A drop in the ocean...

Even though I am back in my life, there are still things I am working on. Last week I started a post, which is still unfinished, that talked about the Zambian MWB employees and the work they do there all the time, after the foreign volunteers go home. I still want to let you all know about these amazing people.

In the meantime I am persuing three goals, in order of immediacy.

First, the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at the University Teaching Hospital gave us a list of items they desperately need. ("Us" is a couple of the ladies from my team. We are doing this outside of the MWB canopy for the sake of simplicity.) Their funding for medication for the rest of the year was cut, and they were already short on many supplies. We decided to see if we could get our hands on a lot of it and send it back over with Holly, who is hoping to return in a month or so to follow up on adoption possibilities. This is the hospital where I saw young mothers trying to feed their premature infants, and the one baby breathed it's last breath while I stood two feet away. I could have reached out and touched it if I had dared. The need at this hospital is very real to me. I am grateful that Charity, the head nurse, had continuing contact with us so that we could ask to help by finding supplies.

Next, my team is trying to personally raise the money it will take for Webster and Sharon to help strengthen their family. They have been living in a three room adobe home (about the size of my kitchen) with their four boys. They have begun contstruction on a modest home, and we would really like to see them be able to complete it before too long (the rainy season is coming up). They have also set a goal to go to the temple in South Africa, but it takes about $300 per person in the family. I feel an urgency to get them there before either of them gets sicker and their boys grow up too much more. I can't even describe for you the spirit that Webster has, and the life and hope he brings to MWB in Zambia.

Finally, and a little more long term, is the Children's Village. MWB has purchased 80+ acres outside Lusaka where they have planned a community center based on the small model at The Farm, with some other aspects. There will be a health clinic, a vocational clinic, and another building at the front. There are clusters of homes for orphans planned, as well as a school for the kids. There is room to farm and produce food for the orphanage, with the possibility of selling produce to bring in revenue. There is housing for the staff and places for international volunteers to stay, way down the road. My head is churning with fund-raising projects, often at 4:00 in the morning, so I will let you know if I can make any of it happen.

Anyway, even though I am home and right back in my old routine, I am also happily engaged in "the work" from here. The people over there can't afford for me to forget.

I'll leave you with two of the thoughts I received during team meetings:

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has." - Margaret Mead

"I never look at the masses as my responsibility. I look only at the individual. I can love only one person at a time. I can only feed one person at a time. Just one, one, one. I picked up one person - maybe if I didn't pick up that one person I wouldn't have picked up the others. The whole work is only a drop in the ocean. But if we don't put the drop in, the ocean would be one drop less. Same thing for you. Same thing in your family. Same thing in the church where you go. Just begin... one, one, one." -Mother Teresa

I hope to always be willing to try to add my little drop.

Madame, Madame, Snap?

So, everywhere I went with my camera the kids would come running and ask you to take their picture. They loved seeing themselves on the digital cameras. Finally, here are the promised photos. This is such a small sprinkling...

First, the packing party. Two weeks before we left we met (except for the few that lived out of state) and brought everything we had accumulated and things that had been donated. We had to decide what to take with us, and the rest got put in the container that will be shipped over in the next month or so. This is Erin sorting through medicine.
Then, we had to make sure both the bags we could bring weighed 49 pounds. All our personal stuff needed to go in our carry-on, so that we could maximize the things we were taking over for the various projects. Here, Steve helps Kathy Headley weigh bags.
After all the flying, this sign meant I was no longer in the air, but I didn't feel too comforted by it.Everywhere there were walls surrounding homes and buildings, and the walls were topped with shards of glass and razor wire. (Thanks to Oliver Wendell Gnome for providing "scale".)
This is a picture of Merrilee at our first village visit. The Zambians thought she was crazy, which is partially true but in a good way.
During another day at a village this woman, Fabe, made some shorts with one of the new patterns we took over.
My feet and legs at the end of nearly each and every day. No, it's not hair, it's dirt/mud. The dust + sweat combo is killer.
Vincent, Makupa, and Emmanuel at the Luau. (This was at the Farm, which is what they call the small orphange WMB runs west of Lusaka.)
Charles, on the left, and Choolwe on the right. We were watching some of the older kids at the Farm perform a "drama," which is what they do for entertainment. Startlingly enough, it was about how to avoid being lured into a life of prostitution. Yes, the girls were mostly 11, 12, 13, but that is their reality.
The fabulous mural we painted over their reading couches. Kudos to Knight for his brilliant idea and execution.
The girls' dorm room after the new paint job. Aubrey and Jen totally rocked the house when they did this room.
After I rescued Emmanuel from behind the closed bathroom door, I carried him to his bed.
Knight reading to Charles and Choolwe.
Mom and child in the fabric store. (We had some stuff made for us by Mavis, who is a graduate of one of the sewing circles MWB started. So much color in the fabric store, but I loved this picture.) I almost never saw children being carried, they were all in slings. Even eight-year olds carried their younger siblings this way.
Victoria Falls in Livingston. Usually it is a half mile wall of water pouring over the cliff on the right. Even though it was the dry season, I still thought it was cool.
Victoria Bridge, with the second highest bungee drop in the world (111 meters).
Me, jumping off that bridge. Holy Cow!!!! I had mentally pictured myself jumping without hesitation, and it worked. However, I had not pictured anything after that so the four seconds of free fall were sheer terror.
I have wanted to jump from that very spot for over ten years. I can't believe I got the chance.Post-jump, all in one piece, with adrenalin still coursing through our veins. Aubrey (middle) and Jen (right) jumped tandem. It was so much fun!
Spotted this tree while walking to school with Nankamba, one of the older girls at the Farm.
We got to watch the sun set over the Zambizi River, and the monkeys wouldn't leave us alone. One totally pigged out on our peanuts; too funny.
This was not funny. Every day we would drive by this, where the rock chippers work. They are squatters, illegally using the land to find rocks. The dig them out of the earth - they are massive - then start to break them down. The whole family does it, with the kids getting to chip the rocks down into the smallest pieces, which are used in construction and landscaping. The dust from doing it totally coats their lungs, and everybody turns a blind eye. We had to drive past it every day, and it was hard every time.
Every village had a rusted out car chassey, but this one was lucky enough to have a truck bed which the boys used as a teeter totter of sorts, running from one end to the other to make it tip.
In Buwfawno, the community center we visited, we saw how many orphans they track. This is not all of them, because there is one group on another tracking system. Anyway, they serve over 4,000 orphans, trying to provide two meals a day, medical services, and school where possible. In addition, they have nearly 2000 outpatients that volunteers visit to try and asist with the barest needs.
Heather and J.T., on the day I left. They went with the intention of adopting, and it worked out! They had a few things left to do, but felt good that things would wrap up smoothly. I am completely thrilled for them.

Out of Africa

Well, I am home.

It's so weird the way my brain has been able to compartmentalize these two very disparate existences.

While in Africa, I was there. I thought about home periodically, but did not allow myself to linger. I knew I couldn't really do anything about what was going on at home, so I let it go and delved into my alternate universe. I didn't call, I only e-mailed a little, I really tried to "keep my head in the game," if I can use a lame expression.

I thought that leaving would be difficult, and that I would cry, but I really didn't. I felt ready; I had tried to maximize my time and didn't feel too much regret. I am sure I could have done more, but you can always say that, even if you moved a mountain. So, I hugged the people I came to care about, then told them I'd see them later. I am sure that some of them I will. Some of them I will not, and I will mourn them when I hear of their moving on.

Then I came home, and I love being here. As "right in the universe" as I felt in Zambia, this is where I belong. I have obligations and commitments here that absolutely supersede everthing else, and I am honored to fulfill them. I also got to come home to unbelievable comfort, and I won't deny that it feels good.

Can you imagine if it were opposite, and I came from Africa, experienced the United States for three weeks, then had to return? People that do that, and I know some, are truly heroic.

So, two quick lists to end this post.

THINGS I LOVE ABOUT HOME
- My children, and the health and priviledge they enjoy. They (usually) make me smile.
- My husband; he is my everything.
- My bed, because it totally rocks. Ask any of my friends that I have made sit or lay on it, it is simply the best. Plus, (now don't be embarassed) my husband is there.
- My shower. If you know me more than in passing, you know this is my favorite place in my house. It is where I solve the worlds problems, it only has "my" germs in it, and it is where I get to be alone. (I know I seem outgoing, but I really need cave time every now and again.)
- Variety in food. Good golly, I love food, and I love that I get to eat something different every meal, every day, for weeks at a time. Why do I find such joy in food?
- The smells... laundry detergent, yummy lotion and body wash, familiar food, rain, the smell of clean.

THINGS I LOVE ABOUT ZAMBIA
- The children, and the way they look after each other.
- The unselfish nature of nearly everybody I met. If they have two eggs, and you have none, they will give you one without hesitation or even thinking about it.
- The music and dancing. They can all sing and dance, and it is how they greeted us and said goodbye, and it was unbelievable. Sorry, but when all we can offer is "The Chicken Dance" or "The Hokey Pokey" it is so LAME.
- The way they praise Jesus Christ. They are never embarassed to speak of Him and credit Him for anything they have. I was ashamed of my inablity, despite the mountains of blessings I enjoy, to give credit where credit is due.
- Their resourcefulness. Like in most third world countries, they use everything and make stuff up when they don't have what they need, which is most of the time.

Okay, so if you can't hang in there anymore, I understand. If you can take a few more days of this, tomorrow I will post pictures. Then, a few more situations and stories to share.

I hope you know how much I loved this journey, and love those of you that shared it with me.

Limbo

Well, we are on are way home. In fact, you would have thought that the eighteen hour cross-Africa-Atlantic flight would be the biggest hurdle. Alas, it is not.

I thought I would be really choked up and emotionally effusive leaving, but I really wasn't. I made some great relationships, but the really good ones I plan on continuing. The kids I really got to know, at the Farm, are really in good hands. All told, I felt satisfied leaving, like I had given it my all and I really didn't have any regrets.

About halfway over the Atlantic I watched a movie that my husband said he and the kids watched last week. Good; an opportunity to catch up a little. Akeela and the Bee was a very sweet movie, and I know many people shed a tear or two.

I cried way more than I should have.

At the last team meeting in Lusaka, Kathy Headly warned us that we may experience some "re-entry difficulties." I thought that was silly. While I have learned some things, and will certainly view much of my life through an adjusted lense, I really didn't feel like I was headed for the precipice of emotional instability. Should I be concerned, or chalk it up to lack of sleep and bad airplane food?

I do feel a sense of being between the two radically different worlds, and a whole mixture of emotion. Gratitude that I actually get to do home to something better than what I have been in for three weeks, sadness that there are just as many children hungry, diseased, raped, and hurting as there were before I made this journey. I know that I will never be able to fully share the experience with my loved ones. I couldn't share the love and comfort those at home have with the ones I met in Zambia.

Anyway, after we landed in D.C. we found out that our plane to Denver had been grounded, so we were sent to the counter and given new flight assignments. Now, it is to Chicago and then SLC, about seven hours later than our original itinerary.

I am hanging on by a very thin thread, my friends.

Anyway, I have a new cool "Washington D.C." sweatshirt because it is cold. I will have time to get some airport food, which is actually slightly better than airplane food. I can keep reading Jane Eyre, because I need to finish it before November. I'm trying to see the glass half full, although it is dirt encrusted and the liquid in it looks like it harbors more disease and pestilence than your average Superfund Project.

I really do plan on giving you a rundown of the last week in Africa, but right now my brain feels like undercooked, lumpy Cream-of-Wheat.

I hope to be in my bed, after cleaning up in my shower and holding my children, tonight. Sweet dreams.

Runaway Week

It is Thursday afternoon and I have not had two minutes to post anything. The tricky thing about that is I have SOOOOOO much to write about.

Where to begin...

I actually think, because I am headed home tomorrow and I have such limited time today, that I really won't say much. I think I will take my time posting about each day after I return to the States.

I cannot describe some of the things I have seen, and am even less able to fully talk about the way they made me feel.

I am trying to focus on what I do know.

I absolutely know that I am a child of God, and that my Savior, Jesus Christ, paved the way for me and all his children to find glory again.

I have the best husband and children; even better than I could have dreamed up for myself.

I love the people I came here to serve, and marvel at the fact that the more I try to do for them, the more I think I am gaining. It is a losing battle.

I have learned to love the people I am working with in a very unexpected way, many of them the kind of people I may never have hung out with before.

All of this widens my mind and opens my heart to accept people and try to love them more like Christ does.

I cannot wait to see all of you in a couple of days. I hope to find all is well there when I return, and I hope to travel safely.

Leaving Livingston

We have been in Livingston for a couple days, and are headed out in a few minutes. I felt uneasy coming for some R-n-R when I was in Africa to work, but it has actually given me some time to process and think.

I spent my only free computer time e-mailing my children, so I have not updated. Sorry.

Quickly:

Litttle mini-safari, had two young bull elephants about ten feet away. Unbelievable.

Watched the sun set over the Zambizi River, with hippos in the water and monkeys everywhere. Unbelievable.

Bungeed from Victoria Falls Bridge. Unbelievable.

Rode a rented bike for a couple of hours, got to talk to lots of locals. Unbelievable.

I am happy to head back to Lusaka for another week of work, and even happier that one week from right now I will be in my home. I have loved this, but I really love my home and my family.

I hope we all have another great week.

Daffodil Fields

Okay, so yesterday was day two at the Farm. Day one we moved furniture and primed the ENTIRE house to be re-painted. I saw a lot of creatures that I never want to talk about again. Then, a couple of school girls walked me to their school house. I was surprised by how big it was. There were several buildings with different age groups in each building. Very different that the village school I went to last week.

Anyway, some of the kids at the Farm have stolen my heart. One in particular, Exhilda, a thirteen year old girl that just got to the Farm in July with her two brothers, Charles (6) and Emmanuel (3). They were being taken care of by their grandfather, who was abusing Exhilda. She was so quiet at first, (the three of them know very little English), but over the last three days she has really come out of her shell. She is very sweet, and very bright. During church I was turning through the hymn book, and she was so interested in everything i did. She didn't even know which way was up on the hymn book, so i showed her to put thenumbers at the top of the page. Then i showed her numbers one through ten in the book and on my fingers, and within a few minutes she knew them all. She does not go to the school, because they must know English. Webster (one of the Zambian MWB Employees who i adore) goes out a few times a week to tutor the ones that need help starting school, but she really isn't close yet. She has never been to school before. Her brother Charles would not leave my side after he got home from school, and Emmanuel is adored by everybody. Yesterday I went to check the paint in the bathroom, and he had fallen asleep up against the closed door. I had to scoot him back in order to get in and pick him up. As much as i wanted to sit and hold him, we had so much painting to do.

We painted our guts out yesterday and it turned out so great. Everybody on my team (with a few exceptions, which I will explain later), did a fabulous job. Flowers all over the girls room, butterfly's, various types of balls in the boys dormitory (they left a sign that said "mathers without barders this room is for somall boys" so we wouldn't sissy it up), and the most fabulous African silhouette mural behind their reading couches. We were beside ourselves with joy, and the kids and the staff LOVED it. It felt really great.

Then we got to team meeting and Kathy Headley completely crushed me. It wasn't personal, but I was definately as low as I have been. She started talking about all the people on her staff, whom I already admire and adore and respect, that are sick. Really sick. And I felt everything run out of me because it is extremely real to me that this is a nation of the walking dead. On Monday one of Kathy's good friends here, a nurse named Alice, was buried. She has worked for 25 years serving the street children in a clinic, nearly all the time without pay. Kathy has repeatedly tried to hire her, but she won't leave these kids. Anyway, last Saturday she went to the hospital becauseof her heart condition and died in her daughter's lap because they didn't have the funds for treatment and couldn't get ahold of the few people that might be able to help them. I cried and cried and cried. And cried. And then I got myself put together on the way back to the backpackers house (Kuomboka), and Billie, who is here with her son Knight (whom I want to marry Karen) and her grandson (Cody) wanted to mother me a little. I resisted, but she hauled me in her room and started talking to me. Okay, so I cried even more. But she told me some things i really needed to hear. One of the things was this:

There is a story of a woman in California that planted a million daffodil bulbs. (This is actually true.) Everybody that came to see this field of daffodils in the spring would ask her how she did it. She made a sign that said "It took me twenty years, and I did it one bulb at a time." And I guess I can only do one thing at a time, and it will take my lifetime, but I will have made a difference in the end.

After all of Kathy's bad news, painting a house seemed really silly. But Billie really helped me feel less futile. She pointed out that her husband, who suffered a life-altering stroke nineteen years ago, and Elder James Faust, whom her husband idolized, esentially have the same task. Learn to take their life, whatever it is, and turn it over to the Lord. Carol, a fifteen year old at the Farm who is dying of AIDS - she is too advanced a case for them to treat her - she was infected by a relative - has the same task that my eight year old perfectly healthy daughter has. Learn to turn their lives over to the Lord. Carol stood and sang to me two days ago.

"Freedom, freedom, freedom.
Freedom is coming, I know.
Yes, I know, yes, I know.
Freedom is coming, I know."

By law, the staff at the Farm is forbidden to tell Carol of her condition. But I know she knows. She spends all day singing about Jesus coming, and meeting Jesus, and I know she knows she is dying. She is an absolute angel and she breaks my heart.

So last night crawled into my bunk, in my room with eight other women, and finally slept. (I have not slept well since I got here. I finally took some drugs to sleep, and between that and my hours of weeping, I slept.

Didn't feel much better this morning, but my headache was less and i wasn't crying. So, we headed out to Mya Village.

Mya Village is even more remote than the one we visited last week, larger, and does not have a school. We were prepared to teach the kids the "values" (where we have developed skits, songs, and games to get across and idea, such as honesty, hardwork, cleanliness, etc.), play various activities, do medical screenings, teach crocheting, knitting, and sewing, and check on the status of the well. I helped set up the medical screening portion, but then I ended up teaching sewing the entire time. We made the shorts that my friends helped make patterns for, and the women of the village really wanted to make these cute hanging holders for their dish towels. So Irene, who sews a little and was interpretting for me, and I made up a pattern and helped them make one.

Talk about by the Grace of God! I have not sewn anything other than mending for more than ten years, and I thought it would be like riding a bike. NO! It is not like riding a bike, and it does not all come rushing back to you. I showed them the pockets wrong, but after that it started working. I have also sewn on a treadle machine now. I really like electricity, and will never curse my machine ever again.

Long story short, I didn't get to play with the kids, but I don't know if i could have handled it. Today worked for me, and I don't feel like crawling in the gutter and dying. Progress.

Tomorrow we have a six hour bus ride to Livingston, where we will actually relax and play a little. I am not sure how I feel about it, but here we go.

I am so busy I don't thing about my family all that time, but I so love them. I love to share their pictures and talk a little bit about them. If they had any idea how little EVRYBODY I meet has, I know they would say, "go, do, be whatever you need to for them," because the disparity between our lives is impossible to fully comprehend.

I still maintain, though, that we are more alike than different. They want the same things I do. Health, happiness for my children, love. It is so simple it boggles the mind.

I LOVE LOVE LOVE you all! Thank you all for making this possible for me to be here. I will recognize my mission a piece at a time, I think. I hope we all can.