Let us find it.

The sea felt calm this morning. 

If you’ve ever lived on or spent time near the ocean, you’ll know what I mean when I say it’s moodier than a teenager.  These last months, during rainy season, the sea has felt angry; its color dark with sand and silt and other debris stirred up from within its depths, depositing huge heaps of seaweed ripped from its roots by the relentless current and cresting and crashing, while eating away at the shoreline as if it were desperate to consume anything and everything in or near its grip.  

If I’m honest, that’s a bit what this season has felt like for me, too; angry, ripped from every known and comfortable thing and deposited on to these shores gasping for breath, with dark waves crashing around and over me relentlessly. There’s definitely been great moments, like a stunning sunset after a rainy day while sharing drinks with friends and soaking in the breath of hope it brings for a better tomorrow. But those wisps of hope have been fast moving and fleeting, with angry foamy crashing waves coming up behind and washing away the remnants into the deep, dark abyss. 

(And lest you feel the need to remind me I chose this life, I wasn’t ripped from anything: Yes, that’s true.  I chose to come here.  But what I anticipated the transition to be like (a few challenging weeks followed by finding my tribe and settling in) and what it’s actually felt like (ripped, deposited, and gasping) has been markedly different, difficult, and jarring.)

But this morning I woke up to only the sound of my air conditioner and not the steady drum of rain on the roof; shifting the curtains, I peeked out and saw what appeared to be blue sky with clouds tinged pink from the rising sun.  We’ve had a few nice sunsets at the end of rainy days here but I can’t remember the last time I woke up to sunshine; I was so excited I called a taxi and grabbed a few necessities and headed to the beach. (I had already told my staff not to expect me today; after a long few weeks of running trainings and hosting guests I needed an extra day off this week)

As I walked towards the sea I felt my blood pressure drop and my lungs fill with the salty damp air; the sea was calm, more beautiful than I’ve seen in months. The colors around me were so intense it felt as though God had cranked up the color saturation and I found myself gasping at the beauty of it all.  The sea was blue, the sand free of the debris that was piled up the last time I had seen it; the palms were rustling in the breeze and the grass seemed to be reaching towards the brilliantly blue sky, every blade desperate for the sun’s rays as if their very existence depended on it… because it does.

Not unlike what I was feeling, as I settled in with a coffee and my journal.  The sun always comes out, eventually.  Soon, or so they tell me, rainy season will be over and every day will be like this; but this particular vibrancy you can almost feel to your marrow only comes after the rains.  It was breathtaking. And I felt myself release some of the tumultuous dark sea that had been churning in my soul.  Hope does that. Hope gives you the chance to breathe deeply and believe that the seas won’t always be angry and the rains won’t always be falling and the lonely won’t always be present and the questions won’t always be haunting. 

I sat there this morning, sipping my coffee and breathing in time with the calming seas, until a few hours later, the clouds began to roll in again. 

That happens, too. The sun will always come again, but so will the clouds, the storms, the angry seas and the difficult seasons of wondering and wandering and hoping and dreaming. 

This is what life is. Putting one foot in front of the other, regardless of what happens to be going on in the sky, trying to make something good of what I’ve been given and making the world a little bit better when I leave it than it was when I came in.   By being angry at the sky and believing that everything will be better once the rains stop or I can live on my own or I do this thing or that thing or whatever I’m grasping at for hope on any given day, I’m missing out on the good that can come even through the rain. 

And I want to find goodness in every day, not just the sunny ones. Because it’s there.  I have to believe that it is.  

So I’m choosing to hang on to the peaceful seas and the vibrant beauty of this morning regardless of the state of the sky or my emotional state or the state of the union or anything else might be the object of blame... in the end all things will be made new, more beautiful than the most vibrant of sunrises and more peaceful than the stillest of mountain meadows.  In the meantime, there is beauty and love and goodness to be found in the gift of today and every day.  

Let us find it, and celebrate. 

Contrast.

This life is one of (ridiculous) contrasts. 

I got back to my West African home late on Wednesday night after a magical week in Paris with perfect, sunny, cool (for me) weather.  I came back to torrential rains that haven't ceased since the drive home from the airport. 

#blesstherains is trending in my life, and I wish I could mean it, like actually bless the rains, instead of hate them.  It's incessant, and after five days of solid, non-stop downpours, all I could think about was how soon I could look for a job elsewhere, how much I detest this place, and was ready to give up and crawl into bed forever.

And then this morning, I woke up to only the sound of my air conditioner and not rain on the metal roof above my head.  It was still dark out but after a shower and ingesting some bran flakes and coffee I could see actual blue skies lighting up the soggy ground. No longer wanting to stay in bed, I was thrilled to walk to my first meeting and got here an hour early.  I'm sipping coffee and gazing at the little bit of blue skies I can see above me; and while I see the rain clouds rolling in on the horizon, I'll take every little shot of hope and joy I can right now.  

And I sit here and think, my life is pretty great.  Monrovia isn't so bad.   Shaking my head at the ridiculousness of the contrast, I choose to be grateful for today, and for the shot of hope that it won't always be rainy and miserable, and take a picture to remind myself in the next deluge that blue skies will return someday.  

On Walking.

The pit of despair. 

I knew it would be hard. I’ve lived in various countries and started over in new places almost constantly for the last ten years, and I know that 6-8 week mark is one of the hardest ones. 

The magic of being in a new place and surrounded by new people is totally real and totally addicting and really fun, most of the time. But after six or eight weeks or so, that magic has started to wear off; people aren’t as thrilled to see you as they were in the first weeks, and now they’re much more likely to be pleading for more money or more things or asking yet again if you could please get them a new iphone because the phone they have just isn’t working well.  (nevermind that you’ve never had a new iphone in your life). 

Reality starts to set in about life in this new place.  Nothing happens quickly; the child in crisis you were contacted about in the second week you were here and were really happy to see rescued and cared for is still in the temporary limbo they were in three months ago.  There’s always an excuse; the rain, no gas in the car, the staff is away at a training session or on vacation. Another ignored phone call, another excuse, another delay, and you wonder why on earth you even bother.

Decision fatigue is real, and you actually think longingly back to the days where your sole job was washing dishes; when no one was dependent on you and demanding of you and there wasn’t a decision to be made except which music to play while washing those dishes.  If you’d only realized then what a gift that time was. 

Surface level friendships are abundant, and really fun in those first few weeks. But you’re a person of depth and long for conversations about more than where everyone has lived and complaining about local staff or work ethic or lack of integrity. But getting beyond those things seems to be a challenge you haven’t yet figured out how to overcome. 

You can’t walk down the street without being harassed and someone trying to steal your bag.  There isn’t much to do except go out to eat, and your wallet and waistline aren’t super thrilled about that.  You miss the gym back home that was air conditioned and full of class options; everything is expensive, nothing is easy.  

And you realize you came at just the wrong season; the incessant, drenching, flooding rains that fall every single day keeps you inside and alone, limiting social engagement and exercise options and interactions with nature and vitamin D therapy, which just adds to the weight on your shoulders and makes staying in bed a seemingly better option than just about anything else. 

And you’re feeling all these things, realizing the excitement and bliss of the honeymoon has worn off and the next year or two or three of your life spreads out before you in a long, dark, lonely, moldy tunnel, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve made a huge mistake or misheard God’s voice calling you here and you are faced with the decision to either leave with your tail between your legs in shame or grit your teeth and muscle through and try not to feel along the way. 

~~~

The choosing.

I knew it would be hard. I knew every one of these things would happen.  And I do have a choice, no one is keeping me here against my will. I have a lot of choices, actually.  And I’m determined to be as mindful and intentional as possible.  

I’ve made the choice to stay.  A million years ago someone told me to trust in the darkness what you learned in the light, and I’ve tried to live by that ever since.  Emotions are powerful but not good decision makers; I knew a few months ago this was the right choice for me, and if I can shelve the emotions and the lonely and the frustrations and the despair, I still believe this is the right choice for me. This is why I committed back before starting that I wouldn’t even consider looking at other jobs for at least a year; the grass is always greener on the other side of the ocean and just glancing through job postings would only leave me feeling more dissatisfied and frustrated and not help at all in engaging fully in the present.  

Having that decision out of the way leads to the next one; I can choose to be miserable for the next year of my life, or I can choose to do everything in my power to find joy and fulfilment and hope and happiness.  I choose the second one.  

I know all the right things to do.  Eat well, exercise, cut back on the mindless scrolling of the social networks, get enough sleep, talk to friends and family, go out and be social even when it sounds like the worst idea ever.   It’s another season of saying yes, of not letting fear be the boss of me, of putting one foot in front of the other and choosing to do the next right thing. 

~~~

The rising.

Life experience has taught me when I’m feeling something, like finding it challenging to make friends or feeling desperate for social interaction but not knowing how to make it happen, I’m probably not (read: never) the only one.  So I can choose to wallow and whine and wish someone would do something about it, or I can be brave and do something about it.  So I started an expat social group on Facebook, and organized a few get-togethers, and, surprise surprise, found a whole community of people who were looking for the same thing.  

I’ve found plenty of things to dislike about my current city, but instead of dwelling on those things, I’ve decided I’m going to purposefully seek out all the great things about life here.  I even started a blog about it – liberialifehacks.blogspot.com.  Intentionally choosing to be grateful and to identify all the goodness around me has really helped me to get my eyes off my little depressing story, and I’m excited to discover new great things over the coming weeks, months, and years.  

And the rainy season should be coming to an end soon; roads will become passable and beaches a common Saturday excursion once again.  More expats are returning to the city from their time away; I’ve found people to run with and to eat with and play games with, and am looking forward to book discussion groups and regular yoga practice and surfing once the seas have calmed.  It’s a relief to feel like I’m on the upward climb once again, and looking forward instead of dreading the future. 

~~~

Pause.

I read something a year or so ago that was an iteration of: self care isn’t about pedicures and bubble baths, it’s about setting up a life you don’t feel the need to escape from.And I loved it and grabbed on to it like a drowning woman to a safety buoy.  For most of my adult life I’ve never longed for escape because they’ve been built in to the system of life; I’ve been ridiculously blessed with work that I love and environments that value sabbath rests and seasons and boundaries. And as psalm 1 reminded me yesterday, we’re not meant to be fruitful every day of our lives; we’re meant to be fruitful in season. 

Knowing myself and knowing that 6-8 week pit of despair would come, and having something to look forward to would be helpful in navigating the darkness, I booked a long weekend away at the 14-week mark.  And that was high on the list of smartest things I’ve ever done in my life.  I just returned from a magical time away in Paris; extravagant, yes, but desperately needed.  It was filled with delicious food, with long walks, with naps and monuments and laughter and blending in and not being harassed and beautiful weather and exploring. It was absolutely everything I needed it to be.  

And my real hope was that I would embrace the fullness of joy in every moment, and not dread returning to my current home in West Africa.  And that hope was fulfilled.  As I sat on the plane on the way back across the continents, my heart was filled with contentment for what had been and looking forward to what is to come.   The pit of despair is officially behind me, and for that, I’m profoundly grateful. 

~~~

The next steps. 

It’s exactly twelve weeks now until I return to the States in November for some work stuff and family time.  I’m really excited about some of the projects I’m working on; here’s a blog I wrote for my organization about one of the big ones: A rousing success.  I’m looking forward to spending time with some friends here and expanding the circle and getting back into the rhythm of life.  The rains should be lessening over the coming month, and I can’t wait for more beach days and to try surfing again.  And yes, I’m counting down until I get to see friends and family and blend in again; sometimes gritting your teeth and pushing through is just how it goes, but knowing a break is coming makes me feel like anything is possible.  

I’m walking forward, one foot in front of the other, into the next right thing.  Sometimes the path is cobblestones, and you have to be careful not to twist an ankle.  Sometimes it’s sand, and walking can be challenging and a little painful, but also can include stunning sunsets over crystal waters.  Sometimes it’s a beautifully manicured lawn, where you can take off your shoes and press your toes into the grass.  That’s my personal favorite.  Sometimes it’s pouring rain and you’ve got to stop until the floods recede.  Sometimes it’s flat, wide pavement and you can run unhindered and unafraid.  It takes all kinds to make the world and the journey; I wouldn’t trade the adventure for anything, and look forward to uncovering the treasures in each walk I get the privilege of experiencing. 

La coulée verte, Paris

Gratitude.

So as you can probably surmise from my silence, I've had a bit of a rough go of things here for the last little bit.  It's no surprise; the three-month mark is always hard in a new place, when the honeymoon has worn off and reality looks like incessant rain and failed attempts at friendships and trying to figure out how to find joy and hope and fulfillment once again.   So I'm intentionally choosing to be grateful and reviving what I hope will be a more common gratitude list, because gratitude really does work wonders at bringing about an attitude adjustment. 

So I'm grateful for: 

West African pineapples and papayas and bananas are all the best in the world. Truly. 

A pineapple with four crowns

The sweet caring email that reminded me I’m not alone in the world

A ‘snow’ day in Monrovia = staying home for the day because of flooding

Possibilities of a massive project expansion

The whole grain bread at Stop and Shop, still warm and delicious.

The feeling of accomplishment I get after writing what I know is a really good document or contract

A sweet note from a friend sharing she and her kids had prayed for me

The rain stopped and the floodwaters began to recede and the sun peeked through the clouds

Kind words from my boss about something I’d written

Knowing delayed gratification will be worth it in the end

Not being tempted by Amazon Prime Day

Perfectly timed texts that make me smile and make my heart sing

Reminders from my tea bag

A cool shower after a hot and sweaty workout

Fun plans to look forward to

Bran flakes and soy milk and a few raisins tossed in

The kind and gentle way she handled my tears

Fish tacos and friends on the beach at sunset

The complete lack of any logic that made me laugh

A new Kindle paid for with credit card points!

Popcorn and a movie

Psalms of lament

Meeting a kindred spirit

A quickly repaired and fully functional air conditioner

A divinely orchestrated skype call of profound depth and fulfilment

Nikki’s helpfulness on a new project

Staff members who return generosity with generosity

Hummus and crunchy vegetables and green tea

A new friend who understands me

Sweet texts that make me smile and remind me I'm loved even when everything feels the opposite is true

Getting my first piece of mail in Liberia, and knowing there’s many more on the way (and being okay with the fact that they may not make it)

A new perspective on emotions and how to treat them

Almost-daily check-ins with a heart friend

The weird bump on my arm wasn’t a worm, and laughing that my first assumption is that it must be a worm

No negative reaction or side effects to the new prescription medication

Finding out it’s cheaper for me to fly to Bali than it is to fly to Seattle (vacation anyone?) 

A perfectly timed “no problemo” response and another thing to look forward to

That my cold was not as bad as it could have been

Friend

His name is Friend.

The cash machine had cash in it! 

Clean clothes folded neatly and left on my bed

The red backpack that repels water and theft and reminds me of who I am and who loves me

A kind wave from the guards as I enter and exit

May we all find gratitude and joy today and every day that we are gifted.  xxk

On Flourishing.

This is Steve. 

Yes, Steve is a plant.

When I first moved in to this apartment a few months ago, I was happy to see the previous tenant had left a lot of plants.  I love greenery, it makes me feel calm and peaceful in a world filled with concrete. I was also happy to learn that my roommate already had found a great woman who would come help us take care of the place as we both work very long days. She comes a couple times a week and one of her responsibilities is to water the plants. 

But Steve (and this was before the plant was bestowed a name) didn’t seem to be thriving.  Rather on the contrary, when I walked in after a long day I would naturally look at the plant while unlocking my door, and he was always pretty limp, especially days in between the housekeepers visit.  For the first several weeks I didn’t pay much attention, I mean, it’s just a plant.  Not even my plant, really.  And it was still alive, if barely. 

But a few weeks ago, for some reason beyond human understanding, I looked at the plant and I felt a little compassion.  I thought, it must be a pretty horrible life to be almost dead every day, desperate for a drink of water.  To barely receive enough nourishment to stay alive, holding on tight, waiting with baited breath for the next time someone might throw a little water on you.  

And that day had been a rough one for me, too.  I was feeling like I wasn’t making any progress, like my entire day had been wasted for one reason or another, and all I felt I could do was lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling.  Not unlike the leaves of the plant that were laying limp on the ground.  

And I felt a bizarre emotional connection to the plant.  And I decided if I did nothing else productive in my time here in this country, I wanted to see the plant not just survive but flourish.  

So I dumped a whole bottle of water on him that day.  And just a few hours later, he really perked up.  So the next day I dumped another bottle of water on him.  And I’ve done the same every single day for the last few weeks. And look at him now. He’s thriving, flourishing, showing some new growth and new life and vibrant color and strength.  

And then my roommate and I named him Steve.  And I greet Steve every day as I come in, and give him another bottle of water.    

And it’s been such a simple, beautiful, visual cue for me every day to remember that Steve isn’t the only living thing that needs nourishment every day in order to flourish. I’m the same. 

And when I feel listless, limp, unable to produce new life and strength, it’s often because I haven’t been watered that day, or if I’m honest, for a few days.  Yes, I mean drinking actual water to nourish my cells, but more than that, some of that living water to nourish my soul, that was offered by the guy who came to give us life to the full.  

Maybe some people are like a cactus, and can go days or weeks without water and still flourish and grow.  I’m not one of them.  I’m like Steve.  I can go days between waterings and survive, but I’m limp and pale and weak and grouchy and rather pathetic.  Ultimately, it’s my choice to live like that, or, if I want to flourish, to open my heart to the Living Water every single day.  Why is it so easy for me to feel compassion towards a silly plant but not my own heart and soul and life?  

Maybe it’s just me, and I’m a weirdo for feeling a bizarre emotional connection to the wellbeing of this plant in my care, and you'll all wonder if I've really gone off the deep end. But even if that’s true, the fruit is flourishing, and for that I’m truly grateful. 

Monday, Monday.

It’s June 18^thand I just realized my wall calendar is still on May, and that feels about right.  I feel like I’m doing really well in some things, while falling far behind in some others, like changing my calendar!   So here’s some of the exciting things going on in my world! 

~~

Last week I finally received my final grade for my Master in Public Health research project; I submitted the 100-page dissertation over six months ago and finally they’ve let me know I got the equivalent of an A on it and I will be graduating next month with merit! This is the English school equivalent of graduating with honors or deans list.  I’m thrilled and glad it’s finally officially over.  I’ll get specific feedback on the paper in the next week or so, and then I can finalize it for publication in a medical journal. 

Of course, because I love learning and there’s so much more out there to study, I’ve already started looking at other degree programs.  They’re pretty expensive though, so I’ll probably take a break from paying tuition for at least a year! 

~~

I have mail!

Well, I haven’t actually gotten any mail yet, but I have an official post office box that allows me to get mail sent to me!  So let’s see if it works, shall we?  It’s a small box, so please only send letters and cars that are okay to bend, and we’ll see how it works for now.  They tell me they’ll hold packages, which would also be worth a try, but I’m pretty sure every package will be opened and some may not arrive, so keep that in mind. 

Krissy Close

PO Box 640

1000 Monrovia

10 Liberia

If you look at the top of the main blog page you should see a link to “mail” at the top, alongside “my story” and “bucket list” so you can always find it there. 

~~

Work is going well; settling in to anything new is a challenge, and it’s definitely had it’s ups and downs.  But over the last couple of weeks I feel like I’ve finally had some real wins and made some progress on a few things, which is really encouraging!  This week we participated in the international day of the African child event and my team did an incredible job.  We offer a training program for children called My Body is Mine that teaches them through story what is abuse and what is okay and what is not okay, and what to do if they or someone they know are being harmed.  It was really well received and I’m fielding requests for more training across the country! 

~~

I’ve been healthy so far, which I’m super grateful for, and here’s a fun fact: my immune system has always been pretty good, I’ve never really been sick all that often, but I’ve not even had a cold in almost two years.  What’s my secret? I’m crazy about hand hygiene, I’ve made a very conscious effort to stop touching my face (eyes, nose, mouth are all how germs get into the body from our nasty hands), and I take probiotics every day.  Either it’s some combination of those things, or I’m just really really lucky.  I also don’t have kids which are actual germ factories so I’m sure that’s got something to do with it.  But I’m grateful nonetheless and will keep doing what I’m doing as it does seem to be working for me! 

~~

That’s all for today. Monday morning, another week, another opportunity to try to make a difference here, to bring joy and light and laughter and hope to those who need it, to try to do the next right thing.  I’m grateful for the journey. Happy Monday, world. 

xxk

Intersections, even in the middle of the city, are a free-for-all.

A peaceful morning drive out of the city

This country is very green once you leave the city - it's beautiful! 

Three minutes.

I had an encounter this week with immigration officers. 

I was doing literally nothing but sitting in a vehicle, waiting for my colleagues who were picking up a few supplies at the market. 

I was looking at my phone, mindlessly scrolling, when a tap on the window of the locked vehicle I was waiting in startled me and a glimpse the officer’s uniform only increased my already rapid pulse. I smiled and rolled down the window just a few inches; enough to speak and show respect but not enough for an arm to get inside, while sliding my phone in between the seats next to me, out of sight and hopefully out of mind.  I noticed in my peripheral vision that another uniformed man had approached the other window and I took a deep breath. 

I spoke first, a strong Hello Sir with another smile, and asked him how he was doing today; respect and courtesy in confidence is key.  He didn’t smile but did say helloand fine in response, before demanding to see my papers.  It’s the first time this has happened to me and I wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking for; I knew my visa was notexpired but my passport was back at home, while I had submitted my residency paperwork the week after arriving and haven’t yet received the official residency letter…  but my hesitation in responding only seemed to make him more animated. He reached for my door handle while strongly informing me it’s illegal for me to be more than 500 meters from my residence without my immigration paperwork. 

Thankfully I did indeed have my residency application receipt with me; I said confidently, sir, I do have my paperwork, and showed it to him through the window.  He looked at it closely, handed it back, and he and his colleague walked away. The whole thing lasted about three minutes.

It was startling, and surprising, and certainly got my blood pumping, but ultimately it was a few guys who were bored and thought they could probably intimidate the white woman into giving them some cash to leave her alone.  They underestimated my unwillingness to be intimidated, and the fact that I happened to have my receipt with me (which I hadn’t had earlier that week).

But as I’ve been sitting with and feeling the heavy weight of privilege, and seeing the headlines regarding immigration coming from my home country, and thinking about the heinous atrocities experienced by fellow members of the human race simply because of the color of their skin or their accent or their chosen dress, I realize it was a gift; a glimpse into the life of another.

I was harassed for sitting in a car while white.  I wasn’t hurt and it dissipated as fast as it erupted, so I would never dream of comparing it to the friend who is regularly harassed for flying while brown, the friend who was verbally assaulted for wearing a hijab, or the countless stories of others who are harassed for simply breathing oxygen while different.  

I never really believed I was in a dangerous situation, and I wasn’t, really.  But even so, I was surrounded, intimidated, and can now imagine how that situation could have escalated into danger much more quickly had the environment been different.  He was just trying to get some money out of me and gave up rather quickly when he realized it wasn’t going to be easy.  The fires of hatred I see being stoked daily across the globe aren't about money, they're about a desire to eliminate the existence of the perceived threat, and the definition of said threat is anyone who believes, lives, or looks different.   

And once again, I’m wrecked. 

I can’t handle that people live their entire lives in the fear I felt for about three minutes earlier this week.  I hate that I was made to feel like a criminal while I’m here giving my life trying to help; but I hate more that I don’t actually really know and never will truly understand what others who are different feel while they’re harassed and accused and questioned and distrusted regularly. 

And I’m sorry for my ignorance, my compliance, my diminishment and dismissal.  I want to know, to understand, to be aware and awake to the good and the bad and the ugly of this world I live in.  I want to feel the pain of injustice and then do something about it.  I want to respond to this incident not by becoming bitter or angry or rude or any other way I might be tempted to retaliate for how I was treated; I want to respond with love and service, laying down my pride and arrogance and privilege to instead ask the tough questions and somehow do justice and love mercy and walk humbly and learn and grow and empathize and then use every waking minute I can to make the world a little bit better.  This is how we counteract the darkness… not by yelling at it but shining a light into it. 

The weight of privilege.

I’m feeling the weight of privilege today. 

Someone I know, we’ll call him David, texted me late last night asking if I needed any help around my house, as he was looking for a part-time job.  This is not an uncommon occurrence, though many people just go straight to asking for money instead of asking for an opportunity to earn money, but for some reason this particular request felt like a punch in the gut and I was surprised to find tears rolling down my cheeks. 

Maybe it’s because I know a little bit of his story… David is just a few years younger than me, and the majority of his growing-up years were spent in fear and hiding instead of in school. The brutal civil war raged from 1989-1996, years he should have been learning how to read and write and dreaming of what he wanted to be when he grew up but instead his mother had to hide him from the soldiers that liked to kidnap little boys, brainwash them into mindless killing machines, and send them out to destroy entire villages.  Rape and senseless murder of women and children was a common weapon used in the war. There was never enough food, no school, no opportunities to do anything other than try to survive another day.  

I can’t imagine what that life must have been like, and probably shouldn’t even try.  People older than me can remember what life was like before; it’s my generation that was robbed and raped and pillaged and plundered… because they were born here.  It’s so unfair.  I was born into my middle class midwestern family, I went to school and dreamed of what I wanted to be when I grew up and those dreams weren’t ridiculous.  I knew anything was possible.  

So now in my mid-thirties I find myself working alongside friends who should have every opportunity open to them like I do but they don’t, simply because of where they were born, something none of us have any control over.  David is considered a ‘lucky’ one because he does have a regular job and doesn’t need to hustle for food money every day; but I doubt anyone in the states would consider him ‘lucky’… he makes about $100 a month working four-day weeks as a security guard. Two other days a week he helps his sister in the market, trying to sell pineapples and papayas and anything else they can get ahold of to sell; it means long days in the hot sun for the possibility of earning a dollar or two the whole day. He has a wife that he loves and a few small children and is barely squeaking by to keep them in the house they are renting and rice on the table.  Meat is out of the question.  Soon the children will be old enough to go to school, and while primary school is ‘free’, they’re required to have uniforms and notebooks and other things that all cost money.  

David wants his kids to be able to dream and hope for a future that he never had.  

And the whole thing just makes me angry. His story is certainly not the only one; dozens, hundreds, thousands of my generation in this country have lost their futures due to circumstances well outside their control. What kind of solutions would you give him? 

Go back to school?  A fine idea, except it costs money.  There’s no such thing as student loans or aid programs here. 

Find another job? Doing what? He can barely read and write and can’t learn another trade without paying for it.  

So he’s asking me if he can come wash my floors.  He doesn’t want a handout, he wants an honest way to earn money to put food on the table and send his kids to school. And I’m wrecked. 

It’s not the first time I’ve wrestled this and won’t be the last.  I don’t have an answer, in fact I’ve spent much of the morning crying out for one. It makes me wish I had a little more money to offer; how privileged I am to be able to drop $2k on plane tickets a few times a year, to pay for an apartment that has electricity and running water and air conditioning and a security guard and extra rooms that sit empty most of the time.  Now I know I can’t just give up these things; I need to keep myself healthy to be able to do the work I know I’m supposed to be doing here. 

But I’m a natural problem solver and want to figure out the best most logical solution and just fix it… but if there was a logical, easy solution someone would have found it by now and we wouldn’t be in this place.  Nothing is easy; the big questions of life and why and privilege and blessing are huge and complicated and bring up even more questions and wonderings and anger and resentment and life is just so completely, ridiculously unfair. 

And it’s Monday morning and that truth is weighing heavily on me as I sip my coffee and eat the breakfast I never wondered if I would be able to have.  I don’t know what my role is in David’s life or any of the thousands like him that will cross my path in the coming months and years.  I don’t know what to do with this except to lift it back up with open hands and put one foot in front of the other and do the next right thing and whatever it looks like to bring heaven to earth, to him, to me, today and every day.  

--K 

On life abundant.

Once I finally got back to my apartment this afternoon, I was totally spent. 

I had just come from a Rotary club meeting in the center of the city; an area of chaos I’d not yet driven that, to be honest, really intimidated me, due to the narrow, congested streets and lack of rules, enforcement, and recognized parking spaces. The meeting was great but as any other introvert will attest to, two hours of meeting new people and small talk is incredibly draining.  I was proud of my city driving; safe, yet just aggressive enough to be taken seriously, buoyed by the comments from my staff yesterday of “you drive like a man” or “you’re a truly African driver.” 

Two phone calls had come to me earlier in the day; harrowing stories of children in crisis from expats who had somehow gotten my name and thought I could do something to help.  As it turns out I’ve managed to make friends in high places and actually did have a few helpful actions up my sleeve; after only a month here on the ground I was amazed at what I could actually accomplish in a relatively short period of time.  But nothing is ever easy or straightforward here, and everything takes longer than we hope it will; these little ones are on my mind tonight and will be all weekend until we are able to get them into less tenuous, healthy places to live and grow and flourish. 

By nature I’m not a bleeding heart; I can really detach myself from most of the emotionality of my field of work, which is a tremendous blessing that I’m incredibly grateful for. If I had children or even longed for them, I don’t think I could handle the stories I hear, get the information I need, and relay it to the appropriate authorities with the almost-but-not-quite-completely detached efficiency required.  

But it does take a toll; the day was not quite over and all I could do was lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling.  The heat doesn’t help; by mid-to late-afternoon the wheels often come off and my productivity takes a nosedive.  Rainy season is upon us and there are fewer and fewer sunny days to be found, but today was one of them, with the blue sky beckoning out my window. I thought about how wonderful it would be to sip a fruity drink at my current favorite beach café, with a book in hand until darkness fell. The rational, party-pooper side of me thought about the cost, about getting back in the car and facing the evening traffic, about sitting alone, and almost talked me out of it. But then the fun-loving day-grabbing joyful part of me said Krissy, you live within blocks of an amazing beach restaurant, where you’re guaranteed to enjoy a sunset, palm trees, sand, good food and service, on this one sunny day in the midst of what could be a dozen rainy days.  Why on earth would you say no to that???  GO!

So I did. And it was wonderful, just as expected, and definitely worth the cost and commuter traffic to get there.  I did think I could go sometime later this weekend… but what if it rained the entire weekend?  Why would I say noto such an enjoyable and potentially beneficial evening based on what may or may not happen in the future? 

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, with regards to my life.  I’m not a complete free-spirit; I don’t think the common millennial term YOLO (you only live once) is a suitably wise answer to life’s big questions and decisions to be made.  However, I do feel much of my generation and those before me focus too much on the future and not enough on the now, missing out on the gift that today has for them in pursuit of the happiness a certain dream fulfilled is certain to bring them… only it’s not.  Someone said on a podcast recently that you’ll never fulfill the expectations others have for your life;there’s always something more to achieve that somehow has promised us that fulfillment we’re all longing for… the college degree, the significant other, the engagement, the marriage, the child, the job or career, the big house, the club membership, kids in the right schools, kid’s successes as adults, grandchildren, retirement… and suddenly you’re looking back on a life of longing for that fleeting feeling of happy, contented wholeness. 

Sometimes I think similar thoughts about religion; so many faithful in the world spend far too much time focused on death and not enough on life. This might get me labeled as a heretic, but the Jesus I know about said He came that we might experience abundant life here on earth, not just a triumph over death, and I don’t know about you but I want to experience that abundant life, life to the full, every single day I’m gifted the opportunity.

So yes, I’m going to drink fruity drinks at the beach when it feels like that’s the next right thing in the pursuit of life to the full.  I’m going to take every opportunity to see the world, to love others, to hold on to those I love, to fight for the children in crisis that come across my path, to make the world a little bit better today and whenever I leave it than it was when I came in to it.  If I found out right now I have a year to live or ten or fifty, I wouldn’t change a thing.  And if it rains tomorrow, I’ll have no regrets about how I spent today. 

xxk

Beaches... and redemption.

I love the beach.  

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I practically grew up on water.  The first time I saw the ocean I was sixteen; until then this north-midwestern girl had only seen the sea on TV, in movies, and in tropical beach calendars.  I remember that first visit feeling somewhat magical; a spring break trip filled with many ‘firsts’ including my first plane ride and the first time I saw palm trees that weren’t growing in a bucket in the mall. Somehow they’re still magical to me, too. 

But never could I have guessed at sixteen that in the next twenty years I’d have the opportunity to stick my feet into dozens of oceans, seas, and other exotic bodies of water. More than that, I’ve sailed across them.  I’m a ‘royal diamond shellback’, having sailed over 0’0’ (latitude-longitude) and have lived on both the Atlantic and Pacific coasts of North America along with both the Atlantic and Indian coasts of Africa.  The Indian ocean is especially memorable; the beaches surrounding Madagascar some of the most beautiful I’ve ever experienced; with the Sierra Leonean Atlantic a close second.  The penguins at Simon's Town in South Africa, surfing in Biarritz, France, the needles of pain before numbness settled in while wading in the frigid waters off the Washington State Pacific coast in January. 

Not every memory is magical. A few years ago I was on the beach with some friends, traveling along in a sand vehicle, when we stopped in a deserted area to let some air out of the tires.  Suddenly two men came out from behind a dune, and my first thought was they must want to see if we need help.  How wrong I was.  They could have been cast members in a “Pirates of the Caribbean” movie, lean and strong with scraggly long dreadlocked hair, gaping teeth, ripped and tattered shorts, and large weapons in their hands.  One with a machete and one with an axe; the girls were screaming, I was frozen, the men were yelling, they grabbed at us and took whatever they could get ahold of, including ripping off my necklace and searching my pockets for a phone, cash, or anything else of value.  Then they let us go.  

A few seconds after we had continued on our journey the full force of what had just happened hit me and I fought for the next several hours to not completely fall apart.  I could hardly speak and my tongue was bleeding from clenching my jaw so hard to keep it together. When I finally could let it go, I sobbed.  It was, and still is, one of the scariest things I’ve ever experienced.  I had trouble sleeping that night; fear was having its heyday, causing me to wonder if maybe I needed to go home or to consider a different career path.  

I knew that night that this could be a life-transforming event that might alter the trajectory of my entire existance… but, stubborn as I am, I decided right then, after getting out all the tears within me, I didn’t want it to be.  I had every right to be fearful and no one would have questioned an emergency return home; but fear is not the boss of me.  I was scared to go to the bathroom that night but I went; the next day, everything in me wanted to stay far away from the beach, but knowing I couldn’t let fear win, I went anyway; we intentionally walked the beach (far from where this event happened).  My earnest prayer became please let this just become that one thing that happened that one time,not something that requires years of therapy and a career change. 

And thankfully, that’s exactly what happened. Fear is not the boss of me. Love is the boss of me. 

It didn’t happen overnight; it took awhile for beaches, especially in that part of the world, to regain their magical properties.  But it could have been so much worse. We were not physically harmed, they could have taken our vehicle but they didn’t, and somehow their eyes were blinded to the fact that our backpacks, with cash, electronics, and passports, were under the seat we were sitting on.  Now I’m more careful with what I carry with me, and I only wear jewelry I don’t care about when I am on this side of the sea… my grandmother’s diamond necklace stays safely packed away back home. 

These last couple of days I spent at a beach resort about an hour and a half from where I live. It was so nice to unplug, and I spent quite a lot of time on the beach, which brought all of this back to mind.  While I love the beach, there is still a check in my spirit, an extra vigilance that wasn’t there before, and I don’t think this is a bad thing.  A little bit of fear; in the room, but not allowed to make decisions for me, does invite an awareness and acknowledge that not all is right with the world.  I welcome that little nagging wonder, as it brings me to my knees, either proverbially or literally; it opens my eyes and ears to things both seen and unseen, it brings forth a whispered prayer of protection and guidance where I might not otherwise be inclined to pray.  I don’t think that could ever be a bad thing.

Thankfully, beaches are still magical places, as I find myself continuing on the adventurous life. They’re still places of healing and rest and beauty, something to look forward to and explore. They’re a testament in my life that fear doesn’t have to rule and reign, and any darkness can be made light again, that nothing is outside the possibility of redemption.  

Simon's Town, South Africa