Amber has a diagnosis...

Amber is feeling back to her normal self.
Thank you for praying for her. 
Her mono screen came back as positive and
I can only believe her fast recovery was a direct result of all the prayers and the mercy of God.
We will continue to ensure rest for her and help her build her immune system.
Other than that, there is no medicine for mono.


She wrote this note last night. The arm is in reference to all the needles...because of our return from Kenya and also a mysterious rash, we tested for several tropical diseases as well as local ones.

Just wanted to let you know....

Needles

Amber's arm is bruised from needles and we are almost thru. 

She is feeling much improved in the last 24 hours. Praise God. 

She's had several negative tests this week 

and we have some results that haven't come back. 

She goes in tomorrow for her third and final malaria screen. 

But the best news....no fever today!!!

Her fevers began improving yesterday with only a low grade 

at bedtime and no fever at all tonight. 

We are so grateful. 

Brent and I talked about how healthy we've been over the past few years.  

And bottom line, we have not said "thank you, God" enough. 

And I lift my hands and say "thank you so much!"

And thank you for praying....

Prayer Request

Today we took Amber for some testing. She has been sick for the last week. Started with fever and cough on Tuesday and on Friday, spots showed up on her face and torso. I thought she had chicken pox. 

By Sunday, when none of them were blistering, I began to wonder. By Monday, I was doing some research and talking with Mama Wanda from Kenya. We decided to get her to the doctor. 

We took her to our family doctor who referred us to a specialist. 

Who prescribed some lab work for her. She passed the bravo test with the needles and we are waiting for results. 

Pray with us? 

For healing.

For a diagnosis.

For protection for the rest of us.

All according to the Plan of the Father. 

Thank you!

Yesterday it was back to books.

To say 'Back to School" would imply we haven't been in school the last 6 weeks.
I could never say that.
I believe they have likely learned more the last 6 weeks than they would have, had we been in the school room.

Definitely.
And I say that not because I am such a bad teacher,
but because the opportunity that my children had to experience Africa for a month is uncommon.
And we learned so much.

Though we thoroughly enjoyed our time out of the school room,
 it feels good to be back!

And I am so grateful again to have been blessed in ways to give them that opportunity of a lifetime.

And my heart continues to cry,
"Jesus, can you use that in ways to change their hearts for you forever?"
"Can you keep teaching us what You want us to learn?"

I Think We Could Learn Something...

Every morning and every evening and several times in between, while we were at the compound, we would hear a call to prayer.
The Imam would chant or warble over his loud speaker

and the sound would move over the dirt packed, trash strewn streets.

It would travel over huts where women bent stirring their beans or scrubbing their wash. Over the heads of men sitting by the door of their hut, with apparently not a care in the world, other than watching their women work.

Past men waiting on their pikis for their next ridee.

The sound was barely noticed by children intent on their game of soccer.

But it reached us, all the way over all those heads and hearts and we heard it over our walls in our own comfortable spaces...

The sound came from the mosque. The Muslim mosque.
And devout followers everywhere, dropped what they were doing and rolled out their little mats and bowed and offered prayers. Every day, not once but five times.
They slip out of the shops and spread their mat in the street.
They kneel in the market. In the fields.
Where ever they are, they kneel.

For whom? For what?
Because they actually believe?
Because they are dedicated?
And I wondered how many of us would do that?
I wondered if I would?

And it makes me wonder
what would happen to this world if Christians would be that dedicated?
And it makes me wonder
is it any wonder that Islam is the fastest growing religion?

Jesus, how do You want to impact my heart with this realization?

Chicken? No thanks.

Since we are back, we have eaten a fair amount of chicken.
I've noticed each time I dish out for Alison, her reply is the same,
"I'll pass on the chicken".
This seemed strange to me, because she has always enjoyed chicken. But Cody hasn't minded and always offered to eat her share:) and you know it just went like that, until,

Tonight I pressed the issue and she told me she had seen too many chickens get butchered in Kenya. I could accept that, I know she attended several more orphan banquets than I did and she helped to cook at most of them.

THEN she said, "and they eat the guts, you know that?"
"yup, they grill them and eat them."
????
"oh, and they pass the plate around and all the cooks eat them right there".
????
"and they held the plate out to me" big eyes, raised brows.
"and then Rosemary said, 'oh, I don't think she'll be having any guts today' "

and I as the mama say, "thank you Rosemary, for coming to my daughter's rescue!"

I also say, "No wonder she says, 'Chicken? No thanks' "

Like an American...

My mother gave birth to me in North America. My father, like my mother was also American. So were both of their parents and all of their grandparents. That makes me full blooded American.

Never before was it so obvious to me. In fact, I never really thought about my nationality. Except on the rare occasion when I deemed it advantageous to comment that I was actually a Canadian by birth. But in the scope of things, considering that Canada is in North America, I think that still makes me an American.

Now before you glaze over and I lose you with all of that...on with the post that has been happening in my heart for the last week....

So I'm an American. I'd like to think that I have an open mind. I'd like to think that I can put myself in others shoes and feel what they are feeling. Think like they do. I try to, at least.

One thing became very clear to me during my time in Africa.

I think like an American. Without thinking.

In other words, when I'm not thinking, 

I think like an American. I can't help it.

Let me tell you a little bit about how it went...

One day Darla told me that when we get to the orphan banquet the ladies will be preparing the meal. I didn't realize til later that my mind had conjured a picture of ladies in a church basement kitchen, working busily at meal preparation.

I had no picture for ladies outdoors, tending multiple small wood fires.

I had no picture for ladies, laso tied at the waist, frying chapatis.

I had no picture for chickens coming in live

and being butchered and cooked on the spot

 heads, feet and all thrown into the pot...

I had no picture for small wooden table with rolling pins and dough.
(this is like my favorite picture,uh, one of them:)

I had no picture for chopping and slicing vegetables without a cutting board...

I was intrigued. They simply sliced away at tomatoes, green onions, etc.(and didn't cut themselves)

I didn't picture that there'd be rice to sort.(sort?) or that I'd be given a job doing it...

Without thinking, I had thought like an American. 

And the day that Marlin told us we would be taking a 2 hour boat ride on Lake Victoria,

I had not pictured a 'Peter, James and John" boat!

and I hadn't pictured that on our ride we would see many fishermen in their own wooden boats.

Or that once again my family and I would have a rich cultural experience.

Or that there would be so many Bible time comparisons...

I realized on our ride that I had thought along the lines of a pontoon boat. I laugh even now as I write. I can't help it, I think American....

I could tell you more...but I also want to tell you what else I realized....

Kenyans think Kenyan, they can't help it!

The realization was very strong the day the following story happened. 

Antony was driving us around on the Savannah.(really. we pinched ourselves to believe it)

And I got to asking him some questions. He seemed quite  educated and spoke very good English, and seemed to know about American things, like McDonalds:) among other things.

So then he asked me how I would see America as being different than Africa.

I told him what I had told Reagan, how one difference is that 

"No one. ever. carries. anything. on their heads. in America."

and Antony was quiet for a bit. Thinking, I could tell. And then he asked,

"not even water?"

I said, "Not even water", and inside I thought, especially not water...

He's quiet again, processing. And then he said, slowly, 

"Okay, but say someone lives out in the countryside and they live far from the water hole, how do they get their water?"

And I sighed, Inside, of course. And I realized.

Antony is Kenyan, He thinks Kenyan. He can't not.

and because you're American, I could stop there. You know the answer for |Antony.

But, because you're American, I'm going to tell you what I told him, to help you think in a new avenue. Because Antony is not american, I couldn't just blurt it all out...

"Well, you see, Antony, in America, almost all homes, even those in the 'countryside' have water on their own properties. Most, actually have a well, and most, not all, but most have it pumped right into the house and it comes out of a faucet in the wall..." 

He listened, amazed and then asked if I meant like at the resort where we were staying(5 star) and I said, "Yes!" and then he nodded as he made a connection.

(I found so often I had to downplay our lifestyle, because other wise they couldn't even begin to comprehend,)

I don't think I could ever forget that story. It made a deep imprint on my heart, and good chance you will hear me tell it again. You may stop me and tell me you've already heard it, or you may let me go on and allow it to do funny little things to my heart-again.

This week as I was thinking about it all again, my thoughts ran into yet a different channel....

Kenyan or American...
"God, please let my thoughts, even when I'm not thinking,
let them be Renewed. According to Your heart.
Mold me, even my subconscious thoughts into Your way of thinking.."

And then, it doesn't matter if I'm Kenyan or American...my thoughts can become more and more like the Father's..

Paul talks about it in 2 Corinthians...
"But whenever someone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away. For the Lord is the Spirit, and wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. So all of us who have had that veil removed can see and reflect the glory of the Lord. And the Lord--who is the Spirit--makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image."

Shivers. Praise to the One who transcends borders, nationalities, cultures.
Praise to Jesus Christ!

...missing pieces...

I miss Kenya...
I really never expected to miss it as much as I do... When our flight took out of Nairobi, I cried. I didn't feel like i was ready to leave. But as I think about it now, I am not sure if I could ever be ready to leave. Every time I think about the people there my heart does this funny little twisty dance move. And it hurts... And i want to go back...

I miss the little black legs pumping to catch up with us, while shrieking at the top of their lungs,"Mazungu! Mazungu!" 

I miss the black faces with the flashing white teeth smiling as though their lives depended on it. 

I miss the dirty grimy fingers fondling my hair and face. 

I miss the old mamas cheerful waving with both of their old, work-worn, wrinkled hands, while smiling toothless smiles. It's enough to cheer anyone up!!  

I miss seeing the men sitting on their piki pikis waiting, waiting for customers.
I miss all the little dukas(shops) that line the trash-laden streets.
I miss waving to the little children that roam the streets all day, looking for food, for love, something that is worth living for.
And, believe it or not, I miss the speed bumps! One time, when I said that i was gonna miss the speed bumps, the people I was riding with were like, "What? You are gonna miss the speed bumps?!" And they were shocked! :)

But seriously! I do miss some of the strangest things! Like, prepare yourself, the chos! Honestly! :) And I miss the chai! Haha! Chos and chai!! What an interesting combo!! One of the women in the compound makes the best chai ever! Her chai is like uh, well, really really good! If I could ever make chai as good as hers, I would be tickled pink, blue, orange, yellow and green!!

I hope y'all have a wonderful evening!   -tara