....from South Sudan.
(Kissa, this is especially for you and Phil and the godchildren, of course. When are you going to get Facebook already? Just kidding.)
Monday, February 13, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Some Yida scenes...
The maternity ward and the nutrition center.
Our swing in our tree in our compound.
Our grass office.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
It's a long story...
...but here is my new home in the Yida transit camp in South Sudan. Further bulletins as events warrant.
Friday, January 13, 2012
B.
We've both spent the last week getting ready to leave. I couldn't stop thinking about that as I packed and repacked.
I am getting on a plane again tomorrow morning, and I wonder if you will have arrived at your destination by the time I arrive at mine. I've been thinking about when I was getting ready to leave for Mozambique and you told me to just go for it- to go with my whole heart. I don't think that you wanted me to leave, but you cheered me on when I did. I wish I could be as selfless as you, but I can`t. I don't want you to go.
I've been thinking about how strange it is that you are the one who is supposedly dying, and I am the one who is supposedly living. I find this odd, when it is me who is filling bags with more and more weight. Bags full of pills to ward off malaria and boost my nutrition. Full of clothes and lotions to keep away the heat of the sun. A million and one things designed to help me limp along somewhat successfully in this wretched planet. You on the other hand have been slowly letting go- letting go of the need for morphine and radiation and chemo and surgery. Away from the hold of pain and fear and disappointment. It seems like you are actually the one who is going to go on living, while we stay here and feel the sting of death and decay. I think that at some point I will be happy for you because of this, but tonight I am just sad.
I love you a lot, friend. I really do. You are the best man that I know. I will always be so thankful that I knew you, and so honored that you wanted to know me.
Journey well. I know that you will.
I am getting on a plane again tomorrow morning, and I wonder if you will have arrived at your destination by the time I arrive at mine. I've been thinking about when I was getting ready to leave for Mozambique and you told me to just go for it- to go with my whole heart. I don't think that you wanted me to leave, but you cheered me on when I did. I wish I could be as selfless as you, but I can`t. I don't want you to go.
I've been thinking about how strange it is that you are the one who is supposedly dying, and I am the one who is supposedly living. I find this odd, when it is me who is filling bags with more and more weight. Bags full of pills to ward off malaria and boost my nutrition. Full of clothes and lotions to keep away the heat of the sun. A million and one things designed to help me limp along somewhat successfully in this wretched planet. You on the other hand have been slowly letting go- letting go of the need for morphine and radiation and chemo and surgery. Away from the hold of pain and fear and disappointment. It seems like you are actually the one who is going to go on living, while we stay here and feel the sting of death and decay. I think that at some point I will be happy for you because of this, but tonight I am just sad.
I love you a lot, friend. I really do. You are the best man that I know. I will always be so thankful that I knew you, and so honored that you wanted to know me.
Journey well. I know that you will.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Hope...
Hope is like a path on the mountainside.
At first there is no path.
But then there are people passing that way,
And then there is a path.’
-Lu Xun-
At first there is no path.
But then there are people passing that way,
And then there is a path.’
-Lu Xun-
Friday, November 25, 2011
The purge...
I'm back in Canada for a visit, and currently at my folk's place. One thing that I've needed to get done for ages is to rid my parent's basement of the piles of Keren-related memorabilia that have been littering it for, well, decades. I knew it was time when I walked into my old room and realized that it looked as though I had died and someone had erected a shrine in my honour. It was me, everywhere! On the walls, in boxes in the closet, choking up the bookshelf. It was way too much.
On the whole, it's been rather refreshing to throw away bags of old odds and ends and officially giving up on projects I'll never complete (i.e. scrapbooks- I HATE scrapbooking). It's also been somewhat entertaining unearthing things like old notes from my friends in high school (oh, the drama!) and a stack of handmade cards from my first class as a student teacher (my favourite being the one written by an anonymous 9 yr old that reads, "Miss Massey is made of chocolate and rainbows!").
On the other hand, I've found some parts of the process a bit sad. I spent six years in undergraduate education and I worked myself to the bone during that time. I worked while I studied (regularly working all night and then attending lectures the whole of the next day- perhaps not one of my most prudent decisions) and jumped into a ream of time consuming extracurriculars. At the end of those six years I had a handful of credentials, ridiculously high grades, no debt and not a shred of energy left for anything. I was even tired of people. Sometimes I think I'm still suffering from a bit of undergraduate fatigue.
Strangely enough, throwing out stacks of old lecture notes and workbooks from that period in my life was surprisingly hard. I knew I'd never use them again, but somehow having a row of cardboard boxes full of uni related memorabilia was validating. I had evidence that I did something and that it was worth all that it cost to do it. I've been putting off getting rid of this stuff for years, but this time I finally accepted that never would I sit my grandchildren down and read them one of my truly pedantic exegeses of words from the original Greek. So, I threw it all away with the exception of that stack of cards and an essay I wrote ages ago about feminism which I figured would be good for a laugh.
There is a line from the old TV show The Wonder Years that says, "Change is never easy. You fight to hold on. You fight to let go." I've been thinking about that quote both whilst sorting through boxes and whilst bringing the UK chapter of my life to an end. It is always a struggle to hold on to the things from the past that you should keep. It's always a struggle to let go of the things from the past that have no business in your future. It is never easy. I've found it hard to leave many places in the last few years, but I found it especially difficult to leave my home and community and life in London.
Change is hard, at least it's hard for me, but I am learning that all that is really changing is the props and the scenery (which I can let go) but that the real, true, important things remain the same (like God, and relationships- those are the things that I'll keep).
Let me conclude with a classic photo of me at my 6th grade science fair which I came across in my rummaging. I was a nerd from the womb, it would appear. Please note my yawn-inspiring project on "Tides". My three most pressing questions about this photo are 1) did I need glasses that thick, 2)why do I look so interested in the topic, and 3) why do those other girls look so interested? Maybe I paid them off to pose for the photo. By the by, I kept that project for YEARS before it got thrown away.
On the whole, it's been rather refreshing to throw away bags of old odds and ends and officially giving up on projects I'll never complete (i.e. scrapbooks- I HATE scrapbooking). It's also been somewhat entertaining unearthing things like old notes from my friends in high school (oh, the drama!) and a stack of handmade cards from my first class as a student teacher (my favourite being the one written by an anonymous 9 yr old that reads, "Miss Massey is made of chocolate and rainbows!").
On the other hand, I've found some parts of the process a bit sad. I spent six years in undergraduate education and I worked myself to the bone during that time. I worked while I studied (regularly working all night and then attending lectures the whole of the next day- perhaps not one of my most prudent decisions) and jumped into a ream of time consuming extracurriculars. At the end of those six years I had a handful of credentials, ridiculously high grades, no debt and not a shred of energy left for anything. I was even tired of people. Sometimes I think I'm still suffering from a bit of undergraduate fatigue.
Strangely enough, throwing out stacks of old lecture notes and workbooks from that period in my life was surprisingly hard. I knew I'd never use them again, but somehow having a row of cardboard boxes full of uni related memorabilia was validating. I had evidence that I did something and that it was worth all that it cost to do it. I've been putting off getting rid of this stuff for years, but this time I finally accepted that never would I sit my grandchildren down and read them one of my truly pedantic exegeses of words from the original Greek. So, I threw it all away with the exception of that stack of cards and an essay I wrote ages ago about feminism which I figured would be good for a laugh.
There is a line from the old TV show The Wonder Years that says, "Change is never easy. You fight to hold on. You fight to let go." I've been thinking about that quote both whilst sorting through boxes and whilst bringing the UK chapter of my life to an end. It is always a struggle to hold on to the things from the past that you should keep. It's always a struggle to let go of the things from the past that have no business in your future. It is never easy. I've found it hard to leave many places in the last few years, but I found it especially difficult to leave my home and community and life in London.
Change is hard, at least it's hard for me, but I am learning that all that is really changing is the props and the scenery (which I can let go) but that the real, true, important things remain the same (like God, and relationships- those are the things that I'll keep).
Let me conclude with a classic photo of me at my 6th grade science fair which I came across in my rummaging. I was a nerd from the womb, it would appear. Please note my yawn-inspiring project on "Tides". My three most pressing questions about this photo are 1) did I need glasses that thick, 2)why do I look so interested in the topic, and 3) why do those other girls look so interested? Maybe I paid them off to pose for the photo. By the by, I kept that project for YEARS before it got thrown away.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Out for a curry...
Logan, I keep forgetting to tell you that Flat Stanley and I went out for lunch last month just before he posted himself back to you. We went to a place called Camden. There is a big market there and if your mom ever comes to visit me I will take her there- she would love it!
Glad to hear that Stanley made it back to Three Hills safe and sound! Hope you are having lots of fun. Give my love to your sister and brother. I miss you guys!
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