A New Model

The battle begins…that is, the father’s battle to balance time between work and family. Let me explain what I’ve been challenged by during these past two weeks of vacation (the equivalent of a paternity leave). It’s not so much a new concept, it’s just seen with new significance. I, like most men, have an innate desire to accomplish things so that at the end of the day/week I can look back on all that I’ve checked off my to-do list. When my check marks are many, I feel like I am making a contribution and moving toward a goal. I think that this is how many men are wired.

 

Well, these past two weeks have shown me that parenthood does not fit well into the “to-do list” model. The hours that I spent holding my child as he drifts in and out of sleep, what was “accomplished” there? Answer: Nothing measureable. The 3am times when I, half wake, escort my fussy son to the family room in order to allow the rest of our household to sleep, how can I check that off a to-do list? Even doing the laundry. It is not at all satisfying to put laundry on a to-do list because, in the world of cloth diapers, it reappears almost as soon as it’s erased. So my head hits the pillow and I run through my day - changed a diaper, put him down for naps, washed the dishes, wrote update emails to family, took pictures, mopped the floor, fixed the sink, made some Endomi (the Arabic version of Ramen noodles), finally made it to bed…what was really accomplished that day? What got crossed off the to-do list? Toward what goal did I take an identifiable step closer?

 

The nature of parenthood, at least at this stage, shows the inadequacy of such questions and the whole to-do list model that is seemingly hard-wired onto our y-chromosome. The work environment thrives on to-do lists, accomplishing tasks, and moving toward well defined goals. That’s why, I believe, many men can easily pour themselves into their jobs. But when you take the to-do list model home from the office, men often feel unproductive and unfulfilled.

 

I know there are probably some wonder fatherhood books out there that state this same point yet so much more eloquently, but such lessons are much more fun to discover and think through on my own than to read them in some book. So, to conclude my thoughts, while the “to-do list” model belongs at the workplace, another model, which I would call the “investment” model, feels right at home in the home.  Spending time with Micah, helping Andrea get needed rest, pitching in with the necessary chores, and even changing diapers are all investments into the multifaceted entity called a family. None of these actions, by themselves, carry a significant reward and none of them will be singled out and credited for some great accomplishment, but all such investments, though individually forgotten, will, down the road, pay dividends in a healthy, safe, and God honoring family. And that’s about as significant an accomplishment that I could ever dream of!

 

How Do You Not-Diaper a Baby?

The picture above shows our method in dealing with bare-butted Micah this week. As you learned from our anniversary blog, we were not allowed to use a diaper on the little stinker for a whole week following the circumcision procedure. Why? Well, first of all, there was a plastic stick about an inch and a half long that was sticking straight off the end of his…his…well, the surgery site. We’re sure that it acted as a protector as it healed but why did it have to stick out so far? The jury is still out. Maybe it’s just to annoy little boys so as to make them tougher later in life.

 

So yea, 7 days were prescribed in which “pamper ataderegum” (Eng: Pampers do not do/make!) That’s right, diapers are called “pampers” here – that’s a clear sign that they were brought into the country from outside, not native to Ethiopia. In language school, where teachers try their best to steer away from these obvious borrowed words, we were taught the word “shint cherk” which literally means “urine cloth.” However, the laughter of real-world people upon usage is a clear sign that such expressions are really not in common use. Imagine walking into Wal-Mart, “yea…uh…could you direct me to the aisle with the urine cloths?” (please note that the word urine is a nice, technical term that I chose for the blog translation…substitute your own everyday word for such a liquid and then go ask your Wal-Mart greeter! Yea, that’s us over here, minus the superstore.)

 

So anyway, how do you not diaper a baby? Well, we started with a cloth diaper held up against the backside and a large spit-up rag loosely placed between the legs. Then we tried to keep him tightly wrapped in a blanket to limit the movement, for nothing gave him more pleasure than to kick those things out of place. Then we would wait and pray – hoping that the cloths were in the right place when they needed to be. Overall, I’d say we did pretty well on the backside, although our shirts and pants ended up catching much of the frontal emissions.

 

Having extra focus on this not-so-glamorous side of Micah’s life did teach us one very important thing about our little guy: feeding time is most often bathroom time. I guess input requires immediate output. So, to compensate for this down the road, we will probably have to install a working toilet as Micah’s seat at the dinner table. We can only hope he grows out of it, otherwise are we obligated as concerned parents to warn every nice young lady he will one day take out on a date?

 

Celebrating Five Years - Plan D was Delightful

Travis is really good about writing blogs, though I am happy to contribute when I get the writers itch. As for this time, Travis barely started this blog this afternoon, but now, as he tries to catch some much deserved zzz’s with Micah, I’ll see if I can finish it. 

 

Some of you were there 5 years ago (yesterday) when we made our wedding vows – “in sickness and health…through overwhelming joy and intense sorrow” – while others of you we’ve been able to join in this journey since that time. With our first milestone wedding anniversary on the horizon, we had wanted to do something big and memorable. After all, people always say, do some exploring now, while you still can, for one the kids come, you are very limited in your ability to travel. Well, last Fall, we were presented with just such an opportunity by some of our best friends (a family from another organization who has been working with the Gmz for the past 10 years). They told us of their plans to celebrate their 15^th anniversary with a June vacation to Thailand and they invited us to come along in celebration of our 5^th. We were really excited about the possibility, not only would such a vacation be great but the cost was reasonably within reach our savings. However, it wasn’t long after that the pregnancy test came back positive and our little one’s due date was such that plans for a June trip to Thailand never got off the ground.

 

Plan A: Thailand vacation

Status: Grounded

Reason: Baby Williamson is coming!

 

Plan B was by far less extravagant, yet still something we looked forward to.  We planned to leave our little guy with one of our eager babysitting volunteers (a co-worker who isn’t a grandma quite yet but is very excited about filling the role) and spend an evening together. Although we probably would never consider it a very romantic or appropriate anniversary celebration back home, we decided it would be fun to go bowling (a first for us in Ethiopia) and then eat at some place special. But, after Micah’s delayed arrival and the unplanned c-section, throwing a heavy ball down a lane quickly became a non-option. In addition, our eager babysitter is out of the country for a short time and asking another to pinch hit would have been tough – given additional reasons stated below.

 

Plan B: Bowling and Nice Dinner

Status: Gutterball

Reason: C-section and babysitting issues

 

On the plan C. Here in Ethiopia, male circumcision is performed exactly 8 days after birth, in accordance with the Mosaic Law. So, Micah’s 8^th day landed right on our anniversary - June 18^th. Of course, we anticipated that Micah would not come out of the procedure full of smiles, but at the same time, we didn’t think it would be a big deal to plan a nice lunch at the Hilton Hotel on our way home. At the same time, we could celebrate Micah’s circumcision, which in Madagascar reflects a rite of passage into manhood (sniff…sniff…they grow up so fast). Well, the Hilton plans began to unravel when Micah returned from the procedure with detailed instructions that for seven days, Micah could not be diapered or have any clothes fastened on the bottom end. Shocked, and trying to think of the ramifications of these instructions, we soon pulled into the Hilton parking lot. Right then, Micah shrieked and wailed so persuasively that, without ever getting out of the car, we drove home, knowing that getting out of the house for these 7 days would be pretty difficult.

 

Plan C: Lunch at the Hilton

Status: Snipped and Exposed

Reason: Our crabby and bare-butted baby

 

As we drove home Travis thought aloud. “It really wouldn’t be appropriate to ask someone to babysit Micah in such a condition – especially since we haven’t experienced more than hour of it ourselves. Maybe, instead, I could make a nice dinner for us to celebrate at home together.” This suggestion brought tears to my eyes and that stuck feeling in my throat. I knew that Travis was tired, he’s been taking the roughest times with Micah (9pm – midnight) and letting me sleep. I also know how time consuming and tiring it is to make a nice meal because almost everything has to be made from scratch and extra care needs to be taken (such as in cleaning vegetables). Upon arriving home, we ate a quick late lunch of leftovers and I headed upstairs to take a nap with our sleepy Micah. Meanwhile, Travis set to work in the kitchen.

 

Somewhere around 7pm, I came back downstairs, greeted by a wonderful spread. First, a chicken…a very special meat here because they are expensive, especially if you buy a nice “farengie” chicken (farm raised - plump and tender). Plenty of herbs, garlic, onions and carrots made an incredibly flavorful bird, which had already filled the house with pleasing smells (which are not as common these days!). Next, a beautiful tossed salad with multiple greens. Pineapple jello in glasses – don’t laugh, jello is a rare treat here! But to me, the icing on the cake was the twice-baked dabados (potatoes). I have never attempted such a feat here! Twice-baked potatoes are a Williamson family favorite for which his Grandma Perry was famous.  Not only did he successfully make them but they were excellent…we ate half a cookie sheet of them and I’m pretty sure I ate my fair share of that. After this incredible meal (part of which, was by candlelight do to power outages) we talked about this past year and the many things that we have seen God do, the things that we want to remember and celebrate in the years to come. As the night came upon us we enjoyed large mugs of Ghirardelli’s mint hot chocolate for dessert (a gift sent to us by a women’s Bible study at Christmastime). And throughout, the whole dinner and time of reflection, Micah was really silent – that’s was a first!

 

Plan D: Home-Cooked Special

Status: Delightful!

Reason: Despite obstacles and exhaustion, we still had a memorable celebration of another year together! (ps. I took the evening shift that night as Travis deservedly hit the pillow early!)

"This Is Your Mother, You're Going to Respect Her"

New experiences bring a new appreciation for life. That was definitely the case these last 24 hours as Micah Tesfaye Williamson entered our world and has plunged Andrea and I into the challenging yet rewarding realm of parenthood. But now as I sit on my makeshift “bed” in our hospital room, I can’t help but reflect on the events which have permanently changed who I am. By way of reflection and telling the story, I would like to share the things that I was particularly challenged by.

Entering the unknown means not having all, or even any of the answers. Yesterday afternoon, Andrea was feeling abdominal discomfort, which neither of us knew whether to classify as official contractions. We had heard plenty of stories, making fun of overanxious first pregnancy couples jumping the gun in rushing the hospital only to be sent home for more waiting. By no means did we want to join this crowd. After several hours of mysterious discomfort, we called the doctor to get his opinion. Andrea answered the two questions he asked us with honestly, but looking back both of the answers that he understood were totally wrong. Therefore, based on wrong information he had heard, he advised us to report to the hospital. Thankfully, shortly after arriving there, the contractions became much more distinct and consistent so that it was obvious that this discomfort was the real deal labor.

We are surrounded by God’s blessings. Upon arriving at the hospital, I text messaged and emailed TONS of people asking for prayer and then began collecting the flurry of responses from friends all around the world. There was no doubt that we were not alone on this night. In addition, our friend Becky (an RN from Montana) was an absolute God-send as she used her nursing background to supplement the midwife on duty last night.

Becky and I took turns rubbing Andrea’s back and later on whispering constant encouragement in her ear as she wrestled through the intense contractions. Finally, as the three of us struggled through the long night, Becky’s RN training gave us an unexpected privacy. You see, the midwife was on the first of a double shift, and so she unashamedly excused herself to the bed in the adjacent room for a sleep – leaving Becky in charge of monitoring the labor. All in all, not much happened so we pretty much let the midwife sleep and enjoyed the peace of being all by ourselves. The labor room has three beds and we praised God throughout the night that we had the place to ourselves (which is unusual in a hospital that averages ninety deliveries a month!)

Bedside manner really matters. The night shift doctor was a youngen, which was an immediate turn off to us since we chose this hospital for the well-known Dr. Mekonnen, who has been delivering babies for more decades than we’ve been alive. Nevertheless, we wanted to give this guy a chance, but when the opening words I heard him say to Andrea were “You know that this is going to be painful right? Has anybody ever told you that there will be pain, I mean a whole lot of pain…” and it didn’t stop there. I listened in disbelief as this guy made his point “I won’t be doing a c-section just because there’s pain” in the least tactful manner I could think of. My gracious wife overlooked the comments much faster that I, much to her credit. Then, the midwife came in with her many years of experience and seemingly felt uncomfortable with me (Travis) being in the labor room (which is not part of Ethiopian culture).  She made a point to tell me that I was lucky to be here because most of the time the room is full and I would not be allowed in. Then another time, she came in from one of her naps and both Becky and I backed away from Andrea to respectfully give her access. The midwife, noticing that Andrea was in the middle of a contraction, started to rub her back and say the Amharic equivalent of “Be Strong” or “Buck Up!” (which tends to annoy most foreigners instead of encourage them). Anyway, she shot a glare back at me and said “why isn’t your husband rubbing your back like this.” I just bowed my head to mask my frustration, but Becky piped right up “he has been doing plenty of that…” Thankfully she left out “while you were sawing logs next door.” Bedside manner matters not just in hospitals, but in any environment in which we serve or deal with other people. Being on the hurting end of a bad example encourages me to evaluate my own comments and relations to others.  

God does not guarantee smooth roads. As first-timers at this whole labor thing, we didn’t know what to expect (except pain and joy…duh!). And as an observer, cheer leader and in some ways fellow-sufferer in the process, I wasn’t so much surprised at what I experienced, but rather just impressed with this truth “God does not guarantee smooth roads.” And I can tell you, this road wasn’t. Sure there were good times when things were going well (such as when I sent the early morning prayer partner email), but it was shortly after that that the road got bumpy: the next dilation check was actually less than before, the contractions had decreased, and the baby was still in a high position so that they couldn’t break her water in order to stimulate faster labor (for fear that the umbilical cord could rush out past the head, which would be bad). Tough times like this were sometimes alleviated by a bright moment – shortly after the disappointing water non-breaking, during a strong contraction, all three of us in the room heard a “pop” and rush of water under the covers. Seriously, I was elated and started rubbing Andrea’s back so hard that she forcefully asked me to stop! “Yes, now, labor will kick it into high gear and we’ll get this guy out of there soon.” My hopes soared at this moment, forgetting the truth that God does not guarantee smooth roads, as more challenges still lay ahead. In all 12 hours of real labor, we were never at the point of panic or in a state of emergency, but neither was it a walk in the park. As a totally unbiased husband, I can tell you that my wife is as strong and as good natured as they come, and her pleasant attitude shone like a light all around the room. So, while we were reminded of the difficult roads we must travel in this fallen world, we are grateful for God’s gracious gift of strength and hope to see us through the bumps.

Does trusting God 100% mean complete peace? The hardest part of the whole process for me was the hours between 8:30am-10:30am when the c-section decision was made. It was good for us to know Amharic because we could understand what the doctors and nurses were saying. Basically, when the morning doctor came in, Andrea’s pains were strong and we all suspected that the pushing time was close. However, the cervix check was disappointing because it was only 7cm. Plus the doctor was not happy with the fetal heart monitor’s reading as the baby’s heart rate would drop significantly during the contractions with varying success at returning to normal on its own. The doctor came in several times and expressed that concern, but the nurses assured him…”it will come back up.” We all saw what was coming, especially when the doctor firmly said “if it drops significantly one more time, we will have to take that baby out” and he left the room. After that, the room was silent apart from Andrea’s heavy breathing and the sound of Sweet T’s heart beat coming through the monitor. Every time a contraction came, it seemed we were all begging God to keep that heart rate up. The knot in my stomach was growing ridiculously uncomfortable. Then it came. A strong contraction hit both Andrea and the baby and as it subsided our attention locked onto the slowed fetal heart beat. “Come on, pick up, pick up, please Lord” I closed my eyes and listened. The nurse started doing everything she could to increase it: moving the sensor around, light massage, and helping Andrea change position. Soon, the slow heart beat caught the attention of another doctor sitting in the room, who silently stared at the meter. Finally, he said what we all knew needed to be said “hakimu menager alabatchu” (trans. You MUST tell the doctor). When the doctor came in a minute later, the heart beat was still low as Andrea was in another contraction. The doctor took the sensor and once again we all stared straight ahead as the contraction subsided. Thirty seconds went by with only the monitor’s steady thumping at around 90 beats per minute (it should be between 120-160). He did a quick cervix check only to report “still 7 cm.” All of us in the room knew exactly what that meant, all except Andrea, who hadn’t been able to pay close attention to everything. When the doctor stood up and said “we will be taking you for a cesarean section” my eyes locked on my precious wife’s face and the obvious disappointment and sadness tore my heart out. So I stood up next to the doctor and affirmed the decision as best. “At the end of the day, I want to have my wife and my baby, both safe and healthy!” and then I repeated the line that we had said hundreds of times in the months leading up to this day “egziyabiyer ke inya gar new” (trans. God is with us) and I kissed her forehead. I didn’t like the idea of a c-section, especially with general anesthesia which would cause Andrea to miss Sweet T’s birth, but I knew that this was the road God had given for us to go down. The doctor looked at me just before he left the room for preparations and said “we’ll have that baby out in 20 minutes.” The knot in my stomach started to loosen as I knew that Andrea’s difficult labor would go on no more and that it would soon be over. Here’s my question…was I trusting God through it all? Did the knot in my stomach mean that I was holding back from 100% trust? If so, am I even capable of such perfect trust? It doesn’t seem that I am.

My joy made complete. What happened in the next few moments still feels like a wonderful dream to me. The midwife, who had attended Andrea in the morning shift (Sister Elsa), became very attached to us. This would be her first white baby she was delivering and she was constantly showing genuine compassion for all of us. As the doctor was leaving the room to prepare for surgery, he turned back and said “Andrea, say your goodbyes for now.” To me that meant, I would not be allowed into the surgery theatre. So I went to Sister Elsa and she became my strong advocate. We caught up with the doctor as he was putting on his surgery clothes and I heard the whole conversation “Can he come in?” “Who?” “The father?” “Why?” “It is an important part of their culture.” The doctor looked right at me and said “you may stand here, when the baby is delivered and cleaned up, we will hand him/her to you here.” A huge smile broke across my face at the thought of that, but the spot he was pointing to was just outside the surgery room’s door. So I innocently asked “will the door be open?” and the doctor firmly said “no, the door cannot be open.” At this point, what do I have to lose? “Can I be inside the door?” The doctor was stunned and silent for a few seconds before the silence was filled with Sister Elsa’s question “min chigger ale?” (trans: what is the problem (with that)?” The doctor looked me in the eyes and said “Yes, get dressed.”

My excitement and giddiness at that moment burst forth as I was rushed into the proper clothes and soon found myself given a premiere spot in the surgery room, armed and ready with a brand new digital camera (which takes excellent pictures without a flash and HD video). “I am here, Wiffee” I called out in Amharic to Andrea who was covered with cloths, “I love you!” Over the sound of doctors and nurses in preparation, I heard “I love you too” come from under the cloths.  I could not contain my excitement as I talked with the nurses waiting to receive little Sweet T, it seemed that the whole room was energized by my presence, for this was the first time anybody had been allowed to do this.

After a quick warning from the doctor not to faint, I heard Andrea’s voice one last time “I’m going to sleep…” and within 30 seconds the cutting began. Man, I tell you, the hands of the doctor and 2 assisting nurses functioned like precise robots, as if guided automatically by the very hands of God. There was no hesitation, no questioning “ok, now what was the next step?” My excitement grew when the doctor turned to the nurses and pediatrician by me and said “baby.” The pediatrician took a step forward as the scalpel sliced into Andrea’s uterus. My HD video locked on and captured the moment for me to share with Andrea later. All in about 3-4 seconds, the umbilical cord popped out, then Sweet T’s head, followed by the shoulders, midsection, legs and two tiny feet as a caboose. “You have a baby boy” the doctor announced in English as the cord was snipped and Sweet T was quickly whisked to the cleaning table right next to me. There he was. Nine and a half months of expectation for this little purple guy. Seriously, the deep purple skin was a surprise to me, but the pediatrician and nurses did not seemed alarmed in the least. Their calm work kept me calm during the 2-3 minutes it took before Sweet T ripped out his first cries (or squeaks). The cleaning continued for some time and the doctor had to revive this little guy 4-5 times or 7-8 minutes before his lungs were clear and he was breathing on his own. Yet, I had an incredible peace. The doctor wasn’t panicking, the nurses were smiling, and most of all “egziyabiyer ke inya gar new” (trans: God is with us). Looking back at my wife, I saw the final stitches going in just as quick and smooth as it had all started. This moment was truly surreal and I stood in awe of everything around me, letting my excitement flow out of my mouth without any hindrance. I couldn’t thank God enough, and believe me I was unashamedly making that clear!

Your culture is good. When Sweet T was finally cleaned and wrapped up nice and tight, he led the parade out of the surgery theatre and into the nursery. During the length measurement, Sister Elsa turned to me and said words that I will never forget “yinante bahil tru new” (trans: your culture is good). Those words mean so much because they came from an experienced midwife. You see, in many Ethiopian hospitals, nobody is allowed to accompany the laboring woman, especially not the husband. “Men are weak and afraid, they don’t want to see any of this” Elsa had told me earlier. And to be honest, I can see why. It’s not pleasant to see your wife in such pain and struggle. It’s not pleasant to see the blood and other “nasties” that comes along with childbirth. It’s not pleasant to feel like you swallowed a watermelon whole. But for me, there is nowhere else I wanted to be. I knew that I was being watched the whole time. Whenever a contraction came, words of love and encouragement and reminders to breath had just flowed from my mouth without effort. Becky, as well, demonstrated a compassion and deep love for Andrea so that together we were showing our audience of doctors, nurses and midwives, the beauty of our culture in this critical moment. Elsa’s comment, “your culture is good,” meant so much as this midwife had been moved by our participation with Andrea in this remarkable event. I don’t at all hope to change the Ethiopian culture in this direction, but rather I pray that our demonstration of real love for Andrea throughout her struggle will be a testimony to others of a loving husband and a loving friend reflecting the love of Christ.

This is your mother, you’re going to respect her. After Sweet T had been delivered, cleaned up, measured, weighed and tightly wrapped up in the nursery, I was told to go back to our room (which was very nice by Ethiopian standards, which kinda have become ours as well!). As I stepped out into the hallway, Andrea was just being wheeled out of the surgery theatre and back toward the room. Still completely under the effects of the anesthesia, I walked next to her rolling bed until I remembered “those four guys from our Ethiopian church are outside praying right now!” I rushed out to the courtyard and found them, eager to share the good news of the baby boy for whom they have been faithfully praying for MONTHS. There is nothing like being surrounded by the body of Christ at times like this. After joining hands and praising God for his amazing grace and faithfulness, I hugged all four of them and hurried back to be with Andrea. The hard part was over, or so I thought. Walking into the room, I hovered over Andrea, feeling like the incredible story of what had happened was going to just burst out of me. But I knew that I had one last trial of waiting to get through. I talked and cried with Becky and we prayed together while holding Andrea’s hand. My love and respect for my wife was flowing through my veins as I reflected on how strong she had been through the pain, how gracious she had been through the frustrations, how positive she had remained through the disappointments. I just wished I could tell her! It was about an hour later, as Andrea was beginning to communicate, that little Sweet T was brought into the room. Sister Elsa handed my son to me and with great pride, I introduced him to Andrea. Together as a family for the first time, I said what first came to my mind after reflecting on how well Andrea had fought and in doing so I gave Micah his first ultimatum, “This is your mother, you’re going to respect her.” As those words rolled off my tongue, I realized just how much I really meant it. For after today’s events alone, Andrea is worthy of my and Micah’s lifetime of respect, and I’ll make sure she gets it.

 

God Provides "New" Wheels

For those of you who read our newsletter or have been receiving our twice-a-month prayer partner updates, you have already rejoiced with us concerning our “new” set of wheels – this time in the form of a 1999 Toyota Hilux pickup truck. This vehicle was owned by one of our co-workers who as of May 30^th has moved his family permanently back to the States. Therefore, the verbal agreement last March, turned into a legal agreement in early May (power of attorney document), and then a financial agreement on May 22^nd, and then a completed transaction when we received the keys on May 30^th. Now after, getting the insurance all set up, we officially have a vehicle to drive!

 

Thus far, we haven’t driven it much, just to a farewell party on Friday and then on Saturday, I helped a new family move into a new house. Those of you who own trucks know how quickly you get asked to help with moving things. It reminds me of a conversation with a truck-owning/loving friend in Texas.  He was complaining about the price of gas and fuel consumption when I asked, “well, why do you own a truck (in comparison to our tiny, fuel efficient Hyundai Accent)?” He quickly replied, as if it were obvious, “well, to haul stuff.” Yea man, now we can haul stuff together!

 

So we haven’t used the truck much yet. It’s kind of a strange feeling, and it reminds me of my dad a bit. Growing up, we, as a family, would tease him about his habit of not wearing new clothes. Many times, we would ask “oh, is that a new shirt?” and he would reply “no, I got this the Christmas before last (or whatever), but I just haven’t worn it until now.” I guess, clothes, like fine cheeses and wines, need to age for a while before they are suitable for exposure to the public. Anyway, now that we have a vehicle, we are not eager to jump in and drive all over town. I suppose this is partially because we are still in shock from the expense involved in buying, operating and repairing vehicles here. In addition, Addis traffic is a nightmare for those who have any sense that traffic rules should govern the road. Plus, it’s not convenient to us right now because we park our truck at a nearby co-worker’s house - our driveway is problematic (we would have to move the car every time our landlord, who lives in the back of our compound, came and went). Finally, Andrea’s pregnancy has kept us pretty well at home anyway.

 

We truly see how God provided this vehicle as it meets all of our needs and desires. It’s a strong, 4-wheel drive vehicle that has sufficient passenger space as well as cargo space without it being a massive Land Cruiser type vehicle. It was owned and well maintained by a foreigner all its life and has low miles (about 55,000). It is a Toyota which is BY FAR the top of the food chain when it comes to durability and the availability and price of parts here. It was purchased privately, avoiding the complicated and corrupt system of “brokers.” Finally, a high price fit the quality of this vehicle, but God provided the finances to make it possible, especially through the specially designated gift by our sending church in Wisconsin. Praise Him for his provision…but now pray for protection!

 

Waiting

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Waiting

 

Ok, time to be a bit reflective. As I write, Sweet T is officially 6 days late, which I am told is not a big deal with a first baby.  Last Thursday, I wrote about the rearranging of our room, which for me (Travis) was a needle popping my patience and ability to concentrate on other things.  My sleep has become much lighter as many times I am awakened by Andrea’s frequent trips to the bathroom, hoping that I hear her tell me of water breaking, contractions, or any signs of impending labor. On several mornings, I woke up when the sun shines through our window at 6:15 and peek over at the crib, commenting to Andrea, “still empty, I see.” I find myself having hushed conversations with Andrea’s tummy (I can’t speak through her belly button anymore because it vanished a couple months ago), telling Sweet T of all the fun things that we can do together when he/she comes out. Sure, the excitement comes and goes, as I am sometimes able to distract myself with Gumuz learning, reading two really good books (a biography on AW Tozer and “Roots”), or trying to track down work permit details.

 

Sure, I’ve waited for things in the past, but this time feels different. Waiting for things like birthdays, family vacations, graduations, our wedding day, and move to Africa, was similar in that there is the desire to live the future today. However, these strongly emotional times of waiting were different because all of those had points of time in which they were scheduled to start. Early on, the due date acted like a scheduled event, but as that date gets closer, the realization comes…this process could start any minute and I wake up tomorrow a father! Every meal we eat could be the last as just two of us! Because of this constant uncertainty, I can’t tell myself, you still have a whole week to get this figured out in your head or to prepare those final details. Instead, we need to always be ready for what most people look back upon as “the happiest moment of their lives.”

 

I have been reflecting upon this strange feeling of something that soon is SURE TO HAPPEN, something that is INCREDIBLY EXCITING or worthy of GREAT ANTICIPATION, and yet something whose arrival is IMMINENT (meaning it could come at any moment). Although these three characteristics are somewhat unique when it comes to our lives’ events, there is one other event that perfectly characterizes all three – Jesus’ second coming. Because Jesus fulfilled hundreds of Old Testament predictions in his first coming, we can say with confidence that Jesus’ foretold return is SURE TO HAPPEN. Because of the wonderful ramifications of meeting Jesus in the air and being finally free from sin, Jesus’ second coming is INCREDIBLY EXCITING and worthy of GREAT ANTICIPATION. And lastly, because no one but the Father knows the time and date, Jesus’ second coming is IMMINENT. Being in the midst of firstborn “waiting tension,” I pray that the Spirit would move my mind and heart to have this same feeling, with AT LEAST the same intensity toward the return of Christ Jesus, my Lord and Savior.