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injury survivor and her story resonates...."I don't mind so much the dumb things I say or do now, probably because they no longer represent a loss of self.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.