A little poem

Showered: A True Story

Clothes washed in a bucket
brown hands, dunked in suds

Again by the afternoon rain
while stretched out on the line

Later drenched with sun
the brightness, the birdsong

Tomorrow awash in clean
holding in warp and weft
smell of rain, warmth of sun
hint of song

2011 Top Ten Reads

I just thought I would review my year of reading... a varied list of books ranging from ecology to theology, poetry to prose, discussions about Judaism, Islam and Christianity. Authors were scholars (both Old Testament and New), Western and some African (from South Africa and Kenya), men and women, mothers, journalists, academics, activists and farmers. I covered some great territory.

A quick glance and I could easily point to the top ten that have stayed with me in one way or another:

Speaking Christian by Marcus Borg

Fatal Embrace by Mark Braverman

Testimony to the Otherwise by Walter Brueggemann

Begging to be Black by Anjte Krog

God is not Christian by Desmond Tutu

The Bible Makes Sense by Walter Brueggemann

Getting Involved with God by Ellen Davis

Half the Sky by Nicholas Kristof

A Spirituality for the Road by David Bosch

Mark: The Whole Story by Richard Horsely

(three of the top ten are written on South African soil... something about that place and the people shaped by it speaks to me deeply.)

So more for my own record than anything else, there are the 2011 reads that stick.

Joy in the Moment

Egypt Erupts into Jubilation!

Cairo Celebrates!

Egypt is Free!

These are a small sampling of the headlines tonight, the eve of Egyptian victory against the oppressive rule of Mubarak. Today, all day, we celebrated the crack and crumble of an empire. I watched the celebrations in Cairo and had to catch my breath - it is so deeply compelling to see true joy explode like fireworks.

I sat captivated... because this is what liberation looks like. This is what true jubilee looks like... And what does it feels like? Spontaneous dancing in the streets that days ago were stained with blood and alight with molotov cocktails. Grieving turned into cheering. Flags of freedom waving wildly, like confetti, because joy could not be contained or restrained tonight. When people experience true liberation from the weight of oppression - this is what it looks like. I can feel the vibrations all the way across the sea!

When justice breaks in, when jubilee is made manifest in the face of the empire, there is one response from those freed - exuberant explosions of unfettered joy. It is what I see coming out of Tarir Square in Egypt, and I am mesmerized.

Tonight I turned on the news (again) and had my children sit and watch. I explained, in simple terms, what the celebration was about. "Mama, it looks like a freedom party" my son observed. Indeed, it is a freedom party tonight. And I wanted my children to see what jubilee looks like so that it would whet their appetite and ignite their imaginations for justice and jubilee in the years to come. I wanted them to see that empires do fall, that darkness does collapse and wild goodness does break out and break the hold of tyrants. I wanted them to witness, with their own eyes, that mountains (like Mubarak) can be moved. Jubilee is possible - see!

Some are expressing a good measure of caution about what comes tomorrow. There is fear about who might emerge from the shadows, who will manipulate or exploit the situation, who might hijack democratic longing. There is always fear. But I am choosing to join the celebration tonight, to participate in that freedom party in Cairo from my couch. I am deciding to delve into jubilee - because it does not come around as often as we hunger for it. I want to inhale deeply, to be intoxicated with jubilation...

We often live in the past - grieving what was and curious about what the shattered status quo and shaken stability will mean. We can live in the future, jumping to the worries and legitimate concerns and challenges of tomorrow. But there is something sacred about today, and living in the present moment. There is a call to be attentive to this moment and honor it. I want to experience this jubilation while it is present. That is my choice.

What does the day after jubilee look like? I don't really know. Tomorrow will show me. It will be my opportunity to respond to that moment with discernment. I am not so naive as to think the freedom party gives way to an easy democracy of my liking tomorrow. Deep change is messy, complicated and precarious. Anything can happen in the days ahead. I will be prayerful and hopeful that justice will, in each day or most days, prevail in Egypt.

Tomorrow has enough worries of its own. But for tonight - I choose jubilee.

Year in Review... via Books!

I have read a good deal this year, though not as aggressively as I did last year, I confess. Being stateside for a spell does that to you... slows your reading as you juggle other domestic demands and such. But I still read well and found exposure to new ideas, words of challenge and deep beauty. I thought I'd share some highlights, if only to allow me to savor them once more before closing the door on 2010!

The Best Read of 2010... The Last Week by Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan. This text revolutionized (no, not an overstatement) how I understand Holy Week. I was educated, inspired and provoked as I turned every page. Each chapter takes on a day of Holy Week and brings fresh insight to the story we think we know. I see the passion, the cross and the resurrection with new eyes (and a new heart).

Best book I read again... The Writing Life by Annie Dillard. I am a firm believer in reading books again and again. I want to be washed over again by great words and encounter them afresh with each new year. This year I was regaled with my revisit of The Writing Life as I contemplated the task of preaching. She so wonderfully unpacks her art, sharing what it is to be an experienced writer / art maker. She both describes and demonstrates the best of her craft. Well worth re-reading again...

Best recommendation... Cold Tangerines by Shauna Neiquist. I did not get many book recommendations this year, come to think of it. But one that stands out... this lovely gem recommended by Sarah Gonski. This is a book as fresh as its title... it is colorful, crisp and chock full of grace-filled stories from an everyday life. This read was like a little pick-me-up! (Thanks, Sarah!)

Most Beautiful Read... An Altar in the World by Barbara Brown Taylor. Here is the problem, I read this book in 2009. But here is the fact - it is the first book that comes to mind when I think of a beautiful read, and it apparently casts a long shadow! I would say that if pressed for the raving beauty of 2010, it would be Leaving Church (also penned by Barbara Brown Taylor). She is just a lush, lovely, luminous communicator. She honors words, she hones them, she allows them to serve the truth in revealing ways. A master...

Best book on preaching... The Word Militant by Walter Brueggemann. I read a handful of books on preaching this year in preparation for teaching a homiletics class. Let me tell you, it is not easy to find a good book on preaching. The best of the best... The Word Militant, a collection of essays Brueggemann has written over the years on the theology and practice of preaching. This is the book seminaries should assign as required reading to all preaching students! This is the book on the depth and task of preaching that I had been longing for, not just a 'how to' book or a public speaking book baptized with Bible verses, but a book truly about the theology of preaching. It is masterful, as one would expect from such a skilled preacher, scholar and prophet. If you preach... read this!

Best book written by an African author... TIE! Made for Goodness by Desmond Tutu and A Change of Tongue by Antjie Krog. This year the South Africans have taken me by force... the force of their words and ideas! Desmond Tutu has a way of communicating grace with levity, leaving you lighter and richer. He reminds us to begin in Genesis 1 - where we are made for goodness. Let that be the root of our identity... goodness. Antjie Krog is a powerhouse of a poet - she shares stories in such unique (post-modern, some have said) way, and with such intimacy, piercing depth and beauty. She helps us see the utter complexity of post-apartheid South Africa, a place not given to easy answers, quick justice or simple descriptions. The beauty of her words match the beauty of the country...

The book read in one sitting... A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller. This is the only book I read all in one sitting, over the collection of dark hours late in the night while laying in my bed in Bujumbura. (Thank God for a Kindle and a book light!) There is something magical about the memory - reading into the night under a mosquito net, feeling the cool breeze coming in off of Lake Tangayika.

Most read author... Walter Brueggemann. None can equal him. He is scholar, poet, prophet and preacher. He is and Old Testament scholar but well versed in the New Testament and how to weave the two together. He is wry, witty and whimsical. Some books are steeped in academic language, others are more accessible and all are written with such precise and stunning language. I appreciate both his theological and rhetorical background - this is why he is such an inspired educator and communicator. Without doubt, I am most influenced by his thinking in recent years. I am a better follower of Jesus for it! I read many of his books (I did last year, and the year before and I already have a few more on my nightstand ready for reading in 2011...). This is not a testament to my reading... but to his writing, he is so dang prolific!

Worst read of 2010... Who Gets to Narrate the World by Robert Webber. It has to be said, every year there is at least one dud. This was my regret... wasting money, time and energy on this book. All I will say is that doing theology from a posture of fear and anger is not helpful. Not helpful at all. This was my only regret this year, as far as books go!

Honorable mentions... The Greatest Prayer by John Dominic Crossan, The Lemon Tree by Sandy Tolan and Free of Charge by Miroslav Volf. I highly recommend all three!

The List (I know I am missing some, but this is close to complete!)

* indicates a re-read

Telling God's Story, John Wright

Telling the Truth, Fredrich Beuchner*

Leaving Church, Barbara Brown Taylor

Tribes, Seth Godin

The Witness of Preaching, Thomas Long

The Writing Life, Annie Dillard*

A Whole New Mind, Daniel Pink

The Last Week, Marcus Borg & John Dominic Crossan

Then Comes the Poet, Walter Brueggemann

The Word Militant, Walter Brueggemann

Living Reminder, Henri Nouwen*

When God is Silent, Barbara Brown Taylor*

Who Gets to Narrate the World, Robert Webber

Cold Tangerines, Shauna Neiquist

A New Kind of Christianity, Brian McLaren

Divine Presence Amid Violence, Walter Brueggemann

Whose Religion is Christianity, Lamin Sanneh

The Challenge for Africa, Wangari Maathai

An Unsettling God, Walter Brueggemann

Serve God, Save the Planet, J.M. Sleeth

A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, Donald Miller

A Change of Tongue, Antjie Krog

The Observation Deck, Naomi Epel

The Lemon Tree, Sandy Tolan

Made for Goodness, Desmond Tutu

Holy Trinity, Perfect Community, Leondardo Boff

Jesus and Non-violence, Walter Wink

Free of Charge, Miroslav Volf

Finding the Way Home, Dennis Maloney

Food Matters, Mark Bittman

Dialogue: The Art of Thinking, William Isaacs

The Art of Biblical Narrative, Robert Alter*

Covenant Economics, R. Horsley

Economy of Grace, Katherine Tanner

The Naked Now, Richard Rohr

The Greatest Prayer, John Domonic Crossan

The First Christmas, Marcus Borg & John Domonic Crossan

Out of Babylon, Walter Brueggemann

Fixated on Fireless Cookers

I have been fixated on fireless cookers ever since I learned about them from a friend in Mombasa this past May. I spoke about them so much that Claude threatened to start calling me Kelley 'fireless cooker' Johnson! The concept is simple: an insulted basket that allows the residual heat of the cooking vessel to complete the cooking off the fire and in the basket.

1. A woman can cook beans on the open fire for about 45 minutes, then put the pot into a fireless cooker and let it sit, unattended, for another 3 or 4 hours. The heat present in the pot, insulted in the basket, will finish the cooking process. So instead of the women sitting over the pot of beans on the fire for 4 or 5 hours, minding the fire and trying to keep the children out of the flames... she can reduce her active cooking time to 45 minutes and free the other hours for herself. She can use those additional hours to work on other things, to mind the children, or whatever else needs her attention that day. It frees her time.

2. But there is another huge advantage to fireless cookers in a rural setting - it reduces the amount of firewood or charcoal used in daily cooking. This means that women will spend less time foraging for firewood. It means they will cut down fewer trees to make charcoal. They will spend less money on fuel for the fire. It saves household time, money and energy.

3. In addition, the use of a fireless cooker means that people will cut down fewer trees for charcoal production or firewood, thus preserving their natural habitat. The land can stay in tact when fewer trees are used as fuel. So this fireless cooker is also a tool to help steward the environment where the families live. It preserves the land.

So I have been fixated on this idea, and convinced it would help our families in Matara. Claude agreed to let me try some prototypes this summer to see if there would be any traction with the concept here. So when our friends from Texas came to town, it was a perfect opportunity to go to Matara and make our first batch of fireless cookers with inexpensive and locally available materials.

We went with the basics - baskets, fabric, raw cotton, string, heavy needles and the instructions. I confess, I did get colorful fabric. It is the most inexpensive variety of the kind, but I just think that everyone appreciates the simple aesthetics of color and patterns in their kitchen! So the Batwa ladies and our Texas friends sat together and began to construct fireless cookers. They were lovely...

By the time we were nearing the end of the process, a crowd had gathered around us. The other women and all the men from the village wondered what were were making! I explained, with the help of a translator, that these baskets could keep food warm for a very long time off the fire. (I was told you begin here... then progress to the 'cooking with residual heat' in the next phase of instruction.) Right away a man blurted out a question, 'Does this mean the food will be warm when I come in from the field?' Yes! All the men cheered together! Already the idea was exciting to the men who wanted hot food on the table no matter what time they got home. (For the women, this means they can keep dinner warm in the basket, and not have to start yet another fire to reheat the food when he returns...)

But there was a slight problem... we discovered that all their pots were larger than the baskets and none of the pots had lids. So we had to go back to the city, get smaller pots with lids, and get them to Matara soon. Poor Claude got no rest until the pots were delivered to Matara!

Just this week the pots arrived and the women started testing the fireless cookers right away. When Claude was there yesterday one lady showed him her basket - with a pot inside. She cooked sweet potatoes the day before and they were still warm the next afternoon! Even with the cold night air in Matara, the insulated basket kept the sweet potatoes warm! It works!!! As you can imagine, all the women want their own fireless cooker now.

I don't get to do much in Matara, really. Claude overseas the community development work with the families day in and day out with his team (an agricultural engineer, social worker, occasional construction supervisor). I am the story-teller. But this was one idea I was so sure could help the women of Matara, could help the households and preserve the natural resources. So to see it come to life, with the help of my friends, makes me feel like I have contributed something tangible to the well-being of our friends in Matara. It is small, but it makes me smile to think that even I can offer something.

fabric, bags of raw cotton and some scissors to begin...

lining the basket with cotton, tufting it into place...

the first three fireless cookers we made together...

Habits

Habits are interesting things... we all have them, but not the same ones. I have many a friend who cannot start the day without coffee in hand. I am not sure if it is the mental jolt they get from the routine of making the coffee - the sound of grinding the dark roasted beans, the aroma emerging like a potent perfume and the taste on the tongue - or, if it is the physical properties of coffee that really make it a morning must. But either way, they seem quite wayward and weary without it! Others, fewer to be sure, need a morning run to properly start the day. (I have never been in this habit!) Some people find morning devotions mandatory to set the day off in the right direction. And as long as I have know these friends, their habits remain as fixed as the north star. The day invariable begins with a cup of hot coffee, a brisk run, some quiet time.

My habits have never been as solid. Other than the obvious hygienic habits (who can feel awake until they have brushed their teeth?), I don't have a set series of activities. That is not to say that I don't have routines, I just don't keep the same ones for years on end! What seems to be predictable is that my routines are bound to turn like the seasons.

Right now my morning ritual involves making a cup of rooibos tea. Selecting a certain pen to write in my journal. Looking over to the mountains of Congo... some sort of visual anchor, I imagine. And then I locate myself by reading email that has come during the night, reading recent FB posts from friends, scanning the headlines in the New York Times and CNN. But it was not always so... for a while I had no desire for tea in the morning. For another set of months I could not see the mountains, the haze was so thick. Even time with the journal fell out of fashion for a spell. And I am alright with that.

I have observed over the years that what works best for me are gentle habits that suit the season of life. These habits are open to a nudge in another direction, be it from my internal or external environment. I don't have tyrannical rituals that demand I obey, enslaving me to one and only one way to begin my day. My habits don't bully me each morning, threatening a bruising if I don't play their way. My habits have always been kind, flexible and sensitive to the world in and around me. I appreciate that about my habits. I am glad they are somewhat organic. They lend me ample structure to start any given day, but are responsive to the seasons that come. So I embrace my semi-organic rituals!

What I know is that my morning ritual will be in place... until it needs to give way to something else. And so I can count on habits changing as I, myself, am ever changing - growing, I hope!

Some Space Required

I have been living in Burundi for a year now. This has become a space for me to try some new things, learn some lessons and even confront some personal unpleasantries, to be candid. As I've shared previously, one thing that has changed rather naturally here is my diet. We began last year with a family routine that included meat on the dinner table about 4 times a week. But then last summer the electricity in the city started to be off more than on, and this presented some challenges for preserving meat and ensuring its freshness. So we ended up eating less meat - none at home and even little elsewhere. We also had a change in house help, and the new person cannot cook tender beef, but he can cook succulent fish. So we began eating fish a few times a week instead. Here we are a year later, and we now are pretty much a meatless household. It just happened in this context, and I am learning that I can eat less meat and still feel healthy and even happy! This space has given me the chance to try something new and learn that it fits me.

I was thinking this week about space, and how you cannot underestimate the unexpected things that can happen when given a bit of undefined space. Last summer we had a couple of friends living with us here in Bujumbura. Here, of all places, they decided to start learning Spanish together. Not Kirundi or French, which are in operation here, but Spanish for their return to Arizona. Every night they would be hold up in their room making flash cards, conjugating verbs and working toward an authentic accent. What happened in that bedroom in Burundi that sparked their interest to learn Spanish with such dedication? I still do not really know. But I can say that they have continued in their linguistic efforts and will be living in Spain this year. Something happened when they had this space to explore something new and try it on. And as a result of taking advantage of that space, they are onto a new adventure!

Another friend came to Burundi and found space to exhale from a toxic relationship, to find space to imagine a life lived differently, to muster enough courage to make a decision and find a bit of healing in the process. We had no expectation for her visit, other to enjoy her presence. But in a place with little expectation there seemed to be an abundance of freedom to explore new possibilities for a new future.

So this has me thinking about space...

I recall, without academic clarity, an image from my seminary days. My Hebrew professor was exegeting an Old Testament text about intercessory prayer. And the concrete image the Hebrew language employed to describe intercessory prayer was one of creating physical space. The picture, she explained, was of a person hemmed in on every side by trouble and hardship, a person with no room to move. The action of intercession, according to the Hebraic language, was making space around the person, pushing back the things that constricted the supplicant, so that there was room to move, to breathe, to exhale. So when we intercede for others, we are asking God to create space around them, to give them space to move free from external pressures. Maybe it is a prayer that allows them just enough space to reach out to God. But while I cannot recall the text or actual word, I have never forgotten that powerful image. When we pray for another, we are making space for them.

And what I am discovering about space is that it is a creative, constructive and cathartic place. Somehow there is space where things within you can unfold. Maybe the space allows new potential to surface, to emerge like green buds sprouting from the dark soil of life. Maybe, as it has been for me, space allows you to try some new habits and see if it fits. There is a non-judgmental place where you can experiment, discover and investigate things you might never try at home. I don't know... I just know that I seem to need lots of space and I definitely benefit from it!

Friends have told Claude and I that we have a way of 'creating space.' We have no idea how we do it, really. We just show up and invite others to do the same. We set a table, put out some food, and are often surprised at what happens when we gather.

So is space a zone we inhabit or a gift we give to others? Is it both? It seems to be hard to define and yet so crucial for those of us longing for transformation. We need space to move, to explore, to try new things and heal from old hurts. Maybe we need to go somewhere for such space, maybe we need to find someone to be that space for us. But I don't think I am the only one who needs space in my life!

Diet & Discipleship

I've been thinking these days about changing my diet. Not because of weight issues or personal heath issues, though that should also warrant consideration in my process. But I am thinking of altering my diet as a matter of discipleship.

Recently I have been reflecting on creation theology, and how our understanding of creation impacts our view of the natural world as well as the implications of creation care for not only the environment, but the poor. I have come to realize, more than ever, that God still loves the cosmos, the world He created and entrusted to us. I now believe that there is a deep connection between humanity and all of creation, and that together we embrace salvation, restoration and even a shared destiny. (Call me a tree-hugger... I now believe the affection is a biblical mandate!) But maybe the more revelatory aspect of my study of creation, and its connection to humanity, is how it affects the most vulnerable people on the planet - the poor. When the natural world starts showing signs of wear and tear (deforestation, contaminated rivers, polluted air, climate change that alters rain patterns, etc.) - the poorest among us feel it first. These changes on the planet change their daily reality in ways I am only beginning to realize.

And so... as a follower of Jesus, I am thinking about changing the way I eat out of love for the planet and the poor, as God is deeply committed to both.

Why my diet? What about my diet is unloving? How can the food I eat be a matter of spiritual consequence? How can I put diet and discipleship in the same sentence? I am learning that the way I eat affects others in ways I never knew before.

I am a hardcore carnivore, I always have been. I love meat, especially beef and pork. I enjoy marinading a tri tip steak and roasting it to perfection. I massage a spice blend of cardamom and cinnamon on pork chops before grilling them. I make some of the best varieties of meatballs, sometimes flavored with fennel and orange, other times with the more classic thyme, rosemary, parsley and garlic... sometimes even with chipotle and mint! I often glaze a pork tenderloin with balsamic vinegar or a mustard glaze and serve with homemade apple sauce. Such pleasure I derive from preparing and eating meat!

However, I discovered recently that my demand for meat is unhealthy. Maybe not unhealthy for my own body (now they say it is processed meats like bacon that really are the culinary villains), but ill advised for the well being of the planet and the poor. Eating so much meat actually harms the ecosystem and threatens those most dependent on it. It is meat production that requires the use of 30% of the ice-free land in the world - and that meat is feeding the west for the most part. (Though reports show that Indian and China are increasing their consumption as they gain wealth, which will increase demand and threaten more land.) It is meat production that is one of the leading causes of water pollution, generation of greenhouse gases, consumption of mass amounts of energy and deforestation. As a matter of fact, the meat industry produced abut one-fifth of all greenhouse gases world-wide... more than transportation! So here is an industry that I regularly support with my consumption habits, and it is doing harm to the environment on a massive scale. And I can do something about it - I can eat less meat and lower a bit of the demand.

As of 2008, 800 million people suffer from hunger or malnutrition. (It is not far-fetched to imagine that many of them surround me here, on the African continent.) Yet, more soy and corn is grown to feed animals than to feed people. So this meat consumption and production does hurt people, it almost takes the food right out of their mouth. The cost of feed for animals is also on the rise, which means prices for grains for people gets higher, and the poor can afford less and less of what they need in their diet. So now my diet, heavy on savory meats, is a cause of a severe lack in their diets... basic grains for their children.

My diet affects the diets of the poor - those that God loves - now this has become a discipleship issue for me. Now my own diet choices become laden with values. What do I value more - my nightly steak, Sunday pot roast, pork chops and apple sauce? Or those who live off the land and need it to hold together, those who cannot feed their family if food prices increase again, those who will loose access to clean water (and the fish in those waters) if meat production continues to contaminate their water source? Is it right for me to have more than my fair share of the food, the land, the environmental resources? Should I consider consuming less (literally) so that others can have more - so that many can have enough? Does what I eat become a matter of justice, even? I am coming to an answer... yes.

This is not an easy thing for me, as I love meat. But I love Jesus more deeply than my own food preferences. I want to follow Him and submit more and more of my life to Him and the world He so loves. And recently, it means changing my diet to be a better disciple. It means eating in a manner that is seasoned with love for the other over my own gluttony.

You are what you eat... so I want to eat in a way that does not deprive others, deplete the earth or diminish the ecosystem we have been entrusted. This is a huge change for me... but following Jesus demands nothing less than a willingness to repent, to rethink our view and embrace His in every aspect of life. So I will eat much less meat, eat more plants and pray there is enough at the table for all of my brothers and sisters around the world.

Another Spiritual Discipline?

I have been a terrible blogger lately. Well, I never have seen myself as a blogger. First, I see myself as someone who writes and occasionally posts on a blog or two. Second, to be a blogger would require regularity, treating a blog like a journal or a watch that are part of my daily routine. So, a blogger I am not.

But all this is beside the point. I am a serial journal writer, I have been since college. I have boxes and boxes of journals (uniform composition books, actually) in storage. I always have a journal on my nightstand, it travels with me in my carry-on when I am in transit, it is always with me where ever I go. The routine of writing is soothing, clarifying and, sometimes, enlightening. I have often said that the habit of writing in my journal is, for me, a spiritual discipline. There is a daily routine, safe place to explore internal realities, pray on paper, listen to what comes as the pen spills ink across each page. Of all the disciplines - and I know Richard Foster and Dallas Willard have lists - writing in my journal has been the most enduring for me. The most nourishing. The one I return to, even after a lapse in discipline from season to season.

But maybe blogging is a new spiritual discipline. If so, it is one that thwarts me in different ways. Journaling is about the writing - the words poured onto the page, the pen in hand, motion of creating a personal font as your thoughts materialize in ink. There is a simplicity about it. But I find translating writing to a blog layered with a bit more complexity. Beyond pen and paper... instead of pen and paper... there are websites, blog warehouses like Word Press, Typepade and Blogspot. Other things are necessary like electricity, bandwidth, formating, knowing how to navigate the sites and add media. As formats on various platforms change - you have to keep up and adapt.

So I can write, even habitually. But I get hung up with posting and all the related pitfalls. Once I get a thought out there... that should be it. But posting on a blog from Burundi never seems to be that easy. I trip over changing formats and having to learn them (again). And so my time is tripled because I have to tangle with technicalities, most of which I don't understand. And then there are the contingencies I cannot control - inadequate bandwidth to maneuver the necessary sites or upload posts, or maybe electricity is out altogether and I am shut down. I get easily frustrated by the set backs, the inability to solve technical or formatting problems. I get thrown by bandwidth and electricity... my blogging attempts dashed. So I tend to not post to avoid the irritations, required adjustments and the things I cannot control. Picking up my journal is so much easier... and more private.

But spiritual disciplines are meant to challenge us, to press upon us and produce a person more fully formed, more ready to engage with God in His world. Maybe approaching blogging from Burundi is a way to learn patience, the reality of limits, surrendering to what I don't know, gaining the fortitude to keep trying and learning amid a changing landscape. Maybe instead of avoiding blogs (to avoid frustrations) I should engage the work as a discipline that can teach me something. Maybe this is a new practice that can push me toward fresh personal growth. One thing is certain - blogging from Burundi will be a discipline, something that will require effort and a degree of perseverance.

Dare I try again?

Christmas in Burundi

Christmas in Burundi is much different than Christmas celebrated in the United States. Trees remain firmly planted in the African soil, not cut and carried into homes to be decorated. Few people are decking the halls here – save a few westerners who brought some strands of colored lights to hang in their window. I have not heard Christmas carols on the radio or blasting from the sound systems of the local market. No one here is complaining about too many gifts to wrap, too many presents to still buy before the 24th or fighting the holiday traffic around the mall. People are planning to gather in homes for meals to celebrate together, and even at this late date people have room in their schedule to accept invitations and volunteer to bring their holiday cheer to the party.

It is odd to not have the tinsel, carols and gilded trees around. How odd, days before Christmas, to not be making a list and checking it twice – the grocery list, that is! Strange to not be planning the holiday feasts and setting aside hours to prepare them in the kitchen. This is just a different context for Christmas for the Nikondeha family this year, and it takes some getting used to.

But there is something about being free from the holiday hassles and expectations, from the myriad of distractions that I have become accustomed to amid this yuletide season. Christmas without the usual trimmings allows me to contemplate the coming of Christ, to consider the magnificence and mystery of Incarnation, God with us.

Then it dawned on me…

Christmas in Burundi is just the same as Christmas celebrated in the United States. We all will stop, for a moment, and remember the star that marked the sky and marked the coming of Good News to our broken world. We will listen to the Christmas Story and ponder, again, if there is room in the inn – room enough for God’s Miraculous Gift in our own stable of a heart. Shepherds watching, angels announcing, wise men seeking and a virgin birthing will all remind us of the amazing arrival of Jesus into the world He once created, entering the cosmos He so loves and coming close to those who bear His very image.

God is with us – all of us. He is with us as we celebrate in Burundi, as you celebrate in the United States, as you celebrate in Cape Town, Nairobi, Kampala, British Columbia, London, Oaxaca or where ever you are on the globe this season. Christ approaches all afresh this Christmas, arriving as a vulnerable baby who, like every baby, alters our world every day thereafter.

We join you, wherever you are, in welcoming the Prince of Peace to this world again. We affirm with you that our world continues to need His Good News, and we will work alongside Him in the days to come to bring restoration to what is broken, hope to barren places and joy to the world He so loves!

Christmas Blessings from the Nikondeha Family,
Claude, Kelley, Emma & Justin

Missing the mountains

Since June I have not seen the large and looming mountains of Congo that sit on the other side of Lake Tanganyika.  They are majestic mountains, lush green and they set an amazing backdrop for the coastline.  There are so many mountains clustered together, it looks like layers upon layers of verdant monuments to stability and awe-inspiring beauty.   I miss seeing the mountains.

When I arrived in Burundi in early May I was greeted by the mountain-scape.  I could enjoy the view from my bedroom window each morning.   I love having them so close at hand - as if I can reach out and touch them after a morning stretch.  Somehow, seeing them off in the distance was comforting.  It was as if, in some mystical way, the mountains became like guardians.  But I have not seen the mountains since June, when the weather patterns changed.  Haze clouds my view - a combination of dirt and dust, pollution suspended mid-air, and other dynamics that remain a mystery to me.  I must say it again, I miss seeing the mountains.

This longing to see the mountains of Congo again has become a metaphor, of sorts.  I think of our work with the poor of Burundi, our friends.  I have seen, large as any mountain range, the goodness of the work.  I have seen with clarity the homes built since June, the land cleared and cultivated - now embracing potato, cabbage and carrot seeds, I have seen children transformed into students in gleaming new uniforms.  I have seen evidence that good things are at work - and at close range.  But there has been a haze settling in recently.  The last few weeks have brought in dust and debris that has obscured my view.  It is, I suppose, inevitable.  Weather patterns change.  External elements shift and I cannot control them, I must wait them out until the rains or winds come.  Until then, I have to remember that the mountains are there.  Despite what I see (or feel), the goodness is there hidden behind the haze of hurt feelings, distrust and sadness.  

I could get to the mountains if I wanted - I could hire a taxi and endure the jostling journey from Bujumbura to the Congolese border.  I could drive into the heart of those mountains, because they are there beyond view.  The mountains have not moved, they are steady and ever-present.  They are not ontologically changed because I cannot see them, they remain.  I know this to be true about mountains, about goodness and about God Himself.

Beyond the haze that can cloud our vision, God is present like the mountains of Congo.  He is steady, vibrant and with a loving largesse that grounds my world.  Haze will come, it is as sure as the shifting weather patterns and turning seasons.  But He is present.  He is at hand.  The clouds do not cause me to doubt Him, only to long to see Him more clearly in the coming days.  

I crave the sight of my beloved mountains.  I long to see those green guardians again, to stand in awe of their majestic magnitude.  I wait for the winds of change (and rains) to come and reveal them once again.  I miss seeing the mountains...

"I will look to the mountains..."

Summer Camp!

We are in the final moments of summer...  We have hosted many friends since June.  Some from Arizona, California & Texas, others from the Dominican Republic and Canada.  It has been a great ride sharing our life with each friend, learning new things together and conspiring some Kingdom goodness along the way.  Our summer has been full of blessing!

Our kids enjoyed a traditional summer activity - camp!  Justin and Emma piled into the van with their aunties and uncles (and one cousin) and journeyed to Mwaro.  This was their first visit up country, their first taste of rural life.  This is where Claude and his family grew up, this is where our extended family still resides to this day.  So the kids enjoyed a 'rural camp' experience while staying with all there other cousins and family members.  

The kids mingled easily with their cousins, and I think their uncle was proud to have them visit. They stayed in a little house with their aunties.  Justin was assigned a job... feeding the cows. He took his job very seriously, feeding the cows with diligence and tenderness.  He commented that is was dirtier up there, but otherwise he loved the visit and wants to go again!  Emma's favorite part was the family wedding... she was mesmerized by the women dancing the traditional dances.  She couldn't wait to show me her new dance moves, as she imitated the elegant ladies and their animated movements!  The kids loved the family, loved the country and loved their summer adventure!

Now that all the guests have gone and camp is a memory... we are looking toward school and a new season of work.  Even in Burundi, the seasons turn!

Rhythms

professional Burundian drum corps*

We live in a school neighborhood, and so the sounds of children are ever around us.  But in the past set of weeks, there is the sound of the drums every morning.  The summer session must be when all Burundian boys learn the rhythms of their culture that have vibrated throughout their land for generations.

We drove by the school the other morning, and saw what we'd been hearing so many mornings in a row.  There were Burundian drums, each large as an oak wine barrel, in a circle formation.  The teacher stood in the middle of the drums demonstrating the traditional rhythms.  The boys are positioned, one per drum, around the outside of the circle.  With the thick drumsticks in hand, they beat out the rhythms with as much velocity as a 7 or 8 year old can muster!  And this goes on for a few hours every school day during the summer.  

They are not merely learning an instrument (like I was consigned to learn the recorder in elementary school) or fulfilling a music requirement (like the lackluster music classes I had to endure in grade school), they are learning the heartbeat of their culture.  Burundian drum corps are know throughout Africa as being the most accomplished drummers.  This is part of their heritage they are ingesting with every beat.  It is beautiful to see them delight in their tradition, to learn their rhythms unmediated by western culture or other diluting forces.  When they are in the circle of drums, it is Burundian culture they are celebrating.  It is wonderful to witness these lessons in motion!

So this morning I am in my home office ready to work, and I am again serenaded by the young drummers.  The beat is steady, forceful and unrelenting.  There is no break for laughter or horse play, these boys are serious about perfecting their hallmark rhythm.  This sets them apart - not as a generic African, but as a masterful and renowned Burundian drummer.  And as I listen, I find myself swaying to the unique combination of beats.  I can't help it!  It is like my heart is learning a new rhythm, day after day, soaking in this primal Burundian sound.  The drums bring a smile to my face every day.  This is what it is to live in Burundi, to sway to the indigenous sounds and share in this national delight... to celebrate the culture.  

When I get frustrated (electricity demand exceeds the grids capacity resulting in regular black outs, water is delivered at odd times of the day, making the idea of a regular shower more a riddle than routine)... the drums revive me.  The drums, as meted out with determined focus and athletic energy (and stamina!) of primary school boys, showcases what is good about my life in Bujumbura.  Somehow the rhythm of their drums moves me to a better place each morning.  

I am a Burundian citizen, though I came to my citizenship later in life.  I guess even I need to be schooled in these rhythms, right?  I want to carry my passport with pride - and these drums teach me to walk with Burundian rhythms resounding and reverberating throughout my body.   

On other days I hear the children, boys and girls, singing in Kirundi with such sweetness that it melts my heart.  I enjoy those songs, too.  But the drums... they do get to me on a deeper level. I love my summer mornings, complete with the Summer Drumming Sessions.

*photograph by Jaimi Kercher Photography 2009

Unfolding

Our guests are gone.  The house is returning to normal.  I am now turning my attention to a new season, one with less action but still active.  There will be fewer events, but still a lot happening. It is returning to the routines of life, even when I cannot always discern the regularity, the rhythms and roles that make it routine.  Maybe my daily routine is like life on a boat - constantly responding to the incessant movement of the waters, developing 'sea legs' so that I can walk to and fro without being thrown (or getting sick).

A friend gave me a word when I first arrived in Burundi - unfolding.  I have held onto the word, letting my imagination play with the image.  Receiving this word at the onset of my Burundian chapter was a great gift.  The connotations have been perpetually gentle, like water lapping against the side of a boat as it rocks, ever so slightly.  I have tried to lean into the word, to fall into it without seizing or fearing.  

Unfolding is something that happens slowly, gradually and gently.  I think of a crumpled paper... the corners all pressed into the center and turning on themselves.  As the paper unfolds, it spreads out - not stretching, just spreading.  And the corners come out... out from the compact center, moving toward the periphery, where corners belong.  They are not meant to be central or compressed at the core... they are corners meant to be at the boundary.  So I am allowing my misplaced corners to find their natural place.  And what happens in the process of this unfolding - I begin to see what is really at the center of the paper, what it is that holds the center.

Unfolding also leads me to think of gentleness, effortlessness, an easiness with the process. There is no striving or contending when you unfold.  You cannot force or hurry your unfolding. You just submit to it - like a good massage.  You are passive, yet present.  You are aware but not in control.  

Unfolding is like unclenching your fist.  Open your hand, relax your fingers, expose your palm. Let the stress or anger go.  Allow the hot, knotted emotions to ease and cool.  Maybe they will even dissipate as you simple let them go.  

But the word that seems constantly coupled with unfolding is gentleness.  This is a kind process, an easy place where the yoke is light and easy.  Could Jesus' yoke really be this gentle? The Dali Lama also speaks of being gentle to ourselves, extending a kindness and grace to our self as we experience harsh emotions, display bad behavior or struggle.  Gentleness as we view ourselves, gentleness as we follow, gentleness as we unfold and discover what God is developing in us.

As I said, this word has been a good housewarming gift.  It has allowed me freedom to gently unfold and allow God to reveal His reasons for me to be here at this time and in this place.  I think that now as I return to my gently rocking routine, there will be more unfolding and more revealing.  I think that next there will be deepening as I learn how to engage in Burundi in ways that are in step with the way of Jesus and for the sake of His world.

So much beautiful

It has been weeks since I have written anything beyond status updates on Face Book.  There has not been time to really reflect and say anything worth reading.  There has been so much happening and so little personal bandwidth to be able to communicate it.  So silence... and a hope that something will emerge and be blog-worthy.  But all writers know that waiting for inspiration is a cop out - you just have to sit down and write.  So I am finally doing just that... with no promises about the thoughts to come.  Good friends will understand and extend some grace!

The last month was full, brimming over with goodness and friends and divine surprises.  I was in South Africa for our annual gathering of friends.  Over 200 friends from across southern and eastern Africa, plus some westerners for good measure.  It was a reunion that embraced new friends as well as old in an on-going conversation about God's work in African communities.  

Conversation was rich, connections were rich, communion & celebration were fitting for us. 

Coming together like this never gets old!

Right away we flew from Jo'burg to Bujumbura, 7 friends carrying joy from one gathering into the next.  We arrived to Burundi in the dark, early hours of the morning.  The city streets were empty and the electricity in the house was off... our friends would have to wait till morning to see where they had arrived.  But in the morning light they could see the goodness of Burundi - with sweet sun and light breezes that were so refreshing after the rainy winter days of South Africa.  We'd rest by the shore of Lake Tanganyika enjoying pizza, wireless internet access and that glorious view of the lake and the Burundian foothills.  

But just a day later we were in high gear as we readied to welcome 30 friends traveling from Texas to meet the Batwa of Burundi.  Bringing these two diverse communities together was a year in the making, or planning or praying.  God wildly surpassed our best plans, expectations and hopes for this gathering of friends!  Connections between these two communities seemed effortless, natural and God-ordained.  Greetings were enthusiastic and warm from the first smile, from the initial hand shake.  There was music - the sounds of hands clasping together, harmonies of laughter, lyrics being learned in Kirundi and English... new songs of friendship being composed right before our eyes!  Then we danced together on the beach - and found one another with joyful abandon.  I promise you this is no exaggeration, something happened that first day together.  The Spirit drenched us.  Maybe it was a taste of Pentecost on the edge of Lake Tanganyika... where language and culture did not hinder our ability to express love and share in joy together.  I will never forget that God-drenched day.  Ever.

The days that followed kept my eyes moist with tears.  The goodness keep unfolding between my American and Batwa friends.  Each community was laden with blessings, the friendship was yielding a bounty of blessings that could scarcely be contained.  We played volleyball together on the beach and swam in the lake, we worked together clearing fields and weather-proofing homes, we shared meals, sang by the fire, exchanged gifts and blessings and laughter.  At one point I wondered, fleetingly, when the bubble would burst.  Too much goodness was... too much.  At some point something had to give...  But God's goodness does not run dry or evaporate like burst bubbles.  His goodness grows, expands, deepens... and this was a foretaste of His lavish goodness to all of us.  As our friend Tracy sings, 'So much beautiful.'  It was just so much beautiful.

I will write more... but this is a start.

Mindfulness

Mindfulness - I am not talking about minding your P's and Q's.  But minding yourself and your world with great care and kindness.  It is something I have been considering in the last set of days.  In a highly mediated culture it is so easy to not mind things that matter, to have attention diverted by favorite shows, favorite foods or favored vices of almost any sort.  But even in Burundi, away from the mediated rush, I find that I can be inattentive to the important things.

As I am observing my pattern of mindfulness, I am learning that I often am more mindful of things that annoy me, people that offend me, inconveniences I must suffer at inopportune times. It is too easy for my mind to feast on these things.  But mindfulness is a terrible thing to waste...

I have been reading some eastern thinkers on the practice of mindfulness, intentionally thinking about some things - or not thinking of them at all.  And one striking possibility is that we can train our mind to think differently, to be mindful of better things.  One recent challenge has been to not think about my frustrations as much as feel them.  So when anger ignites - feel the emotion without thinking about it, why I am angry, why I am justified in my anger, why someone else should validate my anger... simply feel it.  Hold the fiery sensation for a moment without thinking... and then exhale.  Sounded odd to me at first, until I began to practice being mindful about my anger.  It is a challenge to mind my emotions, really.  And I am learning something about what emotions most readily ignite in me and how I try to justify them.  I guess it is an internal mindfulness I am leaning into these days.

There is another related practice that comes from the Dali Lama, via my friend Jennifer.  He is talking about how to cope with negativity, and he recommends that when we feel a negative sensation to associate a positive thought (this is a poor paraphrase, I admit).  So when I lock my nightstand drawer, then lock my bedroom door, then lock the desk drawer and then the kitchen door before locking the front door of our home... instead of getting exasperated, I can think about locking up resentments power in my life.  And when I come home and unlock the front door, the kitchen door, the desk drawer, the bedroom door and then the nightstand drawer I can, each time, think about unlocking God's liberating goodness for the Batwa in Burundi.  It is being mindful each time I have a key in hand to lock and unlock certain things, rather than to be half-hazard and feel annoyed.  But since I have determined to do this - it is amazing how many times I am all the way through the ritual of locking doors before I am re-minded to lock up resentment!  I am learning how often I function on auto-pilot and am not mindful at all.  I guess that is why we practice!

Today I was reading a book by Barbara Brown Taylor, and she mentioned mindfulness as well. She frames it as paying attention to the world around us.  Listening to the crickets singing wildly in the shadow of the sunset (as I am doing now), watching the red-breasted bird pick at my arugula, inhale the spicy aroma from the neighbors outdoor kitchen and identify the spices as they linger in the air... paying attention to the world around me.  She comments on how this opens the door to God interacting with us in new ways, outside the walls of the church building, when we have a posture of attention.  This is a way to embrace the world God has made and has set us in.  She also connects attention with reverence... one often opens the door to the other. When we pay attention to the world and to people, we are often humbled and moved to reverence for God and His handiwork.

So many of the things I have been reading lately point to mindfulness... training our mind to be more attentive and more reverent.  I remember Paul's admonition to the Philippian church to 'set your mind on these things...' to practice thinking of better things, higher things, God-given things.  So I am trying to live this out, to practice mindfulness in my life.  I am trying to cultivate a holy attentiveness to the world God has set me in this season.

P.S. Tonight Claude and I are flying to Johannesburg for a reunion of friends... the 3rd annual Amahoro Gathering.  There is nothing as sweet as the joy of reunion and the opportunity to begin new friendships rooted in Christ and His transforming work across the world.  As an introvert entering an extroverted environment, I will aim to be attentive to the joys, the laughter, the beauty in each person God brings into view.  And if I don't have any space to myself in the next few days - I don't think I will mind!

Toward Engagement

Last Friday my brother in law, Augustine, took a step toward engagement.  In Burundian culture this is the first in a collection of ceremonies that lead to marriage.  This first ceremony is called gusaba irembo and is for close family only.  This ceremony is where the families first meet and the man's family asks for the door between the families to be open for connection, conversation and eventually marriage.  

The ceremony begins at the door, when the women of the family bring baskets of goods to offer to the woman's mother.  In our case, the women with baskets are my sisters-in-law and aunts. (Augustine wanted me to be part of this entourage.  While I am honored that he selected me and even believed I could balance a basket on my head... I am glad Claude persuaded him otherwise!) The baskets are filled with bags of rice, beans and bottles of beverages.  These gifts to the family indicate that this is a significant visit.

Once the baskets are given, our family is ushered to the front lawn where there are tents set up in anticipation of our arrival.  The Nikondeha clan sits together on one side of the tent while Martine's family sits on the other side.  We are served drinks and there is hushed conversation and murmured laugher among each family.  This goes on for about an hour.  

You can see here my Augustine tucked in the corner, sitting quietly, surrounded by his sisters and aunts.  The protocol dictates that he not say anything to Martine's family during this ceremony.  He does not speak for his hoped-for-bride, this honor is delegated to the elder of the family.  If our papa (Andre Nikondeha) was here, the responsibility would be his.  But in his stead, stood his brother Aloys.  So Uncle Aloys would represent the family, speak for the interests of Augustine and ask for the open door between the families gathered under the tents. But he would not speak until invited to... by Martine's father.  And as I said, we sipped fanta for over an hour before that part of the evening was initiated!

But at long last Martine's father, a military man, did engage the family in conversation.  And as is the tradition, he began by noting the gifts brought, indicating that this was a special visit.  So he asks the nature of our visit tonight.  (Keep in mind, we all know why we are gathered here tonight, but for the sake of the ceremony, everyone plays along with the etiquette.)  Then Uncle Aloys speaks.  His opening remark included the acknowledgement that while it is his tongue speaking, it is the word of Andre Nikondeha being communicated on behalf of Augustine.  Then he rehearsed the merits of my brother and how beloved he is by the family seated here.  Then he reminds all of how Augustine and Martine first met.  And then the question... if the door between the families can be open for conversation.  At this point we all clap and everyone takes a sip of soda.

Then Marine's father says 'ego' (yes), we can be in conversation.  More clapping and more sipping of soda by all!  Then he says that certainly our families can talk together, and that he hopes we will visit he and his wife and friends often.  (The joke is not missed... because the ones really wanting to visit one another are Martine and Augustine!)  But there is more clapping and drinking.  Then it is Uncle Aloys' turn...

This goes on for a while, the back and forth of speeches, clapping and drinking.  Part of the conversation included the recital of family history.  Uncle Aloys shared that the Nikondeha Family came from a certain province and a certain mountain and is of a certain clan.  (I learned, for the first time, that we are from the Sons of Tiger clan.  This is a highly esteemed clan in Burundian culture, apparently.  I would have learned this had Claude and I had an gusaba irembo of our own - but we modified a few traditions in our union!)  Then we learned about Martine's family profile, though with fewer details.  But then the two family men spent quite some time debating the clan history and who knew the historical lore better.  All the while, the rest of us clapped and drank at regular intervals.  (Here is Uncle Aloys, seated in the middle. On either side are Claude's older brothers and their wives.)

We were invited into the house for a lovely meal and then came the after dinner drinks.  The military family certainly drank more lavishly than our family of pastors!  I think our reserve disappointed them.  But this is how it is when different families open the doors to relationship - we learn about what we hold in common and where we differ.  

You may wonder why there is no mention of Martine's role in the evening and no photo of the lovely bride-to-be.  This, too, is part of the protocol.  She is unseen, cloistered in the house for the entire evening.  (Augustine told me that he imagined her watching through one of the windows, peeking from behind the lace curtains!)  But she is invisible in a ceremony that will begin a shift in her life.  This is a reminder of how women are often seen in such cultures and in ages that predate us.  

I was told that the next phase of the engagement will be the negotiation of the dowry.  Uncle Aloys will come to see Martine's father and have a more private and candid conversation about the financial gift that is part of the tradition.  Here is where he will make his case for what he believes his daughter is worth.  (This is hard for us to imagine as Westerners, but it is part of the process to this day in Burundi.)  Once the price is set, the next step will be the ceremony involving the exchange of the dowry.  I am told this includes more family members, more speeches, the presence of both Martine & Augustine and... more clapping and drinking!  

But this is the beginning of the engagement.  Now the door has been opened between our families.  

P.S. As I observe all this, I think Claude got off pretty easy!  He did not have to bring baskets of food, negotiate a price, host more ceremonies....  But I think that over time he has certainly paid the price for his bride!  

Aerate

There is something about Burundian residential architecture that has often fascinated me - the open bricks at the roof-line of each room.  These bricks appear in a variety of patterns that vary from home to home, and they are all screened to prevent unwanted things from entering the home (like bugs, I imagine).  The purpose the open bricks - to aerate the home.  These openings in each room keep air moving through the home at all times.  Instead of air-conditioning, Burundian homes have air-circulating!  

Last Saturday afternoon I noticed the movement of the air as I drifted into a welcomed nap. The air brought in more than just ventilation, it carried an aroma of the food being cooked in the house next door.  I could smell the tomato, the spice, the sweet note of the sauce simmering over the charcoals.  I could also hear the music playing from a few different homes at once - an African beat, some Fifty Cent and the ubiquitous Celine Dion all at once.  It was a cacophony that was circulating around my room and interrupting my attempted afternoon sleep.  But these openings are never shut, and so you are ever exposed to the sensation, sounds and smells of the outer world.

These openings are like portals to the neighborhood around me.  I hear the favorite music of my neighbors.  I know when they are cooking - from both the aroma wafting from their outdoor kitchen and the sound of clanking dishes.  I hear, un-muted and un-muffled, the rooster chorus each morning, the workman constructing the wall next door with heavy-handed hammers, the laughter of friends in the cool, darkening evening.  These openings keep me connected to my surroundings in a very unmediated way.  I feel the very rhythm of my neighborhood, I experience it with my senses.   

The structured openness of Burundian homes is something I am coming to enjoy.  It is also something I am realizing I need to learn from.  I need to have a practiced and perpetual openness to the world around me, to aerate my soul in ways that keep me immediately aware of my surroundings.  It is easy to live behind locked windows, shuttered from the things that are around me.  I can choose to shut out unwanted influences, or I can just become acclimated to living with the windows shut and not even notice how out of touch I am with my environment.  I can miss opportunities or the voices of those in need can be muted, never gaining my attention.  But I don't want to live a life that is closed off.   I want a ventilated soul - open to the world around me.  Now learning how to do this... that is something I will need to explore.  But I want to be exposed, to be open, to not miss being where I am.

This Saturday, before the above mentioned nap, the family went to Bora Bora for a pizza lunch. They have a great thin-crusted pizza garnished with fresh basil that I love!  But the view... stunning!  And the air was certainly circulating, the breeze coming off of Lake Tanganyika.  Life is good... so I want to remain open to receive and savor it!

One Week In

We are one week in to our Burundian season as a family!  This is the first photo of the kids back together after 2 months apart.  They are adjusting quite nicely!  Today we had a relaxed Saturday around the house.  Claude and the kids relaxed in the front room together while I read upstairs.  Later Claude and I sat on the porch discussing transformation, reformation and redemptive suffering over tea.  

Then Aimable and Mutama helped prepare a little plot of dirt for the seeds I brought.  Once the dirt was tilled, they decided it was too poor to plant anything. So they walked down the street, to a field where things were growing in abundance, and brought in bags of top soil one by one. The soil now was dark and rich - ready to receive the seeds!  So carefully Aimable and Claude dropped the seeds into the ground in long lines.  Rosemary, sage, arugula,  parsley, basil, thyme and mint all have a place in the garden.  Now I look at the square of soil with such glee and hope!  Maybe in a few weeks I will begin to see sprouts of green herbage peek through...

Our friend Nicole dropped by to welcome me to town.  We shared lunch then moved to the patio for conversation and cool beverages.  It was nice to relax together and enjoy an unhurried afternoon of conversation.  Claude is hosting another set of friends as we speak - it is now Saturday night, after all!

P.S.  It has been raining on and off the past few days.  One thing I have been reminded of is that when it rains, we often lose our internet connection.  We were without it for the last 24 hours. So friends, if we do not respond to your email promptly - check the weather report, it might just be raining in Bujumbura!

Seeing Orange

Claude found us a brilliant and vibrant house... it is orange!  In Burundi this makes perfect sense and is part of the local aesthetic.  I think it is so wonderful... this would never fly in many HOA's in the States, but here it is part of a colorful palette that makes our neighborhood pulse with life.  I am posting a photo so you can share in the smile that crosses my face every time I turn the corner and see our home...

We have a patio that is well suited to morning tea, afternoon chats and evenings when you want to find the cool spot to recline.  I am thinking this might be a favorite spot of mine...

I have previously mentioned that there some interesting things I was packing for Burundi, among them some decor items.  And to honor the local protocol, I brought a picture of our president.  Yesterday we had it framed and hung... and so we now have a proper African home! I was told today by a friend that there is already an Obama Shop in downtown Bujumbura - the proprietors changed the name of their store to honor Africa's most recent export!  And I have already seen an Obama bus... that was a given, right!  (For those who don't share Africa's affection and enthusiasm for the president, kindly refrain from comments on this post.  I am sharing part of the story here as I experience it, so no need for debate. Thanks!)

We also are working on a few other rooms... living room and dining room among them.  You know how pulling a home together is a work in progress, but we are taking strides.

This morning I enjoyed a few other favorite things I packed for the season in Burundi... I sat in the warming morning and enjoyed some rooibos tea sweetened with sugar in my orange mug.  I am pages away from completing The War of Art by Steven Pressfield, a great book on confronting our inner creative battles.  Not that I see life in Burundi as a battle (anymore!), but it is good to have some encouragement to not let Resistance keep me from fully engaging in my life, call and blessing here.  "When we sit down each day and do our work, power concentrates around us... we become like a magnetized rod that attracts iron filings.  Ideas come.  Insights accrete."  So I am sitting down to work - waiting for lightning to strike!  Well, maybe not something that dramatic - but I am confident that faithful work will yield God-given fruit!