McMuffin or McNugget? It's Their Choice

How do you name a chicken? Well, first, we tried to think of famous chicken names but we didn’t get much beyond “Chicken Little”, “Little Red Hen” and “Foghorn Leghorn.” Aborting that route, we took a detour on the various meals we might enjoy. Now, keep in mind, these lovely ladies were bought for the purpose of laying eggs. But, as was stated in their contract, if they didn’t lay many eggs, they would pay their rent as the guest of honor at a nice chicken dinner. So, in the end, we decided to give each chicken two names. Their first name would be an egg dish that we could enjoy if they hold up their end of their bargain. Their second name, however, reflected a chicken dish that would be equally, if not more, savory. The choice as to which name they would live up to would be theirs. So without further ado…please allow me to introduce…

Deviled Hot Wings – Identifiable by the red string on her leg, this beauty queen is quite vain and bit stuck up, but maybe rightfully so as she is by far our top egg layer. However she refuses to lay her eggs inside the fenced compound and instead chooses to jump out to lay on the concrete front step of our house. Maybe that’s just so that we know which are hers. What a drama queen.

Eggnog Kabob – Eggnog (characterized by the white rope) is known for the gargantuan eggs she pushes out almost every day. She had a rough start laying only one egg in the first week and a half, but has really come around these last couple weeks. Hoping that the egg size is a dominant gene, Eggnog no doubt has some breeding opportunities in the not too distant future.

Omelet Cordon Bleu – Otherwise known as “Cory,” this blue-banded chicky is a decent layer, but her consistency and egg size are nothing special. Maybe that’s ok, because I really like Chicken Cordon Bleu. She may be a breeder one day simply because she seems to have some good meat on her.

Sunny McNugget – Sunny-side-up bears the yellow band and although her consistency in laying eggs could improve, her egg size is nice (second only to Eggnog). Sunny is a free spirit. Before I built a fence for the chickens, she was always the one wandering far from the house and getting attacked by the big rooster that lives next door (my chickens unfortunately have been de-beaked which means that they can’t defend themselves from others with beaks – this may make breeding difficult/deadly.) Sunny is smaller and was picked on a lot at first, but now she seems to have toughened up and has earned the respect of the others.

Quiche Teriyaki – Terry’s orange rope reflects her personality, she is feisty as all get-out! She isn’t a big bird, but she is known to pick a fight with whomever is nearby. She also wins the “most likely to be the stupid chicken pecking my toe” award. Her egg size is below average, as is her consistency. Anyone have a good Teriyaki recipe?

Over-Easy BBQ – Bearing the green rope, Over-Easy is interesting. She is definitely the whipping boy of the herd, constantly picked on and never stands up for herself. She can only eat and drink when others are not looking and until recently, she was not known to have laid any eggs. Because of this, she was on the menu for a nice birthday meal that we would be enjoying near the end of this month.  However, today, less than 48 hours before the ax fell and the BBQ began, I was caused to second guess. You see, while working on something this afternoon, I was annoyed by one of the chickens hootin’ and hollarin’ from inside the fence. In checking, I saw Over-Easy pacing back and forth like she wanted out. It is not unusual for me to leave Over-Easy outside the fence for a while just to give her a rest from being picked on; but this time, I set her on the ground and she took off running behind our house. I followed here and sure enough, she quickly nestled down in a spot that was obviously familiar to her. About 15 minutes later when she got up to go, I investigated and found this:

That’s right…six eggs…all of which must be credited to her account, thus possibly changing our menu for the birthday bash. We’ll see.

God in Our Midst: Part 1 - "Lives at Stake."

Sundays are usually nice as we try to enjoy some family time, as well as spend some time writing emails, blogs, and letters back home. However, as with life anywhere in the world, such a plan sometimes turns out to be only that, a nice plan.

This past Sunday, just as we were leaving our home for the Gumuz church service held nearby, we encountered several people requesting our help with various things. The first guy’s mother apparently had had surgery in a larger city and he was asking about medicine for her, of which I knew nothing about and could not help. The second case was a 6-month pregnant woman who had been feeling very sick with stabbing abdominal and back pains for about three days. She and her husband were requesting that we take them not just to the nearby clinic (which has a below average reputation), but to a slightly larger city’s clinic about an hour away. Knowing that this would sacrifice much of our Sunday, we made no promises but instead gave her some Tylenol and agreed to see how she was feeling after church.

As church was finishing, Andrea rushed back to our house to check on the pregnant woman, while I mingled for a little while, not wanting to once again face the question of giving up my Sunday. Little did I know, God had already overbooked my plans and was brewing up something bigger and better, something in which I would clearly see his protection and provision. You see, as I said my farewells and turned toward my house, Habtamu (one of my best language helpers) pulled me aside. “Travis, my sister’s baby is hurt. He has burns on his arm.” Having just been told of how one of the guards (who was standing there with us) had been trained on how to clean and bandage such wounds, I tried to turn it over to him, to which he responded, “This is a really bad burn. Last night, he fell into the cooking fire. I think you should look at it.”

Minutes later, trying to suppress any outward reaction, my insides tightened with fear as Habtamu’s sister unwrapped her 2-month-old baby boy before Andrea and me. Yes, in fact, it was a VERY bad burn as blisters and wounds covered the baby’s swollen left hand, left arm and face. Without hesitation, Andrea went into the house and grabbed her “bush medical” book, which clearly stated that any burn 1) on a small infant or the very old OR 2) which encompasses an entire limb, OR 3) involving the hands, face, etc to a significant extent, shall be referred to a hospital for treatment. With this case meeting all three criteria, we knew that our plans for the day had just changed.

We loaded up our truck with Habtamu, his sister and nephew, the pregnant lady and her husband, Andrea, Micah and me and were soon kicking up a dust cloud as we bounced down the rough, washboard-like road. Arriving at the clinic shortly before lunch and wanting to push our patients through the system, we flicked on our extroverted personalities and struck up conversations with the staff (some of which were fascinated and excited that we knew Amharic, and others of which wanted to practice their English). Micah also helped as he turned on the charm and soon found himself in the arms of the nurse in charge of calling “next” patients. Our collective efforts paid off as both of our patients were seen quickly. The pregnant lady gave samples for laboratory testing which revealed three issues, all curable by medicine (but required Andrea to give intravenous antibiotic injections for the next four days – which is very difficult on a person with small veins tucked under tough and very black skin!).

The baby, on the other hand, was given one look from the doctor and he wisely reached for his referral pad. “This baby needs to go to Bahir Dar today!” he said firmly as he went on to describe how the baby’s hand was burned so completely that if not amputated, gangrene would soon take the baby’s life.

Bahir Dar is a bigger, more-modern city about 4-5 hours from our Gesas home, 1 hour of which we had already covered to get to this first clinic. However, unfortunately, continuing our trip directly from there was not possible. You see, the baby’s father knew of the accident, but he was not with us and his approval and involvement would be needed before going to the next level of medical care. In general, Gmz people are very afraid of Ethiopian hospitals, especially with the possibility of amputation. In fact, I am told that many Gmz parents would rather see their babies die, than to have a limb amputated. Why? I’m not exactly sure. But with that being the case, we could not take the baby to the Bahir Dar hospital without the father’s permission/participation. In preparation for returning to Gesas, I knew that I needed someone who could explain to the baby’s father the reason behind amputation, if diagnosed as necessary. So, I invited Habtamu for a quick cup of tea at the coffee shop nearby the clinic and explained all of what I knew of gangrene and how quick amputation stops it from killing its victims. With him seemingly understanding and convinced, we loaded up our truck and backtracked to Gesas Mountain. From there, Habtamu took off on foot – running for an hour to get to the baby’s father’s home (he was living away from his family to attend school).

My co-worker who has lived in the area longer told me by phone later that day “Sadly, often in cases like these, the fear of amputation is too strong and the patient returns to his village and you never see or hear of him again.” With this statement cycling through my brain, I was happy to see Habtamu at 7am the next morning, walking briskly toward my door, “We are all here and ready to go to Bahir Dar…” Silently I thanked God for granting us passage through this first barrier of fear, I smiled, “We’ll leave in 10 minutes...”

Jack Frost Nipping At Our Nose

Now I didn’t see him personally, but I’m pretty sure that Jack Frost made a visit to Gesas mountain (where we live) last night. Having enjoyed a pretty consistent 90s during the day and 70s at night, I had all but forgotten what is probably an everyday struggle for most of you – the feeling of “I know its morning but I don’t want to leave the warmth of my covers.” However, this morning’s cold front has rudely jogged that loathsome memory best left forgotten. When I finally convinced myself that I couldn’t stay in bed all day, I got up, quickly throwing on my hoody AND green fleece, then by putting pants on over my fuzzy PJ pants, I was able to retain some of my bed’s heat. Staggering out into the main room of our house, I smiled as my wonderful wife offered me a steaming cup of spiced caramel apple cider (an amazing drink mix sent to us from friends back home). Micah and I went to see if our chickens had icicles hanging from their beaks. Thankfully, they looked like they were going to pull through, though they paused from eating their breakfast to stare at our excessive layers.

Returning to the house, I unlocked our back door and promptly went over to the patio thermometer. Read it for yourself, to know that I’m not exaggerating when I say that it was cold! Now, if I had only brought my long underwear!

On a Lazy River to Nowhere

Last month I had my very first RBM planning meeting for the Gmz Scripture Project. RBM (or Results-Based Management) is built on the idea that we set long range goals (results) and then based on those we develop associated 3-year, 1-year, and quarterly actions plans which will lead to the eventual reaching of those goals. Though dreaded by many, such a meeting was actually exciting for me as it showed me how my planned actions for the first quarter of 2011, though seemingly quite insignificant in themselves, actually help build toward the accomplishment of Bible translation and Scripture Use among the Gmz people.

This RBM principle reminds me of my favorite class in seminary, when my favorite professor asked the class three simple questions as follows “Who among you desires to become a Christ-like man of God?” With all hands raised, he continued, “Ok, now, how many of you believe that becoming that man of God requires a commitment to the study and application of Scripture?”Our hands held strong until the third question hit home, “How many of you, based on what you are doing today, actually see yourself one day becoming that man of God?” As his point sank deep into my mind, so also my raised hand sank back to the notebook which lay open on the desk in front of me. After a brief pause, my professor concluded, “Have a good weekend,” and walked out of the silent classroom.

In all honesty, the way I felt that day, is the way I’m feeling since our return to Gesas in mid-December. I have lofty goals and exciting dreams of where I hope to be spiritually, personally, and professionally in the coming years, but the question haunts me, “what am I doing TODAY, to become what I hope to be TOMORROW?” Sadly, my answer is the same as it was in Dr. Hendricks classroom, “not enough.”

Let me give you an example from a non-spiritual context. These past few months, I have had a growing interest in learning to write well, especially in the narrative genre. I want to be able to tell stories that are entertaining, captivating and packed with power to communicate a poignant message. Through the books I am reading and the movies I am watching, I am becoming more and more fascinated with plots, character development, figurative imagery, and the power of explicit versus implicit information. So, yesterday, it was particularly fascinating for me to watch the “writers block” bonus feature on the DVD from the 4^th season of The Office. Basically, about 15 writers/producers from the show were lined up for a question and answer session, much of which revealed the highly technical side behind crafting each 21.5 minute show. Some of the guys explained how they got into writing, and how they honed their skills by obnoxiously analyzing other shows or stand-up comedy routines. All that to say, if I really want to deepen my storytelling and writing ability, I can’t just leave it in the “dreams” category of my mind and expect it to mature all by itself. Instead, I need to be investing serious time into reading and dissecting good stories, trying new things in my writing and putting in extra effort in critical revisions.

The jury is still out as to whether or not this is a valid use of my time, but I have the same feeling about the higher priority goals I have. Whether it’s my goal of becoming an effective writer/storyteller, a proficient communicator/translator in the Gmz language, a loving husband and father, or an ever-growing Christ-like man of God, I’m finding that it’s much easier to relax on my tube as I drift down the lazy river than it is to paddle against the current. Unfortunately, all of my goals beckon me from the higher ground - upstream.