God is continually reminding me that he has not only called me or Pete to this journey of life in Africa. He has so clearly created our sweet babies to be a part of that plan in an incredible way. Another example of His plan for the four of us happened recently. I am constantly in awe of God’s amazing plan. How are we so blessed to be on this path?
One year ago, Pete wrote wrote his only post to date on what was then our Little Olsen blog. The piece was and is deeply meaningful. It offers a small glimpse into the heart of who he is as a physician. After being submitted to Minnesota Medicine magazine by a colleague, the article was selected for publication in its August 2013 issue, and Pete was later invited to share it at the annual fundraising gala for the hospital at which Pete now works. I could not be more proud to stand beside this man, husband, father, friend, and physician as we prepare to make Africa our home.
Here’s a look back at the post he wrote on a rainy evening near Tenwek Hosptial in Kenya, East Africa…
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I’ve been wondering for months, maybe even years, what my first delivery would be like after we arrived in Africa. Would it be a vaginal delivery? A cesarean section? Would instruments be available? What about assistants? Would I even be in a hospital? You see, I’m used to the very best.
As a 3rd year resident at the Duluth Family Medicine Residency Program, most of the vaginal deliveries I’ve participated in are attended by two or more physicians—an attending, a resident and sometimes even an intern. By the time the patient is ready to give birth, she and the baby have been carefully monitored for hours. We have a good idea of what to expect, and we have everything we need in case something doesn’t happen the way it should.
For those vaginal deliveries that take an unexpected turn, we can change over for a cesarean section in about 10 minutes. By the time we arrive in the pristine operating room with the patient, an array of sterilized, neatly wrapped surgical tools is waiting for us, along with a team of trained surgical technicians who will later hand them to us when requested (often even before–they know each surgery so well!). An anesthesia team is there to provide pain control and to intubate and breathe for a patient in case of a “crash section” (emergency surgery to save mom and/or baby). The Neonatal Intensive Care Unit has a resuscitation team and an incubator ready in addition to all the tubes, lines and cords needed for the most serious of resuscitations. Oh…and our awesome obstetric nurses are there, too.
I could go on, of course. But we’re not there. We’re in Africa. And it’s different here.
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It didn’t start the way I expected it would. I was paged to Casualty (the emergency department) to attend to an 18-year-old who was pregnant with her first child. She hadn’t reported any contractions or vaginal bleeding. I didn’t even have time to ask her if she felt her baby moving.
There wasn’t time for questions. When I arrived in the small room crowded with eight beds and even more patients standing or sitting as they waited for care, the clinical officer (CO, similar to a physician’s assistant) looked at me with panic. He pulled back a curtain to reveal a flurry of activity: The young woman was lying on a bed. A nurse was hurrying to start an IV while humming a hymn. Another nurse had just arrived with an oxygen mask, freshly washed and ready for reuse.
The CO rapidly explained that two girls had dropped the patient off at the door; they couldn’t be found. I felt the young woman’s pedal pulse. It was weak and thready. I glanced up at her face. She looked slightly ashen, and was gasping for air. Her uterus was at or below her belly button, meaning that the baby was either small or at about 20 weeks gestation or less. (A nurse confirmed she was 20 weeks pregnant shortly thereafter.)
Don’t forget the ABCs, I told myself. Airway, Breathing and Circulation. She has a pulse, and she’s breathing (albeit with difficulty), but she’s losing her airway. As I moved to the head of the bed, a dark, liquid began spilling from the patient’s nose and mouth. We suctioned, intubated and started breathing for her. Then we placed a nasogastric tube and suctioned another 200 mL or so of the black substance from her stomach. We still don’t know what it was.
By now the cardiac monitor was on and the patient’s heart rate was in the 130s. One of the nurses looked up and told us the initial blood pressure was 70/50 mmHg, but now she couldn’t get one. I felt the patient’s neck for a carotid pulse; there was none. “Start CPR,” I said.
With the chest compressions we heard intermittent cracks (ribs breaking from the pressure). At two minutes, we checked for a pulse and gave epinephrine to shunt blood back to the heart and encourage cardiac activity. We kept doing CPR and giving her epinephrine every three minutes, checking for a pulse each time. After 40 minutes without a pulse, I called it. “Time of death: 10:24 a.m.,” I said softly.
I helped the nurses clean the patient, remove the lines and apply fresh linens. Then I prepared for the hard part—talking with the family.
I had a room prepared so I could tell them thatthe mother and her baby had died. They were inconsolable, of course. I spent a few moments with them before I left them with the chaplain and returned to the emergency department where another patient needed care.
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Two days later, the family returned with one request: to have the opportunity to bury the mother and baby separately. I spoke with my supervising physicians who agreed this was reasonable.
I led the family to the morgue and had them wait in the office. It was time for my first delivery in Africa, a postmortem cesarean section.
She laid draped in a perfect white sheet on a rusty, steel table. Even though the mother was dead, I used a surgical technique very similar to the one my attendings in Duluth had trained me to do. As I cut, the smell of formalin filled my nostrils. A moment later, I delivered a beautiful, tiny, lifeless little girl. I carefully closed the mother’s tissues, using a subcuticular stitch to close the skin. It wasn’t necessary, but it felt right.
I draped the mother again and then carefully attended to her little girl, who was only slightly larger than my hand. I washed her gently and placed her in a new swaddling blanket, her arms gently folded.
One of the morgue attendants went to get the father and the rest of the family. They arrived, not knowing what to expect, but when dad saw me holding his baby girl, his eyes started tearing. I asked if she had a name. “Fancy…Fancy is her name,” he said, barely audible. “Well, Fancy is a beautiful little girl,” I said, handing the swaddled baby to dad. “I’m sorry that her time with us was so short, but I believe that she is now with Jesus where there is no pain and no suffering…where we’ll all be together again.”
I began to pray, my two fingers on the side of Fancy’s head as we invited God to be with us and bring His peace. Everyone, now in tears, slowly filed out of the room. Dad stayed a moment, took one last look at Fancy, handed her to me, and said, “Asanti” (thank you).
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The rain refreshed us as we walked from the morgue back to the hospital where we parted ways. It was early evening, and I was done for the day. I loosened my tie and draped my white coat over my arm to the let the rain gently wash over me on the way home.
I was greeted by a beautiful little girl who came dashing up to me yelling, “Daddy, Daddy, I have an umbrella for you.” I scooped Ella into my arms and kissed her. I walked toward apartment No. 7 and let my eyes meet Angela’s. She knew instantly. She simply has a way of knowing that no one else does. I kissed and snuggled Sam, our son, before she quickly swept both children into their bedrooms for the night. I let the warm shower wash off the formalin, then I dressed and sat on the living room couch, reflecting on what had happened.
Yes, this young woman losing her life and her baby was tragic. But in the end, I’ve never been able to stop someone from dying. Hester Lynch Piozzi, an 18th century British author, once said, “A physician can sometimes parry the scythe of death, but has no power over the sand in the hourglass.” It’s true.
But I’ve also learned that one of the most compassionate acts we can do for one another is to relieve suffering and pain—to make room for healing. And tonight, when one dad looked back at another, there was a silent understanding that healing had begun, and then a quiet “Asanti.”
Sometimes…okay, many times…I catch myself in awe of the amazing ways that God is creating a path for our family to get to Africa. The desire to work and teach abroad was first placed on my heart when I was really little. Then I met Pete, and he had the same desire. We got married, started dreaming of kids, and at about that same time, we felt like there may be others who would one day join our adventure. We didn’t really know what that would look like, but we prayed and waited.
We’ve met lots of friends along this path of medicine who have a heart to serve in Africa at some point, but it’s not all that common to meet others who have a dream of moving all their earthly belongings and small children halfway around the world for who knows how long. Let’s face it, that’s a pretty big commitment. We knew we couldn’t just ask anyone to go with us. It would definitely have to be something God would need to orchestrate.
And orchestrate he did. Meet the Horns. Eli, Krista, Caleb, and Kai.
Pete first connected with Eli at the residency while Eli was interviewing for the program. I remember Pete coming home and mentioning something about his great guy he hoped would get matched in Duluth (meaning that he’d do his three years of residency here). Early in Eli’s first year in Duluth and Pete’s second, the guys reconnected and we got the families together. It didn’t take long for us to realize that there was something more between our families than a shared interest in Africa. As we prayed and spent more time together, we felt like God was bringing our families together as a team to live and work together over seas.
Ella and Eli were fast friends, just like Eli and Pete, as seen at Apple Fest in the fall of 2011.
Soon after Apple Fest, Krista and I discovered that we were both pregnant! Sam and Caleb were born just a few weeks apart in May 2012.
In the early spring of 2012, we spent a weekend with two of our mentors, Bruce & Kate, at their home in Grand Marais. Bruce & Kate have been living and working in Kenya for more than 20 years. They raised their children there while working at a local hospital. They’ve been instrumental in guiding us to the mission field.
These kids adore each other! Caleb follows Ella wherever she goes, saying her name over and over. And Ella is completely taken with baby Kai (short for Hezekiah). Clearly, so is Sam.
We feel incredibly blessed to be on this path with the Horns. We dream of our kids growing up together, learning Swahili, running in the grass with neighbors a half a world away from here. I will have another mama who understands the challenges of living thousands of miles away from our families and who will challenge me as a wife, mama, and woman after God’s heart. Pete and Eli will work side by side in the hospital, together understanding the challenges of teaching and doing medicine, and will grow together as fathers and husbands. The feelings of loneliness on the mission field, which is completely reasonable while experiencing life in another culture, will be considerably less because we will be together. I can. not. wait.
The really exciting news? This week, after a lot of prayers, emails, phone calls, and chats, we made the decision of which sending organization we would like to work with as we move to Africa. We have begun the application process, which will probably take until early summer. Once we move a little further along on the process, we’ll share which organization it is and what it means for the future.
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My dear friends, I want to thank each of you for your incredible support and kind words following the post I wrote earlier this week. It was not an easy post to write, and I had no idea what would happen as I published it. The response has been astounding. Many of you shared it on Facebook and with friends, and some have sent encouraging comments and emails. Yes, there were hurtful comments about my sensitivity, faith, and even our future plans for Sam, but I understand these were not from regular readers or those who know us and our hearts. On Tuesday night, such comments were eating at me, hurting my heart. Pete was working an overnight then, so I crawled in to cuddle with Ella, needed the comfort of being physically close to one of my babies. Before falling asleep, I spent a while talking with God, asking that he would remove the horrible feelings I was carrying. I asked that, instead, I would be able to focus on the beautiful words of those in similar situations that I wrote of in the post. When I woke in the morning, it felt as if the cloud had been lifted. God clearly heard my prayer and quieted my heart. Since then, more encouraging messages have come in. I am so blessed to be able to share this journey with each of you.
Thank you. Thank you for reading and praying for us and loving our family, even though there are so many of you we have never met. I am humbled to be able to share this journey with such incredible people.
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| one of the hospitals we visited in Kenya |
Tonight Pete is working the last 24-hour OB shift he’ll have during residency. While I wait for him to come home, I’ve been making meals for the week, cleaning the kitchen, and listening to the BBC online. At this very moment, President Obama is about to arrive in Tanzania on his current tour of Africa. As I listened to the radio, reporters were interviewing people in a cafe in the capital city, sharing thoughts on America’s influence on the culture there and talking about local food, music, and daily life. With all the talk of Africa, my heart wandered there. It doesn’t take a lot these days for my heart to be back in Africa, but listening to the interviews in the very place I want to be made my heart absolutely long for it.
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| Ella with the kids after church |
It’s been four months since we returned from our seven weeks in Kenya. Instead of it fading with each passing week, I feel the memories remaining strong. Ella hasn’t stopped talking about “Acita,” and often draws pictures of what she says are maps from “Duluth, Minnesota to Acita.” Our mantle is decorated with stone elephants, giraffes carved in wood, and a little rag doll purchased at the hospital where we lived. I’ve changed the mantle decorations from time to time, but I always end up putting our far-away memories back up in that central location where we can constantly be reminded of what we have experienced.
 Pete had a following of boy who couldn’t wait to hang out with him |
Thanks to Facebook and blogs, I’m still in contact with numerous missionary friends who are currently working in Kenya. The words they write make me feel like we’re geographically closer to Africa than we really are. Their photos help me remember what we experienced and what we may experience when we return, because YES, we will be returning.
 Daddy’s first day in the hospital at Tenwek |
I’ve mentioned before that my desire has always been to teach abroad. God put that in me when he knit me together. That’s how deep it is. It’s a part of my DNA. And it’s a part of Pete’s. Obviously, it’s no accident that we ended up together. As `a team, we’ve been able to encourage one another to push in our education, the stuff we know we’ll really need when we get to our long-term destination. I’ve completed a two-year biblical studies program and my master’s degree and Pete is just 30 days from finishing residency. Education: check. So what’s next?
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| Pete & Sam with our friend Amy |
First, to answer the question of all questions, yes, being in Kenya confirmed that we want to spend the next chapter of our lives living and serving in Africa. We don’t know just where in Africa yet, though. Perhaps Kenya, maybe Cameroon, possibly Tanzania. It’s an awfully big continent. It will be Africa, but we’re working on narrowing down the actual location. Currently, we’re exploring all kinds of options. It’s amazing how many people God has placed in our lives who have strong connections to hospitals and educational centers in various locations throughout Africa. We’re soaking in everything we can on different options so we can make an informed decision when that time comes.
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| Faith & Ella enjoying their afternoon chai |
That brings up another point. Timing. As mentioned, Pete will be finished with residency at the end of July. It will be the conclusion of seven intense years of training – four years of medical school and three years of residency. He’ll take most of the month of August off so we can spend time as a family, and then he’ll begin working in the emergency room in Cloquet (about 25 minutes from us) on September 1. Pete signed a contract with the Cloquet hospital the night before we left for Kenya. The contract was clearly orchestrated by a God who is mapping a path for us. The contract is for two years and includes a period of four consecutive months for us to travel back to Africa. It is our hope that we will narrow down locations during those four months away and then be prepared to make our long-term move at the conclusion of his contract. We’re planning and praying that we will be able to pay off a large portion, if not all, of Pete’s med school loans during the next two years.
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| hanging clothes with one of her friends |
There’s a whole lot of planning to do when preparing to move to a far away country. That goes without saying. We’ve known all along that chances are good I will need to home school the kids wherever we end up. That’s a big reason why we chose to put Ella into the montessori school this year. We want her to soak up as much as she can while we’re still in Duluth. I’m looking into resources for both Ella and Sam, home school programs that will be appropriate for each of them. Fortunately, I’ve got my strong background in education to help ensure we stay on top of everything. Sam is currently seeing multiple physical and occupational therapists and I am finding great resources to learn what will be best for him in the future. Knowing that we will always be near a hospital helps with our planning, since he may need continued therapies as time progresses.
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| missionary kids at preschool |
There are so many other questions I feel that I could answer, but then this would turn into a short novel. We’ve been preparing for many years, and at last we’re getting closer. We’ve asked countless questions of those who are “in the know” while observing the lives of those we admire who are raising families overseas. We’ve read books. We’ve read blogs. We’ve prayed and prayed and prayed. And in the end, we still feel that moving to Africa so that Pete can teach future doctors and I can teach future teachers is the only thing we can imagine doing with our lives.
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| Daddy & Sam |
When we returned from our trip this winter, a friend asked me how I would describe our time in Kenya in one word. Goodness, one word? Seven weeks in a completely new culture, a place I had been dreaming about for years, with my incredible husband and our babies, and I am asked to sum it up in one word? Crazy enough, it didn’t take long at all to come to me. Complete. From the moment we stepped off the plane, I felt more complete than I had in my entire 31 years. My husband, my Ella & Sam, God so clearly by our side, in Africa. There was no question.
I was complete.
Do you have questions about our plans to move to Africa? I would love to hear them! Leave a comment below and I’ll try to answer in an upcoming post.
We’ve been home for nearly an entire month already, but there are still plenty of things I want to share about our time in Kenya. I just haven’t been able to post fast enough to stay on top of my thoughts. Darn grad school. But there is an end in sight! I’m working hard on my thesis this semester in order to finish the first week of May. I will take no other route. I will finish at that time. I no longer have an appendix to rupture, so I’m on my way.
I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed being able to share so much with all of you while we were away. It made the experience even more meaningful, because I knew we weren’t doing things alone. As an expression of gratitude for walking alonside us on our journey, I brought home a few things specifically to share with you, my lovely blog readers. The first is the colorful, paper bead necklace shown in the photo below. It was made by a woman who sells them at the guesthouse of the hospital where Pete was working. I’m in love with her pieces. I bought a couple similar necklaces for myself and two coordinating pairs of earrings. They are bright and completely remind me of the beauty of Kenya.
This giveaway is very simple. All you have to do is leave a comment at the end of this blog post or on the post on my Facebook page. Each person can enter just one time, either here or on Facebook. I will randomly select a winner Monday at noon Central Time. Feel free to let others know! If I have a big response, I just might end up giving away two!
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So, back in Kenya. The last Sunday morning we were at Tenwek, we were invited to a village church across the river. We had the choice of walking or driving. That’s not really as simple to decide as you might think. We had both of the kids and could certainly carry them in our wrap and Ergo carrier, but then it would take longer and they might be too tired and fussy to sit through church. Driving might seem like it would save time, but the roads are a bit crazy, as seen below, and we had to drive a ways to get to a bridge to cross the river. In the end, we did drive. We went with friends and hired two cars.
There goes the first car.
Oops. Ours didn’t quite make it. Everyone got out but the kids and the driver.
We did eventually get it out, and you know what? Pete didn’t get a speck of mud on his church clothes. That’s my man.
This is just a glimpse of what many of the roads and intersections look like in Kenya.
And this was along the road to the church. A very typical view in rural Kenya.
Before we left for Kenya in January, we met with a surgeon here in Duluth who spends about three weeks in Kenya a couple times a year. She’s done this about 15 times and was even there during our stay. It was great seeing someone we had med in Duluth all the way over there! She has a great relationship with this village church and the pastor, Pastor Daniel. This is Pastor Daniel’s church.
I believe this was the church choir. Everyone dresses in their very best not only for church, but for any special occasion. This includes visiting the doctor. I saw many fancy dresses each time I walked through the hospital. It is a very formal culture. My long-jersey skirts and t-shirts were very casual (yet appropriate) compared to what I often saw others wearing.
Sam may have been a little surprised by their loud music. “Whoa, mama! What is that noise?!” I was sure to cover his ears during the music from then on.
After the service, the entire church gathered outside to greet one another and to hold an auction. I don’t know that this happens every week, but it does happen often. Various items are donated by church members and others bid for them. Our friend had mentioned this ahead of time, so we were sure to have some money with us. We were really hoping to buy a goat, but none were available that morning. In the end, I bid for a very large cabbage, which we gave to Pastor Daniel’s wife at lunch. We would have done the same with a goat. (I had really wanted a goat! We did leave money to buy one at the next auction, but we didn’t get to name it or see it. I’m definitely buying a goat that I can meet when we return.)
Ella was excited about our cabbage and wanted to take a picture with it.
Catch that funny expression on her face? She broke off a little piece of the cabbage and popped it in her mouth before we could stop her. Guess she wasn’t a fan.
I find it difficult to express my feelings looking at this next photo. I get teary trying to think how to describe Ella’s experience in Kenya. While we were there, I couldn’t help think over and over that she was made to live in such a place. She begged to play with every child she saw, she shouted “jambo!” out the window as we passed kids in the car, and she gave as many hugs as possible. Some spoke English, but it never slowed her down if they didn’t. She naturally and gently gestured to express herself. I learned from watching her easiness with complete strangers, allowing her to open doors into relationships I was too timid to open on my own. Children are amazing like that, but my Ella was amazing in her own way. She was basking in the beauty of love that God has placed deep inside her. Have I mentioned her middle name is Rehema? It’s Swahili for God’s mercy. I have no doubt that the genuine love and friendship and mercy I saw in her every single day is only the beginning of what she’s going to experience in her journey.
The room was beautifully prepared for our visit. The cooking took place in a small building next to the house.
These were seriously the biggest bananas I had ever seen, and they came from Pastor Daniel’s own banana trees!
I hope it’s not rude of me to put this bathroom on display, but I thought you might be interested in seeing what they typically look like in Kenya. Poor Ella had a little bit of a hard time with this style. Her little legs just weren’t quite long enough.
Ella may not have been a fan of the bathroom, but she was thrilled with the animals.
I captured this cool panoramic photo with the Photosynth app. The path on the left leads to the house and the cooking building. The animals live in the structure on the right, and crops are planted beyond that.
Sweet Ella tried and tried to figure out how Pastor Daniel’s niece was standing against this tree. After much trial and error, she got it and was incredibly proud. I love the minds of little ones.
Our visit to Pastor Daniel’s church and to his home was very memorable. We hope to visit countless more quite like his in the future. I can only imagine the conversations and life experiences that will be shared during such occasions. While I wait to be in that place once again, I will do my very best to be patient and hear what God has for me now. He doesn’t waste his time, of this I am sure.
Speaking of the future, that would make for a great post, don’t you think? Some of you know where we’re heading and when we’re hoping to head there, but I don’t want to keep you in the dark, if you haven’t heard. Well, okay then, it’s set. I’ll be sure to get a “future” post up very soon.
I’m so sorry for not getting a post up before today. Let’s pretend that 21 days have not passed since the last time I wrote. So much has happened! I wrote the following post last week but wasn’t able to add the photos and get it up before some big things happened that had me setting aside blogging to focus on family. While we were in Kenya, it was discovered that my dear, sweet, little niece, Malena, has a mass in her brain. The day before we left Africa, she had surgery at a large children’s hospital in Minneapolis to biopsy the tumor in the hopes of discovering what it was. Just after writing the following paragraphs, my sister called to ask if I could pick the two of them up from the hospital and bring them home. I gladly did just that, but ended up staying longer than I had anticipated so the doctors could do further testing. I am happy… THRILLED really…to share that the mass is not cancerous. Praise the Lord. Miss Malena is having a few symptoms from the mass pushing on different parts of her brain, which is how they first decided to do an MRI, so more visits to the hospital and lots of observations are on the horizon. Please pray with us that all the symptoms (an intense desire to drink liquids constantly, decreased metabolism, increased urination, and dangerously low sodium levels) will be relieved and that my sister and her girls can leave this behind them. I’ll be sure to post updates as they happen. In the meantime, you can click here to follow Malena’s Caring Bridge page. Thank you!!
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| Doctor Malena |
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| in training |
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| such a ladies man |
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| someone swiped Uncle Jake’s glasses! |
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| be still my heart. i love this boy. |
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Oh, my dear friends, we made it home. I’ve wanted to write so many times since we arrived last Thursday night, but either little ones needed attention or I just didn’t have the energy. Now I sit alone at a coffee shop, surrounded by freshly fallen snow and the tunes of Jack Johnson floating through the air. I need this. Simple things that I enjoy, so that I can ease back into this Minnesotan life. I’m taking my time, desperate to hold onto every ounce of Kenya that might still exist here. A crushed package of biscuits in the bottom of my bag. A tea bag to make one more cup of chai.
The journey from Kenya to Duluth went fairly well, beginning last Wednesday night at 6pm and ending at 4pm the next afternoon. A lotta time changes. A lotta snacks. A lotta movies. And yes, for a time, a lotta sleep. The kids snoozed practically the entire eight hours from Nairobi to Amsterdam. That meant cheery playtime at the very cool little inside playground forest at the airport there while Mama and Daddy chatted with new friends from Jordan and sipped a latte from Starbucks. (My man sure knows how to treat this girlie.) At one point I wandered through the airport and ended up buying one of the only magazines of interest printed in English. As it turned out, it was the most expensive magazine I’ve ever bought. Fifteen dollars for this baby. (I didn’t know that until after it was purchased, though. Thanks, Euro.) Worth it? Paired with my Starbucks and happily occupied children flying between Amsterdam and Minneapolis, it wasn’t even a question. Yes. So worth it.
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| best airplane invention: infant bassinet |
Am I painting a picture of a blissful flight? Perhaps, but that’s only because I’m choosing to forget the stress of keeping a three-year-old busy for that long while she begs to make multiple trips to the bathroom (because she thinks it’s cool) and the incessant interruptions during my attempt to watch a single movie. Six hours to watch Argo? Yes, it is possible. No joke. But that’s all a part of the experience.
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| playing on the playground inside the Amsterdam airport. coolest little area. |
The first thing I realized when we arrived at our cozy, blue house was that it is a truly beautiful place. It is clean and bright, full of color and memories. After getting the kids to bed, I walked through its rooms, touching decorative jars and hardcover books, staring at framed photos and catching my breath at the sight of a perfect mantle decorated with carefully selected nicknacks and such. I don’t know how many times I walked into the kitchen Friday morning, just to catch another glimpse of the sun lighting the bright, clean walls and little pieces I placed along the windowsill months before without much thought. I couldn’t help but smile at their simplicity and beauty. I felt so moved that I slowly walked through the house while the kids slept off the jet lag, hoping to capture the feelings of those first moments of being home in a space we had created. It was lovely.
We have slowly let ourselves acclimate to this life again. First it was a trip to the grocery store. Then I wandered alone into Target. Everyone was waiting for me in the car, so I didn’t have much time to get overwhelmed by everything, which was probably best. This morning was the hardest, so far. I took Ella back to preschool. I had no idea it would be so hard. It was as though this simple act was admitting to the fact that we’ve returned to “normal” life. I didn’t want to say goodbye when I dropped her off. I felt the need to make sure everything was perfect for her and then to stay with her to explain to the other kids that we had been in a very different place and that Ella had seen incredible things and that her first day back might be hard because she was adjusting. Instead, she ran to her room, tossing a “bye, Mom!” over her shoulder so she could play with her friends. How I wish I could continue as easily as that.
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| off to school |
I’ll admit that I cried just a little in the car after that. My Kenya was slipping away beneath the falling snow. I begged Jesus to let the feelings stay. I want the memories to feel new. I want my heart to be all in one place. But just as I wrote over a year ago about why my heart isn’t all here, I now know exactly where my heart is and how it felt to have it be whole. Duluth is my home, and so is Africa.
