I Just Like to Smile. Smiling’s My Favorite.

This was Christmas 1998.

It’s a long story.  Don’t ask.

Anyway. 

Our Youth Group decided on an “Elf” Christmas party this year.  As in, the movie.  So you could come dressed up as anything from the movie, such as The World’s Best Cup of Coffee or the Arctic Puffin.  But considering the history of elves in my family, I decided that we had to go as elves. 

Let’s just say I love tailors in Tanzania.  But I do wonder exactly what went through his mind when I asked him to make these costumes. 

(And I do understand that I owe my husband big for making him dress up as an elf.)

Representing Us

For the past ten years, this quilt has been on our bed.  Our wonderful friend Suzanne made it for us as a wedding present, and if you read our story, you know that Suzanne had a pretty big part.  I love that quilt.  It reprsented us.  She had let me pick out the fabric, and it combined our two favorite colors. 

But it has been 10 years.  So it’s been falling apart.  And after mending it a half dozen times, I finally decided we needed a new bed cover.  So when we were in the States, I looked.  And looked.  And looked.  And I found nothing good enough…nothing special enough. 

I’m glad I waited. 

When we were in Zanzibar for our anniversary, we came upon this amazing shop.  We had seen it before on previous trips, and I have always, always loved the work of these talented women.  But it was Gil who suggested this time, “I wonder if they make bed covers?”

And they said Yes, we could special order it.  And they could bring it to us in Dar es Salaam.  I immediately knew that this would be The One.

All the quilting is 100% hand stitched.  Incredible?  Oh yeah.  (And $140.  Yep.  Had to add that in there.)

I mended Suzanne’s quilt one last time and put it away for sleepovers and special occasions.  And now we have a new quilt for the second decade of our marriage. 

Continuing in Hope: Stella’s Story

Remember how I told you that Stella went to Massana hospital two weeks ago? 

Well, she’s still there.  And it looks like she won’t leave until that baby is born.

At first, the doctor wanted her to stay a few days to recover after the suturing surgery.  Then, apparently she came down with malaria so she stayed a few more days after that. 

A couple days ago I talked to William about this.  “What is the doctor saying?”  He told me that the doctor says that she could go home, or that she could stay.  It was up to her, as long as they could afford it.

I told him that the money wasn’t a problem.  It costs about $10 a day to keep Stella at the hospital.  But I was still wondering if that’s really what they wanted to do.  It seems like torture to me.  No friends.  No television.  Nothing to do but lay in bed, all day long.  Of course, she would be on bedrest at home, but at least she would have people to talk to, and a husband to come home to her (who has been biking to see her every day).

Yes, he told me.  She wants to stay in the hospital.  She is afraid to go home.

Oh.

Of course she is afraid.  Wouldn’t you be?  The woman has had one miscarriage and three consecutive viable births at 7 or 8 months that have resulted in a dead baby. 

I have had a hard time imagining how such a young woman has dealt with such unspeakable pain.  In many ways, she seems incredibly strong for all of her 23 years.  And her faith is unshakable. 

But she is afraid.  It just takes them too long to get to the hospital from their house, William told me.  And if something goes wrong in the middle of the night, they might not even find a taxi to take her. 

She’s in her fifth month.  So that means she will be in the hospital for about 4 months.  That’s a long time.  But worth it, if she finally gets to hold her baby in her arms.

Dr. Carolyn told me the other day that she recently assisted in a birth at that hospital, and she was marveling at the wonder of it.  She said the nurses told her, “Next time you can help Stella deliver!”  As she told me this, we both got tears in our eyes.

Let’s pray that day comes. 

And until then, I’m going to try to find Stella some yarn and a crochet hook.  🙂

Mama Dar

Last night, I was at this event:

A book launch.  For a book called “Mama Dar:  Tales of Family Life in Tanzania.”  A Collection of 34 essays, short stories, and poems by 27 authors from around the world.

I got the privilege of being one of those 27 authors.  I got published!  It’s just a short story about Josiah’s adoption, adapted from this blog, actually.  My good friend Dyan recommended me to the editors a couple months ago, and my story got in right before publication.  Pretty exciting!

It’s a very professionally done book, and all the proceeds are going to a battered women’s shelter in Tanzania.  If you would like a copy, send me an email or a comment and I can try to get one to you.  The cost is $20 which will also include shipping on my end.  I’m guessing that mostly this will appeal to those of my readers who have previously been mothers in Dar es Salaam!  But it will strike a cord with anyone who has raised children overseas, or is interested in Africa or Third Culture kids.

Fear, Worry, and the God of Rest

I am an expert on fear.

Worrying is a particular specialty of mine. I could give you some great tips. Like, it’s important to feel in control of every possible horrible situation that could ever happen to you by using your imagination to go through each and every detail of each possible scenario.

I remember once trying to convince Gil that we needed a full-time gardener so that someone could open the gate for us instead of doing it ourselves. “But what if,” I argued, “I was trying to open the gate myself, and in doing so I left the kids in the car, and a car jacker came up and demanded the keys from me, and he drove off with the kids in the car?” I could totally picture myself running down the road and screaming. If I thought about it hard enough, I could even start crying.

Gil just looked at me in disbelief. “Have you ever heard of that happening here?” he asked.

Well, no. But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.

And just when I think I have worried about every-possible-bad-thing-that-could-ever-happen, then God surprises me by allowing my washing machine to catch fire in the middle of the night. Never had thought through that one.

But anyway.

I have been more than just a worrier. When I say I am an expert on fear, that’s not just because of my over-active imagination. It’s because I struggled for a number of years with what some would call Panic Disorder.

It started 10 days after arriving in Dar es Salaam for the first time in 2001. I had a massive panic attack, which led to a nervous breakdown for the following few weeks. “Barely coping” would be an understatement. “Breathing for the next minute” would be more descriptive. Darkness, fear, the world falling apart around me…that’s what it felt like. I thought I was going insane; I had crazy obsessive fears; I couldn’t use a knife in the kitchen because I was paranoid I was going to stab someone with it.

There were no professional counselors in Dar at the time. I didn’t know what was happening to me so I had a hard time even articulating it to my husband. Only the grace of God kept me in Tanzania. I honestly didn’t think there was much hope for me, so I didn’t think that going back to the States would make things any better. So I stayed.

The darkness lasted at least six months. We later traced its beginning to the malaria medicine I was taking at the time, but even after the drug was out of my system, my brain had a new way of thinking. The second year in Tanzania was better, but within two months of returning to the States, it all returned with a vengeance.

This time I fought. I fought hard. I read everything I could. I got some help. I trained Gil in what to say to me when I was struggling (Bless my patient husband for enduring this with me!). The turning point came when I took a class at my church in the Foundations of Biblical Counseling. I took the class because I wanted to help other people, but first I needed to apply the principles to my own life.

And it all clicked. Not all at once, of course. But I started to get it. The roots of my fear. God’s view of suffering. The importance of perseverance. Who I was and who God was. Acceptance of suffering; confession of sin; trusting Him above everything else; submission to His will. And I was set free.

That was 2004. Six years ago, and it has yet to come back. I have no guarantee that it won’t; but I don’t fear it anymore if it does. And that is probably my best weapon to fight it.

The whole point of why I am writing this post is to give you a book recommendation. But I had to give you all that background so that you would understand why I so highly recommend this book. I have read a multitude of books on the subjects of fear and worry, from all sides of the counseling spectrum. But this one takes the cake. This one gets the prize. He gets it. He says all the things I had to figure out on my own. If you are just an everyday worrier or an expert in fear like me, then you want this book.

Some nuggets:

“Any time you love or want something deeply, you will notice fear and anxieties because you might not get them. Any time you can’t control the fate of those things you want or love, you will notice fears and anxieties because you might lose them…..Control and certainly are myths.”

“Worriers are visionaries minus the optimism.”

“One message is obvious: If I imagine the worst, I will be more prepared for it. Worry is looking for control. It is still irrational because worry will not prepare us for anything, but at least it has its reasons.”

“If you are jaded because you feel as though God has been unreliable, look at it this way: there are no other choices….The greatest possibility for rest and comfort lies in the knowledge of the true God.”

“If I can trust the word of a friend, why do I question the word of the God of the universe? Go figure. Sin is truly bizarre.”

“Anxiety asks for more information so it can be prepared for the coming apocalypse. It also asks for more information so it can manage the world apart from God.”

“Can we say that we die to our children? Yes, in a sense, but it isn’t exactly our children. We die to our notions that God doesn’t care about them. We die to the fear that no one is in control. We die to our belief that God is not always good. We die to the grasping that says, ‘My children are mine and mine alone.’”

I could go on. But I’ll just let you read the book instead.  And I pray you find the rest and freedom that have been granted to me.

Page 179 of 235

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén

Verified by MonsterInsights