Redemptive

That's the word my friend Kristen used to describe the work we are doing together.

Volunteering with the refugees has been both cathartic and redemptive. Each Friday we load up a van or two with supplies, snacks and people. Make the one-hour drive to an apartment complex whose sole residents are refugees.

It's so much like the work that Keith and I did in Ethiopia, and also the work she does yearly in Kenya. Both groups of women need to know their value. Ultimately, it is in the God who created them. For now, we are helping them see it through their beautiful creations.

I am able to communicate with just a handful of the ladies. The same was true when I spent a day at one of the sites in Ethiopia. But we more than manage. Somehow they know I love them, and eventually they will ask why. Enter Jesus.

It is crazy how God is bringing things around full circle. Somehow, our time here is making our experience in Ethiopia better. It's getting easier and easier to look back on that time and say it wasn't so bad. Don't get me wrong. We loved it and were completely torn when we had to leave.

But the adjustment was a difficult process. And a long one. We were finally finding our new normal, thinking "Okay, we can do this."

My comfort isn't God's priority. His priority is His own glory.

Kristen turned to me one day and said, "I've had this idea for about a year and you're the perfect person to do it with."

I said, "I'm the perfect person to do most things with, but go ahead. What's this idea?"

In a nutshell, it is a way to empower women all over the world. It's a way for their work to help women across the globe but in their same walk of life.

It's a way for you to impact women in poverty all over the world...and for it to impact you.

It's a way for us to advocate for these women. To give them opportunity.

It's called Fair Trade Friday. Check out the site or read Kristen's post about it.

This post was ready to go out on our launch day but blogger wasn't cooperating. So, here it is. Four days late. We sold out within hours of launching on Monday and have hundreds on the waiting list. God is good.

This Makes It Official

A few Saturdays ago, I walked back to bid the children goodbye before I went out for a few hours. Since they still sleep together on Friday Family Fun Nights, they were all in one room huddled on the floor in their cozy pajamas playing with Legos.

"Kids, I'm going to a few garage sales this morning, so Daddy will get breakfast for you when he gets up."

"What's a garage sale?" the little one asked.

"Well..." I looked down to the bed where I sat. "For instance, a bed in a store might cost $500, but at a garage sale it could be $100 or less."

From the child whose incessant diarrhea of the mouth makes me jealous of the deaf, "Five hundred dollars! Five hundred dollars!!! I didn't know a bed costed $500. A bed shouldn't cost $500. Five hundred dollars..." And, on and on and on he goes.

"Awesome! What a great deal. I love garage sales," looking all starry-eyed said the one cut from the same mold as her frugal mother.

And the little one said innocently, "We already have beds."

Awe.

"Each of us has a bed to sleep in, indeed," I concurred. Here at the grandparent's house, that is true. 5 extra people, 4 extra beds. What a provision.

My kids realize more than I do how God has taken care of us through this.

Technically, "our" beds were stolen by our former tenant. Yes, you heard that right. Stolen. Along with everything we left to furnish our once clean, beautiful home. This post will not make it past the Blog Police if I go any further, so no tirade today. Boo.

I feel like we have been through a year-long hurricane, which seems to be over now. As we pick up the pieces, I find myself struggling.

It's difficult to not let yourself be defined by your circumstances. Although my Sunday School answer that Jesus is the One who consumes me, so often it's my kids, my worries, my planning.

In the literal chaos that surrounds me (because I have no closet), I find it hard not to think of myself as displaced. The truth is I am exactly where God wants me. He has allowed my circumstances, as crummy as they may seem, to show less of me and more of Him.

So, we are starting over.

In Texas. Houston.

The hot, muggy, congested, smoggy, stuffy, humid, sticky pit of the United States. I realize I am offending all true Texans with this statement.

The decision to move to Ethiopia was made more easily than the one to "move" here.

This pretty much makes it official. Keith had to drill holes in the front of my van so that we could display a second license plate. One isn't enough for "The Lone Star State." It's like Texas is showing off to all the others. Two license plates??? Come on, Texas! We know you're bigger and better than the rest of us teeny tiny regular sized states.

Different Ship. Same Course.

Although I have sent out information via our newsletter… Wait. You have a newsletter? Yes, indeed. Why not just the blog? Well, while any psycho can stumble upon this blog, we can see a name for each recipient of the newsletter and have the option to NOT send it to the psychos. I have purposefully procrastinated updating here.

There are so many things I want to say. So many things I want to scream and vent about, yet the Blog Police would veto all of it. In the same way he vetoed all 572 boy names I submitted for Ivan. I would just take a deep breath and accept the Big Fat Negativo. So many things I want to share (because I know you are dying for information), but it would be so very unwise of me to divulge that on such a public platform.

Where do I start after a three-month rebellion? Today? Nothing blog-worthy. Let me tell you about yesterday.

Yesterday was my second week volunteering with a new ministry in Houston. New, meaning it began just three weeks ago and there are only a handful of people heading it up. Maybe I should tell you how I became involved in this ministry, a ministry to refugees. God is all over this thing, the story and the ministry.

In mid-December I met my first friend since our relocation. Is it sad that it took me more than two months to make a friend? It was a first grade Christmas party where both of our daughters are in class. I overheard her explaining to a fellow mom why she travels to Kenya frequently. Kenya is next door to Ethiopia. How convenient, I thought. She and her husband founded a ministry that works with teens who are pregnant either from rape or forced prostitution. Wow. I definitely wanted to know more, but I didn’t want to get into the whole “Ethiopia” story. Despite my excitement, I managed to remain calm and casually engage her in regular conversation. School, kids, the weather, life in The Great Nation of Texas. When she found out I was “Avery’s mom,” she was the one bubbling over with excitement. She’d heard all about Avery (and Ethiopia) from her daughter. “Mom, there’s a new girl in my class named Avery. She moved here from Africa. No, really. Her brothers are from Ethiopia. Mom! She wears paper beads.”

I knew I needed to further stalk my new friend, but how? Was it enough that our daughters were in the same class? Or that both our families’ hearts were tied to Africa? Church! That’s it. In fact, we were looking for a church. So, in January we visited what I hoped to be our future church home. When I happened to run into my new friend (I mean I wasn’t standing in the doorway scanning each face that exited), she seemed genuinely pleased to see me. Score!

She invited me to an informational meeting for a new refugee ministry. They were going to start by teaching some women how to knit, which sounded super lame to me. Do I have blue hair? Or a bedazzled chain on my bifocals? But, she said, “Don’t you knit or crochet? I thought this might be something you’d be interested in.” Dang. How did she know of my mad crochet skills? At the party where we met, she had witnessed me ditching my “party-set-up responsibilities” to sew a finishing button on a crocheted Christmas gift for the teacher. I was caught. Luckily the meeting did not fit in my schedule, but I promised to contact her about it.

A month flew by and I hadn’t made good on my commitment to “contact her,” and now the Valentine party had crept up on us. So, it was either face the music. “Hey, I thought you were going to come help the refugees learn how to knit?” says my new friend, calling me out. And I’d have to make up something, “Yes, well, I crochet (stress the crochet, insinuating it’s an entirely different ballgame than knitting) and think my help would just confuse them.” Or, I could make a pre-emptive strike and just go for a week and let her see the disaster I was capable of causing.

Four of us rode together into Houston, sharing our stories on the way. The gal who began this whole project is a refugee herself, having fled Kazakhstan with her family after a 48-hour notice of their departure. She spent some time in a refugee camp and then was moved by the government to Houston. Explaining our time in Ethiopia to the women in the van was more than easy. It was cathartic. No one was baffled by our having moved there nor by our sudden departure. These women understood the world of missions, living in a third-world country, the corruption in a third-world government and the struggles that come with serving people in a foreign nation.

My life seemed normal. That was nice for a change.

We met in a dirty, smelly common area of the apartment complex. The women took their seats around two long folding tables and pulled out their completed projects for inspection. The room filled with the buzz of two languages foreign to us Americans. Immediately, I was taken back to Korah, the dump in Ethiopia which was the site for the majority of the women we worked with. Here I was, an outsider. Surrounded by beautiful women who cradled their babies as they worked or eyed their children running through the doorway.

I spent a few minutes watching an American woman on a video finish off the knitting, and then I sat at a table, mostly unable to communicate with them, and helped the women finish off their own projects. Turns out, knitting isn’t so terrible.

The women walked into the common meeting room, which was cleaner this week (thank you, Jesus), carrying their first product: a gold neck warmer.
Week 1: teach and practice
Week 2: receive real yarn and begin first real project
Week 3: sew amazing coconut shell button on neck warmer, sell it (for real), and receive yarn for second real project

I can’t explain the experience enough to do it any justice. I watched these women, poor in many ways, transform right in front of me. They realized that they are loved, capable, talented, and responsible. Empowerment. What a beautiful thing.

Teacups, Mental Breakdowns and Minions

Last week I received the first question from one of the kids about returning to Ethiopia.  "When we go back to Ethiopia, are we just getting our stuff or are we staying?" Ivan inquired.

The answer to this question I do not know.  My reply, (long pause while I gathered a few thoughts) "Well..." (another pause while I thought of a way to pose the truth of the situation...always the truth...in a way a child can understand) "...Ethiopia is where our home is.  It's where we feel God has told us to live.  We hope to go back and stay."  (a short pause because I remembered how much they're enjoying their grandparents and "the cousins")  "But each year we plan to come back here for about a month and a half."  Then I waited for him to digest that.  

I thank God that we have not been inundated by similar questions since our abrupt departure.  He has protected their precious little hearts and vulnerable spirits.  

We left many of our belongings there.  I had less than 3 hours notice that we would be leaving.  Had there been time to pack, there weren't any totes to put our things in.  We had sent them out to one of the Mission Ethiopia sites with donations and supplies.  We had a few smallish carry-ons and a couple pieces of luggage that had been accumulated.  One of the carry-ons was literally a reusable shopping bag.  Another was a child's tiny backpack.  

A contract driver and van were outside waiting for us.  "Contract," meaning he did not work for anyone we were connected with...because no one could know we were leaving.  So, as everyone else was loading the van, I was upstairs in hysterics.  Keith was badgering me, "We have to go.  We have to go!"  I begged for one more bag.   

I had months to mentally prepare for the massive purge and leaving behind of items.  This day, I had just hours.  Apparently though, God had been preparing me all that day.   For no apparent reason, I cried to at least 4 different staff members that morning, without divulging information or the possibilities.  Embarrassingly, not all of them even spoke English.  Still, I ranted.  The stress of the previous days was too much.  I also may have used a few profane words in the midst of my emotional breakdown. 

Again I found myself crying and screaming.  This time at my husband.  Bless that man.  He is the most patient human I have ever met.  

He rounded up one more bag and also wisely suggested I grab some educational materials as I would need to continue homeschooling during this hiatus.  I grabbed one book: Saxon Phonics.  

The kids have randomly asked about particular items.  We each have a special teacup for what else but tea time while Mommy reads a classic to them.  So, tea time has been either without tea...or hot tea in boring, matching cups.  Avery asked me to use the crinkle cutter for vegetables one day.  I had to break the sad news: no more fun veggies.  I left all kitchen items, including the birthday gifts that had just arrived in a care package: a pressure cooker and French press.  

When I tell them the requested toy or book is in Ethiopia, the conversation goes no further.  They know it's just stuff.  And, hopefully, they understand this time here is just a visit.  Quite a long visit.  Our residence is somewhere else.  For now, home is anywhere we are all together.  

This has been more of a contemplative post.  We are still unable to share details for safety concerns.  I'll work on some informational posts next.   Ethiopia information, as I realize I have been a big fat failure at that so far.  

That question from Ivan came the morning of Halloween.  So, I feel a few pics from the occasion are relative.  Enjoy.  We went with Despicable Me 2 for a family-wide theme.

Here in the Hallway

"Until God opens the next door, praise him in the hallway."

That is where we have found ourselves.

In the hallway.

Having left where God had us and not yet planted where he has led us.

Our hiatus from Ethiopia is looking to be more lengthy than we anticipated. Partly because the issues which caused us to leave are still being settled, and partly because we had planned to be here for the month of December and plane tickets back and forth again would be evidence of poor stewardship of the resources God has afforded us.

So, we are here. The kids and I. Until January 1st. It may be in the budget for Keith to return for a time to work and "test the waters," as he likes to phrase it to tease his family.

If you are confused as to exactly what is going on, email me. Although I am an open book when it comes to my own personal life (hygiene, bowel movements, menstrual cycle, etc.), I cannot put much detailed information here, as it is someone else's personal business. You can also click HERE for our latest ministry newsletter sent on 9/25, which has more specifics on the situation.

While we are here, we will continue to work from Texas. Our hours are a little different, as Keith has been up until the wee hours of the morning on phone calls with mission teams or folks in Ethiopia. This is a job that we don't get to put down at 5 PM. A job that supersedes meal times and bed times. A job we are doing in order to help save the jobs of close to a hundred Ethiopians...who are at risk for losing their families because they are seen as unemployable. A ministry that we are a part of in order to see the Gospel spread and lives impacted both in Ethiopia and Stateside. That is our priority right now. Making connections with people here and there in order to keep the ship sailing during this time of transition.

We don't feel like God has closed the door to Ethiopia. Not yet at least. That country, its culture and people are still rooted deeply in our hearts. However, while in this hallway, we will praise him.

A few things for which I am praising God:

Kids who, in all of this shuffling around...giving half their toys and clothes away...being dropped into a foreign culture...and again leaving their home behind, haven't batted an eye. Their adjustment has been amazing.

Luxuries like Target, Walmart, Trader Joe's, and other amazing grocery stores within a few miles of us.

Parents (in-laws to me) who have graciously let us take over half their home.

I am praising God for a deli counter that slices cheese with a different knife than the one used to slice the beef. That wasn't the case in Ethiopia, hence the bits of beef on the edges of my cheese. I am serious. And repulsed at the memory.

A kitchen that always has power...so that I don't have to cook wearing a headlamp.

Water. From the faucet. With no traces of fecal matter. Safe to drink. No worries of the tank running out. I can open my eyes and mouth in the shower. Rinse my toothbrush. No chances of anyone (Keith) contracting Giardia. Oh, man. I have missed the water.

Driving my van. Driving down the road. Driving my van. Honk, honk, I go. Sing with me!

Internet. Oh, what did I ever do without you?

Finally, we all praised God for days when this arrived.

I never thought I'd see this Barbie bag or its travel contents again. However, Lufthansa airline has won me over. Like I said before, I let the kids completely pack themselves. This was Avery's carry-on, stuffed with her Hannah Montana blanket and Dumbo. I tucked in a few favorite kids books and all our rain jackets before Keith tied the handles together. It was overlooked in the overhead compartment when we gathered our things in Frankfurt. During our layover, Keith was given a business card with an e-mail address to describe the lost "luggage." Although the bag contained none of our information...it's just a reusable shopping bag, with Barbie plastered on the front, the kind employees at Lufthansa tracked it down and mailed it to us. I love them.

It was a day of rejoicing.

Worst Case Scenario

“We’re going home.”

Those were the first words out of Keith’s mouth when he called me on Tuesday at noon.

Friday morning we began walking on eggshells. Tuesday morning it was pins and needles.

Up until that morning, leaving, especially leaving abruptly, was the worst case scenario.

That is where we found ourselves on Tuesday at 12:00.

The worst case scenario.

Two hours later, I found out we were booked on the midnight flight out of Addis but could not communicate that information to ANYONE until our family was safely boarded on the plane.

I didn’t know how I was to pack. Were we leaving for good? If we were returning, how long would our house be empty? How many bags could I bring? How much time before we had to leave for the airport?

Where does one start packing up for a family of five? It took me months to pack for the move, weeding down to the bare essentials. I took so many non-essentials apparently because we brought home less than half of what we took over.

I let the kids pack themselves, partly because I didn’t have time to do it and partly because I needed them out of my hair so I could pack the rest. I only checked their rooms when I was ready to pack the final bag. As far as I could tell, they did the job. However, when Garrison’s backpack was flagged in Germany for scissors among his random craft supplies, I realized my mistake.

We left our home in tears. More tears than when we left the States. We left for our family’s safety. That’s the pertinent information I can communicate right now. We will let out more details as they are settled. We do plan to return to Ethiopia as soon as possible. We are still renting our house and are still integrally connected to the ministry of Mission Ethiopia. There’s much work Stateside that we are doing while here. We’re in Houston with Keith’s family and will be going to Dallas soon (where ME “headquarters” is located).

Pray for the leadership involved. Pray for the Ethiopian government and its legal system. Pray Ephesians 6:10-20 because, ultimately, our battle is not against flesh and blood.

Here are a few pictures of us at the airport. Proof the kids are okay...having the time of their lives. And that we are still hard at work.

As soon as the kids made it through the first security checkpoint in Addis, they made up a game within the square boundary I allotted them.

Sitting in the long line to check in. Just more play time for my kids.

Working on the other side of the table while we get dinner at the airport: Michael (with Mission ET stateside) and Ann Rae (our favorite housemate).

Mr. Sleepyhead Ivan curled up next to Keith in a booth in Frankfurt.

Two Months...Really

The lease for our house was supposed to be signed on by Hanok (house hunter who has power of attorney) before we left the States, but because this is Ethiopia it didn’t get done until day 4 of us being here. In addition to both agreeable parties being available to sign, they have to make their way to a government office in order for it to be legal. And said office has to be open. Oh, and also have power.

Finally, the stars aligned.

The rainy season, typically June-September, started early this year, which delayed the actual moving of our things an additional day. Once the moving ceased, the kids helped me open all the totes. My only goal was to find a tub of toys to busy the kids on the 2nd floor while I unpacked on the 3rd floor, the floor which our family occupies.

Meanwhile, outside was a downpour. The heaviest rain we had seen thus far in Ethiopia. Before I could even clean the dirt out of the wardrobe in my room, I heard the kids squealing with excitement about water on the stairs. Indeed, water was pouring in from a corner window. I lay down 3 towels to soak up the mess and called for Keith.

Next, I walked in to mop the room we had planned for the kids to sleep in and the water pouring from the ceiling had spread nearly wall to wall.

I continued my cleaning spree by looking for rooms dry enough to mop.

Every room I walked into was leaking in water, either from a window, door, ceiling…or all 3.

Numerous water leaks + a house that has been collecting dirt for 6 months of vacancy = Mud. Everywhere.

Sounds like the worst day ever, right? Ah, but this is where God’s divine workings and providence come into play.

In addition to us, the tenants, in the house were the following: Hanok (house hunter/translator/power of attorney/Ethiopian extraordinaire), the home owners, the home builder, and the maintenance man. The owners were adamant that all issues be fixed. “Fix it tomorrow,” the wife said to the builder and maintenance man. She was not happy.

Had the rain come before or after those individuals were present in the house, we would be living and sleeping amongst the rain and mud for who knows how long. If they hadn’t seen with their own eyes that the water was coming from a window, sink or toilet (oh, yes, those were leaking too), they wouldn’t have believed it.

There were other things getting fixed. I think the only thing that worked upon move in were the doors (they opened) and cold water (it came out of most sinks).

Weeks later after multiple visits from both owner and builder, there were still 14 leaky windows/doors to be fixed, the kitchen sink, a toilet and at least 1 bathroom sink. One day it sounded like someone was taking a shower on the stairs. But, no, it was the roto (small-ish water tank on the roof) overflowing, which poured into our house from that top-most corner window. And all the way down the stairs to the entry way.

Now, almost 2 months after moving in, we are still dealing with leaks, but I no longer run around pulling up curtains and putting down towels each time I hear rain.

More importantly, we are in a house. All 5 of us. Just the 5 of us. Well, 6 of us with Ann Rae, but she’s family for the next year. It’s been a long time. We have seen God’s provision and it is good.