"You Have Memories"

Ever used Facebook's "On This Day?" At the click of a "You Have Memories" button, you can see everything you ever did on Facebook on that particular day of every year since you joined the web site. It's genius on the part of Facebook. What better way to feed our tendency toward self-absorption and keep us posting and reposting so as to ensure the popularity of their site and attract sponsors and advertisers? And Facebook makes it easy by telling you that "You Have Memories" every day, so you don't forget to look at them. 

It can also be an eye opener. I have looked at mine a number of times and had varying responses ranging from face palms to groans to pleasant trips down memory lane to timely reminders of lessons learned. Sometimes I look at things I posted waaaaay back when Facebook was relatively new and I can't believe I thought anyone would EVER be interested in that. Ever. 

"writing letters today"

"doing homework"

One nice thing about On This Day is that I can delete that garbage. No one wanted to read it once, let alone a second time. I did not join facebook to punish my friends.

Other times I look at posts and see things I wish I didn't: negativity, criticism, anger. I try to evaluate whether I am still the same person who wrote that post and do I still have the same attitude. If not, I thank God. If so, I ask Him to keep working on me and change my heart. 

Sometimes I see posts from people who encouraged me just when I needed it and I am reminded how loved I am and that maybe I should take a moment to let them know I love them too. Or I see posts that remind me of something significant that happened and how God showed Himself in it. That happened today when I saw that "On This Day" four years ago, Emily used my facebook to post a prayer request. I posted our family's little adventure here: Daniel's Bottle Bucket Battle a few days later. It's a story about a night that could have been much, much worse than it was, but turned in to a testimony of God's care for a little boy and his family, and His power to orchestrate even Kinshasa traffic to His will. 

Facebook makes it easy and tempting to live in the past rather than embracing the present and anticipating the future. But it can also remind us that the God who was with us in all those past events is the same God who is with us now and will be with us as we face the future!

A Sad Goodbye and a Lesson in Congolese Culture

My grandmother with my grandfather, Josh and Emily (top rt) and Daniel

Here is sort of a wrap up of the last several days.

Daniel got his stitches out!  We are grateful he had no infection or complications.  Being a ten year old boy, he's not the least bit upset about having a new scar - he thinks it's cool.  He is however, disappointed that he gets to take baths again.

Emily made 1st semester honor roll!  This was for her first semester outside of a home school environment, so we are very proud of her for doing well in her studies while she was also dealing with the adjustment to a new school, friends being gone on furlough, her brother leaving home, and starting the school year with her mom out of country having surgery.  She's a real trooper!

Josh is playing his guitar now in worship time at the Baptist Student Union on campus, sharing his faith with others, playing rugby, and hopefully studying.

David has been trying to accomplish the impossible task of having no toilets or faucets leaking anywhere in the house for a whole day.  The plumbing supplies here are of very inferior quality and break almost as quickly as they are installed.

I am working on our next newsletter.  Well, ok, I'm thinking about working on our next newsletter.

MAF featured one of my articles on their BLOG.

Recently, I wrote about having friends whose father was near death and my grandmother being in hospice.  Both of them passed away just days ago.  I am heartbroken over the loss of my grandmother and the fact that I cannot be there with my relatives right now.  She was a very special lady, strong, faithful, and compassionate.  We'll all miss her terribly.  I do find it comforting to know she is now in heaven with her Savior and we will have a reunion one day.

We attended our first funeral here in Congo on Sunday.  I can well imagine what my grandmother's funeral might be like, at least in general.  Most funerals in America have certain similarities because of our common culture, plus I know my family.  It is the same here, except that the culture is vastly different.  Here are just some of the differences that I noticed:

* The funeral was outdoors in a concrete gymnasium in 90 degree weather.
* Instead of padded church pews we sat under awnings on plastic lawn chairs.
* There was another funeral in progress on one side of us, and a church service on another side, both of which had live bands and PA systems competing with our service.
* Men in rolled up jeans, flip flops, and ragged t-shirts were walking around selling soft drinks and water, which they carried on their heads in bags of ice.
* There was a rooster crowing every few minutes.
* There were at least four languages spoken: English, French, Kikongo and Lingala.
* The family was expected to feed everyone.  In Congo no one brings food to the family or offers assistance.  They do bring money.
* The services lasted several hours.  We were there for four and missed the burial service.
* There was a man wearing a sandwich board walking around selling Polaroid-style photos of the service, during, not after, the service.
* None of the flowers were real and all of them were wrapped in plastic.  Instead of being displayed in advance of people's arrivals, they were presented to the deceased in a processional by the donors near the end of the service.  It is the family's responsibility to ensure that there will be some flowers at the funeral, but anyone can give flowers.  They are gifts to the deceased, not the family, and they are buried with the deceased, but first they are torn off their frames to prevent them from being dug up and sold by thieves. (A note: Grave robbing is so common here that often the casket is smashed to make it unsellable and less likely to be stolen.  Grave markers are also intentionally damaged to ensure that they aren't stolen, painted over and resold.)

I'm sure there are other differences I didn't notice because there was a lot to take in.  It was indeed very different from my own culture.

Daniel's Bottle Bucket Battle

   Raising children in a developing nation is risky, albeit adventurous.  I knew that before we came, but it isn't something one tends to think about until an event occurs which gives you a startling reminder.  Saturday evening, Daniel dropped a bottle of Coke and it shattered.  Several shards nicked his feet and legs, but one larger piece of glass bounced off the floor and cut his leg pretty deeply.  We could see his bone.  Our first thought was to call a missionary we know who is a nurse, only to discover she had gone to the interior and couldn't be reached.  We had no choice but to take him to a clinic here and hope for the best. Traffic was terrible.  Sometimes when we are driving here I am reminded of a Discovery Toys Rush Hour game my kids used to have with a bunch of cars and trucks, all facing different directions, touching one another and unable to move.  Add loud honking, dozens of pedestrians weaving in and out the best they can, a complete lack of street lights, people shouting, and exhaust fumes and that's what it looked like Saturday evening.  Daniel was bleeding a lot and I had him in the back seat with his leg propped up while I held the wound shut,  and while we were stuck in traffic, his leg just spontaneously stopped bleeding and didn't bleed again until he was safe in the clinic being examined. (We didn't know it yet, but thanks to Emily and Facebook, lots and lots of friends were already praying for Daniel and God was answering!) Finally a hole just big enough to turn our jeep around opened up and we retraced our steps and went "the back way" to the clinic.  There was a nurse outside the clinic who took one look at David carrying Daniel with his bloody legs and feet and took charge, opening doors and escorting us past triage and reception, straight to the exam room.  By the time I walked up to the reception desk to let them know Daniel was there and give them our names and address, he had been seen by the doctor, had his wound cleaned, and was waiting for stitches.  While they were very careful to use sterile instruments and keep the wound clean, there were definite points of observation that reminded us we weren't in the U.S.
     * the language barrier - They kept asking us questions in Lingala, then switching to French, and in our stress we had some difficulty thinking in French.
     * the insects on the walls
     * the stack of grotesquely filthy leg and arm braces in the corner, presumably waiting to be reused
     * no bright red bio-hazard box - the needles they used to give Lidocaine to Daniel were new and sterile, but once used they just went into the garbage bag with all the other bloody gauze and trash
     * the mercurochrome - they used lots of it on all of Daniel's smaller cuts, even on his old bug bites.  He has big pink spots all over his legs, front and back.  They were so generous with it I started to wonder if we were getting charged by the ounce (that's a joke, folks).  Though I remember mercurachrome from my childhood, I'm pretty sure it is not used in the U.S. any more because it actually contains mercury.  Nice.
     * I had 8 stitches in each incision when I had my foot surgery.  Daniels wound was about the same width, possibly wider, and he got four.  We got some steri-strips from a friend to "close the gaps."
     * no follow up instructions regarding things like when he can bathe, how long to leave the stitches in, etc.  We know we have to keep it clean and dry.  We have plenty of missionary friends here who are in the medical field so we'll rely on them for help and guidance.

     While God was showing Himself to us; getting us through traffic, getting rapid treatment for Daniel, and keeping him from losing too much blood, keeping him amazingly calm, He also showed Himself to Emily that night.  As we were leaving the house for the clinic, I asked Emily to get on the internet and tell our friends to pray because Daniel was bleeding a lot and I knew traffic would be bad and I didn't know what type of care we would get at the clinic.   As soon as they heard, a couple on our team, the Freys, dropped everything and came to be with Emily.  Instead of finding an anxious daughter when we arrived home, we found Emily, Jocelyn, and Nick watching a movie together.  The glass, soda and blood were all cleaned up.  They had brought their supper with them and fed Emily and even had a cupcake waiting for Daniel.  I am so grateful that in this challenging place God has given us friends whose value can't be measured.  We had other friends who were praying for us, helping us with medical advice, giving us antibiotics from their own supplies because the pharmacies were closed, even offering to come get us and take us to the clinic.

    As we were preparing to leave the clinic, Daniel said "well now I can mark that off my bucket list."  We asked him if he seriously had getting hurt and receiving medical treatment in a third world clinic on his bucket list and he said "yes, I did."  What kind of ten year old has a bucket list?  And what kind of ten year old has THAT on his list?  When I asked Daniel's big brother those questions his reply was "a cool one!"  I tend to agree with both Josh and with another friend who said we need to talk to Daniel about working on a safer bucket list.

Back in Kinshasa

I'm back! The boys and I had a bit of an adventure getting from Kinshasa to the U.S., with delayed flights, missed connections, getting put on standby flights and booted off several times, lost luggage and stolen/damaged items. We finally arrived in St. Louis twelve hours late and totally exhausted after 41 hours of travel. My sister picked us up and took us home to hot showers and clean beds. My surgery went well. He removed bone spurs from both feet and bursas from the left foot. I still have the bunionette "deformity" but that is purely cosmetic and not painful now that the spurs are gone. I would however, not recommend surgery on both feet at once for anyone who has time to space it out and do one at a time. We got Josh settled in his dorm and he is enjoying college life. Knowing that Josh has lots of nearby relatives who are there for him is a great comfort to David and me. My mom and my friends took amazing care of me after my surgery! I am very grateful for all the prayers that were spoken for our travels, my surgery, Josh's adjustment, and for David and Emily while they were left behind here. Emily has started eleventh grade at The American School of Kinshasa this year. This is the first year she has not been home schooled! She and I both were ready for her to branch out and become more independent and have someone else for a teacher. She loves it and is doing well. Daniel is still home schooling and enjoying the fact that I have more time for him. It's been twelve years or more since I have home schooled only one child! It feels strange. It is good to be home again!

Photo perspectives

Before I write here, I often review the previous entry so I can sort of pick up where I left off. Since the last time I wrote, we took the kids to Coaticook Gorge, home of the world's longest pedestrian suspension bridge. We are actually going there next week with our language school, but David and I wanted to take the kids on a day when we could take our time and go at our own pace as a family. It was a good thing we did, because Josh's ankle was still sore from his rugby injury and we ended up not completing the entire 3 kilometer trail. We did, however, cross the bridge - twice. Emily and I had to muster up our courage, because we aren't fond of heights, but it was well worth it for the beautiful view from the middle of the bridge. David and I went on a field trip with our French language school to the Village Québécois d'Antan (Quebecois villiage of former days) in Drummondville. There are 52 buildings, all dating back to the 1800's and the very early 1900's. They aren't all from Drummondville originally, some have been moved, but the effect is that you feel as though you have stepped back in time. There were residential homes that showed what life was like for the average family, an apothecary complete with a garden of medicinal herbs, a fromagerie (cheese shop), general store/post office, blacksmith, printer, farm, soap makers, candle makers, car museum, etc. As I was reviewing my previous post and looking through my photos of our excursions, I found it interesting that I had written about treasures. What I treasure emotionally and materially sure did seem to come to light through my photos. Most of my photos were of people I love, such as the one of the kids here, or things that I am very enthusiastic about, such as the antique sewing machines, quilts, and the gardens from the village. I took only a few photos of the antique cars and the other things we saw. My pictures are more than just my life through the lens of my camera, they show my bias, my interests and passions. I wonder then, what picture other people have in their minds when they think of me? Do my children see in their minds a pair of hands preparing a meal or putting a bandage on their skinned knees? Do they see a pair of arms wrapping them in a hug? Do they see a face with an impatient or angry expression, or do they see a warm smile? I want to be a blessing. I want my family and friends to smile when they picture me in their minds. That is my prayer.