Dear God,

When I was an innocent child, I loved you. 

I would like to love you now, but my religion says that you are going to throw the majority of my family and friends into a fiery pit where they will burn forever because they can’t seem to figure out how to fit the mold.

As I grew, I began to see the world. I saw so many people trying with all their might to please you in various forms. They follow their religions as diligently as I tried following mine, but because they don’t worship you in the form I have learned, they, too, are all destined for a place of eternal torment. Their efforts are all in vain.

Sooo, I’m sorry, but I have decided I want to stick up for the people of this world. I would rather stick with them and try to protect them in my heart than continue to tell you how awesome I think you are because I’m not convinced anymore. They are your sons and daughters, too, ya know.

So, I guess we’ll just have to part ways until I can figure this all out.

You are LOVE, right?

Demon Hunter

I can remember hunting demons in my earlier years. I’d walk into a room, feel them in my spirit in the corners, and push them out with the Holy Ghost.

It’s all kind of funny to me now.

I mean to think that I felt I had to walk around ‘killing demons’ is humorous, isn’t it? Don’t you think that God can do it himself? In fact, he DID do it already.

I don’t even know if I believe in ‘demons’ like I used to. I used to imagine them as these dark, monstrous creatures lurking in corners, or worse, hanging on someone from behind putting thoughts and temptations into people’s minds….

WATCH OUT!! BOO! LOL.

Yeah, you aren’t responsible for your garbage, it’s a devil’s fault. Honestly. I don’t believe it.

I believe there are evils out there. Demons are our own ‘dark places’ where we know we can do better. Sin is not how we imagine it to be. It’s not just ‘black and white’ any more.

I mean, take for example when Jesus was 12 years old and his parents were walking with the entourage of family and cattle back to their home when Mary finds her son is missing! She panics and probably is pretty pissed off. Right? I mean, those weren’t safe days, either. What about bandits, thieves, or thugs? Jesus knew when they were leaving. He knew his mother would freak out if he weren’t with the group. I’m sure she told him, as any mother would, a hundred times what time they should start heading home and how there is safety in numbers, etc… But Jesus disobeyed his mom. He was in the temple talking. Was it a sin? The bible clearly says to obey your mother and father…

I’m just saying sin is relative. And there are no demons following you causing you pain and misfortune and tempting you every day. Demons aren’t what you imagine them to be. Love God for destroying them, and it will free you up tremendously.

Stop being a demon hunter. Instead, try being a people lover—with their demons, sin, and all.

What’s up?

School in this country is year round. The school year starts in January and ends in November. Holiday months are April, August, and December.

With that said, all of our orphans are out of school and most of them are visiting family. It’s quiet around here.

We still have our visitor who is interesting taboot. We are trying to find her a place to live since she is staying another 4 months…

In the  mean time, we are managing…

school is almost out

It’s that time of year… It happens 3 times a year for us. Schools close the months of April, August, and December.

Once it closes, that means I will have 14 children in the house 24/7. It’s cool with me, but a lot of them want to go to their rural homes. Each child needs $30 to travel there and back. That’s a lot of money. $30X9 = $270 JUST for transportation.

So I’m a little stressed over it since I would like to have the girls visit their families.

Of course, I wouldn’t post this on my real blog because I would hate for anyone to think I was soliciting money. I’m just able to vent here. 🙂

Also, I’d love to have a holiday with my bio-kids as well. Money. It’s always needed. 😛

New bedding

I’m sure if you’ve read my earlier posts, I’m probably considered pessimistic and evil in most minds by now.

I thought I’d lighten things up a bit to say that I am so thankful to have received a new set of King size sheets and a comforter in the mail!

What makes it even more special are several factors:
A.  It was a surprise
B. My current sheet set was my grandfather’s and has huge holes in it. It is so old, the pattern is worn off and so thin, it’s almost invisible.
C. I have never owned a new set of sheets in my married life of 16 1/2 years!
D. The lady who mailed it to me, is an acquaintance from high school, AND she just gave birth one day after my parcel arrived!
E. She mailed it EMS and it arrived in FOUR DAYS. That’s the fastest any package has arrived.
F. It’s Calvin Klien 350 count SOFT SOFT SOFT and silky feeling just like my threadbare ones I’m replacing.
G. It’s beautiful.
H. It’s a luxury, and I’m honored someone thought of me and sent it.

I can’t handle another baby.

I should have know when  this lady decided she’d travel to my house from MILES and MILES away with out THINKING, that it was going to be a downhill ride from there.

She called, and I asked, “When does your bus leave?”

I don’t know. (She decides to ask the conductor AFTER I prompted her). “7pm tonight. What time is it now?”

“It’s 2:30 in the afternoon now. Do you know how long the trip is?”

“Uh, no.” She inquires from the conductor. “It’s 8 hours.”

Ok, so she was sitting from 2:30 pm until 7pm waiting on a bus she already booked without thinking, and then traveled over night to my town. She had no money left. It sounds heroic, but to me it sounds like she needs babying. EEEk!

So last night, after all that you read in yesterday’s blog post, I’m frantically preparing for dinner for 17… I decided to hunt down my new guest and ask her to help me in the kitchen. “I’d love to help,” she pretends.

“Here are some onions. Would you chop ’em for me?”

“Do you have to remove this part?” she tugs on the skin. “I’ve never done this before.”

I cut the ends off, cut the onion in half, removed the skin, then sliced almost through the onion, but not all the way so it doesn’t fall apart in the next perpendicular slicing.

“Here’s YOUR onion, now you give it a try.”

She, my 32 year old visitor, cuts it down the middle leaving the ends still on and begins tugging on the skin. She looks up at me like ‘It’s not coming off!’

I take the onion and demonstrate again. I hand her another onion, this time I’ve cut the ends off, cut it in half, peeled it, and let her give just the chopping part a try. She can’t figure it out. I chop it for her. By this time, the onion chopping for the salad is finished, and it took 10 times longer than if I had just chopped them myself or even asked one of my KIDS to do it.

I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. This lady is going to be here a long time…

OMG. We might have a bum on our hands.

Remember the innocent, young, damsel in distress I wrote about yesterday?

Yeah, at this point she’s a bum. (Albeit, perhaps a temporary one, because according to her story, she’s given away all her money– that’s why she needed us to send her money via mpesa to help  pay her trip here, etc….) (Keep in mind, this view point could change in the near future).

She arrived at 4 this morning in our town by bus from the other side of the country. I was up by 2 am in mental preparation. Since coming, I fed her breakfast, then we bought her ‘second breakfast’ which consisted of a cheeseburger and drink. And now she’s already ‘enjoying’ the GOOD stuff (ie. American treats we save for ourselves since we won’t ever be returning).

It’s funny how selfish we can be. I mean, by lunch time, when this gal asked, “Is there anything good I can drink in your refrigerator…?” I was thinking, help yourself to some water. It’s free. (We have had a bit of a dry spell in the donation department, so food, sodas, etc.. have all been ‘efficient’ in nature, like beans & rice kind of meals. So we haven’t been drinking a lot of sodas lately, and since we received some money today, we were glad to finally buy a handful, but they aren’t enough for everyone…)

After passing over the diet pepsi my husband bought for HIMSELF, our new ‘friend’ spotted the root beer, purposefully hidden in the cheese drawer. “Oh!!” She squeals in giddy elation, “A Root Beer!”

My husband bought ONE root beer.
ONE.
Why? Because ONE can is almost $3 bucks. It’s something that we RARELY see in this town, so when it’s there we sometimes snatch one just for the joy and memories the taste brings. We are very protective of that one can of soda. It’s like a piece of gold tucked away in our refrigerator awaiting just the right moment to be enjoyed by us…

“Hands off  THE root beer!” I thought. Fortunately, my husband intervened and encouraged her to drink something else as I proceed to mention that it’s a $3 can of soda.

“She’s cheap.” my husband jabs at me.

In fact, he’s jabbed me several times today with that sentence.

I am NOT cheap. I am frugal. I try to economize by making things I can make myself such as mayonnaise, toothpaste, deodorant, bread, etc… I consider that every dollar is a donated dollar, and I am very grateful.

Anyway, after watching my visitor reach for my bag of tortilla chips, (another RARE find in Africa) my skin began to crawl. “Oh, I feel like I’m in America!!” she rejoices as she munches away.

“But you’re NOT. Which means I can’t get those things easily here! So give them back!” my mind THINKS. See, my mind is thinking lots of sweet things today. Thank God for self control.

I’m sure things will change in time, but so far, day one has been a challenge for me. Perhaps it’s my lack of sleep???

PS
I’m so glad no one reads this blog.

It’s not how I imagined it to be!

My husband’s phone rang. As he answered, I could hear the sobs resonating through the receiver.

It was another missionary in distress. A midst the tears she explains, “I can’t cope any more! I know we only met on FB, but may I come stay at your place for a while?” Several text messages and phone calls later, and we are paying her way to get to our place on the other side of the country where she can start to process her experience and try to put the pieces of her heart back together.

It is a common occurrence.  A compassionate Westerner leaves the comfort of ‘home,’ travels to East Africa to do some good…

Only, once on this side, things are drastically different than imagined or expected.

There was a LOT of information I was going to put here, but it’s like cramming 7 1/2 years of life in Africa into one article so I’m stuck. I can’t even begin to scratch the surface in explaining this lady’s feelings, why she is so stressed, and how my husband and I managed to persevere through those feelings and now find ourselves helping many others who can’t handle ‘Africa.’

We Westerners expect Africa to be rough, but it’s nothing like how we imagine it. The ROUGH stuff is not necessarily the living conditions (though they don’t help). It’s the culture.

White skin in a predominately black nation means we stick out. That’s not good because from an East African perspective, we white people come, build buildings, buy cars, start projects, etc…. Therefore, white skin equals money, glory, and grandeur!

We are targets. There is no gratefulness when we help. It’s just EXPECTED. That’s what white people do. They come, they help. So most Africans are searching for ‘a white man’ to fund them, help them, SAVE them.

Poverty sucks. It just does. But lusting after what your neighbor has sucks even worse.

Personally, we feed people, pay hospital bills, buy meds, etc… but we do it behind the scenes, allowing an African to be our ‘front.’ If any of the folks knew who was really helping them, they’d never strive to get well and help themselves.

If you don’t believe me, or if you think I’m being judgmental, then come live here for a year or MORE. You’ll see. It’s just the culture. I’ve gotten used to it. Now that I speak Swahili, I can at least convince people I’m ‘one of them,’ and that helps remove a LOT of the pressure. I have African friends, and I have African KIDS!

Oh, but you newbies to the country, be ware. A new ‘white person’ is like a sitting duck waiting to be preyed upon. I hate it when they hurt my fellow foreigners, but I can see their game. I hear it. Stealing IS ok. Lying is FINE. It’s all about trying to get what you can from those who have more than you. It’s the culture here, and when you come for any length of time, you’ll end up crying at some point like the lady I’m helping out today, and the lady I helped out last week, and the week before that, and a month before that, and a few months before that, and… yeah, it happens, a LOT.

So here I am, preparing myself to try and bring healing to an injured soul. An innocent young woman who traveled to East Africa with intentions of just helping in little ways… she got sucked into a black hole of needs that SHE was expected to fix financially. She’s drowning, and we are going to help her get to the top to breathe some air.

Sabbath er Sunday, which isn’t actually the Sabbath, but

I didn’t post a blog yesterday. It was Sunday, but actually, it had nothing to do with the no post. I just didn’t get on the computer to do it.

Did I go to a religious meeting in a building somewhere yesterday? Thankfully, no.

I didn’t want to endure forced singing called ‘worship,’ and then sitting through a boring lecture some guy says ‘GOD’ inspired him to tell us (probably 5 minutes ago, because he wouldn’t be following the Holy Spirit if he actually took the time to THINK IT THROUGH) as I wrangle my children, trying to entertain them so they’ll be interested, too, and not be disrespectful to the MAN OF GOD up there, all the while thinking about how I’m going to prepare lunch for 16 people (my family) when I get home.

And, in case you haven’t ever been a white person walking the streets of East Africa; let me tell you, it isn’t easy! White skin = MONEY. Solicitations are on every corner.

So NO, I didn’t go. I stayed home, played volleyball with my kids, walked in the rain, got terribly cold, cooked dinner, made a fire, warmed up, ate raw cabbage, hugged some kiddies, and just enjoyed myself, and at the end of it all, saw GOD in all that transpired in my day.

Don’t you wish you were free, too?

I can’t read your mind…

When will they ever learn?

Ok, so I live with Africans. In fact, I live with a bunch of orphaned girls together with my bio-family.

Yesterday, one of my African teens hinted, “Mommy, I’m going to the marathon at the stadium tomorrow.” (She is winning an award for raising money for some OTHER orphans.)

“Great!” I replied.

This morning, at 8:50 am, I’m told by my husband that I need to drive this child to the school right now. Ok. So we get in the car, go to the school to find that she was supposed to be there by 8. She missed the bus.

Communication. It’s a HUGE issue here. All I ask is that people use WORDS and tell me things. Just say, “Hey, Mom, I need to be at the school by 8 am tomorrow.” No problem. Instead, I have children assuming I can read minds.

So now, while my African daughter was inquiring as to the whereabouts of the bus, a few more late students gather around my car. They look at me with wanting eyes. You want ME, little miss white lady, to bring you all down to the other side of town to the stadium?

My response, “I’m not a taxi. You knew you had to be here at 8 am.” It’s not like they were just a few minutes late, but an HOUR late! This is Africa. At some point, people need to learn the consequences of not keeping time.

To my own daughter, I reminded her that she did not ask me nor tell me she needed to be here at this time. I would easily have gotten her to the school by 8 am!

I took my African daughter home.

Fortunately, ‘Daddy’ was going to town and gave her a lift to the stadium.