When I can't sleep at night -- which lately has been all too often -- I toss and turn and fade in and out and all the while I think of Colombia. 

I think about our Colombian friends. I think about our American friends who have Colombian children. I think about Victor and Yolanda, Susan and Ricardo, Isabel, Juanita and all the other's who have touched my life in some small way.  I think about the women who birthed my children.  I wonder if they can sleep tonight. 

I think about the children of Luz Y Vida and I wonder how Sister Valeriana ever sleeps at night. I think about the sweet voice of Treisy and pray she will come home soon.  I think about the sad and broken eyes of the two girls with EB, a rare skin disease that makes it nearly impossible to be touched by another person.  I think of the laughter of Claudia, Camilo, Mauricio, Tatiana and Juan David. I think about the way Jorge responds to Lori.  I think of Johanna and how one day she will rule the world.

I think about the flowers and how they are always in bloom there.  I think of how the sky there is bluer than any other place I have ever known.  I think about the constant crowds of people, the food, the sounds, the energy.   I start to smell cilantro. 

I think about how most Americans will never know that there is so much more to Colombia than what they see on CNN.  I think about crop spraying.  I think about coffee farmers and banana growers and greenhouse owners.  I think about street children, refugees and poverty -- real poverty.  I think about the colors of the market on Sundays. 

I think about how this place, these people and children, have invaded my soul.  I wonder if I will ever be able to separate myself again even if I wanted to, which I do not.  I wonder why God sent me there.  I wonder why he keeps me awake at night thinking of a place I can't get to without a day-long commute and a wad of money that I never seem to have.  I wonder what will come of it all.  

Colombia has shaped me in ways I am yet to discover, like underwater currents constantly running below the surface,

 forming caves and caverns that will be there for eternity. 

When I can't sleep at night, I think about Colombia. 

They have crossed the line this time---

I had to go to the mall today in search of shoes for my friend's wedding. (I hate the mall and try to avoid it at all costs, but today I just couldn't get around it)

Kenwood Mall's new advertising slogan is "Kenwood Mall:Defining You."

That makes me want to vomit.

I was going to post my own stuff, but this seems to say it better than I can today.

...You stand in line just to hit a new low
You're faking a smile with the coffee to go
You tell me your life's been way offline
You're falling to pieces everytime...

So, Where is the passion when you need it the most
...you kick up the leaves and the magic is lost...

Ever feel like you're in the boxing ring with Life and Life is kicking your ass?

Oh, what joy I am getting from posting these!


So, were did ya'll go on your honeymoon?




I didn't know Betina cut hair back then




Nice WonderWoman Sweats!




A rare, early glimpse at your split personalities?




Happy Birthday Steve!

Rhythm


I am searching for rhythm. And I don’t mean that I can’t dance. (Although, who knows, I could look like Elaine from Seinfeld and no one has ever had the heart to tell me?) I mean like an internal, spiritual, daily kind of rhythm. It’s all around me. I watch my son rise and sleep at the same exact times everyday. I watch him melt down if he gets off schedule. I watch the trees outside of our tree house here in Clifton turn with the seasons. I watch kids in our neighborhood fall into the “non-rhythm” rhythm of summer-break and then watch as they shop for new clothes, gather notebooks and paper and pens and start back to school. I watch as the girl next door diligently plants vegetables in our garden, waters them, waits for them to grow and now picks and enjoys the fruits of nature’s natural rhythm.

Over the course of the last several years I have raced through the paperwork to adopt two children and then waited while someone else decided if it was time for me to have children. In the last 3 years I have had a total of 3 jobs. One where my hours jumped around from 30 to 12 to 20 to 12. Another where I worked 10 hours a week for 10 months out of the year, 20 hours for a month and then put in 130 hours over two weeks followed by a month of vacation. Over the last 3 years my husband and I finished the renovation on one house, got comfortable and then bought an even bigger project to renovate. We have spent the last 9 months renovating said house. Then we let 4 people move in and are learning to live in Community. Last year we adopted our son, spending 5 weeks in a foreign country returning home just after we had developed some sort of daily routine there. Upon our return I immediately started a new job. We are returning to Colombia this week for 4-6 weeks to adopt our second son. And did I mention that we are planting a church? We were meeting monthly, but just went to every third week. When we return from our 4-6 week stay in Colombia we will go to bi-monthly – for a few months – then, of course, we will meet weekly.

It may all seem exciting to you, the reader. Or, it may seem exhausting. But either way, I dare you to find the rhythm in it all. I dare you!

Quite frankly I am sick of it! I am sick of things changing. I am sick of adapting to the new thing. Sick of arranging and rearranging schedules to accommodate the latest disruption, the newest “must do.”
I’d like to plant that garden and watch it grow. I’d like to nap everyday at two and get to throw a fit if no one carries me upstairs and lays me in bed. I’d like to anticipate the change of the season, and then sit in my tree house, or better yet, sit outside among those tress, and actually watch the leaves change colors. I’d like to know that on Wednesdays we meet friends at the park and Sundays we go grocery shopping and that no disruption or new schedule conflict is going to change that.

I have vowed to seek out and embrace a rhythm in my life. I have vowed to enjoy being the mother of two children. I have vowed to let them teach me about the ebb and flow of daily life; to let them lead me along in their adventures of discovering life one moment at a time instead of one “chunk” at a time.

I understand it will be a daily struggle and that sometimes the chaos and randomness of life will get in the way and will knock me off balance. But I am going to try. I am going to find rhythm. Stay tuned.

B

Kickball


Why, you might be asking would "the Pastor's wife" be writing a blog called "kickball." Well my husband, said Pastor, plays kickball. Every Wednesday night he and a bunch of his friends gather at Lunken Airport and play a 45 minute game of kickball. I don't pretend to understand. I do not have one single athletic bone in my body. Never have, probably never will. Some of my most traumatic childhood memories involve gym shorts, one kind of ball or another and some other kid yelling "Hit it, kick it, run harder, oh my god I can't believe you can't run faster than that, etc, etc, etc." I'm sure some of you are tracking with me. The rest of you were probably the ones yelling those profanities are blessed with natural hand-eye coordination and will never really understand what it's like to be chosen last for the team.

But, I digress. My husband plays Kickball. After kickball the gang all goes to a local bar and hangs out. This kickball team is made up of Christians and non-Christians alike, all friends of one person or another on the team. Other teams meet up at the same place. See, more than the game of kickball, it is this "after-party" that fascinates me. It's my husband and his closest friends hanging out with people who do not yet know Jesus. It's my husband and his friends meeting people where they are, accepting them for what they are and starting meaningful conversations. Several times over the last few weeks of this ritual of playing kickball and then hanging out at this bar my husband has had the opportunity to talk to non-Christians about his faith and about Jesus. Now, before you start thinking "oh, I get it, he does this so he can push his faith on people," let me assure you that is not what is happening. Most of the non-Christians on the team know he's a Pastor. (What's the first thing you ask someone you've just met? "So, what do you do?) He's proud of what he does, but he's just not one to wear it on his sleeve. Anyway, inevitably each Wednesday someone comes and asks him about God, Jesus, Faith, whatever. Sure, most of the time they aren't that direct; it starts with casual conversation and builds. But each night he comes home and tells me that he got to talk about meaningful, important, relevant things with real people who aren't yet Christians.

This is fascinating to me because I don't make friends easily. I'm an introvert and I guess I'm shy. And to be really honest I don't like most people, at least when I first meet them. Most people, when they first meet me, think I'm just a bitch. (And I'm sure some people think that after years of knowing me:-) So for me, to sit and talk to someone I don't know is just outrageous. I can't do it. When we go to parties where I don't know anyone, I cling to my husband. At the park with my son, I can go the whole time and never talk to one other mother. So, the fact that my husband can walk into a room full of strangers and not only make friends but end up talking about God with them, well it's just freaking cool. Of course, I'd be lying if I told you that I'm never jealous of this, I am sometimes. But, that's just not how God created me. Fortunately, it is the way He created my husband and I get to be a small part of it, even if it’s just to sit back and marvel.