It sets in

I started talking with my folks about getting my plane tickets back home. It's super exciting because it will be a week shy of a year since I left home. I'm so pumped to see my folks and friends, and I happen to be making a UK detour on my way so that I can visit a friend that I haven't seen in nearly two years. Yeah, I am super excited! I can't wait to drive the truck down a country road with the windows down. I can't wait to walk around the farmer's market and eat my apple turnover and slowly consume a cup of amazing coffee at my favorite coffee shop (while absolutely not studying or writing a paper). I can't wait.

But I can wait.

For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to figure out how much time I have left here. Three months. I'm not really big on finality and endings. I don't sit around waiting for them, I don't do countdowns, I don't really do goodbyes. I'm a military kid, and moving is just part of the gig. And yet, here I am dreading this inevitable end. This will pass, and I will really live the last three months of my time here, but I feel the anxiety setting in, and I may as well write it out.

Why be anxious? I can fire off a number of excellent verses to combat anxiety: The Lord your God is with you He is mighty to save, Do not worry about tomorrow for tomorrow will worry about itself, The Lord is my shepherd, Do not be anxious about anything but in everything by prayer and thanksgiving, The Lord has plans to prosper me and not to harm me, Perfect love casts out fear... It goes on. God must have made anxiety a focal point of so much of the Bible because he knew we would and will spend an inordinate amount of time freaking out about anything and everything.

The questions and fears really haven't changed since I was a kid: What will I do next year? (Goodness knows I get asked that by EVERY PERSON I come into contact with.) Where will I be living? What about the friendships and familiarity I just spent 8 months building? How will I meet new friends in my new place? And again, what will I be doing?

I am in a pickle.

The reality is that I have so many wonderful options. I am blessed beyond measure to have so many wonderful options. The Lord is saying, "You've got this, you just have to choose. I will be with you when you choose and in every step after that. Stop worrying." I think I will. Obviously, there will be days when that is hard, and for those days, I ask for your prayers for peace in my heart and boldness to make a decision.

glamping

How rugged are we?

Photo cred to the fabulous Ellie Poole.

We decided to go camping. Only, the way that it worked out, we were really "glamping." The knowledge of this term was brought to me by the lovely Ellie Poole, an absolute master of words. Glamping is a melding of the words glamour and camping. We ended up at a friend's house that is midway through being constructed, which was awesome because we could set our tents up under the overhang that will eventually be the deck of the house and there was a wonderful fire pit overlooking Lake Bulera. For dinner we had three courses: meatballs with potatoes and onions wrapped in foil, bread pockets filled with peanut butter and jelly, and s'mores. S'mores are usually a must, but they were all the more necessary this time because our British counterpart had never eaten one before.

It gets even more glamorous. There were two mattresses inside the house that we appropriated and fit into our tents to sleep on. I so wish one of us had gotten a picture of this, but, sadly, we didn't. See, it wasn't really camping, but that didn't mean it wasn't ridiculously awesome.

We stayed up way too late telling stories, laughing, and staying warm by the fire. After a foray to the ever-wonderful pit latrine, we said our goodnights and managed to sleep for a few hours before the birds, the sun, and the people walking along the road got us right back up. What a wake-up though.

I mean, this is definitely in the top three of the greatest "Good Morning"s God has ever spoken to me.

The morning was spent consuming pancakes with both chocolate and bananas in them and pineapple and praising God. There was some harmonica, some hymns, prayer, and just acknowledgement that God is so massive in every way. God cared for my soul so tangibly by providing incredible people to spend time with and an incredible place to be. Round two of me being blown away by God as the almighty creator who can mold lakes and mountains and me.

that time we climbed a volcano

The good news is that this story ends with everyone making it to the top of the volcano, Bisoke. It started very early on a Saturday morning when we all piled into the cab and back of a pick-up truck and heading to volcano-climbing headquarters to get registered and met up with our guides. From HQ, we then drove to the base of the volcano and started the climb. I thought that I had hiked stuff before, but I was wrong. Maybe I wasn't wrong, but I certainly had never hiked at this altitude before.

From the first step I took, my heart was racing, and I was very aware that there was little air to be had. However, I was determined. I dodged massive mounds of poop belonging potentially to gorillas and mountain elephants but most likely to buffalo. I jumped sand bags and avoided mud pits. I talked to my fellow sojourners when I could (almost never). The higher we got, the slower I got. I've never experienced hypoxia, but, in a subsequent conversation with my father, I was able to determine that that was exactly what was happening. My movements got slower and less coordinated, my brain got slower, and, if I stood still for a while, I would realize that I was swaying slightly. 

Like I said though, we made it to the top.

This is my I-made-it-without-oxygen face.

Proud group shot. Then there is that random guy in the yellow polo in the back...

The view of the crater at the top. It was amazing.

On the way back down, it constantly felt like there was more air, which is the best feeling in the world! I was even able to run down parts of  the trail. Unfortunately, the lack of oxygen was still taking effect on my coordination abilities. I wiped out not once, not twice, not even three times. I wiped out seven times. I actually said out loud, "I don't understand what's happening. This isn't me!" I also remembered to actually look out and see what I could see from the top. God's creation is insanely wonderful.

Tiny people up ahead of me and a massive outlook.

Can you even believe this much green?

This picture is proof that Mary and I made it back down still looking fresh. 

That's how we do it.

So, this is where I find myself blown away by the creativity and detail wrought by the hands of a God who made me, too. I find it hard to reconcile the beauty of a place that has experienced so much pain, but I know that God is so much greater than any of that. I am blessed to be here.

a pig and her girl

Does life get any better than this?

You may not know this, but I was given a baby pig for Christmas. Basically, I made a big fuss about how much I wanted a pig, so Caleb got one for me. The squeaky wheel truly does get the grease. Her name is Gertrude, but I, and everyone else, call her Gerty. She has a right fat little belly, gains about a kilo of weight a week, and I love her. Here is a list of reasons to explain why we are soul mates.

1. She is very food motivated. 
One time, I tried to teach her a trick. As soon as she realized that I had treats and that she was not being given all the food at once, she lost her mind and ran around screaming in circles. I've not tried to teach her a trick since that day, but I am still hopeful that it can be done. I can't really blame her. I, too, tend to have a meltdown when someone withholds food from me.

2. She loves to snuggle but only on her terms.
If I pick her up, Gert squeals like the dickens until I put her back down. However, if she wants to be in my lap, nothing can stop her. She was sleeping in my lap, and it was time for me to go in for dinner, so I moved her to be sitting next to me. She immediately crawled right back into my lap and grunted contentedly. I too can be really snuggly, but only if I choose to be. Otherwise, don't touch me.

3. She loves digging for stuff. 
She uses her nose. I use my hands. Regardless, there may be some treasure down there.

4. She is constantly covered in dirt.
Need I explain this? (Mom, I promise I am showering.)

5. She will eat anything.
Me too, but not to the degree that she does.

6. She loves having her belly scratched.
Just kidding. Don't ever scratch my belly.

7. If she runs really fast, she has to stop and cough for a while.
This altitude gets me, too, Gerty. Keep training and one day we will both be able to breathe.

8. We both experience love from others through quality time.
We can lay around for hours just chilling in the sun. I like to have a book with me and a hand ready to scratch Gert's belly until she falls asleep on my lap or right next to me. One time, I thought it would be nice to have tea as well, but, again, as soon as she realized that there was something consumable and it wasn't being given to her, she lost it. Then I would just cover her eyes every time I took the mug down for a sip.

9. She burns easily.
She is mostly a black pig, but she does have a pink ear. It sunburns so easily! I definitely have that super fair pink skin as well, except mine covers my whole body and all of it burns like crazy.

10. She has freckles.
Gert's freckles are elegant just like Morgan Freeman's. Mine are less noticeable, but still fairly prominent. Twinsies!

Essentially, we are best friends. Gert is awesome.

Julie's School of Moto Driving Excellence

Mary, the new teacher, and I had our first moto driving lesson from Julie's School of Moto Driving Excellence. (Don't worry, Mom, we didn't even leave first gear or the yard for that matter.) I'm sorry if this is going to shatter anyone's perception of me, but I happen to be incredibly short. A lot of people tell me that I don't seem short (whatever that means) but that once they realize how short I actually am it makes sense. All that to say that I am 5 feet and 1 inch and too short for my feet to reach the ground when I am on a moto. Many of you laughed when you read that last sentence because you really know how short I am.

Because there was no way that I could really keep the bike upright (don't worry, mom, moto driving will never be a possibility for me, unless they make mini motos....). Julie would run behind me holding onto the back in the exact same way that my dad likely held onto the back of my bike when I was learning to ride my it without the training wheels. I don't actually remember him coming outside with me and holding onto the bike, I just remember being so, incredibly angry with him that he'd taken the training wheels off, and being in tears, and falling off the bike by myself. Then again, I was so angry that there's a chance my anger blocked out a more positive image of him for that time. Regardless, Julie was my figurative mom keeping me upright as I learned to ease off the clutch, get going, and then brake.

There was that one time when I had stopped with the moto slightly turned so that I wouldn't run into anything. Then, when I was trying to start it up again and get it going, There was something about the way that the front wheel was turned and leaning, and Julie had walked away a bit, so I was on my own, and I hadn't even started to move, but I just fell right over. It was one of those slow motion things where I knew what was going to happen, I was powerless to stop it. I looked up at Julie and said her name for the entire time that I was falling. Mary and Julie both ran over laughing to right me and bike. Meanwhile, I am on the ground laughing so hard I can barely breath, and Einstein is licking my face and excitedly trembling all over me. It was quite the scene! The funny thing is that even though I must have hit the ground fairly hard, the only thing that really hurt was my pinky.

Julie gave me the biker name "Madame Hog." I feel like it works on a number of levels given my complete domination of my first moto lesson and the fact that I own a pig. It's also just a boss name in general. I'll take it.

the lazy river

When I was younger and we lived in New Orleans, we would sometimes go to the Grand Oasis Hotel in Biloxi. A quick Google search tells me that it doesn't exist as it once did due to Katrina. It's funny how things like that sneak up on me every once in a while. We would go to this hotel with another family or just us or maybe we spent one of my birthdays there, and we definitely saw Wayne Brady there one time (BEST EVER). The best part of the Grand Oasis, aside from Wayne Brady was that there was not only a pool but also a lazy river that snaked its way around the back of the hotel. There were inner tubes for floating on and no short supply of friends to play on them with. You just can't beat a lazy river. If you spent a few hours in there, you'd spend the rest of the day feeling like something was gently pulling you forward.

The good news is that thy have one of those here in Musanze. It's not attached to a hotel, but it does have this fancy dam at the one end and you can visit a hut filled with cows on the other end. Fun fact: Caleb actually built this lazy river! Well, I wouldn't really call it a lazy river per say because it actually generates energy as it flows. The water has a little dirt in it, but people pay loads of money for mud baths, so I just call it part of the spa experience.

In case you can't tell from my cleverly witty story ramblings, I floated down the canal at the hydrosite. It was pretty awesome. Aside from minor hand scrape-age from trying to stop myself, it really was just the same as going down a lazy river at a water park or a fancy hotel. Never planning well for these things, I went down in my jeans and t-shirt. I went down with Moses. Unfortunately, I traveled faster than him while floating (someone with physics and math on their side can tell me why that is), so I caught him once and scraped up his foot a bit, but he forgave me because we were having so much fun. We had to duck under the concrete bridges between the sides of the canals and navigate away from the ledge hidden in the water.

I think we should stock the dam with inner tubes and sell tickets for going down the canal. We can call it something catchy like Musanze Water Park! (Well, something catchier than that probably.) I see a great future in this...

Durban, Pt. 2

Sorry, y'all. This one was a long time coming, but with the holidays and getting the older kids back off to school and hanging out with my beautiful pig, there's been a lot going on. This post is less about Durban and more about my experiencing Durban. I didn't really want to write this one, but I figure that's likely why I should write it.

Durban North is a very beautiful, very affluent suburb, and that's where I spent the week before Christmas. There were lots of people of a variety of different races and backgrounds: white people, people of Indian descent, black people. They were all there. This is different from Musanze because I am one of maybe 30 white people who live in this town (as well as a decent number of Koreans). That's not bad, but the novelty of seeing a white person has not worn off. I've probably written this before, but when I go for a run, I hear one of three things from everyone I pass, "Muzungu!" "Good Morning!" "Give me money!" The first few times, these greeting seem kind and I felt like a celebrity and, hey, as long as they were just talking and not then following me on my run, I was relatively unruffled. But the novelty still hasn't worn off. I am not anonymous, and I never will be anonymous. I enjoy a bit of attention as much as the next person from time to time, but I would give anything to be able to move around unnoticed, not a beacon of white skin and straight hair. In Durban, I ran for a full 40 minutes out from the house and back and no one said a single word to me, no one hissed at me, no one followed me. I loved it, and I resented the fact that I had to go back somewhere where I wouldn't be able to do that.

I went to a mall in Durban and got a haircut and a pedicure. I was wearing shorts and drinking ice cold water while someone massaged my feet. This is a level of pampering that I have not experienced in the past six months, and I felt like I had failed myself on some level that I was enjoying the familiarity and the comfort of even just being in a mall. I saw women in cute dresses and frowned down at the same one of ten shirts I've been wearing for the past six months. Meanwhile, my inner monologue is going: "You are being vain and spoiled and ridiculous. You are just fine." Again, I like to think I'm really hardcore, but this Western lifestyle is really doing it for me.

If you know me, you know that I have a tendency to be pretty hard on myself. The good news is that I am just fine. I do love living in Ruhengeri, and I don't spend hours pining after the comforts of home (ok, I really do wish I could run and have no one notice me).  So, why did I feel so guilty being comfortable? Maybe the lack and poverty of the people I see around my house is fairly overwhelming. Maybe I somehow got the notion into my head that asceticism and self-denial are the only way to serve God. Maybe I realize that even if I had my full wardrobe of clothes to choose from, I would likely still be wearing the same ten t-shirts. It's probably a combination of all those things.

Thankfully, Jess was there to listen and talk it out with me. The truth is it's ok that I like feeling comfortable. God has blessed me abundantly, and I don't think that He intends me to be guilty in the midst of that blessing (I mean, I don't really know because He is God and I'm not, but I'm just spitballin' here). He of course wants me to be mindful of my blessings and work to share that with others, but not to reject it all. It's ok that I prefer to move around unnoticed. It's ok that it's exhausting to be constantly called after. It's ok that I'm tired of wearing the same clothes. It's ok that being in Ruhengeri stresses me out from time to time. It's ok that I liked being n Durban because it looked and felt that much more like home. That's what we call a comfort zone. The real problem is when I get so attached to those things that I refuse to leave the comfort zone.

So, as long as you will help me make sure that I never get too stuck in my comforts, I think I'll live this life pretty okay.