Gracefully Frank

Apparently if you try to go through airport security crying your eyes out, you will be considered a person of interest to the homeland security guards on duty. The Lord supernaturally empowered me with the strength to walk away from mom and dad at the Little Rock National Airport Sunday evening. It's not that I believe I have to be there for things to be ok...it's more like climbing up out of the trench and waving goodbye, when you would rather be in the trench with them fighting with them, next to them. But, I climbed up. I think the man who checked my baggage and had to tell me more than twice where to take it probably walkie-talkied ahead that I was on my way. As I walked closer to the check point a guard motioned to me and said “Miss, could you step over here.” You’ve been randomly chosen for further screening.” Randomly huh? I was still crying. She asked if I had the “sniffles.” I said “no, I’m crying.” She asked for my ID which was stuck in my wallet refusing to slide out of its little plastic slot. After a few minutes of watching me try to get it out embarrassed and apologizing…one of the three guards surrounding me took my wallet to try and get it out himself. No luck. So they emptied my wallet which included Ethiopian currency that seemed to confuse them. Looking more suspicious by the minute, “You been to Ethiopia lately?” one of them asked. “Yes," I answered still crying. Then I was informed they would be doing a residue test with swabs on my hands. I was hoping I did not inadvertently have bomb making residue on my hands. What household ingredients can make a bomb? Had I been into any of that this morning? It probably didn’t help that I still had my sunglasses on to try and hide a little bit that I was crying. Between the aviators, the crying, the foreign currency…I figured I was about one outburst away from a night in a Little Rock prison. (Hold steady Haley. Dry it up, or they might give me something to cry about.) I had no residue though and turns out neither crying nor wearing sunglasses indoors is against the law so they let me go on my own recognizance. Next stop…take off my shoes, and getting stopped by the guard who would thoroughly dig through both of my carry-on bags. She handled everything then pulled my toothpaste out, shot me a look, and told me to throw it away. I guess this might be a good time to admit to my roommate that I’ve been using her toothpaste these past few days. Thanks Jackie.

I finally made it passed all check points; called my brother; called my Riann. They settled me down. I decided it was unfair for the person stuck next to me on the plane to have their day affected by some weird lady with sunglasses on crying next to them in a confined space. Let’s call him Joe… a father of 3, grandpa of 2, brother of 1 sister whom he helped move to Arkansas on Saturday, and husband to 1 good woman who is a bible-study leader and brings him special breakfast on Friday mornings. Joe never suspected a thing behind my sunglasses. Though it is kind of weird that he didn’t think it was kind of weird that I was wearing sunglasses in the plane. Thankfully, I liked listening to Joe talk, and Joe enjoyed talking. He persevered passed my face being turned toward my book until I finally just closed my book and turned toward him. Joe wishes his youngest daughter would kind of get her life together, but his older two kids are doing pretty well. He gets to work on time every morning. That’s just how he was raised. He doesn’t understand young people today. He could not believe he forgot to take his fishing pole to Arkansas, and slept better last night than he has in months because of the cool Little Rock temperature. It was raining as we were entering our final dissent into DFW. Joe pointed out the view behind me out my window seat 24A. Here is what I saw...























Majesty.

Two Lady Birds picked me up from the airport. Then I drove back to Carrollton in pouring rain, left my luggage in the car and went to bed. Right now is a time when there is only one set of footprints in the sand.

Mom and Dad will be in Little Rock for at least a month. Dad is wearing a neck brace 24/7 due to potential instability in his neck near his spinal cord. They will meet with the neurosurgeon tomorrow to discuss what needs to be done there. Then they will meet with Dr. Waheed on Thursday and hopefully get started on chemo.

Thank you still for your prayers. It seems like a book of stamps is harder and harder to come by lately…but if you might feel so inclined to send them a card or note while they are away from home those are always welcome. It is amazing how that gesture, even from people they don’t know, can be such an encouraging reminder that they are being prayed for and not alone through this.


Towne Place Suites Little Rock
Attn: Tim and Glenda Scully, Rm 302
12 Crossings Ct
Little Rock, AR 72205

Yesterday wasn't a very enjoyable day. We were anxious, tired and a little overwhelmed. But, today in Little Rock things just seem to be better. Grace. I'm sitting cross legged and sideways in a booth next to my mom. She has her little reading glasses on and every once a while mouths the words she is reading from a book called A Bend In The Road by David Jeremiah detailing his battle with cancer. She is pretty amazing. She has not been telling me how to drive at all. Her mind is elsewhere and I think she is just trusting me with the wheel. I find it strangely unsettling that she's not directing my driving, like the time she told me to take my keys out of the ignition before I got out of the car (she thinks out loud). Be careful what you wish for friends. I'm pausing from writing right now because she wants to read me something from that book that is making her cry good tears...she can read me whatever she wants, whenever she wants.

We are sitting in a lovely section of the cancer institute called The Gathering Place. The Starbucks and gift shop located here closed about an hour ago and the majority of lights have been dimmed. A little old man whom I passed several times walking around yesterday in a Dr.'s coat is now dressed in plain clothes and playing the Steinway Grand piano across the aisle from where we sit. He may have escaped from the psych ward, but he's cute and I like the song he's playing... It's just me, mom and him in here right now. My Dad is behind some big doors where some young person in scrubs walked him away from us to have a series of MRIs done. Do they even realize who they were getting to walk beside? He's got on a new shirt and new slacks a couple of sizes smaller than normal. He's wearing dress shoes. Daddy has always been a sharp dresser. I took a picture of him and sent it to Chris so he could see how our Dad dressed his best even when he feels his worst. Chris texted back "Chemo can't take your cool." Daddy is cool. He has his hot buttons like everyone else, but he doesn't get too ruffled about things, at least not that anyone but mom would ever get to see. He's totally relying on the Lord, that is where he draws his strength. Every morning he reads a devotion to us and we pray together. He is a quiet testimony to a life anchored in faith, head up, taking care of business.






Tomorrow morning we will find out the results from the tests he has been through this week. They do gene mapping here at UAMS, and can determine if dad is a high risk or low risk multiple myeloma patient. I will not pretend to understand how that works. However, those results will aid in developing his treatment plan and will help the doctors determine if they should start chemo immediately, or allow mom and dad to return home and come back soon to begin treatment. Dad has gone two weeks now without chemotherapy to combat the cancer in his body. We want him to start receiving the healing medicine sooner rather than later. We spent part of yesterday and today finding a long term stay option for them, and this morning found a great place that both of them are happy with. Mom said she is not just pleased, she is thrilled. Me too then.

So tomorrow we will check out of our hotel, meet with Dr. Waheed and then either head toward Ponca City, or out to Town Place Suites where breakfast is included everyday, the beds are very comfortable, we like how it is decorated and there is no funny smell. For those of you who know my momma, you know that smells are important considerations. If you have to be away from home, and you have to be recovering from intense chemotherapy, or you have to help your spouse through that...its a great place. If chemo is to begin right away, and mom and dad do stay here in Little Rock, that will mean I will book a flight to Dallas for Sunday. I need that flight to still be open by the time I'm able to book it tomorrow. I've got a Lady Bird lined up to pick me up at DFW and take me to my car that is hopefully still sitting at the train station in downtown Fort Worth. Somehow I will get on the plane and leave my parents here to fight cancer. Thankfully, they are fighters. Thankfully they have a God who loves them more than me and makes a way for them. It is my faith in God's Presence and work in their lives that helps me to fly away from them...but that doesn't mean I won't ugly cry again. Pretty sure I will.

Please keep Dad and Mom in your prayers. God knows their names, but in case you don't...his name is Tim and her name is Glenda.

I am on a train, sitting still, moving at a high rate of speed. I have pulled out my pink 1st generation ipod mini and am currently listening to my favorite mix of Pride and Prejudice soundtrack, Yo Yo Ma, and Zoe Keating. I like this sound to track the setting sun and Texas/Oklahoma pasture land show that is passing by my window. As this train rolls down the tracks that have been here for years and years we pass horses and cows, small towns, farm houses. I wonder who lives there. Did they laugh today? Did they cry today? Are they sitting in their favorite chair? Do they have hope? Are they bored? I'm pretty sure they like John Wayne, biscuits and gravy, and Friday night football. Most of the curtains on the train are drawn except for mine. The sun is beaming in and the lady on the other side of the aisle has kind of caught my eye a couple of times as if to ask if I'm going to pull the curtains next to me that would save her eyes. I'm not though. So I'm not going to turn my head toward her again. I like this golden moment. Besides the two borderline elderly, borderline inebriated couples that sit directly in front of me ("I don't know if I should have another drink Jer, I've had two today." I got this Jer...you've had enough Nancy. Why don't you just rest your eyes.) I like this golden moment. Beautiful music. Beautiful sunset. On my way home.































I have seen some beautiful places this year. Places I never dreamed I would go. In Israel I prayed in the garden of Gethsemane. I walked along the shore where Jesus told Peter to feed His sheep. I stood in Nazareth. As in Jesus of Nazareth. There is a Kentucky Fried Chicken there now. I stood on the temple grounds where Christ will come back. That's hard to fathom, but I can. Within a few months of being there I held laughing orphaned children in my arms in Africa. I felt the rain that falls everyday in Ethiopia during their rainy season to water the land farms aren't equipped to water. Their reliance on God is great in a land not of plenty, and our God provides. I met and walked with beautiful people living lives of humility with an abundance of grace. More than I can express beautiful. My thoughts continually go back to these places, even as I recommit my focus to my calling in Texas. These passed few weeks I've spent a lot of time surrendering all over again to the Lord. Even kind of struggling through processing what all has happened this year, the drama and trauma of it all, and trying to figure out what God is doing in all of this and what I need to be doing. Where would I not go? Who would I not trust Him with? What would I not allow Him to comfort me in? What would I not praise Him through? Nowhere. No one. Nothing. But He has put my heart and mind at rest (finally), showing me that for now, I do what I know for sure He called me to do, and what I love doing each day with people I am grateful to serve with. So, my head is back in the game, and I am peacefully settled waiting on God to call plays. "Who is the man who fears the Lord? He will instruct him in the way he should choose." Psalm 25:12 "In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight." Proverbs 3:6

As she sat on the train she wrote about her life; where the year had taken her, where the train was taking her, and where the road ahead would take her...

The sun is totally set now. It's black outside except for when we roll into a little town, or pass a refinery that I like to pretend is a far off big city. We also make quick stops at the little train stations between Fort Worth and Oklahoma City. At night especially they look like a movie scene where Bogart leans against the wall, brim down, smoking a cigarette looking suspisiously at a dame.











I'm going home this weekend to travel with Mom and Dad to Little Rock, AR. We are going to the University of Arkansas Medical Services hospital. The UAMS Myeloma Institute for Research and Therapy is located there. Sam Walton had multiple myeloma and helped found the hospital over 20 years ago. They like to use the word "cure," and we like that word. http://myeloma.uams.edu. Dad's Dr. in OKC was encouraging when mom and dad mentioned they would like to move his treatment to UAMS. Dad's cancer is not in remission yet, and although we have seen great improvements in his pain level and strength, his cancer level has not dropped since July 22nd. Since dad is stronger now, and Little Rock is only thisfar on a big map. We are loading up and moving out. It will be like starting over. He will have all of the tests to confirm diagnosis he first had in OKC. They want all of their own results to operate from. So beginning Tuesday morning he will start the tests again. He will not be hospitalized this time though, since he is not in the pain he was in before. We will come and go from the hospital for his appointments Tuesday through Thursday. Then on Friday morning at 11:00 we will meet with Dr. Sarah Waheed to discuss the stage of his diagnosis, and their suggested protocol. We know already they are breaking away from the standard protocol that is being done at all other hospitals treating multiple myeloma. Since UAMS is a research hospital they set the new standards. It is possible dad will ultimately have two bone marrow transplants. We'll do whatever. I know that is easy for me to say. I guess I mean we will be beside him through whatever as God opens doors and opportunities for treatments and healing. We will appreciate your prayers as we spend the week in Arkansas. Pray for Dad's comfort as we travel. It is about a 5 1/2 hour drive from Ponca. Pray for clear direction for the Dr's. as they plan a protocol for his treatment. Pray we enjoy our time together and maybe have a few golden moments. And especially pray momma is able to fight the urge to constantly tell me how to drive. Oh my word pray she fight the urge to tell me how to drive. But when she does, that I be patient.

Note to self: bring a blanket for the train next time, give thanks for time to sit still while moving at a high rate of speed, give thanks for music that drowns out Jer and Nancy, Robert and Deb. Give thanks for my brother who waits for me at the station. Give thanks for each golden moment passed, and yet to come.

You should read the blog I wrote early Sunday morning. I really poured my heart out. I was a little distressed, a little anxious and totally honest, completely vulnerable, and humbly surrendered. Whew! That will drain a girl. I used words like: serve, trust, passion, quiet, please, forgive, stillness, joy, faithful, boldness, anywhere, grace and love. I was kind of taking a moment, and I thought this venue, to cry out. And then in my diligence to write all of my honest feelings from my heart I remembered these words "He will quiet you with His love..."   I've sort of always been prone to lay it all out there. To say honestly what I thought about things.  I’ve never been afraid of discussion.  I've learned some hard lessons about timing and what constitutes something that needs to be said vs. something that doesn't...and to whom it needs to be said. I'm still learning. There are a few misguided honesty moments that stand out in my childhood...   Scene 1:  The living room of my babysitter’s house. All of us in her care where told to line up to receive our paddling (this is the only time we ever had to do this). We had returned to sit on the curb with our feet in the street, after she had told us not to. I guess having our feet in the street was irresistible. I was maybe 4 and the youngest of the curb-sitters so I was at the tail end of the spanking line. I watched as each of the others took their turn and then marched to the kitchen for the chicken noodle soup and crackers that awaited us. But when it was finally my turn something I didn't expect happened. She paddled me....and it did not hurt at all. Did she mean for that to hurt? Because it didn't. And I wasn't sure of the point of this little drama if that was the big end to all of her talk. So, on my way to the kitchen with those thoughts running through my mind, I turned back to her and said: "Betty, that didn't hurt." That turned out to be too much honesty.   Scene 2: The living room of our house where I spent most of my little kid days. Probably around the same age. A good year for me. My brother and I are in front of our Christmas tree. I'm wearing a red Christmas dress and white leotards. Some family friends, who loved to give good gifts to Chris and I, came by with a present for each of us. Chris ripped into his; a Star Wars Cartoon projector set. A-m-a-z-i-n-g. He rarely let me play with his Star Wars stuff because I made Han and Leia kiss. Maybe they got me something Star Wars too! I ripped into my gift and it was some goofy looking clown holding a drum with a piggy bank slot in it. Excuse me? Is this the vibe I give off? So, to my family's humiliation I looked up and said to these friends: "Um, I never wanted one of these." The fallout from that honesty moment was a sudden overcompensating love to collect all things clowns that lasted 15 years and resulted in many, many clowns. I had friends who wouldn't even sleep in my room when they stayed the night. I did grow to like my clowns especially that first one I named Corky after my grandpa, but I learned too much honesty can have lasting repercussions. My Brother Chris, Me and Corky the Clown.  This photo is not of a reinactment.        Ok, one more:   Scene 3: Our cul-de-sac. All the little cul-de-sac children who were my buddies were in our yard. I had just organized an obstacle course for them to complete. Don't be shocked. There was a jump rope section. I remember they had to go out the back gate, circle one of Daddy’s old cars and swing on my swing set. They also had opportunity to walk the half brick wall around our porch. It was a pretty good time. The time was nearing, however, for one of my bff's from school to come spend the night. So I went and told all of my after school and weekend friend's they were going to need to head on home because I didn't get much time with my spend-the-night friend and I wanted to just play with her now. Mutiny. Susie-from-my-block went right in and told my mom about my ungraceful frankness. Mom called me out (my parents were not hesitant about that) and all of my little neighbor friends stayed to play, but were mad at me. So, I didn't have any fun because they were all giving me the stink eye and getting my school friend to be mad at me too. Full disclosure of my selfish feelings right then was not a wise way to go.   There are plenty of stories as I got older where I learned some hard lessons. And plenty of times where it was honesty's nemesis which had hold of my tongue. But some stories are left better untold, Right? Right.   Like my recent heart-pouring-out-blog, that has taken its place not on this site, but between me and the Lord. I really enjoy blogging. Shortly after my first post, was my trip to Austin to see Ryan and Jess, and shortly after that was the plan to go to Ethiopia. Writing about that trip in this blog financed the majority it. Then getting to share all that was happening during our time in Ethiopia and the week we began life with cancer was a huge part of thinking through all the drama and trauma and organizing my thoughts to see God's hand in the chaos. Writing gave me much needed focus, perspective, and release.   I still need focus and perspective and release.  Back to present day: Sunday morning as I was writing my guts out came this verse to mind: "He will quiet you with His love." And He did.  His Word reminded me that His love quiets me in my distress. Some things I need to just cry out to Him. He is the One who created me and loves me and only through him can I be truly quieted. Only my hope in him calms me through His word and Presence. Then he gave me time with a life-long friend to spend the afternoon with (lylas Lizzy) and sweet new roommates to spend my evening laughing with. He quieted me with himself, then with His blessings of friendship. My mom has said I'm never one to suffer in silence.  I think even as God allows me to use this voice more, He is showing me new lessons on when to let Him be the one who quiets me.   So, when I feel I need to be known I need to take it to Him who knows me best, loves me most, and has the power to redeem me from the fears and insecurities I face. Then, when it’s Him, His power and grace that I want to be known...He allows me and blesses me with this little corner of space to share…honestly. Honesty to the right ear, at the right time, for the right motives. Honesty to make Him more known, so that the Hope he gives me may be more known.   "The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; He will rejoice over you with gladness; He will quiet you by His love..." Zephaniah 3:10

There is a technique in counseling called "normalizing." Since this is not an academic blog, subject to peer review, I will just say normalizing is helping the client who is in crisis feel more normal. In crisis we may feel alone, misunderstood, hopeless, like we are spiraling. Normalizing reminds us this terrain has been tread before, and the reactions we are having to this crisis are reasonable (as long as they truly are reasonable). It can help someone who is totally untethered to hope feel more anchored in the midst of their circumstance. Although their situation is unique to them, and normalizing doesn't solve their problem, it can help the spiral to slow down long enough to get their bearings.

This technique can be really helpful to allow people to feel what they are feeling, and possibly introduce a new perspective. But here is where normalizing kind of has an opposite affect: Cancer. Normalizing with a family, or at least for my family, has turned out to not be helpful under our current diagnosis. All cancers are different; all treatments are different. There doesn't seem to be a way to normalize cancer. Here is the story of a recent conversation. The main characters are me and “Friend:”

Friend: “I’ve been wanting to ask how your dad is doing.”

Me: (being caught in one of those moments where tears win over trying to stay cool) “Well, we had a wonderful weekend. My brother and family, and two of my uncles were with us on Saturday, and we had a great day together. He looked the best I’ve seen him since this started.”

Friend: (Hugging me as I tried to dry it up) “I am praying for your Dad, and for you. I know what a difficult time this is.”

Friend is a wonderful caring person. It would have been great if our time together had stopped there. She absolutely showed love and care, and that is what I needed. However, out of Friend’s kind heart she wanted to encourage me more, she was about to try and normalize my experience by sharing hers. I know for a fact, as a devotee to normalization I have done this many times to others in an effort to make them feel not alone, or give a word of encouragement. “Well I know this story of so and so who had cancer and they are alive.” Not that bluntly stated, but some version of that. I’m sorry if I have ever tried to normalize you as you faced cancer with your family. I won't do that anymore. I’ll come sit and cry with you, and pray for you, but I won’t ask you to think further ahead than the moment we are in, or outside of God’s hand in your details. Friend’s concern for me and for dad was a great blessing, but her own cancer story, right now, was not. That is a very important distinction. Friend meant no offense. I took no offense. In no way do I think Friend is inconsiderate, or uncaring. She was sharing with me out of love. But I can't keep listening to stories that send me to my desk in tears; Mom and Dad can't listen to stories anymore either. I don’t speak/write for Chris…but go easy on him, too. I will, and mom will, gently redirect conversations going forward. We are in the throes of it right now and need to stay focused on what God is doing in Dad's life. God is giving us the strength to get through this, but our hearts aren't strong enough to compare and contrast with other cancer patients; which is the inevitable result of hearing other stories at this time. Friend really does have a good story of how God was faithful to her and carried her through the biggest heartbreak in her life. But her story makes me unable to breathe, and I really need to be able to breathe right now. It is not the time for me to identify with the point of her story. The point she was hoping to make was unfortunately not the echo that I walked away with.

I hope this comes across gracefully frank. It may sound kind of bossy, (if so, that is the first time I have ever been accused of that), to ask that you not tell us other cancer stories, and yet still covet your prayers, still desire to hear you are praying for us, or talk with you about how Dad is doing, or just talk with you about anything else; but this is the nature of where we are, we have to ask especially for Dad’s sake. If you read this blog that I love writing and find so much joy in, then you hopefully know us well enough to understand our hearts on this. The exceptions are our loved ones going through cancer and illness right now too. My namesake, who is the “Lougene” of Haley Lougene, is battling cancer right now too. We’ve been praying for her for months, and love hearing what God is doing in her life. We are not shutting down and out of the lives or trials of our loved ones. It is a blessing to pray with and for them, but we are just not accepting any additional tales of cancer beyond our own garden at this time.

So my hope is if you are in our support group please don’t stop checking on us! I love the texts I get, and e-mails from friends. Mom and Dad love the homemade jam, the borrowed movie collections, the lawn mowing, the phone calls, the smoked brisketJ, the cards, the baskets of treats, and the visits. These things have encouraged them so much. Daddy has been especially touched by all of the kindness he has been shown. These acts and words of kindness show them you care. We are unspeakably grateful for such amazing family and friends. I’m especially grateful for the women who have come around my mom to support her as she cares for Daddy. (What is this leaking from my eyes?) I would like mom to put a note on their door that says "Cancer is not discussed here, but feel free to talk Religion or Politics." Get it? I don't know if she'll do it though…she sees my bossy coming a mile away, and doesn’t always mind me.

Dad has completed 8 rounds of chemotherapy. He has this week off. He has begun to gain a little weight back, as mom is the Paula Dean of Kay County. Although she normally tries to cook healthy, her man needed to put on some weight so the gloves have come off. Whatever Daddy wants... He is scheduled for at least a few more weeks of chemo, as we are still working to put the cancer in remission. Dad will not lose his hair, he reports his back pain is better, and he isn't having the reactions to the chemo he first had. We look forward to being in remission, and scheduling the bone marrow transplant soon. He doesn't have a lot of energy, but he is up and at 'em everyday. Sometimes, when life is making me tired, Dad sings me this little song: “Oh you gotta get up and at ‘em everyday. Expect that you’ll get knocked down on the way…something something something…don’t be bitter or a quitter….oh you gotta get up and at ‘em everyday.” I never can remember all the words to that song.

Psalm 61

The Tin Soldier

Recently, I had a conversation with a man in his late 60's about his inability to believe in "this whole God thing." We were in a meeting together, a meeting I made myself go to, and when it was over he followed me to the parking lot to continue the discussion... (a well-lit parking lot with others standing around for the people in my life who would question my wisdom to not punch him and run.) He told me he thinks when we die we are just done...it's over. We are just over. Poof. He said he would like to have "faith in God," but he has surmised that it is an individual's ability to just create faith in anything that affects who they are. That it could be "faith in a rock," but somehow if they decide to believe in that rock and determine on their own what their faith in that rock means, then their lives will be changed. Unfortunately, that does happen. Some people fashion gods out of clay and worship them. For a time in my life, I tried to put my faith in my ability to have enough faith. Like somehow my own attitude toward life would create the life I envisioned. My faith ultimately was in my ability to think positively. People's "rocks" of faith maybe something different, but I've heard others talk about the power of positive thinking like it is some sort of enlightenment. A movie I saw recently put it this way: "Putting good thoughts out into the universe." What? I am not really very good at it that, I'm a little too sarcastic to enjoy denial.

A brief aside about positive thinking, or “faith in faith” as Parking Lot Thomas eluded: Positive thinking, or mustering faith in our own potential, may be a motivator to start a business, succeed in sales, exercise, read a classic, etc. We may see some results from our positive thinking and get pumped up. It’s a good practice, because the alternative to that is pretty miserable; but it isn't faith. Faith is believing in things unseen. Believing in something more than what I can put my hands on and control, especially when there is so much so often that I can't control. Positive thinking doesn't cure cancer. Sitting and thinking good thoughts in the direction of the universe will not bring the rain to Somalia. Positive thinking doesn't stop tragedy or get us through it. Positive thinking doesn't outwardly show love and cause change; it only works to control my inward interpretation of life. Sometimes it even deceives me. Positive thinking doesn't give me true hope or guidance for the road ahead. It just simply says I'm going to smile through whatever. I need a little more than that. Sometimes I am not going to smile. I don't want to positively think I'm going to be ok whatever lies ahead...I want to be ok. I don't want to positively think myself into detaching from the reality of circumstances. I want to face reality and have faith in my Lord who carries me to and through them. God has allowed me the liberty to try both. I stand as a witness to the consistency, calm, excitement and joy of faith in God, over thinking positively even really, really hard, eyes shut, fists clenched, bated breath.

But back to Parking Lot Thomas...he told me he was waiting for God to give him faith; to answer his questions; to show him He’s real. (but if he doesn’t think He is real, how can he expect Him to answer?) Then he went on to detail for me evidence of God in changed lives around him. He has witnessed the peace and joy in Grace believing Christians, (sadly he’s also witnessed the hypocrisy and judgment of those who claim grace but show little of it). His children are missionaries. He humors them, but still hasn't taken faith personally; but he keeps seeking just in case. If there is a Hell, he doesn't want to go there. And if God is real, he wants to know him. This is the moment I realized why I was at the meeting that night. To share with him how God had answered my question recently. To maybe help him see what he hasn't been seeing. To give him an example of how God might be answering him, so he could watch for it...

The Leper

Since my time in Ethiopia there are images that are forever in my mind. One of the sights seared in my memory happened as Jessica and I were being driven to the orphanage. I glanced outside the van window at a man with no legs on the side of the road, shuffling himself along with leprosy deformed arms. I immediately looked away, but could draw you a picture of his face to this day. So then how can I reconcile that image with a loving God? (Parking Lot Thomas has had this same struggle) For several weeks I had thought about that man as he would pop to mind, and I would have to try and shake him out of there as I sit comfortably here in Texas.

A few weeks later in a book I'm reading, the story of Mephibosheth came up. Not one that comes up often. Mephibosheth is introduced in 2 Samuel 4:4: “Jonathan son of Saul had a son who was lame in both feet. He was five years old when the news about Saul and Jonathan came from Jezreel. His nurse picked him up and fled, but as she hurried to leave, he fell and became disabled. His name was Mephibosheth.” His story of redemption is told in 2 Samuel 9. Click here to read about Mephibosheth's Redemption I cried at the image of that man at the King's table (it was the man in Ethiopia’s face I could see), and I cried knowing that God is so personal and loving that he would guide me to rest in Him over my concern for His plan for that man's life. He's not mad I have questions. He's not mad Parking Lot Thomas has questions. It's where we choose to seek our answers that matters.

I don't know the details of the how and why for that man in Ethiopia; but I know it has everything to do with Jesus Christ. He has opportunity to one day sit at the King's table, transformed (Phil. 3:21). Nothing that breaks my heart has escaped God. He prepares for that man, whose existence I cannot fathom even after seeing him, a place in His kingdom. His life is not going to just one day "poof," and not have had purpose except as a sight to behold for others to learn some lesson regarding our own lack of gratitude. There is justice for him through Jesus Christ. There is life after this. If we aren't desperate for justice the way that man's life is, it can be hard to see our need. We are him though; crippled in different ways. The worst disability is having so much more than that man, that we are never desperate enough to seek God. What do I do with that? Get on a mountain and start yelling? Hunker down and pray for daylight? Learn to speak Hebrew? Quit wearing make-up? Live off only goat’s milk and figs? God tells me to humble myself (know that He is God and I am not) and pray for both of these men. Pray for their circumstances. Join God in His will that they will come to know Him and the grace that awaits. Share with them the gospel by which I am saved both from hell and from a life with no hope for justice. And then watch and listen for God's still small voice. I’ve come to trust that voice, and will go wherever it leads…even if it leads me to stay right where I am, and even though that may cause me to fidget. I only do today what He has given me to do today, so he will credit that to me as faithfulness and lead me on in His purposes. That is how the image of The Leper on the side of the road in Ethiopia has found peace in my thoughts. No less heartbreak. No less love. But peace in being still and knowing...

Colossians 4:6. So I had opportunity to share a word with Parking Lot Thomas who was confronting me with his questions: Don't explain it away when God answers you. Give him credit when he answers you, as evidenced by the changed lives this man had described and the "coincidences" he shared with me. Credit Him and He will continue to guide us to a deeper understanding of Himself…a growing faith. Quit saying “God show me you are real,” but then when He responds say “that couldn’t have been God.” However, we are at liberty to choose.

Me

I asked God my question. He answered me. I can't let those images turn to bitterness over what I don't understand. I had to watch for God's response, and trust it. I could have reasoned it away, and not put two and two together...1) my uncertainty over the crippled man's reality, and 2) the story of Mephibosheth showing up in my quiet time. Instead I credit God for leading me there. I have a choice: Either it's God, or it's not. They both require me to have faith either in his existence, or his non-existence. I confess belief, and have come alive to God’s existence in my life personally. My faith isn't contingent on my circumstances, or someone else's. My faith carries me through all circumstances. My faith isn’t in my own ability to have faith; it is in the existence of God and the truth of the Bible.

After we talked for a bit more Parking Lot Thomas shook my hand, thanked me for sharing and got into his luxury car and drove away. He told me he had worked hard for everything in his life. And in short he could credit himself with everything good that had happened. Yet, here he was still uncomfortable; and there God was still answering, standing at the door knocking...even allowing me to join Him at work in this man's life for that moment increasing my faith in His Presence and guidance even more. God desires him to see and believe. Right now that Tin Soldier isn't really looking for God; he is looking at everything else in an effort to disprove God. He’s trying to get comfortable on this “issue” where comfort isn't going to be possible, because it is God who calls us unto Himself. My heartbreak for him is different but equal to the man in Ethiopia.


Both destitute. One knows it. One doesn't.


"The real Son of God is at your side. He is beginning to turn you into the same kind of thing as Himself. He is beginning, so to speak, to "inject' His kind of life and thought...into you; beginning to turn the tin soldier into a live man. The part of you that does not like it is the part that is still tin." C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

From January 2008, through February 2011, I lived in Fort Worth, TX. Its not that I necessarily had anything against Texas, but never in my life did I plan on living here. I seem to do a lot of things I never planned on doing. People have asked me why I left my job, and came back to school. It seemed crazy to some, to others I finally looked like myself for the first time in a long time. It was both the hardest and easiest personal decision I’ve ever made. Both chaos and peace. I haven't tried to write about that time. I probably will at some point. But this is not that story…

This story is about a home named Lady Bird Manor. In honor of the former First Lady from Texas: Lady Bird Johnson. I like to name the homes I live in. At first Lady Bird was home to me, Kim, Sarah & MariAnne. When Miss MariAnne became a Mrs., Krissie moved in. When Miss Krissie became a Mrs., Kayla moved in. When I graduated and moved out this past February, Allison took my place. Soon after our original move in date we thought it would be fun to have a photo shoot to decorate our new home. Not one of these were ever framed, but here is the result (first generation Lady Birds: Kim, MariAnne, Sarah, me):

 
                

      


Naming the house ended up helping us bond. We weren't just roommates...we were Lady Birds. That's kind of silly, but life is too short to not have some silly. As of tomorrow (forgive me for the following cheesy phrase) all the Lady Birds will have flown the coop. (I fought myself to not include that line, but there you have it.) We considered setting Lady Bird on fire. Thinking it might be better to watch her burn, than let someone else move in and not know how truly wonderful of a home she is. But since none of us are nuts, and we are too busy to go to prison, we have decided to just gracefully let her go; praying God bless the next tenants as much as he did us in our time living there. We hope they appreciate her, and have enough furniture to take full advantage of her spacious floor plan.

Our little home on South Dr. in Fort Worth, TX had a lot of old school style. Some fancy wallpaper, central speaker system throughout, wood-burning fireplace, working trash compactor, some indoor ironwork, and beautiful sanctuary of a backyard. In the 60's Lady Bird Manor would have been high class...like Lady Bird Johnson in her day...which is how our home got her name. For some reason it was just more fun to not just “go home,” but to go home to Lady Bird. It was more inviting to ask friends over for game night or to cookout at Lady Bird; to put on invitations for birthdays, going away and holiday parties: "Location: Lady Bird Manor." When Lady Bird's living room was a mess, geckos were climbing her walls and taking showers with us, water flooding her floors, her air-conditioner running non-stop, her grass too high, her fence falling down, ginormous possums roaming her backyard, or mice roaming her pantry we could scold her, and not each other. "Lady Bird your grass needs mowed," or "Lady Bird your kitchen is a mess."

Lady Bird's Back Porch

At Lady Bird "night-night" time was observed at a decent hour. Rainy Sunday afternoons were spent on the back patio with books and coffee and Jesus. There was a lot of coffee and Jesus. At Lady Bird if you didn't pay rent you didn't park in the driveway. At Lady Bird you could say out loud what was bottled up inside. Lady Bird's bushes were lovingly (and aggressively) trimmed, and her varieties of flowers in bloom year round thanks to Mr. Hernandez who built the house and designed her landscape. Lady Bird had twinkle lights that made the back yard magical at night, but added delight to the daytime just as often. Friends came to take Sunday afternoon naps at Lady Bird and curl up on one of her four couches under one of her many blankets. While preparing a meal one had more than adequate lighting in Lady Bird's kitchen. LB hosted the MMC bible study each Tuesday night. Lady Bird had her doorways anointed with oil and covered with prayer. Lady Bird's favorite movie was Anne of Green Gables. Lady Bird loved a good game night, and Karaoke always included Son of a Preacher Man and ended with Drops of Jupiter to mellow it all out. At Lady Bird slippers were in style, preferably pink. Lady Bird liked to play her music loud especially African worship music and Motown. Bath time at Lady Bird was a choreographed routine and serious business. Lady Bird had delicious chocolate chip cookies and really good bean dip, and her favorite ring tone went like this…"You are my strong tower...”

Lady Bird hosted study groups and showers; planned weddings and life after Seminary. Lady Bird showed a lot of grace for our moments of crazy; like the time I walked all the way to my room in the dark, angry that my car key clicker wasn’t turning the lights on (school can be hard on a person.) Fires were built, tears were shed, exclamations were exclaimed, papers were written, walls were brought down, hearts were strengthened, laughs were laughed, and love was shared, even when my speaker wasn’t, at Lady Bird Manor. I love you B's, and every friend who played with us, prayed with us, cried with us, ate with us, laughed with us, sang with us and shared not only Lady Bird Manor with us, but some of my favorite moments ever. Moments I never even planned on...

"You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy." Psalm 16:11

Today I woke up crying. Music made me cry. Friends checking on me made me cry. The freckles on my face that I get from daddy made me cry. Today, I was a mess. Today, nothing had changed since yesterday. I still believed everything God has strengthened and encouraged me with, but I was ridiculously sad. Today was one of those days where I was best left alone, but sad to be alone. Today, I was just sad. Head to toe. Fingertip to fingertip. Along with all God is helping me understand in all of this, is the reality that my dad is hurting. My mom is hurting. I’m not irrational in this sadness. It is totally sane to be sad about what I’m sad about; and I am just sad about it. Always, and especially these past couple of weeks, God has been so good to uphold me through prayers and His peace; I just think today his goodness came to me through the release of tears that had been welling up for days and days and days. The well is about empty now. I had been sneak crying at my desk, and out and out crying when I could step away, trying to discreetly reapply make-up…I cried and cried to the point where it kind of started to make me laugh. May as well.

I wish I was one of those adorable little embroidered handkerchief criers who look lovely in a sundress sitting on a park bench with the sun reflecting off the highlights in my hair as silent tears gently glisten down my soft cheek and the string section sets my sorrow to music. I am not. Once I get to crying I’m a lips swollen, eyes puffy, mascara running, pitching a fit kind of crier. Remember the scene in Hope Floats where Birdie cries when her jerk dad leaves? I'm that kind of crier. Today would not be a good day for me to watch Hope Floats. I probably wouldn't make it. I googled "ugly cry face." And besides a lot of pictures of James Vanderbeek, this picture came up: 






That's about right. This picture was on other blogs. I guess if it is copywrited and they see it here I will pay for it. She’s just mad and sad, and the only way to let it out is to cry it out; hair a mess, exposed. I’m sure she was tired too. There is a picture of my niece that puts this little girl to shame. I wish I had it.

I think back to some of my past cries. The ones where as a child when I didn’t get something I wanted and decided to throw a crying fit. I would get the finger-snap-point and hear "Haley Lougene you dry it up this minute, or I’ll give you something to cry about." I usually got it dried up pretty quickly. My parents weren’t big corporal punishment people, but it’s safe to say I got my share of quick spankings enough that they had their bluff in. Dad asked me one time after I got in trouble for breaking something if I was crying because I had broken it and felt bad, or if I was crying because I got caught and was in trouble. I remember being aggravated that he asked me that; of course because I got caught, or else I would have been crying when I broke it instead of trying to hide it. It seemed like crossing a boundary to make me admit my tears were selfish. Shouldn’t he just melt at seeing "baby-girl" cry, and then take me for a sno cone? I was crying out of fear and manipulation, not out of sorrow. Daddy knew the difference, and he called me on it.

Crying out of sorrow is ok. Even Paul talks about how if he had lost Epaphroditus, whom he loved, he would have had "sorrow upon sorrow." Philippians 2:27. There is real comfort in knowing that our Creator designed us to cry to help release what is hurting, and he doesn’t count our tears or sorrow as faithlessness. "You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have stored them in your book," Psalms 56:8. When something is sad we cry, and He is with us. But then, to borrow a line from a friend’s sweet grandma "you can get glad in the same pants you got mad in." We don’t have to live in sorrow. We lift our eyes to the hills, and live in the joy of knowing how the story ends. There will be a day with no more tears. Dad's pain is better than it was, his treatments are started, and they are finally home. I talked to them both on the phone today. I won't take that for granted. Today I had a moment of sad settle in on me a bit. Tomorrow should look better. Apparently, I will probably let you know one way or the other.

Have I mentioned I went to Ethiopia and my Dad is sick? Well I did, and he is. It feels like about 3 weeks ago the pause button on life got pushed, and I have been in some other reality. However, it is getting to be time to press play and rejoin regularly scheduled programming.

My watch just got wound back to central standard time. That is where it belongs. I know God allowed me to go to Ethiopia for a reason, but I don't have to know what that reason is. It was a wonderful and perspective changing experience. Even though a lot of what I saw there was difficult to grasp the trip itself was amazing. I miss them. I would love to go back someday. But I got a fortune cookie this week that said "The pleasure of what we enjoy is lost by wanting more." That makes sense, so central standard time it is.

I tried to go back to work on Wednesday. Actually I did go back to work on Wednesday, but I wasn't really there yet, my thoughts were all wrapped up in Ethiopia and Room 406, Mercy Hospital, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. I was able to do the tasks at hand. I saw a few clients which was the best part of being there, and got to catch a few friends up on the whirlwind of the last couple of weeks. I was still kind of running on auto-pilot though. Still running in mud.

Dad has been in the hospital for 14 days now. As he puts it, he's taken a few steps forward, and a few steps back. Thursday night was a step back as he was sick most of the night. Mom called me Friday morning for my update...and by noon I was on the road headed back to where my heart was. This morning the report is looking good. He has had two rounds of chemo now. The fight has begun. He is over the sick feeling he had, he ate nearly all of the low low priced Mercy Hospital oatmeal I fixed for him, and has just had a shower. He would be so totally annoyed if he knew I just shared that. He would say "nobody cares that I ate oatmeal and just got out of the shower." He can write his own blog.

He has a back brace and a pretty blond he's known since the 2nd grade that are ready to get him through these next few months. He had a couple of transfusions this week fighting the anemia, so once we can get him out of that bed and back to North Fourteenth Street, Ponca City, OK I think he will be ready to start getting on down this road. I am pretty sure regularly scheduled programming is not going to play out as we had anticipated, but that's alright. We have to live as though we believe what we say we believe:

"For this [gospel] I was appointed a herald, apostle, and teacher, and that is why I suffer these things. But I am not ashamed, because I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to guard what has been entrusted to me until that day." 2 Timothy 1:11 Man I love how the Word of God has everything we need for every circumstance we face.

I commit my Dad. I commit my time in Ethiopia. I commit the work of my hands and the meditations of my heart to the Lord. I commit to not live in fear of what tomorrow holds, because I know who holds tomorrow. I don't surrender just for the peace I find there, but because He is God, this life is a blink of an eye, our home is ultimately with him, and He is faithful. Because of his grace and his love I can put one foot in front of the other and pray that he allows me to be a reflection of His grace that is pleasing to him. Because of him I don't chase after the wind. Because of him I'm ready to press play...

After over 24 hours of travelling, I am home. I sit in the hospital as I type this. This is where I've sat since about 30 minutes after landing Saturday afternoon. A friend I've known since the 7th grade picked me up from the airport and brought me to the hospital. My Dad is currently on the phone with one of his best friends since Elementary school. I love old friends.

Flashbacks of this past week keep running through my mind. Did this really just happen? As I come out of the fog I find evidence that this wasn't and isn't a dream...

Evidence of Ethiopia:

- My watch is 8 hours ahead of all the clocks I see around me. I'm not ready to conform yet. I like considering where all of those precious-in-His-sight kids are in their daily schedule. I like wondering if today's rain is falling in Addis Ababa. I like remembering the taste of the coffee, the voices of friends, and the sights as we walked the streets of Addis Ababa. Keeping my watch to that time takes me back there.

At Kaldi's.

Daily Schedule at Orphanage

Beautiful gate we passed on a walk.

- There is a flower in my bible being pressed, waiting to become a laminated bookmark I will have forever.

- I had packed clothes for temperatures in the 60's to low 70's and its 109 degrees outside. I'm a little overdressed, but it is cold in hospitals.

- People keep welcoming me back home. (I know I wasn't here, but I never felt not at home.)


Evidence of Cancer:

- My dad is lying in a hospital bed. His comfort is growing. His pain is lessening, but he continues to hurt. Our resolve is strengthening as we wait on the Lord.

- With biopsy results in as of this morning, the evidence confirms multiple myeloma.

- I have been racing to hospital elevators to get to push the buttons. If cancer wasn't here, I wouldn't be in a hospital, and I wouldn't be racing. I like to think that I would be more mature than to push my 10 yr old nephew out of the way so I could be the button pusher. I'm not. I guess I get it from mom as she surprised me with a sneaky elevator-button-pushing win this morning as we came in. She won't surprise me again.

- It's Monday, and I'm not at work. I love my job, and love the people I work with. They made special arrangements allowing me to go to Ethiopia, and they made special arrangements allowing me today and tomorrow off to be here in Oklahoma. I'm so thankful to work with this ministry. I wish the address was somewhere on Broadway Extension, but as with everything else, I trust the Lord and where he has me. I pray he gives me the strength and grace to get back into my work there and allow Him to be Him, and me to be only me.

- Mercy hospital has low low prices on their cafeteria menu. I never wanted to know about the menu offerings at Mercy hospital. This useless knowledge is evidence that something has gone wrong. However, the sweet potato fries are pretty good.


Evidence of God's grace:

- My dad's smile and humor. My mom's grace and peace. Dad is back to sass mouthing mom. That's a good sign. But then, when he asked her for a cookie, she said "Where would you like it, Precious?" They are cute. After 43 years of marriage they have each other's number.

- Prayers from friends and family.

- Jesus. Jesus. Jesus who took the sting out of death, who's perfect love casts out fear, and who intercedes on our behalf. Where would I be right now, if my hope were in anything other than Him? "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need." Hebrews 4:15-16

We are in the air again. This time going the opposite direction. I'm in between the world I used to know, where Daddy wasn't sick and I didn't have one memory from Addis Ababa; and the world where I will soon land where my Dad does have cancer and Addis Ababa is forever a part of me. The whole world has changed in a weeks time. God is still on His throne, and I am on my knees. I physically felt the prayers people were saying for me while I was away from my family last week. Each of your messages and notes meant so much to me, and felt like a life-line to home. There is no other explanation but prayer and God's grace for me getting out of bed and not only carrying on, but carrying on feeling merciful hope and even joy. I still can hardly believe this is happening, but astonishment doesn't equal devastation when you know the Lord. There truly is a peace that passes understanding that he gives us. I know who holds the future, and when before I may not have trusted that and tried to orchestrate some things myself, his faithfulness to me these past several years as I finally sought him first in all things has settled it firmly in my heart and my mind come what may. He is God, Creator, Redeemer, Savior, Lover of my Soul, Healer. And although He holds the universe in His hand, He wants me to pray to him and share with him my heart. My whole heart is to take away Dad's pain, heal him, let me hold his hand for many more years. The end, Amen. I am nervous to see him in the hospital. I know I will hold it together in front of him...but I may need to find someone to punch in the face after I leave. I've never really punched anyone in the face, but for some reason I think that would relieve some tension. Does anyone have a Weezah I could hit? I come from a line of Steel Magnolias.

As we fly over the Maritime Alps below, it should be mentioned that The Best of Van Morrison is a great album. Also, we landed in Rome last night to refuel. We weren't allowed to get off the plane, but I'm counting it. I've been to Rome.

On my hand right now in 8 year old English-as-a-second-language handwriting are the words "Jesus You Love." Yoseph wrote this on my hand as we told the kids goodbye earlier today, or yesterday, I don't know for sure what day it is anymore. I have carefully washed around it. I had thought before what a blessing these kids were getting with Ryan and Jessica; I knew Ryan and Jess would be blessed by the kids too, but I just can't describe how beautiful and special these kids are. They gush love. They are tender and thoughtful. They can work an ipod probably as well as Ryan, as the orphanages get a lot of mission team visits, and they pick things up fast. They are just flat out fun. They are 4 little people anyone would want to spend their everyday with. We had opportunity to take the kids to the guest house we were staying for a few hours to play. Here is the shirt 4 year old Eyasu, or as I like to call him "Bubble Gum" was wearing:




He already has. Their kids had best friends, Rich and Betty, who were with us the entire time while we were visiting at the orphanage. I could see at times on their faces a little concern seeing their friends meet their new "momma" so the three of us called ourselves the "friends" and had our picture taken together. Rich drew me a picture that says he loves me and so does Jesus. I was just waiting for God to say the word for me to bring him home as my son, but nothing yet...but I would.

Staying at the guesthouse was such a great experience. There were other families that came throughout the week to pick up their kids and bring them home. 7 year old Hannah and her new Daddy are travelling home to meet the rest of her new family after spending the last five years in an Ethiopian orphanage. They sit in front of me in row 39 as I type this from row 40 window seat A. She is playing on his i-pad, and every once and a while peeks back through the crack between the seats and shoots me a smile, or takes my picture with her new DS. Oh my word I love her. So does her new daddy whose hand she rarely lets go of. I know the feeling Hannah.

The guesthouse is also where I met someone who made this week lovely in more ways than one. It is surprising to meet someone and within a very short period of time get to a point where you will miss them. It is for me anyway. But, as I leave Addis Ababa even after this short period of time, there is someone more than just the kids I will miss. I'm an over thinker, and I process my way right out of things at times. But not him, not this week. Not mentioning him would be leaving out an important part of this complex story which has played out over long-distance phone calls, before my eyes, and in my heart these last few days. Don't ask me about him though. It's the Glenda in me that inspires me to write and share, it's the Tim in me that leads me to keep things quite a bit more private. I hope I have struck a good balance.

What a lovely, heart breaking 6 days in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. I'm not sure I recognize myself anymore. I think I'm still me though, and I pray God will make me more of who He wants me to be through all of this. Thanks again for your prayers...I'm almost home.

1) I can finish bathing in an unfamiliar shower in total darkeness when the electricity goes out, even when common sense says this is when the nightmare is supposed to begin.

2) I speak Spanish to all people who speak any language other than English.

3) There appears to be very few traffic laws here. This sometimes causes sudden stops or slamming on breaks. I found out I can survive being thrown into the van floorboard after one of these break slamming incidents.



4) I learned I am not nearly grateful enough. If grateful were an ocean, I would be less than 1/4 a teaspoon of it. It bears repeating, because I need to understand: I am not nearly grateful enough. I have not known alternatives to the blessings I've recieved, and not been able to grasp my reality in the appropriate context.

5) Rahel and her friend Betty are good at braiding hair into corn rows. I look good in corn rows. Thankfully, there are no pictures of that moment.

6) Even in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia you can hear a Don William's song on the radio. I love Don Williams.

7) It is impossible to describe the poverty in Addis Ababa. There are lepers on the streets, children/babies living on the street begging for food. My mind and heart can't figure out what to do with what I've seen. How are those sites supposed to find peace in my thoughts? This has helped me begin to grasp my reality in appropriate context, especially this week. I pray God use this insight for his glory in my life.

8) The spirit of the Ethiopian people is strong. They are courteous, humble, beautiful.

9) You don't have to understand the language being spoken to worship God, to dance with strangers in praise, or to be comforted by the Word being preached. Amen, Halleluiah, Jesu Christo.




10) My Dad has cancer. MY Dad. My mom's husband and boyfriend since she was in the 8th grade. My brother's dad has cancer. Daddy has been diagnosed through blood work, and the Dr. anticipates he will be confirmed through a biopsy that he has multiple myloma. If that isn't spelled correctly I don't care. I talked to Chris right after the Dr. gave them the news. I've got a good brother. I'm especially grateful for him in moments like this.

Multiple myloma is, as I understand at this moment, a cancer in his bone marrow. The cancer has started to degenerate his spine which has been causing his increasing pain. But there is good news in all of this: The Dr. said this is "highly treatable." It won't spare Dad the pain or what is to come, or the months we are getting ready to face, but they have an attack plan, that has had good success. They have a treatment for his back without surgery that may help alleviate the pain almost totally, almost immediately. He will begin chemotherapy, and when he is considered in remission (which means the cancer has stopped progressing) he will have a bone marrow transplant. They will actually take his own marrow out - treat it with chemotherapy - and put it back in. I hate all of this. It makes me want to throw my computer against the wall to type that, but he raised me better than to act like a fool. I love him so much. He is the hand that holds mine.

I got to talk to him on the phone for a minute last night. Mom handed him the phone and he said "make it snappy I got a lot goin on right now." He makes me laugh more than anyone else on earth. I feel sorry for people who don't get to spend life with him.

Thank you to everyone who is praying for him and for our family. Pray for Dad's healing, my mom's strength, my brother's leading, Leigh as she loves and cares for Chris, Jordi Birdie and Shawn as they go through this time in their family, and pray for me.

11) In spite of the difficult things we've seen, and even with all that is going on at home, our time here in Addis Ababa has been pretty amazing. The kids are great. We have new friends here, and have been on some really, really lovely walks.

We arrived safely in Addis Ababa on time, and with no sleep. It was 8 am here, but our bodies were at midnight. The plane to Ethiopia was one of the big planes you would expect it takes to carry you to another continent, but the staircases they wheeled up to the doors for our dismount kind of reminded me of those metal bleachers from high school. They herded us onto buses where we were packedinthisclose and began the journey to the terminal...I'd say about 30 yards. It certainly did not warrant the gas spent turning the ignition. An elderly lady in heels who knew exactly how my breath smelled looked at me and said "I would have walked that." Me too elderly lady whose breath I knew exactly how it smelled.

Our three checked bags were, if not the last three bags in the baggage claim area, then definitely the 2nd to last three bags. But we got them, intact and ready to roll. Yonatan (think Ethiopian for Jonathan) picked us up, and brought us to our guesthouse. He lives here. This is where this trip got pretty lovely. Yonatan is an absolutely wonderful host. He took us to get coffee. Really, really good coffee.
There is an Australian couple staying here in the house, a young lady doing work with women and children here, and a couple who adopted two girls a year ago from Ethiopia and have brought them back for a visit. She is from Chicago, is a nurse practitioner, and works for Minute Clinic. Jessica is a nurse practitioner and works for Minute Clinic in Austin. Say it with me: "small world." Yonatan upgraded Jess and I to the Master suite with two beds, a sitting area and a balcony. It is just like staying in a bed and breakfast in Ethiopia...

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...My Dad was admitted to Mercy hospital in Oklahoma City. I wish there was a way to type that sentence for full understanding, but it isn't possible. He has been in a lot of pain, but now that he is there he is not in pain. That is good. They are running tests to determine the cause of the pain he has had for the past several months that we have been thinking was a pulled ligament or infection. He has been to doctors consistently for several weeks ruling things out. We are now working to rule out cancer. I type that word as I sit here in Addis Ababa millions of miles away from him. I'm feeling a lot left out of the "we" not being with him, mom, Chris and Leigh and our family right now. But, yesterday morning as I was preparing for lift off in Washington D.C. I felt so at peace and overwhelmed by God's presence. I tweeted a Facebook status just to put it out there: "Wherever you lead. Whatever is clear, whatever is confusing. Because of who you are & faith you've given me. All my love, all my life, Jesus." That was a whole continent before I knew Dad was in the hospital. It is still my status today. Please pray for dad as we head into this confusing time this week. Pray for results that will lead us to treatment to heal his pain. Pray it is not cancer. Pray I don't hijack a plane and lose my mind before I can get home to him.

And then after all that, Yonatan took us to the orphanage and we met the kids. Soloman, quiet and gentle keeping an eye on everything while beaming a beautiful smile. Rahel, a little more shy. Her eyes smile first, but her mouth is not too far behind. She speaks less English than her brothers, so she lets them lead. Yoseph, likes to take the lead. He is a HUGGER, and he likes to give kisses and hold hands and he has a beautiful, let me repeat beautiful singing voice. I'll cry my eyes out. And Eyasu...he has an imagination, he wants to be holding hands and he says I love you a lot. Me too, Eyasu. Seeing Jessica with her kids is one of life's joys. Can hardly wait for the rest of her friends and family to see it too. The kids were right next to her the whole time. She showed them video of Ryan as they were laughing and saying "Papa." They are going to fit right in with Ryan. All 4 of the kids sang songs for us, showed us their rooms, held our hands, and showed us such love. I thought it would be the other way around.

I will get down in the floor and bawl there is so much emotion going on up in here! But, I have a God who is sufficient, who led me here and is allowing me to be a part of this time, in this place. It is confusing that all of this would have to happen in the same minutes of time, but I have a God who promises he never leaves me nor forsakes me. He never leaves Dad nor forsakes him. He has never left Ryan and Jessica. He never left these children. He works all things for the good of those who he loves and are called according to His purposes. That is peace in all circumstances. All my love, all my life, Jesus.

It's 4am Addis Ababa time. I'm looking out the window at the lights of the cities that dot the coast around the boot of Italy. I seriously just typed that. I've seen that boot on maps, and although my feet haven't touched the earth there, my eyes have seen the lights that outline the sole and tip of that fancy Italian boot. I've just asked for my 3rd little can of ginger ale, and having turned my in-flight radio to the Andrea Bocelli station I'm feeling inspired to write. I don't want to forget these moments.
Jess and I are occupying row 39 seats k and L. I'm by the window. I love being by the window. That is a big deal for me, for those of you who know I've been known to lose heart a little prior to flying the past few years. My heart is full today. We are flying on Ethiopian Airlines. I suggest it. I have a pillow, a blanket, one of those silky little eye cover things you see in movies, knee high socks and a little mini toothbrush with toothpaste. Let's just say my satisfaction is easily bought with little presents. Our flight is filled with Ethiopian people who are gracious and accommodating. We have been greeted with smiles and courtesy every minute of this journey. I find myself wanting to hug people...but I am reminded to maintain composure.

The man in front of me is reading a book on Market Research. One chapter was titled "What test markets won't tell you." I cannot imagine why anyone would want to read that book. I respect his choice, and hope he gets what he wants to know from it, but I can't be more serious when I say I would never.

I keep thinking to myself “how did I get here?" I am really blessed that God continues to make the world a lot smaller for me. I love where I'm from, I appreciate where I've been, and I am totally intrigued and surrendered to where I'm going. When I am so focused on trying to consider what I am getting out of life I'm discontent, anxious and frustrated...when I am focused on Christ's life in me and through me I get to be apart of some pretty amazing moments. Like this one as I find myself on a plane high above the earth, sippin Ginger Ale, looking at the lights of Italy, and now listening to the new Greg Allman CD Low Country Blues. Good sound. PS, I just got to feel baby Walling kick. "It" better not be getting sassy.

What a wonderful fascinating world. I hope I get to see more of it. What an infinitely wonderful Savior who loves us more than we give him credit for. And way more than we ever show one another. I pray I know him more everyday.

The stars look really close up here, and I just found Joshua Tree under the oldies section of the radio....is that possible? Is this album oldies? It’s not. I just got this cassette for my 13th birthday, and that was the other day. I was wearing a Debbie Gibson hat when I opened it. I’m hitting play, and I kind of hope we're not almost there...