Images and Restraint

I remember that it was a rainy morning in Dublin.  I was standing in the busy breakfast area of a buzzing youth hostel, balancing my cup of tea and plate of toast while scanning the area for two seats together where Byron and I might sit.

Glancing up, the 24-hour news cable happened to be giving coverage on the recent terrorist attack at Westgate mall in Nairobi.  I had been in Kenya on the day of the attack.  I was visiting my daughter at boarding school about an hour's drive from the mall.  On the day before, I had jumped into my friend George's taxi and we had calmly discussed where we should stop to pick up the things Heather needed me to bring.  We had considered Westgate, but decided another mall was closer to the route we wanted to take.

What happened at Westgate was too close for comfort.  As the events unfolded, waves of shock and grief washed over all of us.  Too many friends of friends were directly affected.  Heather knew people who hid from the gunmen, and others who lost relatives.  Someone in our home group had a dear friend who risked her life to help save children of a slain mother.  

All of that was 100% real.

What I didn't expect one month later was to look up at a big flat screen TV in the cafeteria of a youth hostel in Ireland and see images of masked men (walking through places where I have walked) randomly killing people and moving casually on.  

It was the elephant statue at Nakumatt that got me.  How many times had I walked right by it on my way in for some groceries?  Someone was obviously crouching behind it because a gunman paused and took a lazy aim, killing, I'm sure, the one who hid there.  

I just remember thinking, "I would have hid behind the elephant, too."  

Suddenly, the tea and toast lost all appeal.  I felt physically sick.  

It wasn't that the news was new.  It was more that it was out of context and felt out of the blue.  With no forewarning, I was confronted with graphic images of violence in a land that, to me, was not far away.  Like everyone around me, I just wanted breakfast.  But it wasn't their home on the screen above us all.

Tonight, I've been experiencing the same thing.  Scrolling through my social media newsfeed, I'm enjoying photos of a friend's new grand baby, some silly cat thing, heartfelt Easter happiness, random comments about all manner of light and cheery things.  

Then--BAM!-- a graphic photo of murdered Kenyan students.

I think of the Kenyan high school and university students I have known.  I think of the years I spent (forever ago) meeting with different ones, building relationship, praying, laughing, finding fullness of life together.  I think of the bright minds, the eager hearts, the depth of respect I still hold for them.  I think of my Kenyan friends who, like me, have university age kids today.  And I feel sick.  I'm hoping no parent or family member of those slain students has to stumble onto FB photos of their loved one lying in death.  

I appreciate that social media has, in many instances, brought my attention to things I needed to know.  What I don't appreciate is graphic, careless, jarring images.  I realize people are linking to pieces about this attack because they care.  I'm just wondering if there is a way to be better editors as we put ourselves in this self-appointed newsman roll.  I recall early footage from 9/11 showed live images of people falling from the towers as they leapt out of windows to escape engulfing fire, but fall to their deaths.  Very quickly, broadcasters realized these images were too horrific and they stopped showing them.  

I'm not trying to hide from the truth. I read the news and live with my eyes open. I am, however, interested in protecting my heart from being assaulted more than necessary by the reality of the world I call home. I'm having to block photos that folks who do not live in Africa don't seem to mind having as part of their status update. I believe folks are trying to show they care about this horrific attack in Kenya,  but I find it very jarring to come without warning upon photos of the slain.  

It makes me want to be more careful in my own posts and re-posts.

What seems distant to one of us, may be very raw to another.  

May we all proceed with caution.

To lift my eyes...

I'm not gonna lie, Africa can wear me right out.  See Exhibit A above, "The Road to Our House."

I'm not very good at remembering this, but it does dawn on me occasionally that I do actually get to choose where my eyes focus.

Here are five good things from the last few days...

1.  I watched two Muslim women share their sandwiches with a Catholic Sister on the 6 hour bus trip to Nairobi.

2.  I saw the setting moon hanging heavily over hills that would soon be lit by morning.  The moonlight cast shadows on my 5am bedroom floor.

3.  The crazy washed out bridge at the bottom of the long hill that connects us to the road to town HAS BEEN REPAIRED, AND a grader has been dealing with the other horrible bits on our way home.

4.  I bought a great big box of fresh produce, (bright, juicy mangos, tangy passion fruit and much more,) for a very reasonable price, and shared motherhood tales with the slender young mama whose veggie stand I frequent.

5.  Yesterday I enjoyed a long and pleasant lunch with someone who has prayed for us for going on thirty years.  We had never, ever met before.  Imagine!

With Happy Thanks for Dorothy

George and Dorothy, many years ago

A dear old friend of ours, Dorothy Waterhouse Smoker, passed away in January and I'd like to honor her memory here.  Dorothy was 97 when she passed and I hadn't seen her in many, many years.  Still, my memories of her are close and vital.

Coming Home to the Farm

We were away from Africa for two months.  It was enough time to do all we did.  Enough time to celebrate Thanksgiving, multiple family milestone's including my mom's 80th birthday, attend fundraisers, speak here and there, connect with donors, revel in family and marvelous friends, work toward a second son's wedding, engage in Advent, give poetry readings, meet with our Board of Directors, enjoy (and also struggle with) Christmas in America, and finally, wonderfully, to help throw an outstanding wedding celebration.

Careening out of those packed weeks...

My Take on the Week

Morning in Africa

Sometimes I look at the week coming at me and see appointments, deadlines, get togethers, do-lists, work and play all neatly assigned to their days and times and locations.  I see the week as if I'm taking a quick glance at iCalendar. 

This week I don't even see day names, let alone specifically assigned time slots.  This week presents itself to me as follows...

Phase 1: Hug Byron goodbye/Hug Heather hello.

Phase 2: Hug Heather goodbye.

Phase 3: Enter no-man's-land/Watch movies/Watch more movies.

Phase 4: Hug my parents hello.

Phase 5: Hug Colin, Trevor and Karly hello.

Phase 6: Hug Byron and Heather hello.

Phase 7: Figure out how/when I get to hug Jesse and Annie hello.

I think it's shaping up to be a pretty good week :)  

(And what's 10,000 miles when there are so many good necks to hug?)

Life Breath

I thought the years had stripped too much away
that i would never gather that which had been
so casually scattered

It was my fault, I know
packing as if we could take what mattered
along with us

As if...

It was so long ago, that initial parting
and the flood of time
washed so much away

I missed the marker days
the seemingly small but, in actuality,
momentous occasions

You don't get those back, you know
they don't return to you
ever

But then, in just these last weeks
these un-trumpeted
unassuming days

There has been a feasting
every dear face before me
shining

Inhaling slowly
pulling each fragrance
as close to my heart as possible

I breathed your company
all of you, the greatest of
my loves

And now
from across so many miles
these memories enrich my blood

-lisa, 7 June 2013

And Some Days Are Lower Than Others

There are times, I have to admit, I tire of you.
I tire of your demands-- the way you take and take and take.
It seems that our efforts to placate you come to naught.

We travel.
Not for leisure.
We travel because there are hidden places where friends struggle.
And you make it very hard.

"He was dead," a dear one said.
"Perhaps thirty minutes before I got there."
"A shot to the head.  I could tell by where the blood was in the cab.
They dragged his body into the bushes.  I guess he didn't stop when they ambushed his car."

Do stop.
(Always stop.)
Who cares about the money?

And how about that fevering one?
Wracked and reeling.
Pounded.
Malaria beating the crap out of her.

Because she just loves hanging out in South Sudan?
Because she has nothing better to do?
She gives.
You take.

And last week,
in the crush of traffic.
The four lanes made six lanes, made eight lanes,
made I-don't-know-how-many lanes.

That man's body
fallen there.
No blanket.
No ambulance.

One casual policeman standing
as the rest of us
veered slightly round him.

I turned my eyes and thought of his family
hearing the news.
(However they finally do.)

Who do you think you are?
So ravenously needy.
So brutal, so broken
and so beautiful.

Oh, Africa.
Shall we at least try
to be friends?


-lisa, 26 February, 2013

Traveling Mercies

And so we take the grace
hold it near like a mask
and breathe

It never seems to matter
how deep or rich or joyful
the time was

When the parting comes
it winds us

The room is stripped
She looks bare but for
the heavy bags packed and closed

What looks so neat and welcoming when we arrive
looks forlorn as we consolidate
and prepare to fly

Grace, then

Grace for the tears
on your shoulder
as I lay my head there

Grace for the
loud void our absence
will create

Grace for the journey
cramped and long
and weary-making

Grace for the transition
to the strange and familiar
of life on that side

Grace for the longing
we will feel
to be near you

Grace for the demands
Africa will be sure
to make

Grace, then

Grace
grace
grace

-lisa, 28 December, 2012

December 24th, Well Before Dawn

On this cold morning
The list of that which is yet to be accomplished
Wakes and scolds and blames me

It's Christmas Eve
And there are better ways to rise
(In some other, more perfect world)

O my word
Did I remember curry powder?  I need an eggplant!
And when ever will we pack?

There is a departure on Friday
Nine thousand seven hundred forty five miles
Or the better part of two days

This time, I think
This time, we may actually not
Be ready

We may depart in disarray
Bags open or simply
left behind

The tightness increases
I obsess the details
Fawning over worries

Breathe
Breathe

I don't know how the meals will turn out
Or if the cinnamon rolls will get done
I don't know if we'll be ready, come Friday

But, do you know?
Accomplishing the list
Is a poor way to celebrate

On this cold morning
I know there is work to be done
(And that's just fine)

But I disarm the panic

Perfect meals and nicely organized transatlantic moves
Are lovely, I'm sure
But there is a far better reason to rejoice

-lisa, 24 December, 2012

A Beautiful Blur

I was looking at my calendar a few short weeks ago and the weekends before me lined up like this:

Oct 19-21 With 24-7Prayer family in Germany, speaking, teaching, enjoying
Oct 27-28 Visit Heather at boarding school in Kenya
Nov 3 Belated 50th Birthday Party with 30 friends at our house (in Tanzania) for me (with departure for US on 5th)
Nov 9-10 Parents Weekend at Westmont (in California) with Colin, not to mention Jesse, Annie, Trevor and Karly  (Then squeeze in a couple days in Seattle with my sister and a dinner with missions folks at CCF over 12-14th)
Nov 16 Speak at Santa Barbara Community Church's Story Night, then travel to Bay Area on 17th to meet Annie's parents for the first time :)
Nov 23 (still feeling fat and happy from first Thanksgiving in US in 7 years) Byron and Heather arrive in California the day after his birthday and five days before Trevor's bday
Dec 1 Amid much final prep work toward the 9th, Trevor has a gig in SB. Hurray! AND Heather will be 14 on the 4th :)
Dec 9 JESSE AND ANNIE GET MARRIED!

Like I said, it's a beautiful blur.

I am blessed.  Yes, blessed.  So blessed.

Through the Night

And maybe now
with the space of days
i can whisper
that parting hurt

That night
when they left
and you realized
you wouldn't see them

Your tears
scalded little streaks
down your face
and didn't stop soon

It was late
and they still needed
to come
so we welcomed them

In the dark
we climbed under
our mosquito net
and huddled together

The four of us
with your quiet sobs
The only thing I knew to do
was sing

I sang the old songs
the ones that lulled
my babies
to sleep

I sang
shaking voice
shaking heart
shaking sobs

Your brother slipped out
and you slept

You found me
in the morning
curled at the foot
of my own bed

Rather than wake you
I let you be
and found a place
where there was room

You felt so bad
And I thought, "Really?
You think it bothered me,
that flickering sleep?"

Rest is relative
and on that night
there were bigger needs
to be met

We unpacked your things
at boarding school
just a few days
later

And it was hard
But, honestly,
it was easier for the way
we passed that night

-lisa, 11 September, 2012

Love at the Speed of Email

Love at the Speed of Email by Lisa McKay

Love at... is a wonderful holiday read.  It's witty and thoughtful and it tells a great story.  But for this accidental international, it's much more. -lisa b.

What I remember is that we were both waiting to speak to Scott White.  I didn't know this pleasant looking woman standing alongside me who obviously wanted to speak to the same man I hoped to have a quick word with.  It was a Sunday morning in California and Scott is a dear friend who happens to be on staff at a big and bustling church.  We waited patiently.  It seems that there are many who want a quick word with Scott :-)

When he turned around and saw us both, he broke into a big Scott smile.  "Ah, my two favorite Lisas.  And two of my favorite writers!  You two should meet."

As You Go

It rained last night
unseasonal, but perfectly suited
a quiet, constant drizzle
like a mourning

A mourning last night
expected, but patently difficult
a grey grief misting
like a rain

And I may worry as you go
so many little things
when trying to feel
at home

So many big things
rising in a heart
very far from
what it knows

But I don't worry
about you
who you are or
who you will become

You live well
and shine
soft, clear
strong

We send you
in amazement
in confidence
and with tears

A joy last night
sure, if understandably muted
a calm, constant knowing
like all that is good

-lisa, 20 August, 2012

Hello, Africa.

I woke up yesterday to no internet.  That's not entirely unusual in Tanzania.  It happens fairly frequently and it's usually rectified relatively quickly.  I didn't panic.

Throughout the course of the day, I noticed the phone service was up to some of its usual antics.  Messages would apparently send yet not be received without a long delay of up to several hours.  Phone calls would cut off.  Service would be unavailable.  I was able to get several calls through to my internet provider, though, only to hear that there was a major issue going on that had large parts of town off the net.  I still didn't panic.

Under the Super Moon

The week blurs behind me.   Seven days ago I've crossed eleven time zones and arrived here.  The jet-lag is easing but I am still winded by it.  This evening, I heard myself talking and wondered where that voice was coming from :-)

There's a certain kind of tired that comes from flying backwards into the day you've already been in that beats all else.  Except baby-tired.  Nothing touches baby-tired.

I wanted to write a post to say hello.  Right now, all I can do is say, "Goodnight!"

Saudade

When I say
I miss you

I do not
speak lightly

There have been
a hundred goodbyes

Perhaps
a thousand

I have boarded
a million planes

Or stood at
security gates

And waved
a billion waves

And then
I have

Moved
on

There is no moving on
from you

You are
here

Roots wound
firmly

Through
my heart

-lisa, 18 March, 2012

Moonset

We rose as the moon was setting
waning gibbous
sleepy-headed moon

We watched it
hesitating there
above the dark line of trees

Then we turned east

Roll on to bed, then
wake up the day

I thought of you
Moon Boy

This lovely lunar light
may it rise softly
over you

Gathering the Good

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.

Mindful of this, 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.

"Plant Her Flowers"

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

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.