Welcome!

I started this blog with the intention of telling family and friends about my trip to Africa. But from the very beginning the story came out bigger than that...I don't know how long I'll write and where the stories are going exactly, but you are welcome to follow along wherever this road takes me. 

If this is your first time here, my Mom would tell you to start from the beginning. The blog reads backward with the most recent posts feeding first. So you'll have to scroll to the bottom, or click through the daily archives over at the right.

The cliffnotes--I'm a trained elementary school teacher, but 5 years ago I had a traumatic brain injury as the result of a dramatic car accident. I live with lingering effects of that injury and as a result, will not likely ever teach again. The journey these five years since has often been very frustrating. Without the sustaining love of family and friends, and the grace of God, I would not be writing this story today. 

My accident story links to my relationship to WaterAfrica in surprising ways, and in August I traveled with WaterAfrica to Zambia. That's how this blog got started.

I'm frequently asked for some particular post links so here they are:

Gifts from the Broken Jar

Our wrecked van & the van in Choma

The OVC (orphans and vulnerable children) visit

Winding, Nearly Impassable Roads

Late summer turns to fall. School supplies....teachers back in the classrooms....all the imaginations and dreams for a new year of possibilities. For the first time in five years I realize that I'm okay not being there.

After my accident, one of the first books I worked my way through was Gifts from the Broken Jar, by PJ Long. She's also a head injury survivor and her story resonates...."I don't mind so much the dumb things I say or do now, probably because they no longer represent a loss of self. Of course, I use a lot of strategies effectively to function now, and that certainly makes things better. But something else has changed too: At one time each mishap was not only embarrassing, inconvenient, or dangerous--it was also an arrow piercing the lost self I was grieving. The arrows are gone now. Maybe that's why things seem better" (218-219).

I have plenty of inconvenient stories. And I have lots of angry stories....most of the inconvenient stories are attached to angry stories. And I live with strategies that help me function effectively now--most importantly, the support of my husband and family. They knew me before. They know me now. And they help hold the pieces together. 

What does this brain injury rant have to do with my trip? It's not a straight line, but here's what I've been thinking about......

Money. I haven't told you about the piles of kwacha I got in exchange for my US dollars. A 20,000 bill in kwacha is roughly $4. I had a few 50,000 bills, but most of them were 20,000 when I left the exchange agency. That's a literal pile. 

Here's the problem. My brain can be a logistical nightmare. I don't multi-task very well because I don't have a good filter to efficiently block out unnecessary information. Relying on mental math (never a strength) to convert money and looking through piles of unfamiliar denominations to make successful transactions....these are things I rely on David to manage for me now. When we travel, he's the one who takes care of the hotel details, the flight details, the car details.....I just follow him. If I dig deep, I can do these things. But it takes A LOT of energy.

So, there I was on this crazy adventure--flying halfway around the world by myself. Being handed piles of unfamiliar money and setting off to live 10 days without my support systems in place.

And the point of this winding, nearly impassable story.....God is in the details.

I was given several financial gifts to help me make this trip. One of them came anonymously just a couple weeks before I was scheduled to fly. And it was specifically earmarked for my hotel costs while I traveled Zambia. As I tell my story I'm consistently seeing how grateful I am for the various gifts from people along the way and I see God working in the details. Because this particular gift was anonymous I can't send thanks, but I can tell the story.....

The money itself was a tremendous gift because my trip wasn't anywhere in our budget. The money was a further gift because it meant LuAnn played David's role. She checked me in and out of hotels. She told me what I owed and when. She pointed me in the right direction when I couldn't remember which room I just came out of and which room I needed to return to. She'll surely tell you how little thinking I actually do for myself and if she won't, David will. But the story is....what a gift in the details! I will be ever grateful to LuAnn for graciously keeping track of me and to my donor who got me off the detail hook without knowing it. 

It was a fabulous trip. I have no idea where my road goes from here, but for the first time in 5 years, I'm okay with staying home from school....those arrows are gone. God is in the details of the winding, nearly impassable roads......

  

At the end of the road 2.....

WaterAfrica went to Africa because of water. Water is a gateway to life, health, production, education, and hope for the future. Because of our partnership, World Vision orchestrated this trip so we could see what has been done, what is being done, and what still needs to be done. 

Our first day in the field promised to be filled with joy and inspiration. Even as we were realizing the realities of village life, we were seeing the transformation that water brings. Our first stop was in Magoye ADP where 2 years earlier, our team had seen the great need for safe, accessible water. We joined Endless and her community to celebrate the arrival of clean water and all its possibilities.

We rode that high into the afternoon with a stop at a drilling site. WaterAfrica's fundraising helps support the new drill rig for World Vision's ZWASH (Zambia Water and Sanitation Hygiene) program. We had come to see the team in action! 

We arrived after the drill team had done the boring work....setting up and drilling the initial depths where no water was yet expected. When we showed up, anticipation was high. We unloaded from our vehicles and eagerly came alongside the gathered community.

Being on WaterAfrica's communication team, I expected this stop to be a highlight for me. But I had a personal investment as well. I tell the story too often, and I can never get it right.....

Four years ago, when David and I chose to give money from our accident settlement to WaterAfrica, we knew the theory of lifechanging water and we never debated the gift, but it was mostly just money and values as we handed Bill that check. Several months--and a lot of head injury anguish--later I was sitting at a presentation at our church listening to the report from a "Go-Team" which had recently been in Zambia. They were alive with details about their visit to a drilling site where, after much drama and prayer, they had seen water spring forth! It was a fantastic story. For me, it was a life-changing story. 

Emotion choked me as I sat and looked up at the slideshow pictures of kids around that water hole. It felt like everything crashed in on me in that moment. Our gift was no longer theory and values. My life was so frustratingly NOT what I wanted it to be. And yet, out of my life came hope for kids like these. It was an experience I can never describe accurately. An experience I'm often embarrassed to talk about. An experience that still mysteriously crashes in on me as I continue to realize "what you meant for evil, God meant for good".

And here I was in Zambia four years later.....Waiting and watching for water to spring forth from that dry, dusty ground.

Waiting and watching is what we did. I have a lot of video footage to prove our high hopes and expectations. Any minute now....water would flow! I'll save the technicalities of the process for another place, but the watching and the waiting.....you can imagine:

 

 

You may already know the rest of the story. Or you may be suspicious because you haven't seen any of my video footage yet........The truth is, the watching and the waiting didn't seem to have an end. The excitement turned to boredom. The kids went to play in the field. Judy and Georganne went to play with the kids. I would have gone to play with the kids too, but I was watching and waiting. And filming.

The boredom turned to discouragement. The drill team had unsuccessfully drilled for this same community just two days earlier. This was the 22nd well that the ZWASH team had drilled with the new rig. Only two had been dry, but this was about to become the third. 

WaterAfrica had come to Africa to see water. And there wasn't water. 

With a two hour drive still ahead of us that evening, we had run out of watching and waiting time. The drill team had nearly run out of hope. Water had been expected at 54 meters. They had drilled 57 meters. 

We gathered to say goodbye. And to pray together.....with disappointed hearts still recognizing that God, in his infinite wisdom, knew exactly what was needed.

 

 

We left. And drove maybe 30 minutes back to the main road. Where we received the text--The drillers had continued on to 64 meters. And found water!!

It was exactly what was needed. The work in Africa is ultimately not about us. God depends on us to do our part. We had raised awareness. We had raised funds. And we will continue to do that. But it is God who transforms lives.  

At the end of the road.....God IS

No Points for My Musical Skills

But lots of points for having fun!

Lions, Tigers, and Bears! Oh, My! (well, maybe not bears)

My poor boys. They are walking encyclopedias when it comes to animal facts. They know all about the African Big Five. 

You can imagine that their mother was a tremendous disappointment when she returned from the land of their dreams only to report on chickens, goats, cows and pigs. And a spider or two. 

I did get some credit for bringing home this picture of a tiger snake. Keith, the proprietor of the Lake View Lodge, where we were staying was busy identifying it one evening when we got home. He said that it struck his arm and latched on.  When he finished his research he tossed it back out in the bushes.

 

And there were monkeys around the Sinazongwe ADP office. I never saw any, but don't tell my boys. Thanks to my teammates, I have a few pictures. (or maybe they were just on their cameras from a recent zoo trip)

 

So, where were the animals of Africa? This article in wikipedia outlines a variety of the themes I heard while I was there.

When we arrived in Lusaka we stayed at the Southern Sun Hotel. The pond at the center of the hotel had crocodiles from a croc farm. When they got to a certain age they were returned to the farm and replaced with babies. 

 

 
In terms of Croc reality, however, while we were staying at Lake View Lodge along Lake Kariba, we were strictly warned to stay away from the water.
 
The crocs in the water were a very real and deadly threat. 

Speaking of Lake Kariba, commercial fishing is profitable and this was a common sight:

 

Though this particular picture is the precursor to an unfortunate mooring that stranded the fisherman one morning. Apparently August is one of the Lake's windy months. Dramatic winds came up in the evening and blew fiercely through the night. The waves pounded on the shore, not unlike the Oregon coast. The locals told us that despite all appearances, it would NOT rain. And it never did.

The Kapenta of Lake Kariba.....

 

We took packages like this to the families of our sponsored children.

And I think I've used up all my interesting animal stories now. Mostly we saw cows and chickens and goats. 

  

Wait! My boys immediately recognized this common sight...... 

Do you?

 
 
 

Twalumba

Mwayusa buti! Good afternoon!

Okay. Not really. As I sit to write, the sky is painted with the colors of the setting sun.  From looking at my "basic greeting" Tongan cheat sheet I see that  Kwasiya buti would be the appropriate expression for this time of day. I'm really a dork when it comes to learning language. I'm sure if I was forced to survive on my language skills I'd get it figured out, but hearing and repeating the different sounds does not come easily to me. My father is quite adept at interacting with language.  My husband's engineering brain sorts and retrieves sounds accurately. My 4 year old just likes to talk about booty. On the way home from the airport Sunday we started talking about Valley Tongan, the main language spoken in the Sinazongwe ADP. I recited the 3-4 phrases I had mastered in my 10 days in Zambia. (Yeah, 3-4 phrases. Embarrassing.) Mwayusa buti is one of them. My boys were delighted!! My use a booty!!! My big fat booty! Hahahaha Okay, they're 4 and 8 years old. That was the end of the conversation.

Until tonight when Ethan, the 4 year old, started up again.... Mwayusa buti! Mwayusa buti!!! Remarkably, he still knew what it meant. Maybe more remarkably, I did too.

The cheat sheet says the proper response to that greeting is Kubotu. I never did get the hang of that. I just mumbled on through like the Tongan illiterate that I am.

Whenever we'd show up at a village we were met with exuberant joy. Lots of hand shaking and greeting. Often the kids were eager to try their English, with much more gusto and courage than I had. And skill, of course.

Most of the time they got it exactly right, but once in awhile...."Hi!" I would say. "Fine, thank you!" I heard in return. I loved it! Such open, generous people.

Those moments of interaction were absolutely full of grace. There I was, completely inept at communicating in their language, yet the Zambian villagers welcomed me with open arms. And looked right on past my inabilities, apparently just glad to be there with us (or at least that's the way it felt). And I was glad to be there too.

It was in these moments that I learned to  fluently speak and understand... Twalumba!

Thank you.

At the end of the road.....

Last Thursday morning I was throwing frisbees with Hadsome and Rute. I was singing a very animated version of head, shoulders, knees and toes with crowds of kids outside the World Vision Kanchindu office. I was receiving gifts of baobab fruit and a clay pot. Joyous memories I will treasure.

 
 

 
And then the afternoon....something completely different. We were invited to the homes of two OVC (orphans and vulnerable children) families. I could tell you facts about these families. I could tell you about the fabulous World Vision caregivers, who are community volunteers. I could tell you about the progression of HIV/AIDS. I could tell you about the impact of water on all of this. But instead I will tell you this....

The women are both widows who live with HIV/AIDS. Some of their children do too. Cristobel is younger than I am and her skin bears the marks of cancer. So does her son. His prognosis is not good. Julia suffers from eye cancer that has no medical solution. Her house was washed out in the floods of the last rainy season. The are both responsible for multiple children and even grandchildren. These women carry unspeakable grief.

Still, they sat with us. And graciously told their stories. At the end of it all....there was nothing we could do, but sit in the mystery. We couldn't fix the pain. We couldn't make it go away. In fact, we were the ones who had to go away.

Yet, in that place, God was absolutely among us and within us. I will carry those women, their families, their caregivers, and the many they represent in my heart and in my prayers. It was a profoundly moving experience. 

Cristobel, Julia, and their caregivers gave me a gift that day. They brought me to the feet of God.

At the end of the road......God IS.

Choosing to tell The Story

I'm sorry for telling so many post-accident stories here. When I started this blog I thought it was going to be about my trip Africa. And it is! It's just that the two stories seem so intertwined. And here's why.....

That's Bill Savage standing by the car. On our way home from the hospital in Bend we stopped at the junkyard in Stayton to clean out the car. Bill and Diane met us there. Rather than rewrite this part of the story, I'll copy and paste something I wrote a year ago on my facebook page as we were heading into Walk 4 Water 2--

I woke up in a Bend hospital bed at 11:20 on Wednesday morning. My memory logged nothing between 10:30 Monday morning and that particular Wednesday morning moment. Despite my memory deficit, I clearly recall waking fully engaged in a conversation with the doctor and David as we discussed the fact of my 3 week pregnancy. I felt aware and clear about my circumstances. The memories began to record at that point, but in retrospect, it was a brief moment of lucidity amidst a swirling storm of confusion and fear. 

In that moment I knew that I was newly pregnant. I knew that I had been a driver struck in a terrible car accident. I knew that 3-year old Ryan was safe and my in-laws were also alive, though seriously injured. And I knew that, in contrast to several previous pregnancies, this one was still viable.

Nearly four years later, I know much more of the story....the depth of fear, pain, anger, grief, loss. The love, kindness, support, joy, and hope. 

And I can trace the path of an odd tangent to the story. 

My parents have some friends who met us at the Stayton junkyard to empty our broken car about a week after the accident. Because my in-laws and I had been returning from a long weekend in Bend the contents of the car were not only torn up from the violence of the accident, but they were also splattered with food from the cooler, now rotten. It was a mess. It was dramatic. It was the symbol of all that was lost in a moment. Somehow it was a place of raw vulnerability. And Bill and Diane met us there. Some friends meet you in places of pain and walk alongside. Bill and Diane were those friends for my parents and the consequences set the foundation for this part of my story.

Time passed, but there was no putting the pieces of my life back together in the same way. The puzzle had changed and there was not a picture on this new box. My head injury was significant. I faced the reality that I wasn’t going to teach that fall, or maybe ever. There were questions about the health of my pregnancy. There was anxiety and fear and pain and great loss. And an insurance settlement. 

At that time, Bill and Diane were just getting started on their mission to serve as volunteers raising funds for World Vision’s water programs in Zambia. David and I knew a bit of Bill & Diane’s vision and we were impressed with World Vision’s mission/methods. The remarkable piece is that giving a portion of our settlement money was never a question for us. It was timing. It was a moment of choice. And we gave. 

I will never adequately describe my overwhelming emotions one fall evening the next year. We went to church to hear a report from the group which had traveled to Zambia that summer. They told stories. And showed pictures. Reports on new wells. Reports on the life-changing, life-giving impact of those new wells for Zambian villagers. Our choice to give mattered. I could see that. My life had been forever changed by one moment of car accident trauma. Bill & Diane touched my soul in one moment of friendship with my parents. Zambian villagers joyfully drank clean, hope-filled water because of one moment when we chose to give.

It seems I’ll never have back the part of me I lost that Monday morning in June 2005. But I know choices matter. I will forever be tied to Zambian villagers because of choices. 

It’s baffling that I can walk to the sink and turn on the faucet for clean, abundant water. I can throw my clothes in the washer and turn a dial, push a button. I can run filtered water for a perfectly brewed, french-pressed cup of coffee. I can flush the toilet. I can water my strawberries. I can bathe my boys with a turn of the faucet. I can. 

A mother in Zambia makes 6 to 8 one-hour round trips every day to collect water. Water that isn’t even safe to drink. But she does not have a choice. She does not have the choice to click around on facebook or pick up a book or knit or garden. She does not go out to dinner or buy a bottle of wine. She walks to get water. Dirty water. She does not have a choice. I have a choice.

To share. 

35 dollars provides one Zambian villager clean water for the rest of his or her life. Right now World Vision has a matching donor for this money. 35 dollars provides two Zambian villagers clean water for the rest of their lives. 

This is a tangent to my story. I don’t understand it, but I’m living it. And I pray it matters.

So. As I sit here a year later I realize this isn't so much of a tangent after all. It is THE story. It is God's story and He's been busy filling in the details. My job is to tell it.

Shawi, Hadsome & Rute

Meeting our sponsored children at their homes....what a gift. These are some of my favorite memories from the trip.

Connecting the Dots

(Written Sunday morning on the flight from Atlanta to Portland)

Before I get home and shift this blog to a better telling of the Zambian stories....I have one more bit of my personal story I want to write as I fly the last leg of my trip home.

The day after I blogged about the Honda in Choma, I was telling the story to my teammates in the back of the Landrover as we rambled through the African bush. As I finished, without skipping a beat, both women listening to my story looked straight at me and said.....restoration.

Restoration?!?!!

In my very first days home from the hospital five years ago, I spent a scrambled brain day at the neighbor's quiet house because loud construction was happening at ours. On her refrigerator was this:

With the logic of my life completely wrecked, I greedily grabbed at that bit of hope.  The neighbor lady gave me that fridge magnet and it's been hanging where I can see it every day since. 

Restoration.

Ironically, because of my WaterAfrica website work, the picture of my wrecked car lands in my photo editor chronologically by date next to pictures from Lake Grove Presbyterian Church pictures from a Zambia Go Team trip. These pictures fall nearly side by side:

 

 
Five years later, as I upload pictures from my trip, these pictures fall nearly side by side:

  

 

It hasn't been an easy journey. But as I quoted head injury survivor, PJ Long, on my facebook page recently, "I am starting to think that healing is not the same thing as curing. Maybe healing does not mean becoming free of symptoms, or restoring to a previous state of being. It may mean something else entirely."

Broken Jar............

II Corinthians 4:

 But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

Now What?

I really don't know. I sat out on a rock beside Lake Kariba in the moments before we left Sinazongwe and wondered......What was this all about?



I think there are things known and things unknown. I'll post some pictures and unpack some stories over the next few days. But the heart of my journey is this.....



The Sunday before I left for Africa, one of our pastors preached on John 14 as it describes Thomas exclaiming,"but we don't know the way!" My panic brain resonates with that frantic plea. But Jesus tells Thomas, "I am the way...You know me."



He tells me the same.



Dr. Stan Mooneyham, a former World Vision president, points out that "Jesus said he was the way, not the destination. And the 'way' means that we're always in process and in progress."



In my head injury aftermath, a friend lettered this card for me and through these years it's been hanging where I am daily reminded:

 

And so....as I come home today, I hope to carry my stories well. I pray that I learn to faithfully integrate them into the story that is my life as I continue learning how to walk steadily in his path.

What I'll tell you

As my flight yesterday from Lusaka to Jo'Burg bumped a bit through the elevation climb on the way to cruising altitude I had a brief, odd disorientation. My time in Zambia was marked by hours and hours of bouncing around in the back of land cruisers as the excellent World Vision drivers navigated impossible roads to take us to water points and homes of sponsored children. So as the plane ever so slightly bounced me up and out of Lusaka, thereby marking the end of this long anticipated journey, I found my mind flashing back to many images and emotions of the week.



In about 9 flying hours and a couple layover hours I'll be home. And what will I say when you ask about my trip?



I will tell you that at the end of the nearly impassable road, at the end of the frustrating drilling experience, at the end of human life.....I have been ushered into the presence of God. I can backfill this with story, but I've also got a slideshow crashing together in my head so I'll let it be for now.



If you want more....I will tell you that I believe God is absolutely in the details. I will tell you that I believe prayer matters. I will tell you that it is a privilege to partner with World Vision staff. I will tell you that I have seen water as a gateway to life, health, and productivity. I will tell you that I saw beautiful gardens rising out of a dry and dusty land. I will tell you that the Zambian villagers are beautiful, gracious, generous people. I will tell you that traveling with my WaterAfrica team was a gift.



I will tell you that my happiest moments of the trip were at the homes of Ha(n)dsome and Rute. For years we have carried these children in our hearts and prayers. Time stopped that afternoon. We threw frisbees, jumped rope, and laughed. Cutting through language, culture, and many miles, we were together in those moments. And the journey was worth it.



Sent from my iPhone

A very long, very good story

(I started this post Thursday night and finished it on the flight home from Jo'burg to Atlanta)



Ha! I know you thought this would be a blog about Jennifer's trip to Africa.

A place where you could follow along with my adventures in this beautiful land. But our days have been so full. I could tell a story, but so many of them demand some processing time for me. And so.....there's a bit of storytelling delay.



In the spirit of delay--I'll copy/paste this story from my journal....

I wrote it on the flight from Atlanta to Johannesburg. The background is this: I hate flying. I don't trust or like my panic brain in that context. As I began this trip, my flight from PDX to Atlanta was delayed. We sat on the plane for 2 hours while they figured out if we were going to go or not. About an hour and a half into the wait I called home and Ethan wanted to know if I was in Africa yet. In fact, I was discovering that my 5 hour delay in Atlanta was no longer enough and I would not make my connecting flights with the new scheduled departure. After I stood in long rescheduling lines, my Dad and the boys picked me up. Ryan and Ethan were completely unaffected by the fact that Mommy's 12 day trip was actually only about 7 hours. But I was rattled.

And my panic brain grabbed ahold of the opportunity. I no longer had the confidence that I'd been feeling the 2 weeks prior to the trip. I wanted to stay home where I belonged

Thankfully, people had been and were praying for me.



I took a short nap, and went outside to pull weeds with the boys playing around me. That is my world. The place where I find peace. And in the process I found courage.....I knew I had to go. About 4:30 the next morning David and I set off to try again. Having learned from the previous day's dress rehearsal, this morning went very smoothly. Confidence was restored.



As I sat on the PDX to Atlanta flight waiting for passengers to board and settle, I noticed a lady standing in the aisle with a Zambian flag pin on her jacket. The only reason I recognized the Zambian flag was because I had just redone the WaterAfrica website and had studied the Zambian flag for a color scheme. I looked again and this time I noticed that she was also wearing a World Vision pin. So I asked her about her pins and she had just enough time to tell me that her organization partnered with World Vision in Zambia and they were traveling there now. Seriously.



When we got off the plane in Atlanta I asked them if I could tag along to find the next plane. They graciously took me under their wings and I didn't have to do a thing, but follow. We ate lunch together and kept an eye on each other's stuff as we waited during our 5 hour layover. It turns out their daughter was in the Peace Corps in northern Zambia when she had a bike accident 8 years ago and died from head injuries. Unbelievable. Their response has been to form http://www.bethsgirls.org



I had had an aisle seat in the exit row on my way to Atlanta and I kept nervously eyeing the window seat of non-exit rows because that's where I was going to be stuck on this 16 hour flight. I worried about my panic brain.

As soon as I crawled into my spot here I started a conversation with the lady sitting next to me. Turns out she and her husband are from South Africa and she's done this flight many times. She immediately put me at ease--remarkably so. Her husband George is a regional manager for Gideons International and travels a lot for them. I told her what I was doing and she knew World Vision because she has a friend who works for World Vision. So we talked about all that and other odds and ends.



But here's the amazing part...we were eating dinner later, talking a bit and I found myself telling about my panic brain. When I looked up at her she had tears in her eyes. She said she had just told George that the Lord told her to take care of me for a little while. Seriously. I'm sitting by angels. I can hardly believe it. God is obviously paying attention to my journey. I'm grateful for the prayers.

Gifts from the Broken Jar

I'm full of stories. And have had little time to put them here, but watch out! Tomorrow we say goodbye to the ADP staff here in Sinazongwe and then head north for the 4 hour drive to Lusaka. I fly out of Lusaka at 1:40 Saturday afternoon. Home about 11am Sunday. Long plane rides by myself....stories to come!

But I must write this tonight.....I really should have titled this blog "God is in the Details" but there's a reason for "brokenjar" and here it is.....



I am a reader. It's part of who I am. So when my head injury took away my ability to track and sustain attention for reading, I was wrecked. None of my specialists knew if/when I would regain the ability to read. I was angry. I grieved. And then slowly.....I moved back into the place that I loved. Book in one hand and post it notes in the other I discovered that I could move through books slowly and deliberately; putting post it notes all along the way. And then I would tediously go back through the book and type up all the notes and page numbers so that I could remember what i had read. Over these past five years I gradually increased my ability to attend and track with the material. With post it notes in hand I am grateful to be a reader again.



That post it note/type it out system is the reason I can tell you this story--On August 4, 2006, I typed my notes from Gifts From the Broken Jar by PJ Long, who uses this book to tell of her own head injury recovery in beautiful words that resonate(d) with me. But to my point just now--



She writes:



....After carrying several buckets of water from the pond to the garden I sat to rest on one of the warm gray stones and remembered the story from India about a village boy who brought water to the wealthy man.



Every day he walked several miles from the village to the river and back again, carrying water in two clay jars, one in his left hand and one in his right. The man paid for the water that was delivered--one full jar and one half full, for the jar in one hand was cracked and its water leaked along the roadside. Over the long months, the boy made many trips carrying water.



One day he sat to rest before returning to the river, and a spirit in the cracked jar spoke to him. "I am sorry, Master, that you have to work harder because of me. If I were perfect like your other jar, you would not need to take so many trips. And you could collect more money too. I am sorry that because of me your life is made miserable." The boy was surprised to hear such words. He did not think his life was miserable. He replied to the spirit, "Because of you, I am very lucky. A broken jar makes my life beautiful. Come, let me show you."



Together they walked back to the river. One side of the path was bare and dusty. But along the other side, where water had trickled down from the broken jar, the way was strewn with wildflowers.

 

Today's borehole celebration included gifts for me. It is a clay pot. A jar. This week I have heard, smelled, seen, tasted, and hugged.....gifts from the broken jar.

What are the chances

...of pulling up to Kozo Lodge in Choma, Zambia and finding a 1995 Honda Odyssey parked there? The exact same make, model and color of the car I was driving when my life suddenly changed in a dramatic accident. When I get home I'll add a picture of the way my red honda odyssey looked the last time I saw it.



I was caught off guard when we pulled in and I saw this van. I took a picture:

I haven't fully made sense of it. But I am confident....God is in my details.

A tidbit

I'm enclosed in mosquito netting as I lie on my bed typing this post at 11:15pm Tuesday night. That's 2:15 Tuesday afternoon for my Oregon friends.

The wind is blowing fiercely outside and the waves of Lake Kariba are pounding the shore.

I don't have anything bright to say tonight.I have little time to reflect and write in these days. They are full. Meanwhile I am accumulating more and more stories to tell.



I almost don't have words to describe how I feel about arriving in Sinazongwe today. Our family has invested prayer, time and money in this place. I can hardly believe I am actually here. It was a joy to greet Betty today, the ADP manager, for whom I have offered so many prayers these past 15 months. Tomorrow I get to meet Shawi, our sponsored child, and I will also see a borehole that is the result of money we received in my accident settlement. I feel nervous and excited as I walk through these days. I don't know what they will look like and I don't know what they will mean for me. But I am grateful to be here.



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A Very Full Day

You can head over to http://www.waterafrica.typepad.com to see what we did today.

A couple thoughts.

The http://www.chikumbuso.com/ project was really impressive. I'd like to learn more about them.

An enormous amount of work happens in one large workroom in the Child Sponsorship Department of World Vision Zambia. We have 3 sponsored children in Zambia and so it was a special opportunity to see this place in person.

I've learned a lot about World Vision, Child Sponsorship, and the ZWASH program and I'm about to head out into the villages and see it all for real.

I don't really know how the internet connection will work into the days ahead, but I hope to have a bit more time to debrief my experience by writing. So....I hope to keep track of the stories and post them when I can. (I still have some fabulous flight stories to post. But they'll wait.

God is in my details

I've been intending to write the backstory to this blog for some time and I just haven't got it done. If I don't jump in and start writing it won't happen and I must share these stories. So here we go. Maybe I can figure out how to backfill later.



I know my audience is wide and varied. So a couple things to know from the outset....I interpret my life through a lens of faith. And a head injury 5 years ago dramatically changed the direction of my life. It changed me.



The head injury is important to this story because I am 5 years down the recovery road and I've got a completely redesigned life that minimizes and manages the daily details of my new brain. I've also got a wonderful husband and supportive family who help minimize and manage my new stuff.



As a result of the head injury, I no longer efficiently multi-task under pressure. I don't filter information and noise well.



I also have a panic portal in my brain now. When people describe panic attacks, I think this is what they must be talking about. I told David the other night that it's like my brain leaves my head and goes just out of reach. I can almost see it out there, but I can't reach it and bring it back in safely. Mostly I've learned to control my life to avoid panic triggers, but I've more recently begun working on strategies to manage it when it comes.



I'm pretty sure these are all very good reasons for me NOT to be sitting in the window seat on a plane over the ocean right now. Six and a half hours to Johannesburg.



But here I sit. And here are some stories....



I can't explain it but I am convinced I am supposed to be on this journey despite my preference to be at home with my boys and my garden.



David's parents were here for nearly two weeks in July. They left on Tuesday the 19th. I had been fighting a headache behind my right eye and was annoyed by the bug bite between my eyes. On Wednesday I discovered another bite over my eye. I asked Mom about it and she advised me to see a doctor. I wasn't convinced that was necessary and decided to wait.

That was Wednesday at noon. Wednesday just before 1pm a friend called from Kentucky. We hadn't talked in a couple months and she had seen my facebook reference to my irritating bugbite. She was being treated for shingles and so her problem definitely trumped mine, I agreed. As she described her problem she told me that she was pretty sure I also had shingles based on my symptoms. She insisted I hang up and call the doctor right away. The short story is that I got off the phone and had a shingles diagnosis less than an hour later. I was sent immediately to an ophthalmologist to make sure my eye was clear. It was. So I went home with a jug full of drugs and a distinct sense of peace. God was in my details. If had been left to my own schedule I would have not gone to the doctor until Friday when I was actually miserable. By then the course of the disease and treatment would have likely eliminated my trip. As it turned out, my symptoms were difficult but manageable and mild. I finished my last anti-viral pill the day before I had to start my anti malaria pills. No rest for the drug taker.



My antil-malaria pills. That's my next story. Did I say I don't manage well? I have had my prescription for a couple months. I have had it sitting on the dining room table with other stuff to pack for a week. I don't have any idea why it didn't occur to me that I should fill it ahead of time instead of the day before my flight. That's just the way my brain works. I was organized, I knew where it was.



The boys and I dropped it off on Monday, along with a regular prescription refill. When we went back to pick it up they handed me 2 of my 3 requests and said they ordered the other one, but it would be there the next day. Malarone. I needed to start taking them that very day. I was getting on the plane the next morning at 6:10am. I could not wait. I was in trouble. I asked for the prescription back so I could see if I could find it somewhere. The pharmacist told me I was not likely to find them easily. He had 6 pills, I needed 19. He offered to call around and see what he could come up with. Of course I was grateful. The first call didn't come up with anything. the second call turned up the entire order at the pharmacy right across the street. One of the gals got in her car and drove across the street to pick up my prescription while the boys and I waited. Unbelievable. God is in my details.