A Day in the Life of a Full-Time Caregiver

Disclaimer #1:  I am not a full-time caregiver.  I am a temporary full-time caregiver.  To all of those people who care for a loved one full-time, I salute you. I know this has an end, but you might not.  My husband is injured but he will heal and be fully functional again.  You may be looking at a lifetime of sacrificial service.  You are a hero.

Disclaimer #2:  Andy is an amazing patient. He barely complains (only to let me know when he's in pain) and he thanks me constantly.  Each day he gains more mobility and independence and tries to take some of the burden off of me.  He knows this is hard on me, hard on him, and hard on the kids.  He has never lost his sense of humor through all of  this.  In fact, the first thing the recovery nurse said to me after he came out of surgery was, "Your husband is funny!"

Disclaimer #3:  I do not want your sympathy and am not looking for praise.  That's not why I'm writing this.  I am so glad I can be home to serve my husband and help him through this.  It's completely and utterly exhausting, but this is where I want to be.  He is my best friend, and I promised to love him through the good times and the bad, in sickness and in health.  This post is just a way to let you all see into our lives right now, and maybe to encourage us all to care for and understand each other a little better.

Here's a little sampling of what it's like, in my life right now.  This was a few days after he broke his ankle.

5:30 am   Wake up.  Tiptoe downstairs and pour my coffee in the dark.  Andy is asleep on the couch and I know he's had a restless night of sleep.  Tiptoe upstairs and have some quiet time to read, journal, and pray.

6:20   Tiptoe downstairs and start making lunches and laying out breakfast.  Navigate kids fighting over cereal boxes, brushing hair, finding lost shoes, spilling milk, signing papers, packing backpacks, all the while shh-ing them and threatening them if they dare wake up Daddy.

7:15   Drive the girls to the bus stop.  Andy is still sleeping (it's a Christmas miracle what with all the racket we created.  Or maybe it's just the Vicodin).

7:25   Take a quick shower while Jonas watches a movie on my laptop on my bed.

8:00   Help Andy get ready - make his breakfast, pour his coffee, figure out what meds he needs to take, help him get to the bathroom to brush his teeth, etc, run upstairs about 54 times to gather all the things we need.

8:10   Begin the process of getting him into the car - this includes holding crutches while he stands up, grabbing three pillows to prop up his foot, and making sure we have all the medical forms we need, grabbing a coat and a blanket to keep him warm in the car (b/c he can only fit shorts over his gigantic cast).  Help him out the door and down the steps (kicking kids' shoes out of his way), holding his crutches while he gets in the car, situating pillows for his foot.

8:20   Drive to doctor's appointment.

8:30   (same process getting out of car as getting in)  Check in, help Andy get settled in and his foot propped up (which involves rearranging the waiting room furniture), help Jonas find a game to play on my phone.

  8:50   Drive Jonas to preschool.

9:10   Back to doctor's office, where Andy has been taken back to a room.  Doctor gives lots of instructions to prep for surgery next week and explains x-rays, etc.  I watch as they re-splint his foot.  We make our next appointment and talk about scheduling the surgery.

 10:35  Stop to get a breakfast sandwich because I haven't eaten breakfast yet.  I am treated so rudely by cashier I almost start crying right there in line.  Cannot wait to get out of there.

10:45  Arrive at Andy's office and get him settled into a reclining chair so he can have a meeting with his staff to plan for the next few weeks.  I sit and eat my breakfast sandwich and check emails and facebook and try to catch up on all the unanswered texts.

11:30  Leave Andy at his office and run home to clean: vacuum, mop, clean up breakfast dishes, clean up the clutter, rearrange the furniture in the family room to make it more comfortable for Andy.  Take a few minutes to write some emails.

1:45  Drive to preschool to pick up Jonas.

2:10  Drive to Andy's office to pick him up.

2:20  Arrive home, get him settled in and fetch all the things he needs (chargers, water, a snack, meds, pillows, a warmer shirt, etc)

2:30  Girls arrive home from school.  Put together snacks and water and make everyone go to the bathroom.

 3:00  Take the kids to Wal-mart to get some things we need (also to get them out of the house so Andy can sleep)

4:00  Drive to a local park to take a walk.  It's colder than I thought it was and none of us have warm enough jackets, but oh well.  We find some ducks who come right up to us and the kids have a blast throwing snow to them and watching them nibble at it.  I'm thankful they're distracted so that I can talk for a few minutes with a friend on the phone.

5:00  Arrive back home and make dinner.  Eat with the kids at the table and bring dinner out to Andy.  Clean up the kitchen. Help the kids with homework.  Help them with showers.  Put away laundry.  Andy dozes off and on - sometimes falling asleep mid-sentence because of the pain meds.

6:45  Kids watch a movie with Andy on the couch so I can sit on my bed and read for a little bit.

7:45 Kids say goodnight to Daddy and then the four of us head upstairs for bedtime routines -brush teeth, find blankets and stuffed animals, close closet doors (because there are monsters in there you know), sit with each kid to talk and pray.

8:30  Help Andy get up the stairs so that he can shave and take a sponge bath.  Help him find clothes that will fit over his cast. Every movement is painful, so it takes 13 minutes just to get him dressed.

9:30 Get him settled in on the couch again (pillows, water, phone, heating blanket, chapstick, lotion, etc).  Make up a bed for him on the floor so that he can prop his foot up on the couch and switch positions easily in the middle of the night. 

10:00 Fall into bed exhausted.

10:01 Dead asleep.


The Sunday after Andy's accident I took the kids to the early service at church, and then we ran some errands.  I had left the house in a hurry that morning (read: mess) and came home to a sparkling clean kitchen - breakfast dishes washed, counters and table wiped clean, dishwasher emptied.  Andy told me a friend of ours had stopped by with cookies and ended up cleaning my kitchen for me.  I saw her a week later and thanked her.  She said, "Oh, it was such a small thing."  And I looked at her and said, "Well, for me it was a big thing.  When I am running all day long, you cleaning my kitchen for me is a big thing!"

Never underestimate what your acts of kindness  and service will mean to someone else.  If someone you love is sick, sad, worn out, injured, just had a baby - reach out and offer to help.  Be specific.  Rarely does anyone respond to the offer, "If you need help, let me know."  It is difficult to ask for help.  But people can easily respond to - "I have a meal ready for you.  When can I drop it off?" or "I would love to have your kids come over so you can have a break. What day this week will work for you?"

Friends folding laundry!

 I've learned many things throughout this experience, and one of the biggest ones is that Our people are amazing and Our community is incredible.  Thank you, thank you for the incredible ways you have loved on us during this very difficult time! We are surrounded by such great love and generosity and every single act of kindness - whether big or small - has impacted our family in a major way.  Much love!

Cuddles from our dear friend Jack

In the Middle

Today I should be packing a suitcase to go to the Middle East for a medical missions trip with my husband.  Instead I'm sitting in a hospital waiting room while he's is in surgery to reconstruct his ankle.

The phrase, "Life can turn on a dime" has taken on new meaning for us.

Everyone asks how it happened. I know Andy wishes it was a better story every time the question is posed. The truth is, he slipped on black ice, landed on his ankle, and fractured all three weight-bearing joints.

I was home folding laundry when I got the call.  "Hon, I broke my foot."  My first reaction was almost laughter -- he is a huge jokester and most people can't tell whether he's kidding or telling the truth. It’s easy for me if I can see his face – the corner of his mouth turns up when he’s teasing. But I caught myself when I heard the pain in his voice.  He explained that the ambulance had just arrived and I should come to the hospital as soon as I could.

I hung up and stared at the laundry strewn around the room.  Should I finish folding it?  What about the dishes I didn't get to?  Maybe I should get dressed first.  Who should I call?  What about Jonas, the girls?  What do I do? 

Thoughts still swirling, I decided I should just get dressed and go.  I arrived at the ER and found him sitting in a hallway, pain etched in his face, one hand holding a makeshift sling to prop up his injured ankle.  "Babe...oh my goodness...." I said as I rushed to his side.

"I have to get better so we can still go...."

At the time we didn't know how bad it was.  We both hoped that somehow, someway, we'd still be able to get on that plane in a few weeks.  

 

Many hours and multiple doctors and phone calls and a splint later, we realized there was absolutely no way.  We both fought back tears as we tried to accept the new reality - surgery, six weeks of recovery, and who-knows-how-many-more weeks of physical therapy.

The weight of it settled on me once we got home.  It's all up to me now - the food, the kids, the driving, the cleaning, the dail-yness of our life suddenly rested on my shoulders.

Instead of serving Syrian refugees, I'd be serving my husband and children.  Instead of meeting his friends from across the world, I'd be meeting doctors and nurses and scheduling appointments.  Instead of sampling Middle Eastern cuisine, I'd be relying on friends to bring meals each day.  

I had a little talk with God after everyone went to bed.  "God, I need You.  I can't do all this myself.  I don't like this.  But I know I trust You. I need You to be with me every step. It's you and me, God."

Recently a friend asked me if I'd gone back and re-read my last blog post since the accident.  I had written about the race God marked out for us: "This is the race marked out for me.  I'm sure of it. I pray my eyes stay on the course, focused on the finish, looking to the One who marked my race. " 

Little did I know when I wrote those words that God had a detour marked out for us in our race, and that the trip to the Middle East would no longer be part of our journey.

"We want to know why?  Why now?  Why him?  Why did God allow this?  But we may never know, and we have to be okay with that, because the other option quickly turns to entitlement and starts us down a road to bitterness. I can accept or I can resent.  I want to choose to trust - trust that God didn't just allow this to happen, He marked it out for us."  (I would later write in my journal)

I don't know why but I believe God is with me, not just waiting for me at the end of the race, but running right alongside me.  I believe He carries me through each day and gives me just enough grace for the moment.  I believe He will use this to draw us closer to each other and closer to Him.  I believe He will teach us and grow us and that this will be a story worth telling. 

But I'm still sad.  Andy's heartbroken.  Trust doesn't erase emotion.  And I’ve learned it’s not wise to bury the emotion and pretend either, because then you turn into a fake.  It's okay to feel the weight of grief, to sit in it and let it wash over you, to cry and yell and punch pillows.  (not that I've ever done that. wink, wink)

You might scare everyone else in your house, but there is One who is big enough to handle that side of you.  The one who understands, who comforts without condemnation, who bears the burden with you.  He doesn't want or need a fake you, who says the right thing all the time and quotes Christian cliches.  I really don't want or need that either.  He wants the real you, the raw emotion, the truthful thoughts.   

Larry Crabb writes, "The difficult truth is that, relationship with God, this side of heaven, does not always feel good.  God lets us experience seasons of emptiness and futility that simply cannot be endured if our real aim is satisfaction in this life. Jesus' greatest moment of surrender came when he faced his most terrifying prospect of aloneness. And that surrender released His deepest resolve. The tortures of Gethsemane prepared him for the horrors of Calvary. Without wrestling in the Garden, would He have found the strength to remain on the Cross?"  (The Papa Prayer)

And the strength comes not in yourself, or in the success or resolution of your situation, but in the Presence of the One wrestling alongside of you.  He's running the race with you, sometimes whispering encouragement, other times carrying you.  Our Comforter, Our Confidante, our Cheerleader.  And you’re strong simply because He’s there.

Life is hard. Life is messy. Life sucks sometimes. Or maybe a lot of the time. There are no guarantees that life will follow our plan or expectations. But you know what? God told us that. He was honest with us. He said we'd have trouble in this world, but "I have overcome the world." (John 17:33) My hope has to rest in that - He has overcome, one time at Calvary, and someday at the end.  And in the middle, He's here, He's real, and He's running right next to me.  And that is what gives me courage to get up the next day and do it all again.  

Run Your Race

I'm sorry I've been silent.  I have no words.  And it's hard to write when you don't have words. There are still stories to tell from Ethiopia. Memories stacked up in my mind like little boxes waiting to be opened. I don't know if it's harder to  go back and open them or harder to gather up all the memories into a worthy story - to not just read words on a page but to forget for a few moments where you are as you yourself enter in.  While I was there the words flowed freely, the experiences were fresh and vivid and alive. And the stories almost wrote themselves.  I'm learning that storytelling is a form of art, and art is always inspired. It's almost impossible to dictate or force or schedule. So as I settle more comfortably into this role of writer, I accept that the words will come when they come, and until then I need to be watching, listening, absorbing, and waiting for the stories to unfold in their time. I promise they will - there is more to say, so much more to say.

And maybe you know that next month there will be a similar story, yet vastly different too.  Andy and I will travel to the Middle East for a medical missions trip.  It's his third time there and my first.  Last year when he returned from his second trip, he asked me to come with him on the next one.  I said yes. I wanted to meet his friends, see the country he'd fallen in love with, taste the food he raved about, and serve the people his heart broke for.  It was my time, finally.  Every other time had been the wrong time, but I knew this time I was ready and the kids would be okay.

And then God threw us the Ethiopia curveball.  My heart was torn at first.  Two trips in less than five months?  What will people say? Would they judge me for leaving my children that much?  Am I a bad mom for leaving them again?

"And let us run with endurance the race marked out for us." Hebrews 12:1

Those words leapt off the page when I read them a few weeks ago. This is the race marked out for me. I'm sure of it. And though others may not agree, or may question, I pray my eyes stay on the course, focused on the finish, looking to the One who marked my race.

"We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith."  Hebrews 12:2

I've applied this verse to so many things in my life lately. I have a tendency to look at others' races and decide theirs  look better than mine.  It appears easier over there, and I want to jump over to their lane. Or maybe give up, or at least slow down. I compare and wish and and covet. I feel inadequate. I doubt and fear and wonder if I'm even in the right race.

My race looks so different than yours, but I'm learning that's okay, and in fact that's the way God designed it. He's reminding me to stay on course, keep looking straight at Him, and keep running no matter what, just keep running. And in the end -- the only thing that matters -- is that He is the end.  He's there waiting for me, ready to congratulate me, hug me, and say, "Well done."  And in the end, His opinion will be the one that counts.

Here's a picture of our team from Maryland, and we'll join up with another team once we get there.

Kate, Jack, Lisa, Carla, me, Andy

 We'll be serving with the local church who is serving refugees from Syria.  (I'm sorry I'm being so vague - we have to be for the safety and security of those on the ground.) I'll be playing with and loving on the kids who come into the clinic. I'm praying that love and play will overcome the language barrier, and that God will use me in some small way to touch their hearts.  Pray for the team, that we will be unified, and that God will use those with medical gifts to reach  beyond the physical into hearts and souls. Pray for the brave ones on the ground, serving Jesus in a hostile region, risking their lives daily.  They've counted the cost and they've decided the risk is worth it.  And finally, pray for this country and the people who have witnessed tragedies we only see on the news. Pray that God will heal and restore their broken hearts.  Pray that they too, will run their race with endurance, the race marked out for them, keeping their eyes on Jesus, the author and finisher of their faith. 

While Shepherds Watched

There were shepherds staying in the fields nearby.  Suddenly an angel appeared and the radiance of the Lord's glory surrounded them.  They were terrified!!

"Don't be afraid!  The Savior - the Messiah - has been born in Bethlehem!  You will recognize Him by this - he's the one lying in a manger, wrapped in cloth."

Suddenly that angel was joined by a host of others - the armies of heaven - praising God.  Then they returned to heaven and all was silent again.  The shepherds turned to each other - let's go!

They hurried and found it just as the angel had said.  They marveled at the baby, and after they left, they went and told everyone what they had seen.

"All who heard the shepherds' story were astonished, but Mary kept all these things hidden in her heart, and thought about them often."  

Luke 2:8-21 (paraphrased by me)

Life interrupted.  First, for Mary.  Then, Joseph.  And now, shepherds. Four hundred years had passed since the last prophet heard from God.  400 years of silence - no miracles, no angels, no voices from heaven.

And then Gabriel the angel comes to a young girl with the strangest message yet.  Curious and confused, still she accepts this sacred mission.  "I am the Lord's servant."  And she believed.

But how to explain this to Joseph?  She tries, but he doesn't get it.  He's hurt, betrayed, embarrassed.  So an angel comes to him also, in a dream.  "Do not be afraid, Joseph.  Mary tells the truth.  You will be His daddy, you will name Him Jesus, and He will save His people from their sins."  And Joseph believed.

For nine months they shared this secret between them - watching Mary's belly grow - wondering what He would look like, who He'd look like, how He'd act.  Would he act like a baby or a Messiah?  Maybe Mary had sleepless nights, pondering, wondering, possibly worrying.  Had it all been a dream?  The two angels - maybe it never really happened.

The day came.  He was born.  But there was no angel, no voice from heaven.  He didn't look like a King or a God - just a baby.  A beautiful baby, I am sure, but a baby like all others.  Could this really be the Messiah?

And then noise outside, hurried footsteps, shouts, a knock at the door - and a bunch of dirty, smelly shepherds burst into the tiny stable, speaking of angels and bright light and a Savior in a manger.  And they saw too, and they believed.

"All who heard the shepherd's story were astonished, but Mary kept all these things hidden in her heart, and thought about them often."  Luke 2:19 NLT

I imagine her on the shy side, gentle and kind, one who thinks deeply and guards her words.   I can picture her in this place, quietly observing the commotion, proud smile on her pretty face, heart bursting with emotion.  A soft grin slowly works itself into a full smile, understanding now that God brought these shepherds here for her, to confirm to her wondering mind what she already knew in her heart.  Yes, this is the Messiah, the Savior, the Christ - it is true!  The angels told us too, a whole army of them in the sky!

They were astonished, but she was not.  She had known all along.  She'd had nine months to ponder, to pray, to watch the story unfold in her womb.  Each moment a treasure, leading up to this moment - in this stable, with Joseph and the babe and a ragtag bunch of sheep herders. Sometimes the miracle isn't only in the angels and the lights and the voices, but in the quiet trust of a humble heart.  One who says yes even when nothing makes sense, who sets aside agendas and fears and simply believes. 

For Such a Time as This

If you have any food in your fridge, any clothes in your closet, any small roof, rented or owned, over your head, you are richer than 75% of the rest of the world.

If you have anything saved in the bank, any bills in your wallet, any spare change in a jar, you are one of the top 8% wealthiest people in the world.

If you can read these words right now, you have a gift 3 billion people right now don’t, if your stomach isn’t twisted in hunger pangs, you have a gift that 1 billion people right now don’t, if you know Christ as the greatest Gift, you have a gift that untold millions right now don’t.   

(statistics borrowed from The Greatest Gift, by Ann Voskamp, p. 179-180)

Conviction.  Or guilt.  Reading those statistics for the first time I felt a mixture of both.  Why was I chosen to live in smalltown, USA and Kalkidan in one of the poorest sections of Ethiopia?  It's a question I have pondered often.  It's a marvelous gift for me, and a devastating curse for her.  The girl who was forced into prostitution as a mere child.  Grew up with a mother who died and a father who didn't want her.  Not allowed to go to school or learn to read.  Had a baby when she was just 14, by a man she didn't even know.  Forced by her circumstances to give up that baby to an orphanage.

 We sat under a blazing sun, the details of her story pouring out, stopping only so that my friend could translate.  I had asked her to tell me her story.  Me, a virtual stranger, and she was entrusting me with the darkest of secrets.  All I could do was hold her hand and stare into her eyes, willing her to see that I cared and that I didn't judge. Kalkidan, the the shy girl with sparkly eyes who photo-bombed every picture during our visit to Women at Risk earlier in the week.  The one who rushed to sit next to me, held my hand while we prayed, and wouldn't leave my side.  Precious girl, desperate for someone to notice her, to look past the sins of her past, and really see her.

Just moments earlier, Wenshet had told me a similar story of loss and death and heartache too early for any human being to endure.  I knew I only had moments left with her here in this place; our flight was leaving later that day, and I wanted to use these precious moments wisely.  

"Do you know Jesus?"  I asked.  She assured me she did.  "Then we will see each other again someday, even if it's not here, in Africa.  We will be together in heaven someday!  Do you know that?"  She said yes, she did, but she was afraid of her sin.  The things she had done in the dark, in the secret, things too shameful to mention.  Would she be excluded from this place, this heaven?

"I am afraid of my sin too.  It's too awful to mention.  But that is why Jesus came for us.  Jesus took our sin on Himself when He died for us - He became sin - and he made us as pure and white as...."

"Snow" was on the tip of my tongue, but then I remembered I was in Africa, and that analogy would not work!  I searched my mind for another word, then turned and noticed a scarf wrapped around the neck of the woman sitting near us, a beautiful pure white scarf with tiny glittering sequins on it.  "As white as this scarf!"  The woman wearing it lit up, having no idea why we were both touching her scarf, tears forming in our eyes.

I asked Wenshet if I could pray for her, and what she would most want prayer for. She told me she was scared that she'd return to prostitution.  She asked me to pray that she would be strong and keep learning about Jesus and forgiveness for her sin.

Kalkidan on the left, Wenshet on the right

When I whisper up a prayer for strength, it's usually so that I won't snap at my kids, or so that I can get through my endless to-do list each day.  When these girls pray for strength - it's a plea to survive one more day off the streets.  One more day of showing up at the program that is slowly teaching them to read, to learn a skill, to build a future.  What lives of contrast.

Lest I slip again into guilt, I remind myself that I was born "For such a time as this." This blog post, by Ann Voskamp, deeply touched Andy and I when we read it this past summer.  It served as a catalyst for us to say "yes" to going to Ethiopia. Please take time to read it - she explains it so well.  We, like Queen Esther of the Old Testament, are the ones living in the palace, and there's a whole hurting world on the other side of the gates.  We have a responsibility as palace dwellers.  "To whom much is given, much will be required."  Luke 12:48

These two precious souls - I can't get them out of my mind.  I pray for them almost every day.  I try to imagine what they might be doing.  I keep allowing myself to be haunted by their stories, lest I get too comfortable in the palace and forget.

 
 I think God longs for all of us to let our guards down and allow our hearts to see the hurt in this world, and be broken to pieces. Then, to place those broken bits before Him as our offering, letting Him heal and soften and turn those hard pieces into something that can be used for good.  With a softened heart,  we can then move from the safety of the palace into a hurting world and hurt with it.  No longer paralyzed by guilt or immobilized by indifference, we open our hearts to dare to move beyond our borders and bring hope.  Hope not in ourselves and in what we can do, but in a God who gave up everything to save humanity and continues to relentlessly pursue each one of us.

Compared to Jesus, we're all outside the gate, a mass of sin and pain and brokenness.  Yet with His one sacrifice - to be born into this mess, to die a sinner's death, and to raise from the dead victorious - the gates fling wide open and we all gain entrance into the palace of the King.  It's too wondrous to believe.  And yet we do - we believe.

 May I never become too comfortable in the palace.  May I offer up the broken pieces of my life to the One who brings beauty from ashes.  May I dare to believe that He'll use me to share His love and hope with a broken world.  May I live in awe of the sacred gift of Himself, not just at Christmas, but every day I have on this earth.

Merry Christmas, dear friends. 
Much love to you all.
~Katie

Re-entry

I still have so much to write about our trip, and yet this post has been brewing in my mind and heart for a few days now, so it's taking priority.  :)  

People keep asking us how we're doing.  "How's your heart?"  "How are you doing emotionally?"  "Are you feeling adjusted yet?"

Honestly, I thought I'd be completely wrecked and broken, but I'm not. Totally fatigued, groggy, and sad, yes.  Jet lag is NO fun.

The poverty in Ethiopia was tragic and sad, but it wasn't shocking for us.  Andy and I have both witnessed extreme poverty and maybe that's why - we were adding another layer of awareness to an already accumulated knowledge and compassion, instead of shocking our systems with a brand new reality.   It also helped that we experienced and processed this together, praying, debriefing, and talking through things as they happened.

When I returned home from my college missions trip to Mexico, I was a wreck.  I felt guilty for living in a house after witnessing people who lived in homes covered by plastic tarps and cardboard and whatever else they found in the dump.  I felt guilty that I could walk into a supermarket and have fifty choices of bread while others had to sift through garbage for their next meal.  I felt guilty for birthday gifts and restaurants and a working car and all of the other luxuries I had previously taken for granted.  It took a long time for me to reconcile the disparity between my life of abundance and their life of poverty.

I don't want to feel guilt.  Guilt alienates and it condemns.  It is a very poor motivator.   Instead of wallowing in guilt, I pray I can embrace gratitude.  Gratitude for this incredible opportunity.  Gratitude for the friends we made.  Gratitude for loving family and friends back home who supported and prayed for us.  Gratitude that God allowed us to be used, in whatever way, to advance His kingdom on this earth.  Guilt leads to shame and immobility; gratitude spurs action and service.

We saw and experienced things that will continue to impact us as we continue our daily lives here.  As we return to work and laundry and preschool pick-ups,  it's easy to begrudge the monotony of the life I've returned to.  And yet God never says that holding orphans is more spiritual than doing laundry.  He tells us we have a responsibility to care for orphans, widows, and the poor (James 1:27) but also says that whatever we do should be done in His Name and for His glory (Colossians 3:17).  Everything we do is spiritual if we're doing it for Him.  God is looking for hearts that see Him in the mundane as well as the extraordinary.  Hearts that ask, "How can I serve you here, in this moment?"  Hearts that expect Him to show up in mighty ways whether we're in Africa or in our family room.  He is a God of adventure, and He doesn't limit that to missions trips and mountaintop experiences.

So here's what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life -- your sleeping, eating, going to work, and walk-around life - and place it before God as an offering. This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life.  It's adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike, "What's next, Papa?"  Romans 12:1, 8:15 MSG

What's next?  I'm not sure.  We had an awesome, amazing trip.  We learned so much.  We interacted with the most incredible people.  We saw poverty of things and wealth of relationship.  We hope to go back someday!  For now, our prayer continues to be one of openness and trust - open to whatever He has in store for us and continuing to trust Him without borders!

Bezaye

As we were planning our trip to Ethiopia, our friend Ashley told us she wanted us to meet her friend, Beza, and asked if she could help out that week with translating or anything else.  I looked her up on facebook and saw that was drop-dead gorgeous and had over 1,000 followers.  Not friends, but followers!  I thought to myself, "Who is this girl? A model?"  And I immediately started making assumptions about Beza -- probably shallow, aloof, and stuck on herself.

Wow, was I wrong.

Beza is sweet, kind, and gentle.  She has an infectious laugh and good naturedly endured Andy's teasing all week, responding with an equally quick wit.  Although more on the reserved side, she opens up easily with those she trusts (a lot like me!).  She is absolutely physically beautiful, and yet her heart is even more so.  Often we'd find her in tears, heartbroken over the poverty and brokenness we were witnessing together.  She LOVES coffee (buna) and could drink a whole cup faster than we could take two sips! 

Our first day together was spent at Embracing Hope, then at the coffee ceremony in Korah, and ended with a trip to an orphanage.  I think she cried at each one.  She has such a tender heart and strong desire to serve, and her love for others and Jesus shined in everything she did.

 
Beza confided in us earlier in the week that she did not want to watch the dental procedures during the dental clinics (neither did I!).  She was afraid she wouldn't be able to handle the blood.  The first day of clinic she worked in the medical room, helping translate for those that came in with skin and other minor issues.  After being diagnosed the patient was given a lotion or medication to help treat the problem.   Beza has been trained as a pharmacist, so this was right up her alley. 

On our second day of clinic, we were short some translators.  The oral surgeon, Dr. Steve, handed some surgical gloves to Beza and motioned her over to his chair.  Beza stood by his side all day, helping him to understand the patient's needs and pain level.  I popped in and out of the room periodically, checking to make sure she was handling it okay, and felt so very proud of her for jumping in and serving where she was needed most.

 Throughout the course of the week, we learned that we were hanging out with a pretty well-known singer.  Beza is a member of a Christian group called Zema 4 Christ, which in English means "the best for Christ." In their words:  "Our philosophy is one and clear that is to love and serve God with all our hearts, minds, strength, and thoughts. Worship is a product of the knowledge of God’s love to us and our response to it through dedication of our entire life to his will. We want God to use us in any way not just on our stages but through our day to day life among our neighbors, in the midst of this corrupted world system. Our first and prior mission is to live Godly life and be witnesses of God’s salvation by being light and salt to this world."  Zema 4 Christ just recorded their second album and tours all over Ethiopia, singing in churches, at festivals, and other gatherings. They're a pretty big deal in their country!





And yet humble Beza never even let on.  We found out from Sammy and others we talked to.  Someday I hope to see them sing in person, maybe even here in America!  Check them out on youtube!

On our last day there, we put in a full day of clinic and reserved a few hours so that we could go back to our room and pack for our 10:30 pm flight.  Our first stop was ice cream, of course.  Then we invited Sammy and Beza to come up to our room and hang out. We listened to music (from Jackson Five to Hillsong) and ordered room service - one more buna in Ethiopia!   We talked about life and God and love and everything else under the sun.  I felt like I was hanging out in my family room with two of my closest friends.

LOOK!  It's your favorite chair! 

 Finally we were packed and ready to go.  I had been fighting tears all day, and then the floodgates opened, for all of us.  The thought that we didn't know when we'd see each other again was just too much.  Experiencing all that we did together - the hours in the car, the poverty and brokenness, the beautiful children, the brave men and women making life changes - has formed a bond between us for life.  Andy asked if we could pray for them, and we all joined hands and choked back tears. 

In Amharic (the major language spoken in Ethiopia), -ye is added to the end of someone's name as a term of endearment.  Andye, Katiye, Sammiye.

Bezaye, you are a dear friend and my life is better with you in it. I miss you so much.  I think about you all the time and pray for you often throughout my day.  Thank you for sharing your heart with us, and for welcoming us to your beautiful country with open arms.  Thank you for teaching us Amharic and for laughing at us when we messed up.  :)  Thank you for putting up with Andy all week.  :)  You have a gift and God is going to use you mightily for His kingdom - He already is.  I can't wait to see what else He has for you.  You are precious, dear friend and little sister!  Much love to you always!  Until we meet again....

habasha and feringe :)