Home Improvements

We're making progress around here. Inside and outside the house. We've technically done nothing to the outside of the house, but I consider my learning my way around town as progress.

The view from the front of our house. Just behind the kids is a slightly grassy giant dirt mound, which is most commonly used as a "rest stop." By both animals and humans. Kids on the way to school. Passersby. Whoever.

The police station behind that rest stop.

Rocks. The landmark I formerly used to find my way home.

The church next door. Seventh Day Adventists.

The government school 2 blocks from home. Their morning program starts at 7:20 with nails on the chalkboard over a PA system. I can't make out the words, but the music is familiar. Always something American.

Picture on wall outside school. Ah, the 5 senses. Important stuff.

Police station a few blocks from home.

Another landmark on the way home: teepee light pole.

My night stand next to the home school station. I just dig out what I need daily.

Keith's night stand and laundry basket.

Our living room. Currently it has just 3 chairs and the TV, but I just purchased 3 little kid chairs so that Keith and I have a place to sit.

We all have a place to hang our coats at the front door. This is fabulous. I feel like I'm at home now.

The "shelving" unit in our bedroom.

My half of the closet, which houses the medicine cabinet, all my hanging clothes (for which we purchased hangers a few days ago), any article I'd typically keep in a drawer, bed linens, bathroom products, accessories, and all of Avery's cool weather clothes.

Ivan and Avery having fun in front of my vanity. This mirror was intended for the kids' bathroom but it broke upon installation. Yes, the house came with no mirrors and few working lights.

Keith's garage, located in our bedroom.

In the absence of closet space, I'm making suitcases and laundry baskets work for the kids' closet. Located, where else but, in our bedroom.

For now they are all still in one room. This is a much better situation than where they were last week. Bunking with us. All 5 of us in our room, along with nearly everything we own, for one week while we accommodated a team from Cyprus. Fun.

No Children Were Harmed

Avery and I got the most sleep on the flights, despite the lack of what most would assume to be common sense boundaries and some good ole discipline in the seat behind me. When we approached our seats, I found Mom and Crying Baby and assumed they were the only threats. However, Grandma and Screaming Toddler soon found their way back from the bathroom and ruined any chance for a pleasant flight.

Mom and Granny were getting tag teamed by these two little monsters. As soon as Baby would go to sleep, Toddler emerged from her state of contentment. At many points Screaming Toddler turned into Erratic Toddler, during which she would violently kick or beat on the back of Ivan's seat next to me.

This mother looked plum worn out, tired, fed up. So, I'll cut her some slack. But Granny on the other hand, merely laughed for longer than necessary when Possessed Toddler shook out a bottle of water, heavily spraying me from the gap between the seats. Grandma, I was not amused.

I've given you the low. Now for the high. I do need to give props to Lufthansa airline for the most comfortable temperature of my international flying experience to date. And, my all-time favorite in-flight meal was served for lunch on the way to Frankfurt. I chose the pasta, which came with a crunchy lettuce salad and tiramisu. All delectable.


The professional label Keith added to the lid of each tote.


Keith single-handedly collected all 18 pieces of our checked bags (17 totes + 1 small suitcase deemed by the airline as too large to carry on), while I stood to the side of the chaos with the kids and 10 carry-on pieces. He also wisely found some airline workers who agreed to help move us and our 4 carts through the customs line.

The mass of people and luggage carts at the customs x-ray machine were so crazy that Keith "forgot" to put his backpack full of electronics and cash on the conveyor belt. And, those kind airport workers ushered me and the kids, suitcases in tow, around to the other side without having to be scanned. Bless them.

Well, 3 totes and the carry on with electronics were flagged for searching. I took the kids and luggage carts around the corner from the window where 2 workers sat, who would eventually deal with Keith. The travelers in line before Keith were flagged for cases and cases of Trident gum (52 to be exact...Keith counted) and enough body spray to start a Bath and Body Works.

The item in question for us: a power converter/inverter purchased stateside via amazon for $105. The guys at customs were saying it cost $1,500 USD. Finally they let Keith come behind the glass window and show them on his account the item he purchased and the same item through another website. In the end, getting through customs cost us 3 hours and $180. Duty plus a nice tip for the guys who helped us from baggage claim to our driver.

To those of you who prayed for our travels, thank you. We saw God's favor in countless ways during the last 2 days. We were charged $0 for 6 extra checked bags (totes, that would have been $200 each). Safe flights in which no children were harmed. We arrived at a guest home (bed and breakfast) and had the kids tucked in by 1:00 A.M.

We are blessed.


On the way back from the airport, being blinded by the flash.

Pajama Days

We are allowed 2 50-pound checked bags and 2 carry-ons (one small bag and one "personal item") each. In lieu of suitcases for our checked luggage allotment, we are packing everything in large-ish totes. Most of them are 18-22 gallons. Several reasons: plastic totes weigh substantially less than a suitcase of equivalent space; 10 of them will stack very neatly on those luggage carts...it will take a few luggage carts; totes are relatively cheap; once moved in, stacked totes, minus the lids, can be scooted into a closet. Hmmm, hopefully we will have an extra closet for them. Wait, I hope we have a closet. Period.

That's all we're taking.

What about our furniture? Staying with the house. Dishes? Pots and pans? Bathroom linens? TV? Home decor? All staying. Either it won't fit in a tote or it's not worth the space or weight allotment. I'm not particularly attached to any of those things, and they will eventually be replaced as we set up our new home.

The few sentimental items we own are being stored or loaned long-term to friends and family.

So, what are we taking exactly? The bare necessities of clothing and shoes, plus a plethora of accessories because 1) they take up very little space, 2) will give me some sense of normalcy, and 3) are just plain fun. After my last closet purge, Keith solemnly came to me and asked if everything was okay, meaning between us. He said it looked like I was moving out. Why did I need 12 pair of jeans when I generally choose one from my 3 favorites. I mean, as long as I don't pee my pants for more than 2 days in a row, I'll be okay.

Even if my bladder does give out more frequently, I can throw on a skirt and some leggings to cover my bare knees. And, if I'm really in a pinch, I can declare a "PJ Day." The kids love when I do that. Declare a "PJ Day," not wet my pants.

So that the kids feel at home, we are taking many of their toys. Mostly sets of things: blocks, Barbies, cars, Legos, games, and puzzles.

Many of our belongings are still being debated upon. Although we can't ship anything over, we can send things with traveling families and hope they find their way to us. It's what we have done on all of our trips. Pack our belongings in carry-ons and save checked baggage for donations or care packages for American families. If you'd like to send us some essentials, they can be shipped to a designated address in the US. Coconut oil, Samoas, Burt's Bees lip balm, Mini Cadburry Eggs. Excedrin and Peter Pan creamy...for Keith. Essentials.

Why can't we ship stuff? If it won't fit in a PO box, it's subject to heavy taxation. As in, we'd be paying for the item as it entered the country so we may as well save on shipping and just buy it there. Most of what can be purchased in Ethiopia is of very poor quality and generally overpriced anyway. One non-necessity I've packed to bring is a set of sheets per bed. I may even re-think that and bring 2 sets each.

Oh, I do love me some high-thread-count sheets. I won't even tell you how high. It's embarrassing.

Where will we live? Will we have a house when we arrive? Does it come with a washtub and clothesline? Will we have electricity and indoor plumbing? How will we get to and fro? Language? School for the kids? Ahh!!! Those are either unknown or will have to wait until the next update. I need to return to my packing. I've worked for 3 days in my bathroom and am determined to finish today.

The Exit Plan

One week ago today, Keith authoritatively slapped a fancy piece of paper down in front of me. The colorful document, which looked more like a spreadsheet tracking the market status, was labeled along the left-hand side:

"Exit Plan A" and "Exit Plan B."

This was no strategy as to how we'd leave a burning building. Nor was it a plan of escape suppose we fell into the hands of spies, a terrorist or, in general, some mad man.

I soon realized what I held in my hands was a schedule of our last days in the States. Two versions of a 2-month horizontal calendar. All those colors and bars? The different places we are committed to and for what length of time plus important dates like birthdays to celebrate and Keith's last day of work. Gasp! That event denotes so many things I am frightened of losing. Stability. Security. Familiarity. Insurance. Bigger gasp!

I was equally impressed and appalled. I am wowed by any color-coded document whipped up in a program I've probably never used. The reason for my offense? I was presented with a schedule and not consulted regarding such matters.

But then I remembered my role in a process like this and withheld my complaints. My only duty is to pack up myself and the kids. Oh, and the contents of our home. Let's not forget about that little ole task. However, I've been told we are renting the house furnished, so I'll probably receive a color-coded list of items I am allowed to pack, simplifying my job even more.

I'll keep my job, although it is daunting at the moment with empty boxes stacked as far as the eye can see. All I ask is that I am allowed a good look at my boarding pass so that I'll know the gate for which I am headed.

March 25th is the day we plan to leave Georgia, but that fancy schedule says we'll be here for about another 4 weeks visiting family and ministry partners. The cities officially listed are Birmingham, Seattle, Houston, Dallas, Oklahoma City, and Poteau (our hometown). If you are in or near any of the listed destinations and would like to visit with us, PLEASE contact us.

The Family Meeting...dun, dun, dun!

Tonight we had the family meeting that has been put off for far too long. Breaking the news was originally postponed because it was so far away and I didn't want to be inundated daily with questions until time for departure. With that time quickly approaching, I no longer had a reason to put it off.

Keith has been wanting and ready to tell them at any given moment. Just drop the bomb during casual conversation at the kiddie table. His hints at anything related to moving to the east side of Africa were met with the death stare by me. My concern has mostly been for the eldest child. The one with the best memory of his time in Ethiopia. The child who is a thermostat for his siblings.

The night we celebrated Christmas in Ethiopia, January 7th, the kids were in a story-telling mood. Mostly they recited books they've heard over and over, but Garrison would throw in an "Ethiopia story," as he calls them. Usually they are prefaced with, "I'm going to tell you a story about Ethiopia," but this night he began each one with, "I can tell you a bad story about Ethiopia or a really bad story about Ethiopia." Hmmm. That's a tough decision. When we asked for a good story, he launched into one about snakes. "But Ivan doesn't die," he said. Well, that's good.

I've sat through many a tale of his birth country, and for several reasons I believe they are true reports. He often tells the same stories, and the only difference each time is in the advancement of his vocabulary. For instance, one of his first accounts was of his home being engulfed in flames. Because at the time he didn't know the word for fire, he showed me with his hands and gestures toward the gas stove. And, the people in these episodes have gone from "a boy (or girl) who was taller than me," as he shows me a height with his hands to recognizing their titles or what they were called.

Another reason for postponing this convo? Three times in the last 2 months, we have heard kids say something to him about "adoption" or made a reference to "your real mom in Ethiopia." I was just assuming that all kinds of stuff was going to come out when we informed him of our plans, and many of our answers would be too much for Ivan. Even though only 2 years separate them in age, they are miles apart cognitively.

Thanks to the advice of my dear wise friend Megan, who loves our kids as if they were her own family, we told Garrison first and told him alone. We wanted to make him feel special, as the oldest, be able to answer the slew of questions we knew he'd come up with, and get him "on board" with the decision before his reaction could influence either sibling.

Before Keith got home, I had taken the kids to a nearby grocery store to let them pick out dinner and dessert for Friday Family Fun Night. That's right, butter 'em up. This momma knows the way to her kids' hearts. The stomach and the sweet tooth.

It worked. The news went over remarkably well.

Garrison said he was excited about going because he'd get to finish learning Amharic. Keith gave him a little boost of confidence and responsibility by letting him be the one to share the big news with the other two.

Avery was giddy, smothering us with hugs as if her wildest dreams were coming true. Then, "Our fruit bars!" she screamed, remembering the dessert they picked out.

Ivan followed Avery's lead but quickly questioned their safety with haunting thoughts of big brother's super scary reports of animals running rampant.

Keith explained that we would not be eaten by hyenas and that just like here in Georgia, humans are generally kept safe from the animals. Then I pulled out the fruit bars.

Praise God for preparing their hearts for this and leading us in the conversation. We are also grateful for Simon's new home...and that the kids are excited for him to go live with the Smiths. He and Mr. Chris have a special bond.

Pictured below are what looks to be 1 angel and 2 complete hams.

Giving some credit again to our photographer Ryan Alexander of Alexander Creative. Although he is now on the west coast, his amazing work is still available online.

Support Raising...Raised

Before I get to the topic, let me share a few of our family pics. Yes, these were done in September and even though I had them within 24 hours, I am just now sharing them here and putting them up at home.

We set the goal of first quarter of '13 as our target move date so that we could have a deadline, or at least a goal, for our fundraising. We needed to raise money for moving expenses (plane tickets) and living expenses for the first year. What happens after the first year? It gets scarier. We need to find supporters who are in for the long haul. At least a few years, although we hope to be there more than that. Keith says he wants his bones buried in Ethiopia. However, once we're there, we want to figure out how we can survive and not be 100% funded by outside support. There's a goal for that, too!

Through God's providence, we are surrounded by friends who have been giving since before we even made our move public. That's right. A few devotees have been giving each month for over a year. As word has spread, so has the number of supporters.

We had our first fundraising event in September. My friend Gina, who is one of our pastor's wives, organized it. She's a yard sale guru...and apparently comes from a long line of pro yard salers. We're still in awe of our full-on, make-shift thrift store (if you're BFF's with us on FB, video is here. And, our first customer rolled up literally to the door 3 days before we opened.

We made a nice chunk o' change without even putting a dent in mounds of our junk and the other donations that we needed to get rid of. Much of the leftovers went to storage, and a few trailer loads went to Goodwill.

Thrift Sale #2 was held in October, the weekend after I returned from Ethiopia. Through no fault of anyone involved in the organizing of the event, the location was listed incorrectly in the advertisement. When Keith found out about the mistake an hour and a half after opening on Saturday, he declared an end to our yard sale days. Within the hour he had the first of 6 full trailer loads to be dropped at the nearest donation center. Seven hours later, everything was gone. Yep, it took 7 hours to haul everything about a mile down the road.

The sad part wasn't that the event was a total bust, or even watching thousands of treasures being hauled away. No, it was that I wasted 4 days away from my kids and husband organizing the thrift store mass of merchandise.

Another sad part was how many people haggled with me over one measly dollar. When I told one grumpy old man that no, I would not drop the price on a brand new with tags name brand winter coat from $3 to $2, he put his things back and left. I finally started telling people, "Yes, I'll discount it a dollar if you make a one-dollar donation to our cause." And, while a few caved, broke the bank and paid that extra dollar, one man countered with, "But we're on the same team," as he claimed to work for a church. I told him that this wasn't his church's fundraiser. In the end, he paid the asking price on a sporting goods duffle bag, $2. Cha ching.

Did I lose sight of our goal? Get rid of stuff and raise money? Maybe. Probably. Okay, yes. Still, I'd rather give all of it to an organization that helps the community than to fight over a few cents.

We visited some families and one church over Thanksgiving, which brought us close to 60% of our goal. Then it snowballed. It was like the closer we got to 100% the more people wanted to give. Long story, and we are fully funded for the first year! Much still has to be done, but our tentative timeline has us leaving Georgia early March, saying goodbyes to friends and family for a few weeks, and on a plane to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia early April.

We have put it into high gear these last few weeks, although Keith says I have no other speed except "Granny Gear." He acts as if I can really save time by sprinting from my passenger seat of the fan in the garage to just inside the back door of the house to grab my sunglasses. So, high gear. I do know what it looks like, (Keith). And I have been in it.

If you haven't joined our supporters, it's not too late. We still need recurring donations, even small, very small. Although we are covered for living expenses for the first year, there will be some start up cost once we get there which includes a water filter system for our house (Keith here...we'll have to "test" our body's immune system before said water filter system is purchased!).

Last, we have an official website that tells what we're doing, latest events, info on the organizations we're teaming with, a link to our church's donation page for us, and all kinds of goodies. Check it out...SteadfastMission.org.

For the Love of Food

This post goes out to my girlfriend Amybeth, who claims to be my most devoted blog reader and loves hearing about my experiences with food.

Mealtimes in Ethiopia can cause some confusion. Breakfast is prepared for all guests automatically, even though I skipped it most mornings. It is at that time guests are supposed to sign up for meals later in the day. That’s the tricky part. You’ve gotta know by 9 AM whether or not you’ll be dining in or out for lunch and dinner, which for me is determined by what’s on the menu. The cook needs to know how many chickens to buy down the street before she does the day’s meal prep.

The place to sign up for meals is on a white board next to the kitchen in your guest home. (Remember to think “bed and breakfast.”) Since our team was with the owner, we stayed in a home that was unoccupied and unstaffed for the week, except for a guard. With no cook, our options were to go out, not eat (i.e. eat a granola or protein bar), or mooch off another guest house.

I only signed up for a meal 2 times. Mostly I just forgot to sign up, and other times I was too scared to sign up. I didn’t want to sign up for the food, and then have to awkwardly nibble on and push around the items on my plate. If it occurred to me, I’d conveniently run an errand during meal time. But if I didn’t keep an eye on the clock, the cook would come out to set an extra place at the table, taking pity on me as if I were a stray dog. I hadn't signed up for the meal, but there I sat. An extra mouth to feed.

It was a day when I forgot to sign up for a meal that the cook whipped up this fine spread and beckoned me to the table. Now, I approached the table without alarm because the aroma wafting across the room was that of the fried variety. While typically I’ll eat anything battered and deep fried, I am drawing the line here. Take note. I do not eat fried goat, alone or as seen here as the meat in which a hard-boiled egg was first rolled and then fried. It is a lovely display though, isn’t it? Food Network, where were you on this one?

Don’t go thinking I turned my nose up at the kindness of the cook. I tried one of those small pieces of goat’s meat. I think I ended up swallowing it whole because even several minutes of chewing didn’t break down its consistency. After I related this incident to a friend, she used the word chewy to describe its texture.

However, it couldn’t be chewed like food or gum. It was the opposite of chewy. Unchewable. That is a better word for the piece of goat I carefully selected. A cross between a tiny water balloon and a chunk of red rubber that covered the track around my high school’s football field. Yum. The taste? Oh, I couldn’t get past the texture.

I did not, however, try what looked to be a 5th grade science experiment. Seeing the American man next to me eyeball my plate enough, I offered him its contents, which he gladly accepted and polished off. Even that cooked version of the layers of the Earth model.

It was by far the strangest thing I’ve been served at one of the guest homes during any of my 4 week-long stays. The cuisine has always been an Ethiopian take on American food. Some of it even better than the original.

I had some really great food, and not all of it came out of my suitcase. Rice, for instance. Here in the states, I won’t touch it. I serve it to my entire family, but there’s not anything that makes it appetizing enough for me to ingest. But, when your “boxed lunch” is a vat of rice with a cooked julienned veggie assortment, it is delish.

Pasta is another staple I serve my family but generally skip for myself, especially when accompanied by a red tomato-based sauce. Yuck. If I’m going to indulge in a pile of wasted calories like pasta, it needs to be smothered in some creamy cheesy goodness. The Ethiopians win again with their red sauce though. Even without meat, Keith prefers it to anything found stateside. And I am always glad to eat it, especially when topped with parmesan cheese packed conveniently in my purse.

This tortilla stuffed with the week's leftovers was amazing. Really. I did discard the rice and lettuce, but it was my favorite.

The most surprising meal served to me at the guest home was a platter of chocolate doughnuts, and I am hesitant to use those terms describing this breakfast despite its appearance. While here at home the minimum requirement for my doughnut is that it be fresh, hot and pulled straight from the Krispy Kreme icing belt, I lowered the bar on my most recent trip.

They were doughnut-shaped pieces of bread with an under-sweetened chocolaty coating. However, I managed to gobble up every morsel and heard they were even more edible 3 hours earlier at the breakfast I didn’t bother to attend.

Food at the guest home has always been above my expectations. So that my honesty doesn't seem so brutal, let me remind you of a few delectable items they serve on a regular basis: waffles, pancakes, *French toast, scrambled eggs, toast with an assortment of jams and peanut butter, *amazing fruit smoothies, *coffee and tea service every few hours, lasagna, *fried chicken, *spaghetti, *any veggie under the sun, *pizza, *popcorn. (The * denotes my preference for the Ethiopian version over the typical American ones.)

Did you know? A Few Fun and Not So Fun Facts About What Else but Ethiopia

Did you know that toilets in Ethiopia are only for pee and poo? Everything else goes in the trash can. The Kleenex you used to blow your nose? Trash. The wads of toilet paper it took to clean your booty? Trash. Ladies, it gets tricky. That's all I'm allowed to say. Still, everything. In trash not the toilet.

Did you know that Ethiopians are some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet? Their explanation is cultural. Since they have very little of anything material, they value people and relationships more than time and things. For the most part. This, I’m sure, will prove to be a difficult adjustment for us typical Americans. My day begins and ends with a To Do list. Time equals money, right? Even my children have the audacity to tell ME when I’m wasting their time. How dare they! That first trip to Ethiopia is making more sense to me now. I had said that time was a futile thing to them. A better word may be unimportant. Our family has much to learn.

Did you know that it’s only the year 2005 in Ethiopia right now? That’s right. And, until September 11, New Year’s Day except in Leap Years, it was just ‘04. It goes back to a discrepancy regarding the exact year of the birth of Jesus, which is the basis of both the Ethiopian and Gregorian (our) calendars. Lucky for us we’ll get to turn back the clock a few years when we make the move. Something to look forward to!

Did you know that English is taught in every school in Ethiopia at every level of education? I'm feeling dumb already. Although Amharic is the country’s official language and each region has its own dialect, basically if you want to be employable you learn English. However, we will be spending the first few months in language school because the masses of people with whom we’ll be interacting do not speak English.

Did you know that there is a city fabulous enough in Ethiopia for the locals to refer to as “Little Paris”? It’s just outside the capital and just a few miles from where we will be living. Boo. I am secretly hoping the only available house to rent is in Lobola, the official name of Ethiopia’s Little Paris.

Did you know that one can make it through an entire trip from customs upon entrance into Ethiopia to submission of the exit form when leaving Ethiopia with an expired Visa? Okay, it wasn’t truly expired, but someone had written the wrong year on it. It does justify why there was an unexplainable hold up at every stop along the way. Each official seemed confused by my documentation and asked me a handful of arbitrary questions before consulting a nearby colleague, who was obviously just as perplexed…or angry, and then sent me on my way. Oh, I asked after the commotion every time, but they politely waved me through. I guess nobody wanted to resolve the issue of the outdated Visa.

Did you know that I turn into a professional handyman when handed a roll of duct tape in Ethiopia? Big hole in the bathroom door left by the removal of doorknob and lock combo…fixed it. Giant framed wall hangings that seem to be permanently crooked…fixed ‘em. Curtains sliding off the rail…fixed those too.

However, some things should just be put into the trash. This baby doll, found in a basket of toys in the guest house, for instance. I mean, duct tape was not intended to resurrect the dead. What kind of sicko would do this? There are countless children suffering from nightmares because they’ve been exposed to the horror that is this baby. His feet and hands hanging on by a thread of cotton and his head cocked so far to the side it could only indicate its former life as Chucky.

Ah, there are so many more issues I could delve into. There are no physical addresses in Ethiopia. None. Crazy. My brain hurts over the thought of the disorganization. Their days begin at 6 A.M. so what we know as 8:30 is really 2:30. Confusing? Only to us.

Are you eager to know more about Ethiopia? Ask away! Or better: come visit us!

The Lunch Lady

Day 3 here in Ethiopia was really like Day 1 since I slept through the first 48 hours. After organizing our supplies late into the evening, we spent the morning waiting on a vehicle. And, about the time we gave up and decided to tackle a task within walking distance, the van showed up, only to leave while I was in the bathroom.

Yes, left in the bathroom. I know what you’re thinking, but I only went number 1 and opted for time-saving hand sanitizer because there was no towel. And, it’s not like I was part of a large group that could easily lose one of its team members. There were just 10 of us! When I emerged from the bathroom, the receptionist screamed out in horror. Terrified, I checked myself for blood and spiders but quickly understood what had happened when she called one of the fortunate staff members on board, and they turned the bus around.

As it turns out, getting left behind has its perks: riding shotgun, which means eating very little dust along the way.

Our goal today was to set up 2 facilities in the Mission Ethiopia site (i.e. place of employment and empowerment for at risk individuals) at Korah, the literal trash dump where 130,000 people live.

One room was being turned into a store to display and sell items made by the women (and one man) at the site. We wanted to make it beautiful…something for them to be proud of. Why is there a jewelry store in the trash community? I mean, people who live and forage for food amongst the garbage probably find their accessories there too, right? Not in a make-shift store. Well, mission teams and individuals are coming in weekly to visit with the ladies, serve them, worship with them, learn about them, etc. The last stop on their little tour of sorts will be this store where they can purchase items to support the ministry.

The plan for the other room, which is currently being used as a soup-kitchen-like cafeteria that serves two items to children who sit on benches and eat from their laps, was to turn it into a childcare center for the younger kids of the women at the site.

Before.

After.

These rooms were pretty much plywood with a small low-quality chalkboard on one end. Look at 'em now!


Mission accomplished. In less than 6 hours. Thanks to a slew of Americans and Ethiopians working with us.

This is a picture of the lunch ladies and one of the gals who helped me serve lunch to the kiddos. We told the ladies to sit back and relax while we handled the food line. During lulls in ladling out that sauce, the women were schooling me in Amharic, teaching me words and meticulously correcting my pronunciation. Sheesh! However, I had a blast.

The lunch room in use.

Ooh, I did peeve off a few kids with the amount of food I poured for them. One girl shot me the stink eye right there in line because I gave her too much food and didn’t avert her eyes until she reached her seat where she could tell her friends about the new gal who wasn’t doing it right.

Got my first shower tonight, even though my odor was barely noticeable.

Sleeping Beauty

Although I arrived early Saturday morning, I did nothing but sleep until dinner time. Even then getting up was heavily debated. My dinner companions, who are also my housemates, included the owner Dave, an elderly volunteer Debbie, who is also my bunkmate and an extremely heavy sleeper, Dave’s parents, a married couple who are best friends with the parents, the top 3 of the Ethiopian staff within the organization, and another friend of Dave’s.

I arrived for the tail end of the celebratory events being held for the beloved employees. Had I flown in just 2 days earlier, I would have made it to the goat-slaughtering party. Yes. They paraded in a goat. Let him put on a smile and show for guests then callously cut him and cooked him up. And people were bragging about this party. Poor little goat. I think that’s what I’ve chosen for a pet. Not too loud. Bearable size and quantity of poo. Bonus lawn maintenance. Last but not least, I think my family could get accustomed to goat’s milk. I just won’t be telling the kids that the milk in their cereal was just squeezed out of fluffy’s ta tas. No. I’ll keep that to myself.

We were 8 minutes late for our dinner reservations, which is early for Ethiopia, but they’d impatiently given our tables away. So, it was on to the back-up restaurant. I knew what I was ordering before we even sat down. Believe it. Turns out the delicious-smelling yumminess being cooked on an open flame outside was a meat kabob, which was labeled BBQ on the menu. Although I ordered chicken and fish, I’m not quite sure what I was served. Still. Yum. E.

I stayed up late for a quick check in and skype call with Keith, whom I knew was having a hissy over not receiving confirmation on whether I was alive or dead. I slept till noon the next day, which meant I missed shopping, lunch, a visit to an orphanage, and church. Sinner. Ordinarily, I might be miffed that no one woke me for church, or for goodness sake shopping! However, apparently everyone known to the guest home tried unsuccessfully to wake me. Even the translator one evening after learning my name admitted being sent in from my group for one last attempt before heading out. I can’t blame them though. It takes more than a gentle whisper or flicker of the light to bring me out of the trance induced by my padded eye mask paired with the blaring white noise of an upright oscillating fan from my ipod ear buds.

The gang returned to pick me up for a “quick bite to eat” before working the rest of the evening. A lofty plan. Over 4 hours later we fought the mass chaos, including a group of young men who ran around in the street with a van door in tow, which had ensued over the excitement of Liverpool’s winning the African Cup…soccer. I tried to get outside at the restaurant to get a picture of the riotous mass running through the streets, but the owner protectively blocked the doorway and told me it was just too dangerous for me.

We did work half the night but only because we didn’t get started till 9 PM. Ugh!

Here’s a snapshot of what’s been happening in my absence:

You have correctly identified my apple slicer being used for a kiwi, the easiest fruit on the planet to cut. Keith’s a first timer though. Bless his heart. He’s new to the world of produce. He told the kids to eat it like an orange, of which the boys typically eat the peel solely to gross out Avery. Nothing was going to stop them from eating the fuzzy brown kiwi skin. Avery’s too. She was so sweet to share after having eaten all the flesh off her pieces.

The Lone Traveler

Why am I in Ethiopia?

Ah, many reasons.

1. We had hoped I could come back during the summer.

2. The stateside founder of the ministry we'll be working with was planning a trip in October along with a stateside volunteer. This should be a totally different experience with the Boss Man here.

3. There are several opportunities for me here this week...new developments within the organization and decisions being made...that will forecast the next 5-10 years. I would love to see those first hand...you know, since we'll be living here in a few months. God willing, of course.

4. I need to get to know the Ethiopian staff and those being served through the ministries here. A large part of what Keith and I will be doing here is relational ministry. That may not even sound like a real kind of ministry to some of you, but it is perhaps the most effective kind.

5. So, if you were moving across the ocean, wouldn't you jump at the chance to figure life out there? Even Ethiopia is getting less scary...I mean more totally awesome...the more I am here.

Are those enough reasons?

Why didn't I tell anyone, not even my BFF or my parents?

1. I did tell 2 friends (who have the luxury of flying for free) in September when Keith and I discussed the trip. Sadly, neither could join me.

2. You are aware of the communication situation between Keith and me. Not another word of making the trip until last week when he asked before purchasing a plane ticket, "So are you really going to Ethiopia?"

3. And the days leading up to my departure were filled with arranging child care and preparing food for 22 out of the 27 meals for which I would be absent. It really just slipped my mind.

So there.

How was my first solo international traveling experience?

First we should address the fact...the miracle...that I was even permitted to do so. I don't have a clue. You and I are seeing a new side of Keith. Perhaps my hauling the kids and Simon to Oklahoma and Texas proved to him that I'm wearing big girl pants and can keep track of my own passport. I will say he sent me off with a verbal list of instructions and walked me to the front of the security line. That sweet man.

One of the things Keith mandated was that I "make friends" with a traveler so that upon arrival amidst the chaos of baggage claim in Ethiopia someone might notice if I need assistance. Or if I happen to go missing. That lucky person was the gal in front of me to check in for my connection in DC. She and her husband were adopting from Ethiopia but were on this trip to go backpacking in Tanzania. For fun. Not my cup of tea, but I'll take what I can get.

I struck gold at the check-in counter with an airline employee who had been disapprovingly weighing everyone's carry-ons, shaking his head at them. Yes, they weigh and measure your carry-on bag! The limit is 17 pounds, and mine was 10.5 over. But, I had greeted him cheerily and pretended to understand his English as he tried to make conversation. He said something to the effect that he could tell my heart was happy for Ethiopia. So, he leaned down and quietly said he was going to just check that bag for free and then kindly waved me away when he saw my other carry-on, which was perhaps heavier than the first. Bless him!

I have no complaints about the flight accept that a flight attendant adamantly woke me from my first and only good nap, despite the pleas of the man and woman next to me to just let me sleep, so that she could force on me a gluten-free meal that I did not order. Peaking out from under my eye mask, I tried to shoo her away but she was relentless. Finally I took out an ear plug with one hand, the other holding the meal she refused to take away, and heard the woman 2 seats down say she did order a gluten-free meal. I handed it to her before Pushy Flight Attendant could even reach for the slip verifying that the meal indeed belonged to the woman in seat J and not to me in seat L.

The best in-flight movie was "Rock of Ages." Although I found it under the category Blockbusters, I felt it fit better in Classics. Stellar cast. Amazing music. You mean you haven't even heard of it? Me either. However, I must have the movie and the soundtrack. Hint, hint to anyone who is looking for a going-away gift idea.

At the horrific baggage claim, my backpacking friends were no where to be found. But the good news is that not a single stranger approached me offering help. I, however, tried to take a luggage cart from one man, whom I had assumed was an airline employee dutifully bringing in carts for arriving passengers. I later realized the guys with that job were wearing earthy-toned scrubs and not a navy Polo wind-breaker that I mistook for part of a Delta uniform. He politely told me he needed both carts. Awkward? Yes. But even more awkward was that he and his brother fell in line directly behind me to wait an eternity at customs. Born and raised in Ethiopia, they had spent the last 8 years in New York and their English was impeccable. The 3 of us traded stories of past, present and future as they walked me through customs and all the way to the man holding this sign:

The Story, Part 1…the aligning of our hearts despite the lack of relevant conversation

Several years ago (early 2008) Keith said the most frightening words I have ever heard him utter. Out of the blue. “If you ever feel like God is leading you to move to another country or into foreign missions, I need you to tell me.”

I believe my exact words were, (very long pause while I took a few needed deep breaths to settle my racing heart and regain control of my bladder) “O…….K…….”

Before I could get anything intelligible from my lips, and seeing the questions building in my eyes, he cut me off, “That’s it. I just need you tell me. Okay?”

End. Of. Discussion.

Why didn’t we discuss the issue further? I mean, this is a huge topic! It’s on the same level as, “Honey, if you ever want to discuss the logistics of an open marriage, I need you to let me know.”

Shocked to my core. That’s why. I’d be more inclined to discuss the open marriage because it’s something I’m sure I could talk him out of. I know how to negotiate. But moving to and serving in an impoverished country? The battle would be lost before it began. That’s right up Keith’s alley with that enormous soft, squishy heart that first drew me to him.

Of course I didn’t want to discuss that possibility!!!

It was maybe 6 months later we started talking about adoption again and another 6 months before we took those first steps (January 2009). And, you know God eventually led us to Ethiopia, although He revealed it to Keith first. In the end, I was being beaten over the head with Ethiopia. Not by Keith. No, he is the most patient person I’ve ever met.

Skip ahead 2 years to our first trip to Ethiopia. To meet the boys, appear in court and be declared their parents. With the exception of my very serious near death experience and the fact that I felt famished at the end of each day, it was a great week. Really. I’m totally not just saying that because I want you to come visit us.

Maybe we don’t completely skip over the 3 years from the time Keith posed that terrifying idea, circa early 2008, to that first week in the horn of Africa February 2011. Those were crucial years during which God was doing some major work in my heart. Enough that it needed its own construction site. Well, I tried to fight it tooth and nail: picket lines, a strike.

However, it’s difficult to ignore what you read, especially in the Bible, and what God is opening your eyes to all around you. Sometimes I refused to read…or I would read just for the sake of reading but did so with my mind, ears and heart nailed shut preparing for the hurricane that would destroy my very tiny world.

Oh, I didn’t breathe a word of my thoughts and feelings to my beloved. We could have discussed it. But I have a feeling that discussion would have ended in a packing party.

Back to 2011 after that first trip. I couldn’t get Ethiopia out of my mind, even with preparing to go back for the boys. I felt strangely homesick, or like I left a whopping chunk of my heart there.

A few weeks after returning, I couldn’t keep it in any longer. Keith and I were getting into bed later than usual, like after 11. We are NEVER up that late. Typically, a late night for us means 9:01. Keith was too exhausted and nearly asleep the moment he fell into bed (because he insanely gets up at 4:40 on weekdays…by choice), so I knew chances for any conversation were slim. Perfect timing.

That’s when I confessed. “Honey, I have something to tell you,” as if it were my deepest darkest secret. He just groaned, so I continued. “I kind of want to move to Ethiopia.” (long pause while he gathered his thoughts) “I’m not saying I want to move now, or even 6 months or a year from now. I just really think that’s where our family will be living at some point. There. I said it. Good night.”

If you haven’t experienced Keith when he’s sleepy, sick, overwhelmed, or just that “time of the month,” one word describes him: PMS. I do realize that is not one word. However, he could be diagnosed with PMDD, the acute PMS that, if left untreated, causes you to eat your spouse and give your children to strangers.

Pause. Yes, men have cycles too, minus the whole egg production part of it. Keith’s BFF and I have been tracking Keith’s for years without discrepancy.

In his crabby PMS state, he responded, “What am I supposed to do with that information right now?” Followed by silence.

Yep. Then we went to sleep.

I know what you’re thinking. We are excellent communicators. We should be co-teaching a couples’ communication class. Or, writing a book titled Marital Bliss via the Art of Quality Conversations.

What happened over the next few weeks and months? Obviously we didn’t talk about it. Another life-altering discussion that we avoided at all costs. Keith began sending me emails, more than the usual. That’s how information is disseminated between the two of us, although there are times when he forgets to cc me on the Gospel Community (church home group) email because I live in the same house and should receive any vital news through osmosis. The emails I started receiving contained very little of his own thoughts, just oodles and oodles of research apparently trying to prove that living in Ethiopia was impossible. The cost of living is outrageous. Limited rights for non-citizens. American schools more expensive than private schools here. The language too difficult to learn. The government unpredictable. Transportation. Visas. Lack of consistent protein and dairy sources.

The emails stopped when we brought the boys home. Maybe Keith thought a second week in Ethiopia would do the convincing for him.

However, it didn’t take long for Ethiopia to gnaw at him like it had me. Apparently he couldn’t get it out of his mind either. Meanwhile, neither of us was talking about it. Then one evening after the kids had gone to bed, Keith said, referring to Ethiopia while avoiding the taboo word, “Well, before we even consider the idea, we need to make sure it’s legal.” We had signed a jillion plus papers during the adoption process…didn’t matter what it said…we just signed. There could have been giant neon print saying, “I agree never to move with my adopted child back to his/her country of origination.” So, we sat and together composed an email to our main contact at the adoption agency who told us not only is it legal but other families have done it. Proving to ourselves, if no one else, that we are not weirdoes for wanting to move our entire family to the dust bowl that is Ethiopia. So there. We are practically normal.

That brings us up to last summer, June 2011.

Ethiopia...Pictures, Part 2

I know. These are from our February trip...and it is now June. Yes...I said "I know"!

One of the ministry sites we visited works to keep families intact (i.e. keeping children from being orphaned) by empowering women and employing Ethiopians. The women are taught how to make jewelry while the men do the sewing.

This here is a loom, made and assembled by a decrepit old man, who is teaching a younger man how to use it.

Seriously! Look at his tiny frail arm. And, he's awesome.

A young woman walked in with a ball of wool in her hands and placed on a few sticks. Just a ball of wool. In the end...voila...fancy scarves. I was impressed.

And below shows the process of how one type of bead is made. Gives the word "handmade" a new perspective.

I shined this little bead till my fingers were bleeding. Okay, not bleeding. Just cramping. One tiny bead. The women crank out about a hundred per day. Wowsie.

These necklaces are sold at retail value (U.S. dollars), and, in turn, the Ethiopians are paid an above average wage. Cha ching! Again, teaching Ethiopians a sustainable trade gives them the means to keep their children, which even in dire conditions is the best situation for everyone involved.

These ornaments went through a similar daunting process.

This is a vew just outside one of the bead-making sites, all of them being churches which are loaned or rented to Mission Ethiopia.

Many of the women at this particular site walk an hour or more to get to work. Yes, I said walk. I want to take them some umbrellas and comfy walking shoes.

Once again we spent the week with some fabulous gals staying in the same guest home as us. Jill, the nurse who looked after Keith's stab wound, was there to bring home her little girl, and her sister Dana was along for the ride.

Hanook, our translator and guide for most of the week, with Jonathan, a college student from our home state. He arrived on the same flight as us, rode the van back to the same guest home where he stayed the week too. Small world.

The four of us had a little night out on the town. Yes, even in Ethiopia there is a good time to be had. Look at how excited we are. Full of energy and gusto.

Hours later, Keith is about to fall asleep and I'm getting snuggled in. Ahh, the mid 30s has take its toll on us.

Although Keith thinks I'm high maintenance, his inquiry about a "fan" put the guest home employees into 3-day hunt all over town. Once they figured out they needed to be looking for a "ventilator," the job was done. The evenings cool off enough to serve as an air conditioner, for most people, if you just leave the window open. However, Keith is not most people. Back in college, he slept with his door open during the winter and woke many mornings to frost or snow covered furniture. I keep telling him he needs to change our thermostat so that he can acclimate himself to a new standard. He tells me I need to start acclimating myself to injera. Our argument stops there.

More about Ethiopia soon. Hopefully.