned ahead and hidden it with Heather for the day. It's very sweet and I like it a lot.

But I have to say that breakfast was my best, best gift.

Here's the thing...

Heather is 11 and she's never made pancakes before. Yet she found and followed a recipe, prepared the tea, set the table and got everything ready. She felt a bit daunted by the task and in well over her head, yet she accomplished it all beautifully.

And Darrelle? Unbeknownst to me, she was sick as a dog. Poor little thing was chilling, aching and feeling that she might throw up any minute. But she had promised to help Heather make a Mother's Day breakfast and she was not going to let her down.

Of course, she couldn't actually do a thing, but she would not abandon ship. Rather than retreat to the guest room and take care of herself, she literally laid herself down on the bathroom floor where she was not far from the kitchen so that Heather could come to her every few minutes with another question. She didn't even have the strength to sit in the kitchen. She just had to get horizontal and she didn't dare venture too far from the toilet.

So, this necklace is really, really pretty and I love that Byron got it for me. I love being mom to the people we've made and sharing this adventure with him.

Yet I can't help but see the necklace as a reminder of the most precious gift of the day. From here on out, this wee necklace is my reminder of the gift of effort that went into that sweet breakfast.

It's really something to feel love.

Untitled

2010-04-28T21:54:00.009+03:00

There are many things I like about this photo. First, I'm their mama so I'm going to like it regardless, right? But still. It was taken by a guy named Dean at a recent gig that Jesse and Trevor played with friends.

For one thing, I like "Caught in the Moment" photos. They capture and convey something bigger than just the scene and how it was set. I like the way the photographer jiggled the colors and came up with these. For some reason, I also very much like Trevor's arm and the way he is bending toward Jesse. I wish I could hear what Jesse is smiling and talking about. I like that I can hear his laugh when I look at this.

But there's something else in here that startles my mind and heart and I think it is this...

This is a photo of 2 men.

Hello men.

grey pearl

2010-04-20T17:10:00.011+03:00

i used to think that grey was bad
not just dull
but lesser and
(mostly likely)
suspect

now i see a million shades of beauty in
the changes that reflect the light
softly
differently

in these last few days
i have seen the shimmery silver of a school of fish
sparkling, though covered by a weighty ocean
i have marveled at the foil-frail mirrored wings of a butterfly
so pale that grey sheen, changing in the wind

and i have seen you
like a pearl
and me
equally luminous
wrapped in my different hue

Charlotte

2010-04-16T23:16:00.008+03:00

To say that our family is a little attached to our dogs would be putting it mildly. Ask our long-time friends and they'll confirm to you that we're all a little nuts in this regard. Oh, I could tell you all the sound reasons for our passionate affection toward our canine family members, but it doesn't have to be justified. It's just a fact. We simply enjoy their company. A lot.

All the sadder, then, that we should return from 2 weeks away to the news that Charlotte had run under the wheels of a friend's car just a few days after we left home. We were off-line and out of phone range so we heard about it as we were getting ready to drive down from Nairobi yesterday. Sweet Tammy cried when she called to let me know.

Well, Heather made a little list and presented it at the dinner table tonight. I thought you might like to hear what she thought was good to remember about that little dog that we reared from birth in Portugal, took with us to the States for 9 months and then moved with us to Tanzania.

Here are Heather's "Memories of Charlotte."

1. She would go crazy when she would see the leash. She would jump up and down and get so, so excited!
2. She would make this funny snoring sound when she was looking at your food and was hungry. (Which was always.)
3. She loved it when you would scratch really hard on her back and she would start shaking her back right leg.
4. She would always sneak into the house and go into Mom and Dad's room and go under the bed and get all tangled up in the mosquito net.
5. She was really good to take in the Land Rover to, like, the land. And once she even got to go to Maji Moto!
6. She was a really, really good dog.

I miss that little white dog. She certainly was a cheeky one.

Pause

2010-03-31T00:39:00.003+03:00

I'll be off-line until after the 16th of April. It'll be good to be unwired :-)

I'll sign off till then with this...

i want to be a gentle presence
like you
the way your touch is cooling

or maybe warming
like when the sun is new
and young

let my footsteps fall softly here
and may they say
yes, i know her
she comes from
where truth dwells

-lisa, December 2009

Sunday Solitude

2010-03-21T10:12:00.002+03:00

It's Sunday morning and I am thankful for the quiet.
It was a week too full of busy.

Byron left before dawn on a motorcycle ride with friends and Heather is spending the day in one of the game parks with other friends. Her lift arrived a few minutes early and things deteriorated into something less than calm as I insisted she finish her breakfast while she insisted on running for departure. I made her go back and eat and also subjected her to me smearing sunscreen on her face. Samson the Ridiculous (one of our dogs) ran out the gate as Heather finally left and she was sure he wouldn't return if she herself didn't go after him. This resulted in me yelling, "GET IN THE CAR! GET IN THE CAR! I'LL GET THE DOG! I'LL GET THE DOG!"

What happened to, "Bye! Have a great time! I love you!" ?

Now I sit on the porch with my cup of tea and mentally excuse the list of Should Do's from my mind.

I embrace the stillness, the quiet, the calm.

I have the Psalms of David to feed me and I say "Welcome!" to this Sabbath.

The Wuthering Wind, The Blathering Words

2010-03-15T23:52:00.015+03:00

I was in Kenya over the weekend to visit Colin at Kijabe. The place certainly lives up to its name with the way the wind wuthers around the old buildings every morning and evening. I half expected to see Heathcliff out on the moor when I looked out the window. What a noise!

I bought a winter jacket when we first moved to Portugal in 2000 and I was glad I had it along for that little strip of Kenyan highland that runs along the top of the escarpment. The vastness of the landscape with its steep drop to the broad Rift Valley floor would have, no doubt, inspired Ms. Emily equally as well as anything she ever found in Yorkshire.

The wuthering and the blathering... These two words have been on my mind. I think they have a lot in common.

I hope, some how, that as I continue to grow, I'm learning to listen more and more.

(Colin, by the way, is doing nicely. He smiles his boyish smile, the one that squeezes his eyes up into little half moons, and the world around him seems to settle and sigh as if reminded that "all manner of things shall be well.")

too many words

2010-03-09T15:48:00.006+03:00

i wonder if there are too many words out there, really.

so i strip back.

in this economy, we can't afford to waste them.

Two Poems

2010-03-07T17:47:00.009+03:00

Flipping through my old journal entries, I came across two poems that I copied down. Rilke and Oliver... So good!
******

I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.
I want to free what waits within me
so that what no one has dared to wish for
may for once spring clear
without my contriving.

If this sounds arrogant, God, forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what i do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.

Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing you as no one ever has,
streaming through widening channels
into the open sea.

R.M. Rilke
*****

Praying

It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones, just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice can speak.

-Mary Oliver

Heather, in Quotes

2010-02-27T13:34:00.010+03:00

Heather and I are home again in Tanzania and I'm too warm and sleepy to reflect much on our amazing trip.

Allow me instead to give you my 3 favorite Heather quotes from the time in England.

When in the little village of Send (where I lived when I was 8-10 years old) we passed a farm and a certain horse caught Heather's attention. In a slightly Anglicized voice, Heather muttered, "That horse belongs under my bottom!"

While gazing at one of the ornate and beautifully painted ceilings in Hampton Court Palace, Heather wondered, "Why do people always think that angels are naked babies?"

And finally, after a very welcome shower at the end of a long flight and a hot arrivals terminal, Heather declared, "It feels good to get the stink off."

I must say, I do like traveling with someone who makes me laugh :-)

(On the train to Waterloo)

Skinny Jeans (or Thoughts from the Train)

2010-02-18T20:28:00.007+03:00

I’m sitting on the train on a grey and cold English day. Wonderful, isn’t it? How has this happened?

Heather and I took the midnight flight out of Nairobi to Heathrow on Monday and, next thing we knew, we were standing in the pre-dawn rain outside of Terminal 5, waiting for my dear friend, Anna. Anna got up far too early, collected us and welcomed us to her kitchen fire with cups of hot tea while her sleepy family finished a proper night of rest before appearing, one by one, for breakfast.

We’re here for the triple purpose of my participation on the International Council of 24-7 Prayer, my sharing a bit with the Transit folks who are preparing for the adventures of service that lie ahead, and my meetings with my publishers, the good folks at Lion Hudson/Monarch.

Jumping worlds will probably always jar me, but I do think my infrequent slipping back and forth has smoothed some over time. Last week Heather and I were bartering for second hand boots in the dusty expanse of Arusha’s used clothes market. Yesterday we were standing in Trafalgar Square.

The richness of our experience is not lost on me. I am stunned by it. This morning, as I rode the train to Oxford, all I could think was, “Am I really a writer headed to Oxford to meet with my editor.” Writer? Editor? Oxford? Good grief! I couldn’t have scripted this scene had I tried.

The most wonderful part of this whole trip is that Heather is with me. Her ticket was an extremely generous gift from an extremely generous friend. Heather and I are enjoying the treat of museums and shops and friends and Cadbury’s. And last night, I had the pleasure of buying her a new pair of jeans... Skinny jeans.

I suppose it seems a small thing, but it made me really happy. Heather is 11 and she is blessed much more than she knows to live far away from the pressures of fashion and the Western emphasis on trendy appearance. I suppose that’s why it felt so completely, luxuriously fun to me to buy her something that seems so stylish and practical all at once. It was a treat, and not in the least bit scary because I knew the whole shopping thing would be nicely contained in a couple of short days.

Skinny jeans for my baby girl and the very pleased look on her face they produced. And next week we'll escape back to the land where no one cares. As the mother of an adolescent girl, I am keenly aware that this is called Having My Cake and Eating it Too!

I Should Like to Wake Them

2010-02-08T23:12:00.010+03:00

I had a funny thought today...

"I'm so tired of men."

This is funny because I adore a lot of wonderful men who fill my life with grace and strength.

But my shelves--my word!--my shelves are heavy, heavy with male thoughts.

Where are all the feminine voices?

Some are here already, present and accounted for, singing out their lovely songs...

Dillard, Day, Lamott, Oliver, Kidd.

And, of course, you, Ms. Madeleine.

But, oh, there must be so many others.

Wake up, dear ones, wake up!

We need you all so very much.

Sleeping Next to God

2010-01-31T23:33:00.012+03:00

I have to say that of the daily complines (nighttime prayers) included in the Celtic Daily Prayer book, the Felgild compline for Wednesday is my favorite.

For one thing, it begins, "Calm me, O Lord, as You stilled the storm."

I often climb into bed with a rattle and hum going on in my head. The day is dragging itself into bed with me and it's not always easy to excuse it and retire more quietly .

Wednesday's compline opens with a bouncer who refuses to let the unwelcome buzz follow me into the night.

But the lines I really love say this...

"I lie down this night with God, and God lies down with me.
I lie down this night with Christ, and Christ lies down with me.
I lie down this night with the Sprit, and the Spirit lies down with me.
God and Christ and the Spirit, be lying down with me."

OK, I'll just admit here that I don't think I've ever told any of our kids that they could not get into our bed when one of them appeared in our room in the night. I just scooted over and let the little one climb in because I liked the well-being that was produced by nearness. (Should you wonder, they all grew up to sleep through the night in their own beds.)

I think that the lines from this prayer resonate with me because they call up such a comforting, motherly feeling. I know from experience how easily my little ones slipped into slumber when they knew I was near. I felt and saw the peace take over.

But more than that, I remember the sweet feeling of a silky head resting on my arm. I know the deep-soul contentedness of giving comfort just by giving presence.

I draw tremendous warmth and safety from the image of God lying down with me.

I am hushed and awed when I consider that maybe God is happy that my silky head rests upon his/her arm.

This is Sunday and today's compline is a good end for this day as well.

But I will close my book and settle into Wednesday's imagery as I fall asleep now.

Good night :-)

I Continue to Grow Up (or so we hope)

2010-01-21T12:44:00.005+03:00

Colin sounds good these days. So good.

I love to hear the smile in his voice as we chat on the phone. I love to hear the plans he's hatching with his friends at boarding school. I love to hear that he got high marks on his recent poetry writing efforts, though he's never attempted poetry before. I love the way it surprised him. Colin the poet--who knew?

Colin's successful adjustment is good reason to celebrate.

But wouldn't it just be great if he missed us so badly that there was still a little tremble of a tear in his voice when we spoke?

No.

Colin's love for us, for home, is not measured by pain levels. His coping well at school does not mean he's glad to be away.

I know this absolutely. I rejoice in the achievements of transition this (beautiful) 16 year old has made.

(But secretly, I guess there might just be a little part of me that misses the feeling that he can't live without us.)

New Shapes and Sizes (or We Adapt)

2010-01-11T23:11:00.006+03:00

As the boys took their leave for Kenya and California, Byron, Heather and I looked, I'm sure, a little forlorn. It's just downright weird to be only three of us in the house.

Let's review: Jesse is soon to be 23, Trevor is 20 and Colin is 16. Heather, by the way, is 11. While Jesse and Trevor are "supposed" to be away, Colin's absence is plain unnatural. Don't get me wrong, I think he's at a great school where he's doing well. It's just 7 hours too far away from home!

We cherished our time together over the holidays, but now we claim our right to a little melt down. Heather has already cashed in. On the day after they'd all gone, she flung herself down beside me on my bed and gave way to all the drama in her head.

"Jesse and Trevor are going to get married and come home with their TODDLERS and we're just never going to all live together again and it's not right!"

While I thought it was a little early to imagine Jesse and Trevor married (to lovely women, I'm sure) and chasing toddlers around the place, I felt for her. From my perspective, the changes that lie ahead might seem weird, but they still seem right and good. Our kids are supposed to grow up and make their own way and, yes, marry and have TODDLERS! That's all part of the deal.

But Heather's take on it is different. Yes, MY kids are supposed to grow up. But that's not how she's looking at it. My kids can take flight, but HER SIBLINGS better not. As you've gathered, Heather's a bit of a caboose. She was a long anticipated, hugely desired and wildly welcomed caboose, but a late addition nonetheless. And she isn't feeling too much enthusiasm about the rest of the train rushing off without her.

Still, there's nothing for it but to venture on. May the years before us bring many happy surprises as we continue to embrace new ways of being family.

All of Us!

2010-01-06T16:42:00.008+03:00

It's not often any more that all 6 Bordens and all 6 Russells are in the same place at the same time. With Colin and Chase at boarding school in Kenya and Jesse, Trevor and Skyler in California, moments like these are becoming more and more rare. But here we are...

Christmas Day 2009 (Colin, Skyler, Byron, Heather, Lisa, Sianna, Trevor, Tammy, Leighton, Peter, Chase, Jesse.)

All 8 of the offspring on the morning Colin and Chase returned to school.

We are thankful for friends who are family :-)

Family Days

2009-12-26T21:41:00.003+03:00

We're going to stay with friends at the coast for a few days.

Signing out with a happy sigh.

See you in the next decade!

Welcoming Jesus

2009-12-22T11:07:00.006+03:00

I happily agreed to write a piece for 24-7 Prayer's website. Having been given the freedom to write anything that reflects how we experience Christmas here in Tanzania, I ended up writing about my frustrations over silly things and how they've helped give me back a needed perspective.

You can find my piece, "Welcoming Jesus," HERE
It doesn't say "By Lisa Borden" at the top but you'll know it by the title.

Enjoy :-)

My Mom is a Rock Star

2009-12-20T18:42:00.010+03:00

I've been emailing back and forth with my mom today because our boys spent part of last night at my folks' house. I have to say "part of" because my dad took them to the airport at some uncool hour like 3 a.m. He deserves a post of his own to talk about what a shining star grandpa and dad he is. Man, I love him.

And I love my Mom.

So I've been emailing with Mom, also known as Mum, because she's giving me updates on things like the weather in D.C. where the boys will change planes and how they are all checked in and eating egg salad sandwiches at their gate inside LAX. Mom's egg salad sandwiches for travel day are absolutely legendary. You are guaranteed to travel better when you've started your day with one of those. So, you should know that the weather is getting better in D.C. and my dad made it back from his pre-dawn run to the airport.

All I wanted to say here is that my parents are just the bomb. They are the cat's pajamas and the living end. They are, in fact, the real deal and the bee's knees.

They've joined us for many Christmases in our homes overseas so I always get particularly lonely for them right about now.

One of my favorite memories of a Christmas in Kenya with them included a scene of me, the mother of 3 young children, having a melt-down because I felt so pressured to keep our home school going till the last second before Christmas Eve because we were "so behind schedule." I just remember bursting into tears and trying to explain to Mom why I just had to keep doing school, even though there was so much to do to be ready for our relatively simple Christmas celebrations.

"School is CLOSED!" Mom yelled (in a nice grandmotherly yell.) "I have executive powers and I declare home school closed right now!"

Like I said, my Mom is pretty much the bomb.

Eleven

2009-12-04T16:40:00.003+03:00

Heather is 11 today and we had mashed potatoes and gravy for lunch. Why bother with a lot of other stuff when that's Heather's favorite part of a meal? I'm glad you were born, Heather. You help me pick out the best bits :-)

The Spiritual Practice of Giving Thanks

2009-11-25T16:00:00.012+03:00

When you think about it, saying "Thank you," is one of the first manners we encourage small children to adopt. This simple practice of remembering to thank the people around us is so basic to positive human interactions that, when absent, it is a glaring rudeness that paints the withholding party as arrogant.

Somewhere along the line, then, we've learned that gratitude for services rendered or a job well done is an appropriate and meaningful human to human response in life.

But what about thankfulness as a spiritual practice and a way of life?

In Psalm 50, the poet is speaking for God when he says--

"I don't need bulls from your farms or goats from your herds.
All the animals in the forest are mine and the cattle on thousands of hills. All the wild birds are mine and all living things
in the land... Let the GIVING OF THANKS be your sacrifice to God..."

Thanksgiving as a sacrifice... What a thought.

But actually, as I pondered it, I realized there have been plenty of times in my life when the spiritual practice of giving thanks functioned as a sacrifice. Let's consider being evacuated from home when bandits were too close, too bold and too many. Then there were days of trauma when a teammate was sexually assaulted and our team gathered in guest houses in the capital to work through how to deal with the issue over the vast cultural divides between U.S. nationals, Kenyan officials and Maasai elders. Those were crummy times and I won't bore any of us with a litany of more of the same.

On those nights, as we huddled in safe places away from home, I found that I could only muster wee prayers that said things like, "Thank you for this pillow tonight."

And feeble as it was, my thanksgiving was a sacrifice and, as such, it pleased the heart of God.

Some days, thanks is a discipline that doesn't feel like one. It's an overflow of gratitude that wells up naturally. Other days it's a rendering, a beating down of the grief or struggle to bring out what is good. And there's something about the costliness of the practice on those days that makes it, for lack of a better word, sweet.

But, whether it be an overflow of easy thanks, or a wrestling to not go under, giving thanks is always a blessing.

I'm pretty certain every country should set aside a day to practice it :-)

Internal Processing

2009-11-16T09:39:00.008+03:00

It's feels like a quiet season in my heart these days.

I've had a couple of bookends on the calendar that seem to have set themselves around a reflective time. I didn't set out to have "a reflective time." It just kind of happened.

Over the years I've grown more aware of the goodness of ebb and flow, waxing and waning, seasons and rhythms, so the contemplative mood of this last month has felt like a gift to be savored.

By the way, the occasions that presented themselves as brackets around my ponderings include last month's 25th anniversary of Byron and I setting out from the States together and his 50th birthday coming up next Sunday.

I have no great conclusions to draw or revelations to declare. It would be nice if the ruminations manifested themselves in a volume of poetry. Alas, there is no such fruit at this time.

But there is a beauty in that as well. The pausing of my spirit to ponder does not have to "produce" in measurable material. The pause is good for the sake of the pause, whether the outcome is seen and recognized or not.

How sweet, these days, of spiritual rest.

Of Home and How We Find It

2009-11-08T22:01:00.019+03:00

When Tiny Tim (as played by Kermit the Frog) begins to sing at the end of the Muppets' version of A Christmas Carol, I have to be honest and just admit that I cry.

"God bless us all," he sings, "... who gather here, the loving family we hold dear. No place on earth compares with home and every path will lead us back from where we roam."

That Kermit. He wrecks me!

Having moved multiple times in and between six countries and three continents, I am an accidental expert in the emotional travails of separation and loss, boxes and crates, dismantling home and recreating it once again. The drama of moving has it's own set of pains and joys, my considerable experience of which are a byproduct of the adventures I've found.

Now, there is a certain range of hills that run along the southern border of Kenya named, quite simply, Loita. (That's "loi" as in loiter, not lo-ee-tah.) Byron and I lived there for 10 years and, given that I've never remained in any other spot for that long, I often wonder if anywhere will ever feel like home the way Loita did... and does.

When our first home in Loita burned down, we carved a new home out of the hills. One by one, the soil blocks were formed from the rich earth of the range that rose around us. The sand, carried downstream seasonally to pile up on river bends along the way, was hauled up to our clearing and sifted and mixed to become the strong cement of our foundations and the bed to hold the wide, flat stones of our verandah. We walked the hills and chose those stones. We puzzled them together to make a simple and lovely floor.

When Byron realized there was a slight surplus of ceiling joists to hold the upstairs in place, he set to work drawing a dining room table. Thus, our table, made from the strength at the center of the home, was, quite wonderfully, made from the heart of that house.

We shipped that table to Europe when we left Loita. That table, where our babies had sat in their little seats that hung from the chunky edge. That table, made from a house that we designed together to shelter our lives within.

Eventually, we shipped that table back to Africa. Scarred and plain, yet still glowing in warm wood colors, our table stands in all her unpretentious loveliness here in this home in Arusha.

And it's the table that's got me thinking.

Closing my eyes, I see the faces of friends who have gathered round her. Pausing as I write to let their faces come into focus, my throat immediately tightens in that warm way that it does before I cry. My goodness! In these last 17 years since she was made, there have been some pretty precious times centered round that piece of furniture. Precious times because the people who sat with us there were precious.

The table is just a device that draws us close. And yet it's this coming together that makes home. And in this communion, this connection that Sue Monk Kidds calls "a merciful coming together of human hearts", I find that I have home.

Sometimes, when Byron and I are tired, one of us will say that we want to go home. Then we shrug and say, "Of course, we would kind of need to know where home is to do that."

Today, I am reminded that we have home every time we make the choice to open our hearts.

(PS For more thoughts on home by fellow bloggers, click HERE )

Bits and Pieces as the Rain Pours Down

2009-10-27T18:00:00.013+03:00

The pounding of the rain against our windows is a beautiful thing. On Sunday morning I was walking with my friend, Tait, through the dry grass on the hills near her home. As we looked out from her verandah later (with the good smell of biscuits baking in the oven) we spoke our thanks that rain was on its way. The sky was giving it away and we were happy with anticipation.

Rain. Yes! We bless these rains and pray that they come in just the right measure. May they do all the good they need to do, and cause no destruction.

In other happy news, technology was working and on our side the other day. We can't always say that. We often have no electricity as the city rations power, and no electricity means no internet. Even when the power is back, the internet is often fickle. This happens for multiple reasons, most of which we are not privy to. However, spotty coverage at our house was recently traced to the fact that a neighbor burned down his hedge. His hedge is just below the cable that brings internet to us and it kind of melted here and there so it was moody about letting signals pass.

Back to the day that all systems were (mostly) go...

I got a text message from Colin that night as I was lying curled up on our bed under the mosquito net watching The West Wing on computer with Byron and Heather.

"Call me," it read. Colin (in Kenya) had just missed a call from Trevor (in San Francisco) and he didn't have a way to reach his brother and ask him to try again. He wanted me (in Tanzania) to let Trevor know he was now standing by for the call. But power had just gone off here so I wasn't on line either.

We brake for brother time so the DVD was paused as we went outside to pull-start our generator into action. Restoring power temporarily, we were able to get on-line and, lo and behold, Skype was in a good mood that evening as well so we raised Trevor pretty much immediately.

"Call your brother," I said, so pleased to be able to connect them.

We turned off the generator and went back to our laptop TV time while Trevor Skyped out from his computer to Colin's phone 10,000 miles away. They had a great talk and I grinned at the way we worked together to beat the TIA factor.

I'll round this post off with a great quote from home school today. Heather and I were talking about potatoes and how Columbus had no idea what a future they would have in Europe when he hauled the "new" food back from the New World. Basking in the glow of the goodness of potatoes, Heather gushed softly, "I love potatoes... greasy, fried, salty potatoes." I could see the warm appreciation of the humble spud shining in her eyes.

Life is good!

An Anniversary of Sorts

2009-10-20T15:14:00.003+03:00

We landed in Africa for the very first time together 25 years ago today. I have the stamp in these old passports to prove it :-) Of course, Byron had been here, but it was my first time ever.

Quite a lot of people who read this blog weren’t even born yet, but there I was, a couple days shy of my 22nd yesterday, with a suitcase and backpack and a cute young husband who was pretty sure I would love it here.

He was right, you know.

I was awake last night, thinking back to that October. It was 1984 and, Orwellian implications aside, it was an important year for us as it marked the beginning of our global meanderings together. We’d already been married 2 years as I finished my degree in Santa Barbara, but that was just a beginning. It was a lovely beginning, mind you, and one that we’ll always appreciate it. But, my, it seems a foreign life now. We've called so many places "home" since then.

Twenty-five years ago, we set out on this grand adventure.

I’m ever so glad that we did.

Young Concerns (or May Her Tribe Increase)

2009-10-15T20:42:00.011+03:00

Heather and I read her science and history lessons together daily. I'm happy to do this rather than have her watch the teaching on DVD like she did last year because we get to stop along the way and talk about the things that interest us... particularly the things that interest her.

Now, as I learn with Heather, I am really quite surprised by the little revelations of what makes her tick.

As it turns out...

Topsoil being washed away breaks Heather's heart. Rain forests felled wantonly make her cry. Loss of wilderness and unchecked development make her angry and/or terribly grief-stricken. Pollution makes her crazy.

I am stunned by this 10 year old's heart for Creation.

I pray blessings and blessings and blessings and hope big hopes that her generation will do so much better than mine.

Watching Africa Blow Away

2009-10-09T07:55:00.002+03:00

We drive across the East African plains and wonder at the moonscape they have become. Along the roadside, the trees stand brittle and covered in a heavy coat of dust. The faces of the little shacks along the way are the same. Fine, powdery dust has lifted easily in the dry wind and painted everything a lifeless brown. The monotony of color is strange and disturbing.

Even from my desk by the window in my bedroom at our house set in a watered garden, I can see the dust. Carried on the tired wind, it billows against Mt. Meru, the quiet volcanic mountain that our city sprawls at the base of. Instead of misty blankets of moisture, Meru is shrouded in a gritty cloud of dust. Though I don't see it coming through my window, I feel the build up on my keyboard and stop to wipe it often.

Africa, it seems, is blowing away.

Even the elephants are skinny. We passed four or five herds as we traveled last month and I was saddened by their sunken contours. BBC reports that livestock and wildlife alike are dying in droves. We pray, asking God to protect them and to not allow human life to be lost.

"The worst drought in ten years." That's what they're saying.

Now, everyone knows that East Africa experiences cyclical droughts, but this is different. A combination of man-made and natural factors have collided to set up the perfect non-storm. No rain of significance over the last couple of years and 2 harvests in a row have failed now.

"And, what will happen?" I wonder to myself. Will East Africans stop felling the trees that draw their rains? Will the farmers finally learn to protect their topsoil by ploughing with the contour of the land instead of up and down the hillside? Will the pastoralists who have lost so much grazing land reduce their herds and stop stripping the fragile environment right down to bare earth?

And will the world notice?

The middle aged folks in wealthy western countries are the kids who passionately attended or at least watched the Live Aid concerts back in the mid-eighties. Stirred by famine in Ethiopia, Bob Geldof's dream event raised about 150 million pounds in financial assistance. Those who hold the world's discretionary funds have been here when they were young and unstoppable.

But what came next? HIV/AIDS followed on the heals of famine and while it spread quietly at first, it spread quickly. By the end of the nineties, Africa was in full blown crisis and Bono was asking that we drop the debt. In a staggeringly massive effort of evil, Rwanda invited her citizens to kill each other and, en mass, they did. Since then, that bastion of stability, Kenya, has shown the real shape of her heart by dividing along tribal lines and killing several thousand of her own during elections. And Zimbabwe... What a mess. Corruption of all sorts all over the continent? Yes. All the while, global warming and global economic crisis have piled their burdens of destruction onto this continent that should be plenty able to feed herself.

Geldof's concert-going activists are tired and in financial crisis. They've grown up and have all the mortgages and car loans to prove it. They have kids with expensive education bills and many of them have lost their jobs, their homes and/or their retirement funds. Their sure foundations have crumbled underneath them and there is fear in its stead.

BBC can tell us this is the worst drought in East Africa's last decade, but does anyone out there have the stamina to help her face it?

I sit at my desk, watching Africa blow away, and pray mercy.

And... the New Reality

2009-09-28T13:30:00.006+03:00

The layers of leave-taking have been staggered over the last for weeks and I'm thankful for that.

Trevor returned to California on 26 August. Colin unpacked into his dorm room at RVA in Kenya on 6 September. And Jesse, well, Jesse came home to Arusha with Heather, Byron and me. It was a new experience to be here as a family of 4 with just our oldest and our youngest kids. Jesse is almost 12 years older than Heather yet they have a remarkably pleasant friendship between them. It's awfully cute to see them together, baking cookies or jumping on the trampoline or whatever.

But today brought the new reality as Jesse and his friend, Curtis, caught the shuttle to Nairobi. The great thing is that Jesse will get up to RVA and spend the late afternoon and evening with Colin. Woo hoo! So nice that he can do that. I'm happy for them. Jesse will stay over night and then catch his 11:25pm flight on Tuesday.

The not so great part is that Heather is trying on the only child role today and not liking it any too well. Let's just say it's been a little teary around here as she wonders what she's going to do when she wants to play a game of cards or challenge someone to beat her at that game they play on the trampoline when they try to kill the other person's bounce. Some people call it Seat Wars but my kids call it The Butt Game.

I'm thankful for the months together and the full store of memories that our banks hold. I don't mind saying that not all the memories are sweetness and joy. We grump around and get stressed and impatient as well as anyone else. In it all, I've always been thankful for the way the brothers have made sure that they make time for their baby sister. It makes a big difference, even if it means she needs to cry when they go away.

Strong Currents

2009-09-21T13:03:00.001+03:00

There’s a place that we like to frequent when a day in the shade is required. The current in the pool at the spring (as the water comes out from an underwater source) pushes you firmly along if you get in the right spot at the mouth of the cave. We had a tradition with Max and Gina whenever we were there, (and I’ve lost track of how many times we were there with them,) that mandated a race of Dead Man’s Float. We would all let go of the roots along the edge of the pool at the same moment and vigorously DO NOTHING as we raced to the other end in a great float-off.

It always amazes me how well that current pushes us along.

Life has felt much like that, of late. Not that we’ve been doing nothing. No, that’s not what I mean. I mean that there has been a strong current taking us along. It’s a good current; one that I trust.

It’s good to know I can trust the current when we talk on the phone to Colin and hear that he’s having a hard time. Most of our phone calls have been very encouraging and we are the super proud parents of a young man who is making a huge transition well. And when the calls are not as encouraging, when Colin is terribly home sick and we ache to have him here, we are still the super proud parents of a young man making a huge transition well.

Sometimes, letting go of the holds along the bank is the best thing ever.

These are Nice :-)

2009-09-14T21:48:00.007+03:00

I really like these old fashionedy photos that Trevor and Nelly have been taking. In the perfect photo digital day, it catches my attention to see grainy or faded photos that would be deleted off of a snappy camera by some.

Do you think that maybe they also happen to catch my eye because they are of Trevor and Colin... the Borden boys who are away off yonder right now? I'm guessing so :-)

September Brings Change...

2009-09-10T12:13:00.012+03:00

It was good to be in Loita. Yes, Byron spent a lot of the time working but living by a campfire meant that good things were built in. Good things like zebra, waterbuck, duikers, bushbuck and dik dik around our tents at night. Good things like 5 elephants displaying their indignation and mistrust as we pulled back into camp one evening.

In all the years we lived there, I never saw a single one of the Loita herd. Byron and the boys stalked them on foot but I was always home with a baby :-) I saw the damage they did to trees and the mounds of grassy dropping they left on the trails, but I never got to view them. They are skittish and wary up there and they melt away into the trees. Our large visitors skirted the clearing that night, but trumpeted from the cover of forest several times as we ate our dinner under the stars.

One of the surreal things about returning to Loita is that Andre has a satellite connection to the internet from the house we built back in the 90's. Because we needed to make sure we would receive any news that might suddenly arrive from the school in Kenya that Colin hadn't gotten into, I would drive the 20 minutes over to the house most days to quickly collect mail.

On Thursday there was news. And that's when everything changed.

The filled-to-capacity 10th grade class had settled and shuffled and Karen, the Director of Admissions, had managed to work out how to make room for a few more students. Colin was in.

I remember that I cried as I read the mail to everyone.

Curtailing our time in Loita by a couple of days, we headed down to Narok, across the Rift Valley and up to Kijabe on Sunday. Because we had come prepared for a last minute opening, we had a duffle bag of Colin's things already neatly labeled and ready to go. We moved him into his room, made his bed, and met the family that hosts that dorm. Next morning, bright and early, Colin jumped into 10th grade. He was a week late and it's been a scramble to catch up. I guess God thought a week in Loita with the family was more important for Colin than the first 5 days of classes :-)

So this has been quite an emotional week all the way around. Leaving a high school graduate at college is one thing. Leaving a 15 year old at boarding school is another. I don't mind letting the whole world know that we all cried as we left him after lunch on his first day of classes.

All of us feel really peaceful and positive about this new development. We can see God's hand in it and there are so many good things to embrace about being at a good school with great sports and lots of friends to be made all around. Still, we can't help being pretty much a mess. We're thankful that Colin will be home for at least a month after every 3 up there.

Less than 5 weeks now till he's home for a four day weekend. You can bet your last dollar we're counting the days :-)

Going Quiet Now

2009-08-28T22:49:00.007+03:00

We're in Nairobi. Trevor flew out of here on Wednesday night :-(

Colin didn't get a place for 10th grade at RVA (boarding school here in Kenya) but we accompanied Tammy to drop off her son, Chase, for 11th. The Russells are family so it was like seeing someone who is closer than a cousin/pretty much a brother off. We said goodbye to him this morning. I cried a lot and my eyes stayed puffy all day.

We've been running a long marathon for what feels like ages. It's all good. Beautiful things have transpired. Beautiful people have been out to TZ and shared the journey with us in the last couple of months. God is beautiful in the midst of hectic times. And in other times, as well.

I finished the manuscript and sent it to my publisher in the U.K. last Tuesday. I wish I could say something a little more descriptive about it than that but I am so tired right now.

We're going to Loita tomorrow. We lived there for 10 years, you know. It always feel like going home. We'll camp. Byron will have to work but we'll stay long enough to make sure he rests and reads and does some nice hikes in the hills, as well. My work will be visiting in the homes of friends and cooking over the camp fire.

We can walk 30 minutes to our old house from where we'll camp and possibly go on line if we need to. But we won't do that much, I don't think.

So I'm going quiet now.

See you in a couple of weeks.