Writer's bl . . .

Gotta be honest . . . I think about writing a new blog almost everyday. And then I don't. I desperately want to communicate with friends and family back home--to tell everyone what I'm feeling thinking and dreaming about . . . but the words won't come. 


I've been processing so much for the past few weeks. We had a team of 15 people arrive 2 weeks ago, which brings our grand total to 31 people in our family (living on the compound with us), and we're talking and preparing and planning and meeting and praying and singing and eating and sleeping (but not enough) and living and at the end of the day . . . no words. 


Some days I'm just home a lot--cooking and cleaning and being a mom and just trying to make it possible for the rest of the team to go and do ministry. Other days I go out and visit with people around town. I visit Oasis of Hope, or Shimo--a local slum--where I have come to know and love many families. On Fridays we host a bible study with the women of Shimo--just trying to get to know them and let them know that they're not alone--that they are loved by us and by God. 


Howie is working closely with our leaders and our college team; organizing, driving, leading devotionals, discipling, etc. He is a valuable asset on this compound and I'm so thankful for his leadership and his heart for the students and the team that is here with us, and mostly for the people of Kenya. 


There are a million stories I could tell. Orphans, widows, street children, ministries, schools, hospitals, diseases . . . it seems we have our hands in a little bit of everything, and some days it's overwhelming. I want to tell the stories, but I don't know where to stop or start. It's too much. Some days I feel tons of joy and peace, and other days I'm overwhelmed and, if I'm honest, just ask God to let me go home--wherever that is.  Bear with me while I collect my thoughts, download pictures, and write something that's worthy of your time. Thank you for coming back to this blog, and for standing with us. 

Our Heroes . . .

Again, taking a departure from the expected what's-happening-in-Africa blog post to write about what's on our hearts. After all, it's our blog. ;-)


Let me (Amy) tell you about my hero, and then it's Howie's turn. 


A lot of people know Dave Talbott. Many of you reading this already know him, so you know that he is an accomplished concert pianist, an amazing writer and editor, a programmer, a visionary, a minister, a mentor, a comedian, and a master of homemade popcorn. He is strong when he needs to be, loving, compassionate, and gentle as any man ever could be. He is a devoted husband, and I think it's safe to say, one of the best fathers ever. You could argue, but you'd lose. 


Growing up I always knew my Dad loved me. Always. He was never afraid to tell us, show us, and remind us over and over that he loved us. Even in our awkward teenage years when we pushed him away and didn't want to open up, he never backed down . . . a "constant" in a sea of icky girl-hormones. 


He supported me through every stage of my life, and I think it might mean the most to me now. I'm old enough to know that a Dad like this is rare. I know enough people now to know that not everyone had what I had . . . what I have. 


Happy Father's Day, Daddy. I don't like being 9,436 miles away from you on this day or any day, but I hope you feel loved and honored today.

From Howie:
How do you honor your hero, your mentor, your role-model in 500 words or less? You don't!  What you do is express how much you love him for teaching you how to be a man.  How to love your wife, how to love your children, how to sacrifice your own desires for the everyone else.  


In a world that is focused on getting ahead at the cost of others, my dad taught me that it is better to be loving, caring and compassionate than rich, powerful or arrogant.  He was always patient with me, even when I pushed him so far that he would be justified in losing his cool.  He never did though; he was always loving.   


There are too many lessons I've learned to mention here but suffice it to say I wouldn't be able to throw a football or baseball, make a fire, use a chainsaw, balance a checkbook or manage a family without the influence and guidance of my dad.


Dad, I love you and I thank you for setting a great example to follow.  You are and have always been my hero. I continue to look to you for advice and direction in so many areas of my life.  Happy Father's Day to the GREATEST DAD EVER!  I love you and miss you and want you to know that you continue to influence me even on the other side of the world.

Please stay tuned . . .

Hello!! For those of you faithfully checking in with our blog, thank you!!
I promise we didn't fall off the edge of the earth.
This has been such a busy week.
Our leadership team arrived last week.
College team of 11 is coming in tonight.
Everyone is healthy and doing well, but we could definitely use prayer for our family . . . balance, family time, boundaries, etc. Living in community is rich and sweet, but not easy.
More to come . . .

Mya with her Rwandan brother, Emmanuel

Happy Birthday Nuna!

On a lovely summer day, June 7, 1919, Eunice Arlena Smith was born. 

With one big brother, she would soon be the big sister of 7 more siblings.

She has been a loving daughter, sister, mother, aunt, grandmother, 

friend and mentor, and she is my hero.

Eunice & Carl Petersen with Carla, Candace & Scott

She doesn't remember me anymore, 
and this fact drives me to tears every time I think of it. 

But what matters is that I remember her. 

I remember everything . . . the smell of her house, her kitchen, her bread baking;

the feel of her hands squeezing me tight and her voice calling me "punkin" and telling me she loves me.

Making hand-dipped chocolates together, 

waking up in her house every Christmas morning of my childhood,

taking walks, talking, cleaning, working in the garden--

all of my memories of her are sweet. 

She was always hospitable, always gracious. 

She fed the poor, helped the needy, and welcomed everyone. 

She raised 3 amazing children, worked, cooked, cleaned, and loved.

Today she is 92. 

She doesn't remember much, doesn't do much, and doesn't say much,

but she has left a beautiful impression on everything her hands have touched.

Happy Birthday Nuna. I love you to the moon and back. 

My sister Carrie, my Nuna and me. Summer, 2009

Baby Isaiah update

Just found out tonight that baby Isaiah's mom, who abandoned him at birth, is infected with HIV. All this time I thought it was terrible that he was never breastfed; turns out that it may be the biggest blessing of his life!  Only about 25% of babies contract HIV from their mothers in-utero, but the odds of contracting it through breast milk are much higher. We got him blood tests last week and he showed negative for HIV, but the nurse said I need to take him to District Hospital to make sure. Since he's so small, their tests can sometimes be inconclusive. I will take him sometime next week to get the blood test. Please pray that he does not have HIV.


I took him back to Sister Freda's clinic today for 3 immunizations: polio, whooping cough, and pneumonia. All three cost me 25 cents. I could not believe how dirt cheap it was to get this precious baby protected against these killer diseases. 


The best news of the day was that he has gained almost a full kilo since Friday! Pamela, his Grandmother, said that he's eating well and sleeping well, and getting very strong. Today while we waited at the clinic, he was talking to me and cooing, and I even got some smiles out of him. I'm absolutely in love. 


Also found out that Pamela still owes the hospital (where Isaiah was treated last month) 29,000 Shillings. That's about $365. Since she couldn't pay his bill, she is going to the hospital every Saturday (with Isaiah on her back!) and cleaning the hospital and doing laundry in order to pay off her bill. At a pay rate of 200 Shillings per day, it would take her 3 years to pay off the bill. Please pray with us for Pamela, and the 6 other people she supports. She has no other income, and has 2 daughters and 4 grandchildren living with her in a mud hut. Despite her circumstances, she is a lovely person who I've come to adore. She loves her family, and takes really good care of her grandchildren despite having almost nothing . . . some days not even food. I'd like to just pay the bill for her, but there are so many people in her same situation and we have to be careful about just handing people free money. We're trying to figure out a way to help her get a job or help with the baby, etc. In the meantime I'm buying formula for him, and we're helping get his medical care. Please pray that God would show us a practical way to help her get out of debt and provide for her family.  Thank you for caring and praying!  

Baby Love

Today I had the privilege of going to Shimo La Tewa, a slum at the bottom of the hill, where I met a beautiful woman who is taking care of her 3-month-old grandson because his mother abandoned them. 

Mya with baby Isaiah

Even though he is 3 months old, he is about the size of a 1-month-old because he is malnourished. His grandmother has only been able to give him maize meal (very fine corn meal powder) and water, which is obviously very bad for his tiny stomach. 

I heard about this baby a few days ago after Hannah went to visit with her, so Hannah and I first went to the store to buy bottles and formula and then took them down to their tiny mud hut.  I made him a bottle, and taught the grandma how to make it with boiled water and the right quantities. At first he didn't drink, and I got to wondering how long it would take him to get his sucking reflex back, since I don't know if he was ever breastfed at all.  We sat there for a while with the bottle in his mouth while I tried to squeeze some of the formula onto his tongue. I decided I needed to start praying for this little man. No sooner did I say, "Lord, please let him remember how to suck, and allow him to start drinking . . ." then he started gulping down the formula, and of course I started crying. 

Getting baby Isaiah to take a bottle for the first time!

The Grandma informed us that the name he was given was not a good name and she needed to rename him. I suggested Isaiah 'cause it was the first thing that came to my mind, and Hannah loved it, so now I guess his name is Isaiah. :-) 

He has bumps all over his body that we can't identify, and he also has 2 stitches in his shoulder that have been there for several weeks. The grandma told us that he was pushed by his mother when he was newborn, and he got cut. They were able to get him stitched, but now she can't afford to get them removed. We will take him to Sister Freda's tomorrow to get a full checkup and get the stitches out. 

Feeding her Grandson with his new bottle . . .  happy Grandma!

We're out . . .

I bet you thought you'd be reading about cool things like lions, tigers, giraffe, water buffalo, maybe some amazing ministry with street children, medical clinics under mango trees, or African cuisine? Well, it's coming, I promise. But for now, you're stuck hearing about our adventures in trying to educate our children in a 3rd-world country.

I've had a lot of advice, encouragement and prayer in the last week, and for that, I'm grateful to you all. I haven't even replied to several messages, partly b/c of poor internet this week, and mostly because I was totally overwhelmed and exhausted. But thank you for your support and prayers. God has been so gracious in carrying us through this journey of faith and surrender.

Here's the low down: apparently when Kenyan schools say "we don't use corporal punishment in our school," it's code for, "we do whatever we want and we have no accountability to anyone, and we're just telling you what you want to hear because you're white." I know I sound extreme, but it's pretty accurate. In the last 2 weeks, we've been lied to three times about "policy", our children have been threatened, Kenya was hit with a book, and finally on Friday little Howie was hit with a ruler across his back. Game over. Our kids are officially school-less again. Is that a word?

We're going to the school tomorrow to let them know we are not pleased with the situation (I'm sure they'll be very torn up), and to request a refund of the school fees for the term, which was approximately $300. Please pray that they issue a refund! We've been told that they will probably be reluctant to give us our money back.

We've been traveling this journey with another mzungu (white) family here in Kitale, which has been a total blessing. We enrolled our children at the same time, and pulled them out at the same time too! In the process, our kids have made new friends, and so have Howie and I, and we're grateful. I can't imagine having to go through this by myself, without having another American mom to call and say, "what do we do?!" God always provides; in this case, it was another family to walk this unknown road with us.

In case you're wondering about the kids, they're doing great. They didn't enjoy their experience, but they know that they're safe and loved, and they were very happy and relieved when we announced to them that they would not have to return.

So now, we're praying about the next step. We're totally open to homeschooling and always have been, but it's a different animal here on the compound. We live with 15 people and in 3 weeks, it will be 35 people. It's not quite the "quiet home environment" that we would have if we were homeschooling in America. We're praying right now for an American teacher or tutor to come and help us educate our children. We know that there are a lot of people in the States who elect to teach overseas for a year or two. If you know such a person, or you are such a person, we'd love to talk to you! You can email us directly at howienamy@yahoo.com.

That's all for now. I've promised my sweet mother that I would blog about food, and given the recent situation, it seems like a nice departure in topic. Mom: Chapati, Ugali, Chips Masala and Samosas, comin' right up.