Not Exactly a Chinese Church, But….

Grace and I were driving into town the other day, and we passed a Chinese food restaurant. She started hollering, “Church, Mommy, church!”

And she was right. Our church meets in a Chinese food restaurant. Sometimes you can smell lunch cooking as the sermon finishes up…makes it hard to concentrate.


We worship on Sundays with one of the international churches in the city. For a number of reasons, we struggled and wrestled over which Body we should join. How do we get involved with a church when our primary ministry is HOPAC? And when we are already receiving fellowship, leadership, and encouragement during our weekly meetings with our mission team? Do we choose a Swahili church or an English church? Do we choose a church where we agree with the doctrine 100% or a church where we can have the greatest impact?

The answers have never been as clear cut for us as they were in the States. And we’ve never felt totally settled with our answers. But the largest concentration of HOPAC families attend this church. I teach Sunday School and Gil is often given the opportunity to preach. So for now, it has been the most strategic group for us to be a part of.

Anyway. I do think it’s amusing that Grace associates church with a Chinese food restaurant. But I guess that’s better than her growing up with the assumption that a church must have pews and stained glass.

She’s Already Brainwashed

It’s her favorite outfit. Whenever she gets to choose what to wear, that’s what she chooses. And whenever she sees the logo on the back of a bus or on someone’s shirt, she starts chanting, “Manchester, Manchester!”

And who can blame her? Even my husband, who had arthoscopic knee surgery on Tuesday, managed to get himself over to the nearest hotel to watch the Final Champion’s League game. AND THEY WON.

All of you Americans probably haven’t a clue as to what I am talking about. Which only means you are…well, American…since the rest of world would never consider “football” to be played with a brown oblong ball.

Ah…the things I’ve learned since living in Africa.

A Happy Sight

You know you have a lot of youth in your house when…..


….there are a lot of shoes by the front door.

She Needs a Sibling, Doesn’t She?

No, that is not my baby with Grace. (Silly people! That baby doesn’t look anything like me!) That is Baby Amy, Esta’s daughter, whom she has been bringing to work with her. Grace is enchanted by Baby Amy and smothers her with kisses every day.

But I can’t wait for the day when there are two children in my family pictures (or three…or four…) And the last few days have been discouraging in that department.

Once again, we are waiting…and waiting…for our adoption of a baby boy. I have been waiting for a month now for the regional social worker to write a letter to International Social Services. Every time I call her she tells me, “Next week.” That’s happened for about 5 weeks now. I contacted our lawyer for advice today, and she said that sadly, the social welfare office seems totally unmotivated to help anyone with adoptions right now. One family has already been waiting 18 months to get approved–which is the longest anyone has waited so far.

This was discouraging for me, since I was hoping that we’d have our baby boy this summer. I am not giving up….last week I brought cookies to the social worker, and she’ll be back in the office next Wednesday so Grace and I will bring her more cookies. But, today I also started making some serious inquiries into international adoption from other countries. Gil and I have talked about this for a long time, and were going to wait until after we got our boy, but decided that considering the circumstances we should start now.

That is daunting too. The process is so long…so involved…so expensive…and even more so for a family trying to adopt internationally who is not living in the U.S. So many orphans in the world…and it’s so hard to bring them home.

But…I take a deep breath…and here I go.

What More Could I Ask For?



Mother’s Day 2008: How Blessed I Am!

(Fun story about the matching outfits: In Tanzanian culture, when a woman gets married, she chooses a fabric that all her female friends buy from her. The women take this fabric and have it made into an outfit of some kind, and then wear it to her shower (called a Kitchen Party here) and/or her “Send-Off” Party–the party given by the bride’s parents the week before the wedding (the groom’s family pays for the wedding itself). Grace and I went to Esta’s sister’s Send-Off Party a month or so ago, and these were our outfits. It’s fun to go to one of these events and see all the ladies wearing outfits with matching fabric.)

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