Strength and Beauty (or Learning from My Little Girl)

Last night the boys were out and Byron and I were home with Heather and her best buddy, Sianna. After dinner, I picked up my book and joined Byron on the front porch by the gas burning heater in the glow of the lanterns. It was peaceful to sit there reading.

But through the window I could see the girls, 9& 10, dancing in the living room.

As previously mentioned, we just saw the new Narnia film. The girls had the soundtrack playing and they were dressed in long skirts with their hair flowing out from beneath wreath crowns on their heads.

Through the glass, I could see that their dancing was not like the party kind of dancing that we had done the night before at a friend's 50 birthday celebration. There we had giggled together, a mom and her 4 kids, dancing to the band with a bunch of other moms and teens and even a few of the men (!)

No, Heather and Sianna were dancing with imaginary swords in their hands, looking graceful and lovely and strong.

I was so taken with the scene, but I didn't want to disturb it so I didn't get up and let them see me watching closely. I simply let them do their Narnian dance in their princess clothes with the somber faces and their regal steps.

It's interesting, in Prince Caspian (the book) Susan does not go to battle. In the film, she does. I read that they felt this vision of women fit better with Lewis' view of women after he came to know and love Joy Davidman Gresham. The book was written before his relationship with Joy and scholars feel that his view of women grew and changed through the friendship and brief marriage with her.

All I know is that I was moved to see these little girls dressed so finely and fight-dancing with such beauty and strength. I wanted to get up and cheer them on, to tell them not to lose this feeling that they can be fully feminine and fully bold and brave and strong.

But I didn't want to shatter the scene. They didn't need a pep talk. They seemed to already know what they needed to know.

I went back to my reading, encouraged by the little girls and their big vision of themselves.

So I Have to Reach Real Big to Hug Them

The other day I had this sudden strange realization that (right now) our little family of six is spread out over three continents. Byron and I are here in Spain, Colin and Heather are home in Tanzania (with the outstanding Russell family,) and Jesse and Trevor are in the States. Weird!

I'm missing them all these last couple of days :-( Last night the worship started up and I immediately felt worse! Ha! Doesn't that sound bad? Well, if it's only a guitar that plays then I'm usually pretty fine. When it's guitar and djembe, I have a little melt down. It is part of the soundtrack of our lives to have Jesse, Trevor and Colin playing guitar and djembe together.

I never have the right words for musical things but I can tell you that Trevor's guitar has a rich and sparkly sound under his fingers. Jesse has graceful, strong hands on the djembe. Colin has a quick, firm but light touch on his djembe.

So I have to "get over" a rush of emotion when I hear those sounds together as it just brings up in me a longing to be with the boys. Mixed with that is the memory of many sweet times with our community in Lisbon, the Lisboa Matrix. Sigh.

And then there's Heather. I miss hearing Heather singing all through the house. She fills the airwaves with numbers from Annie and Oklahoma and Walk the Line. Oh yea!

Missing the kids is sad. But there there is ONE family member who has just turned up to fill the weekend with BIG JOY! Barbara is here! Yes, the indescribable, incomparable, excellent, wonderful, shining Baba took bus after bus all day long from Portugal yesterday to get her last night.

Imagine us with big, beaming smiles :-)

Thoughts Amid the Rubble

When Heather was little she wore red sparkly shoes.

She loved them.

She would wear garish clashing socks with them with much enthusiasm and joy.

Today I pick through socks at the bottom of drawers and scraps of paper on the bedside table. Mate-less socks, receipts not filed away properly, drawings from Heather, books I intend to read, a card from Dana.... they clutter these two bedrooms on the ground floor at Mom and Dad's.

I work my way though it all, slowly, heavily, not very efficiently. I wonder to myself how we amass such a lot of mess in 8 months of living here. It's time to clear it out, pack up what's needed, try to put these rooms back in order before we leave.

The little piles, the scraps of this and that, they jiggle memories loose from the corners of my mind. These goodbye notes from Heather's friends... My first grade class in Sweden that I left early as we moved to England...

I ponder the past and wonder at the future as I sort and pack these traces of our lives, sighing as I look for a place to save Heather's tiny red shoes.

Round Here

I like that Round Here song by Counting Crows.

That song, however, has nothing to do with my post. I was just thinking about our "round here."

Monday was quite a day for the Borden offspring.

Offspring #1: Jesse took three big final exams up at Westmont. Yay, Jesse! You are now officially finished with your second year!

Offspring #2: Trevor got his driver's license (!) with his right ear still deaf from the ear infection. (We worried he wouldn't be able to hear the examiner sitting on his right and giving him instructions like, "Turn left at the next intersection.") He's happy! Good job, Truby!

Offspring #3 and #4: Colin and Heather and I spent two hours at the Department of Public Health. We needed to get them caught up with vaccinations before we get back to Africa so Colin got three jabs and Heather got FIVE! She was VERY brave until the 4th jab and then she had a little cry. More tears with the 5th, which, I understand, stung quite badly. Colin was brave throughout, as is his norm. Nicely done, Col and Heath!

Heather has been informing people quite brazenly that she now has five diseases! Well, hopefully she does NOT. Monday we go back for Yellow Fever and the oral Typhoid med. Jesse (Offspring #1) will have to have those too.

Well, that's "round here" for now...

Safe from Abuse

This is Heather and friends at school.

Look at all those sweet faces!

Heather has not been in school for very many years but during that time I have always taken her safety completely for granted. I have never worried that teachers at her schools would prey on her.

Yesterday as our family watched the documentary Dear Francis I was reminded that this is not the case for African school girls. Across Africa, the rape of even very young school girls by their teachers is extremely prevalent... horrifically common.

I remember a situation in our very remote location in Kenya where a young school girl was refusing to return to school. She was being told she had to return when the term began again. She was adamant that she did not want to return.

In the end, this young Maasai girl got into the strong pesticide used to keep ticks off her father's herds and drank some. She took her own life rather than return to school.

It was a huge scandal in the community. Byron and I always suspected that she was being raped by a teacher and that is why she would not return.

The fact that she made some noise was very unusual. Most commonly, these students have no voice.

Take a look at Heather and her friends again. What would our communities do if girls like these were regularly in danger of sexual abuse at school?

The continent of Africa and her extreme challenges can threaten to overwhelm and paralyze us. Still, I am convinced that many small people doing their small parts do actually make a difference.

Johnny and June

Trevor and Heather had the chance to record their version of "It Ain't Me, Babe" this morning.

I know I'm their Mum and completely biased, but it's pretty sweet.

Have a listen here

Many thanks to Michael and Jennifer at Remba Records for their friendship and generous gift of time.

Girl Beautiful (or Wondering How to Raise a Healthy Woman)

Heather is still very small and there's so much I haven't learned yet...

I wonder about how to raise my daughter to know what beauty is and what beauty isn't. I wonder about how to raise her to feel good about her body and to know that her sexuality is a sweet and good gift. I wonder how to help her know to protect it, savor it, love it and be responsible with it.

I had lunch with my lovely friend Deb Hirsch last week. We did a lot of laughing and had a lot of good conversation. We did moan and groan a lot about Hollywood ideas of beauty. Botox, face lifts, boob jobs, AAAGHHH!

So many lies to untangle about what beauty is and does. They come loudly from the secular world with power and a venom that kills. They come more slyly from the church, yet with equal destruction.

I have significant amounts of fear and trepidation about raising a little girl through her teen years. A very dear friend, (who will go nameless to protect the privacy of her pubescent daughter) told me that sometimes "I swear I can see the hormones coursing brilliant and hot through her skinny body."

Now beside the fact that this is the finest string of words I have read in recent days, the truth of her observation cuts into my consciousness. This is no small task ahead of us. We head into the years before us with only the promise that there is a guide on even the most storm-swept of trails. Maybe if we hold his hand very tightly we will manage to feel our way forward and find the way.

Oh little Miss H! May you be blessed with wholeness and joy.

Girl Beautful, be well, be full, be free!

Memories and Good Gifts

Stepping into the living room this morning I remembered that I had made a bed for Heather by the fire near the tree last night. She wanted to sleep in that cozy place and so I had tucked her in on the floor where she was soon asleep.

But seeing her there this morning (and sneaking this photo of her) reminded me of Christmas eight years ago. Heather was 20 days old on Christmas Eve and she would lie sleeping like a pink gift under the pale lights of our little tree way up in Loita, those distant hills of Kenya.

It had been an unbelievable year in which our team had faced robberies, rape, natural disasters, discouragement and the constant threat of car-jackings and bandits. We were tired beyond belief. All of us.

What I remembered as I watched Heather sleeping by the tree this morning was that our family had been longing for a baby girl. As 1998 had dawned, I had written in my journal in faith, "January 1, 1998, The Year of Our Daughter." On December 4th of that year she was born.

Suzie, our team doctor, finally cleared us to travel the 8-10 hours of indescribable roads home on the 23rd. Dr. Suze was keeping a careful eye on some post-natal high blood pressure I was experiencing and at last it came down. My parents were there in Kenya with us and all we wanted was to get home for Christmas. We had been away for weeks awaiting Heather's birth in Nairobi.

To see that baby sleeping under the tree all those years ago was to realize in tangible form that God gives good gifts. The pain and struggle of the year that was passing faded in the warmth of her small body against my chest.

This morning I looked at Heather Carolyn asleep under the Christmas lights and remembered that our Father is the All-Time Best Giver of Gifts.

My mind took me back through 1998 and then left me in soft, hallowed awe. Funny how much can happen in the early quiet before anyone else is up.

Happy Birthday Heather!!

Miss Heather is 8 today!

Yesterday she had several little girlfriends over for afternoon tea and some games. I sat at the table with all these 7 and 8 year old girls getting the biggest kick out of their conversations. How wonderful the world of little girls :-)

We're glad you were born, Heather. A little sister is just what this family needed!

Heather My Hero

This is Miss Heather, age 7, on her first rock climb this past Saturday. She wanted to give it a go and I had told her that perhaps her brother Jesse would let her try a little one.

Only she didn't stop.

This particular climb was rated a 5a.

As for me, I'm scared of heights. Very scared of heights. Sweaty palms and a stomach that plunges like an elevator with a snapped cable.

I was utterly astonished to see Little Girl go!

the fall of the fashion queen

well, it's started. heather is making rude remarks about what i wear.

nancy said her twelve year old judges her outfits politely but quite sharply. "well, i'd change those trousers and maybe your shoes, and i wouldn't wear that blouse." but I thought i had a little more time before heather delved into this realm. she is, after all, only seven.

but today, as i stood brushing my hair, she said, "are you going to go to my school in those clothes?" there was a not very veiled alarm in her voice. it's only a rummage sale at her school, you know. i was standing there in baggy jeans rolled up to my knees, bedroom slippers and a hugely oversized t-shirt bearing the emblem of the portuguese national football team across the front of it.

of course i wasn't going out like that! but the fact that she thought i might be revealed a lot. i guess i'm not her perfect fashion queen anymore.

Heather's Perfect Self

Heather is 7 and she’s perfect. Her tummy still rounds out into a beautiful ball, rising in a smooth curve above the top of her jeans. My tummy, on the other hand, hangs rather alarmingly over the top of my jeans. Would that I could sport a big, round tummy as charmingly as she does.

Last weekend we spent a morning on the sand while her brothers surfed Sao Pedro. I drank coffee with Carey in the cafe, enjoying the view of our kids as they enjoyed a Saturday morning session. Heather chased the waves up and down the beach with Christian.

Later on, as I made tea in the kitchen at home, Heather was still running around in her swimsuit. Pulling it up so that most of her squidgy cheeks hung out below, she asked,

“Why do some girls wear their suits like this?”

“I don’t know,” I sort of sighed, “it doesn’t look very comfortable does it?”

“It’s like they’re walking around saying, ‘Look at MY butt! Look at MY butt! It’s SO great!”

I turned toward the stove to hide my laugh.

“THAT,” I thought, “is EXACTLY what they are saying!”

Several years ago, when Heather was about three, she was running around the house with not much on. I directed her father’s attention toward the dimply little bum.

“Proof positive,” I said. “That is the female body in pristine form and there is cellulite on those cheeks. The female bottom is SUPPOSED to have cellulite!” I exclaimed.

I’m not sure he was entirely convinced….but I was.

I can’t claim to be the proud occupant of a pristine body, but I wear my dimples with pride.

Thanks, Heather :-)