Enjoying the simple

When asked by one set of grandparents, "What was your favorite present you received at your other grandparents' house?" Micah responded pretty quickly, "The remote-controlled car!" Oh yes, it's quite the sight to see that futuristic car zip and zoom, flashing its multicolored LEDs and flipping its front wheels like an airplane propeller; not the easiest to control, but for wild and crazy tricks not unlike 80's break dancing, it’s a great present for a rambunctious 4-year-old.

 

As the inquisitive grandparents moved on to Grace, my mind flashed back to the present-opening scene. My family had abandoned any attempt at order, giving the kids the green light in tearing open their treasures. And after observing from my rocking chair only a few minutes, it was soon clear that Grace was not keeping pace with the amassed pile of presents taller than herself. In fact, she was showing no progress at all. Instead she was bumbling around the room with toy broom and dust pan still 90% covered in wrapping paper, saying "Seep, seep, seep…" She protested my party-stopping attempts to unwrap her toy broom, which she was obviously already enjoying to its fullest.

 

For the next 10-15 minutes, I and one of Grace's cousins, tried our best to distract her from the broom long enough to get another present or two opened, but without fail she returned for another round of  "tidying up." In the end, the excitement of the broom was won over by a play stove top and plastic veggies Velcro-ed down the middle for easy "cutting." But I'm sure that broom and dust pan will see many more hours of play down the road!

 

I love to watch my kids enjoying rather simple things. The same scene played out at the other grandma's house. Grace had watched Micah open a huge gift bag and among all the goodies inside, she locked her mind on two, a backpack and chapstick. When it was her turn to open her equally large gift bag, her one-track mind was disinterested in anything else until she found her backpack and most importantly, her chapstick. Upon finding it, she jumped to her feet  with her fist in the air, "My chapstick! My chapstick!" Enjoying the simple.

 

The Christmas season is full of extravagance. Fancy decorations, fancy meals, and fancy gifts have taken over the season such that some of our American colleagues working overseas have vowed to never plan a furlough during the Holidays. Andrea and I aren't there. Why? I hope it is that we, like Grace, can look past the extravagance and find enjoyment in the simple things – worshipping on Christmas Eve at our home churches, drinking spiced cider, relaxing in the glow of twinkling lights, watching (ie. refereeing) our kids play with cousins, or rehearsing old family memories and inside jokes over games of pool, darts and cards. To be honest, spending Christmas in warm Gesas isn't all that bad, but it's these "simple" things that we miss most.

 

Two Weeks at Grammas

Visiting Grandma and Grandpa Williamson these past two weeks have lived up the expectations Micah placed in Grace's head. In Micah's first trip to the US in 2012, he encountered a whole new world. A world with electricity that never gets cut off, water that never runs out, cars that seem to glide down the road, people that all speak his language, toys around every corner, and sweets like he had never tasted before. Above all, he experienced wonderland of a grandparent's house. Before we left Ethiopia, we overheard Micah telling Grace about what she would see and hear and taste in America, painting quite the Candyland in her impressionable mind.

Well, two weeks into our time and it seems Grace has not been disappointed by Micah's stories. They ride their wiggle car together in the basement, watch movies on HUGE screen TVs,

make gingerbread houses,

went ice skating,

watching Gramma teach violin lessons, attended the holiday symphony concert,

and took advantage of the little dusting of snow to break out the sleds for the first time.

We even got to go cut down search, cut down, set up and decorate our own Christmas tree.

Despite the lot being pretty well picked over, we still got a tree that puts or Christmas branch of last year to shame.

Today we travel across the pond for act two of the modern opera "spoiled by grandparents"! And believe me, Andrea and I are looking forward to it too!

Good Travelers

Micah was born a good traveler. Sure, he had his moments of explosion in his car seat as the 11-12 hour bumpy trips to and from Gesas push us all just a bit too far some days. But in general, he seems to thrive in an ever-changing environment and traveling from one world to another is no exception. Our second-born, little Miss Gracey didn't get the same good travelling genes that her brother seems to have hogged, but I think the bar was set pretty high for her. I know a handful of adults who would surely rank below her on good traveler charts. I guess practice makes perfect, as I often tell people, "Micah was born a good traveler, Grace didn't really have the choice not to become one."

Travelling in the truck, harnessed into car seats and sitting too low to see out the windows has got to be frustrating, maybe that is what makes train and airplane travel so much more fun. Micah started counting down the "sleeps" until the plane ride to the States way too early, and of course, Grace had no antibodies against such infectious premature excitement. "Go airplane now? Go gamma, papa house now?" Waiting is tough.

As we had learned from earlier mistakes, taking young kids on flights departing at 2am are best tackled by going to the airport while the kids are still awake and letting them crash in the terminal. So that is what we did. Leaving our house at 6:30pm, Micah and Grace were in great spirits as we waited for the check-in counters to open. Finding the only escalators we've seen in Ethiopia and riding up and down them until a security lady yelled at us was definitely a highlight and killed a good 20-30 minutes! Finally checking in and going through immigration, all except me promptly curled up on the terminal benches. Already, my head was spinning with the post-red-eye feeling, not a good sign before take-off on this 24-hour journey.

Letting the kids sleep until the last possible moment, we hurried through final security and were the last to board the Turkish Airlines flight to Istanbul. Both kids quickly fell asleep again and despite my best attempts to join them, my long frame fought unsuccessfully for 7 hours to find a position comfortable enough to relax. My mind clouded by the all-nighter, 7 morning hours in the Istanbul airport felt longer than it did last time we flew this same route. That and the little airport playground we remember Micah playing on two years ago has since been removed and replaced with a mosque. We received meal vouchers, but were limited in using them at a second-rate deli restaurant, right across the food court from savory foods like Burger King and Sbarro pizza. The spinach rolls and plastic pizza didn't come close to hitting the spot. On board the 11-hour flight from Istanbul to Chicago, the kids and Andrea were ready for a nap, and all three of them managed to catch it, Micah and Grace sleeping a good 4-5 hours. I wish I had taken a picture of my very pregnant yet versatile wife, curling up on the floor under hers and Grace's seats for a nice snooze. Learning from her good example, I tried the same, yet even without having to manage a beach ball under my shirt, I couldn't get my stork legs curled up enough to keep my head out of the aisle. Sure I could have slept nicely like that, but fear of becoming a doorstop to a 100-pound drink cart kept my eyes from closing. Head hurting and eyes spinning from exhaustion, I couldn't even watch the movies/shows anymore. I just sat counting the minutes until we could enter our "rest!"

 At the final good travelers awards ceremony, Micah and Grace found themselves on the podiums, myself the only Williamson excluded. But I count my blessings. How much worse could those flights have been had God not given me a patient wife and two kids who will likely one day end up in the "good travelers" hall of fame?

I Have Ebola!

Ok, ok, settle down all you who are looking forward to our arrival in the States next weekend. My ebola will not delay our entry into the US as it is not THE ebola that is running wild on the other side of the continent. In fact, we praise God that there have been NO known cases of ebola in Ethiopia so we shouldn't even need to be screened upon entrance into the States.

 

So you aren't about the see my name all over the ebola news, but I still maintain that "I have ebola" in one particular context. You see, words are arbitrary sounds strung together and separated by spaces. Their meaning is given by the community in which they are used. In the current world, yourselves included, ebola refers to a deadly virus. When I'm talking to the Gmz translators, however, ebola means something a little less dramatic.

 

About three weeks ago, the Gmz translators and I were checking our way through 1 and 2 Timothy, but we were frequently interrupted by Thomas' runny nose and horribly obnoxious coughing. At one point he squeezed his nostrils to empty the contents of his nose onto his fingers in route to his pants (a typical form of Gmz hygiene, much preferred over the "farmer's blow" acceptable when used outside the office). But in this particular nostril pinch, something went terribly wrong as snot shot out of his nose, spraying both my hands and the computer keyboard on which we were working. Yuck! Moments later, in the midst of a huge lung-wrenching hack attack, Janey voiced what we were all thinking, "Take your ebola elsewhere!" And so a new inside joke was born. Just minutes ago, I called the translation team to confirm that they arrived in Addis for our work to start tomorrow, I broke the news, "Thomas' ebola has grabbed me." "Oooo, be strong, be strong." they responded in unison unable to mask their smiles in their voices.

 

Anybody who knows me well knows that after any prolonged episode of high stress, working toward major goals (such as the finishing of a semester in school), I always get sick. This latest bout has been a pretty constant push beginning in early September the day after arriving home from our vacation. 2 weeks of Executive Council retreat and meetings, 3 weeks of consultant checking, 4 weeks of team checking with the translators, one week of song writing workshop, three weeks of spelling rule decisions and primer development with government officials, oh and we can't forget the theft of our backpack and run around to replace important documents in the midst of these scheduled activities. The one week that was supposed to be a break in there ended up being a major push on the final spell check and layout of Luke's Gospel. But, now, we've returned to Addis, where beginning tomorrow I will join another week of Gmz literacy primer development, but my immune system giving into the post-stress sickness already this weekend tells me that the high stress is over. I'll take it to mean that I can coast through this week, getting the worst of this cold over before we hit frozen American soil. God forbid I share Thomas' ebola with friends and family who are eagerly counting down the days…if not hours.

 

Supercalifragilistic...

Yet another check? I am frequently amazed at the number of checks, each its own hoop that each Biblical text must jump through before any official ink hits paper. After one translator drafts a text, the first check is a "translator check" in which the other two translators read the draft and make revisions. Next I take that same text and study it against the Greek text, English translations and a large tool bag of translation helps. This step is called the "exegetical check." My exegetical check yields a harvest of a hundred and one questions (ie. potential areas of improvement) that I need to discuss with the translators. Those questions are then the basis of the "team check" during which I and the three Gmz translators open all the cans of linguistic and cultural worms we can find in order to come to agreement on what is the best possible translation. Following the team check, we then bring that text to the "review committee check" so that a larger group of Christians can hear our translation and give further comments/suggestions for revision. If something doesn't make sense to the review committee, we haven't done our job well as we strive for both accuracy and clarity. After the community has spoken, our text is back translated word-for-word into Amharic so that an outside consultant can study it and give outside feedback into potential problem areas. Typically, this "consultant check" is seen as the end of the translation process, but don't be deceived by such simplicity! As we learned with trying for the past year now to publish Luke, it's not so simple. An initial "spelling check" and "layout design" last February/March was rendered obsolete with a series of major spelling changes made this past summer. A second spelling check, and a second round of layout design last month and we were ready to hand over our Luke text for official printing.

 

The final touch of our fingers on the text involved scanning each line break in the printed text. You see, there is a strict rule stating that Gmz words cannot be broken between lines, not even with a hyphen as is acceptable in English. This is likely a reaction against the confusing Amharic spelling practice of breaking words over line breaks without any such symbol. But it is a good rule, especially for pre-readers (which is pretty much all Gmz at this point). And so agreeing with this rule in principle, I set to revising Luke's gospel to remove all the places where Microsoft Word broke and hyphenated words at line breaks. A tedious process but not a terribly difficult cherry to put on top of 18 months of work.

 

As I revised my way through the text, I encountered a few problems. First of all, the Gmz language is not at all shy of long words, especially when it comes to complicated verb forms. Recently we were checking our way through the Pastoral Epistles and we stopped to marvel at the lead-off hitter in 1 Timothy 2:14 –  "Kama'iyaakashalis'eyaaŋgwaam kamaça-da kalaaç aMisa ká-ama." meaning "do not neglect the gift which God gave you." "Kama'iyaakashalis'eyaaŋgwaam" consists of 27 letters, 10 syllables – a real mouthful compared to the English "do not neglect." What does it mean piece by piece? It means "with-to stand-you-with-down-stomach-ear-not-you." Makes sense, right? Well, the "with-(infinitive)-you…not-you" is pretty standard for negative commands – don't do this! "to stand…down" is the common word for "sitting down." "stomach" is used for inside and "ear" is often used for listening/obedience – in this case the idea of "sit-inner ear" communicates sitting idly.  The final piece to the word is the /ka-/ found in the middle of the word, that is the preposition that means "with something." In this context, it is "kamaça-da" which means "with the given thing". So, all together now! "Don't sit idly with the gift God has given you!" Or if you prefer, "Don't neglect your spiritual gift…" Fun stuff, I know.

 

Having to manage a text full of long words like this, I can't blame Mr. Gates (that is Microsoft Word) for wanting to break and hyphenate the word over a line. But I didn't have such a luxury. However, there is an exception to the rule. Many long words in Gmz are already hyphenated compound words, made up of either adjective-noun or noun-noun compounds.

                mpuu-ahwa – white-clothes

                obatsa-manzii-kwaafa – big-green-toad

                luk'o-hosa – head-cow

                k'oo-Tomaas – dog-Thomas

                ça-taak'a – seed-millet

                jisha-gahasha – stone-flour (grinding stone)

                sii-sohwa – rope-metal (chain)

                aya-jizok'wa – water-sesame (sesame oil)

                etamazee-jaaja – one who guards-sheep

 

And, as normal words can get long, these hyphenated phrases can also get quite long, especially when more and more modifying adjectives and nouns are added to the chain. When checking 1 Timothy 6:19, we revised our word for "firm foundation" – a rather difficult word for a culture who knows very little about building out of stone. The phrase we've decided upon thus far is "eemagaha-maat'oosha-matuhosha-mas'a" meaning good-beginning-nailing down-house. The "nailing down" word is the word that they use for digging deep into the earth and securing the main posts/pillars on which the rest of the house is built. This "word" is 30 letters long, but it is clearly made up of four smaller words, four words that the readers eyes has already chunked separately. If the reader already views them separately and the hyphens function in more of a grammatical role to show the relations between the nouns, then why not allow line breaks to break such phrases at normal word breaks. It certainly transforms the page layout phase from a nightmare into a mere restless sleep.  And so, the Gmz spelling rule was revised – one cannot break words at line breaks, except where a hyphen already exists in compound phrases. Putting these final polishing touches on our beautifully hyphenated language, we breathed our sigh of relief and I handed the text over to the publishers for printing on October 28, 2014.

 

But not so fast! Three weeks later I was told that the publication has been delayed by one final check required by the publisher – that being called the "manuscript check." Now, I have yet to find out what this manuscript check really involves, beyond being told that a professional will look at our text and look for errors. "What kind of errors?" I asked, not sure of exactly what to worry about. "Oh, you know," the response came back, "things like hyphenation at the end of lines." Noooo! My insides churned like butter as I bit my tongue. Sooner or later, I believe we will see Luke in print. I'm curious to know what further checks we'll encounter along the way.

A House Divided

After 5 weeks of intensive consultant checks, team checking, the song-writing workshop and being separated from their wives, I gave the three Gmz translators a week off to rest up before they jumped on a bus to Addis Ababa again for the next big push. I suppose I should have qualified that "rest" with the unforeseen phone calls they each received throughout the week. "Hey Worku, how's your rest? Good, I have a spelling question for you, if you don't mind…" or "Thomas! Hope I didn't disturb you, can you help me with this word?" You see, their week of rest found me deep in the task of final spell checking Luke.

One particular query from that week has stuck with me over these last two weeks. "Worku, does the command form (the root) of the verb daaab'ashiil begin with an /a/, in some places we wrote it with, and some without?" The passage was Luke 11:14-23, specifically verse 17 – "Any kingdom divided against itself will be ruined, and a house divided against itself will fall."

Almost two months ago, the director of the MLE project involved in helping the education bureau develop mother-tongue curriculum for the schools came to me asking for help in improving the quality of the Gmz materials. Of course, we have a strong interest in seeing the Gmz literacy efforts succeed and so I was very open to the idea of helping. However, when he asked for 4 weeks of our time (that is, involving both me and the translation team), I struggled to commit to that much. Instead we decided to overlap those weeks with other events in my schedule – the first of which was the week of the Executive Council meeting of which I have the responsibility to chair. I figured, hey, you guys can get started without me, and then I'll be with you the whole second week for checking/revision. Well, it didn't quite work so well. The method of developing the literacy primer involved introducing one consonant at a time and writing stories with only those consonants that had thus been introduced. Imagine the difficulty of writing a story with only vowels and /m/! Yea, it wasn't easy. Add on top of that the fact that the Gmz were quite impotent when it comes to stringing together a cohesive story. Even once we had introduced 4 or 5 consonants, they were quite good at writing sentences, but relating one sentence to another so as to create a series of events, it just wasn't happening. And with the primer development method, the rest of the lesson (ie comprehension questions, etc.) could not move forward without a finalized story. And so, when the Executive Committee meeting broke at 10:30 for morning tea, others congregated outside for a much-needed mental break. I, on the other hand, quickly switched hats and tried my best to fit unrelated sentences together, without insulting those who had tried hard to produce them. Often the last to return to the Executive Council room (on average about 10 minutes late) I called the meeting to order, whispering under my breath, "Come on Travis, change gears, change gears!" Thankfully, both sides of my divided mind included understanding people who showed much-needed grace.

The weekend came just in time, but it didn't bring the afternoon nap I had craved all week thanks to a thief who entered our truck and stole my backpack. It's frustrating to lose a nice sturdy computer backpack (given to me in 2007ish by a certain RCCer named Drake), the digital camera, voice recorder, and 9-hour extra battery for the computer (thankfully the computer itself was not in there!). But more than that, some important documents, including our resident IDs, vehicle title books, bank checkbook, and insurance papers were inside the backpack as well. That which the thief cared least about, would surely bring the biggest headache to me. Monday morning, I rode to work with Miikka, the leader of the Gmz primer workshop. He and his wife were concerned to see me so busy the previous week. I broke to him the bad news, "Well, the relaxing week 2 of this workshop with you isn't going to be relaxing after all. Instead of Executive Council meetings, I now have stress-filled offices to contend with!" I myself feel like a house divided against itself, physically in one place but forever mentally engaged elsewhere and still, even more so now, desperately in need of that afternoon nap! We would all appreciate your prayers for us during this time.

One Man's Trash...

Every Saturday night when living down-country (that is, among the Gmz), we have a family tradition of "fire night." The typical routine is cooking and eating our dinner, roasting and eating S'mores and then the burning of that week's trash. Whereas, for the most part, we are left pretty well alone during this time, I remember one particular evening when a Gmz man walked by as I was beginning to burn some trash. At first he was a casual observer, but as soon as I threw the first piece of trash in, he began his protest "Hey, what are you doing burning all of those (used) match sticks? Those are still good!" Good for what? I have no idea, but it dawned on me very quickly that the white man's trash has the potential of being a Gmz treasure. Please hear me correctly when I say that, I mean that not in a disrespectful way toward Gmz. If anything I mean it as a put down to our home culture. Gmz people, and actually, many other Ethiopians have incredible creativity and ingenuity when it comes to reusing and recycling just about everything. Torn mosquito nets become very strong ropes, oil jugs are used for carrying water (or beer), torn clothes become patches for other torn clothes, nails become arrow heads, scraps of rebar are pounded into knives, old plastic pieces become straps for sandals, hard plastic is melted down for blunting the tip of bird-shooting arrows, just about every piece of "garbage" has value to someone. When an old grain sack has too many holes for fixing, its threads are unwound, then twisted together into multi-strand cords then used for hauling firewood and water.

First the grain sack need to be unwound

 Littering is common practice in this country, and yet we aren't walking around in a trash heap. Why not? Because the next guy who comes along may wonder why in the world anybody would throw away such a treasure. In addition, in many parts of the country, the fields are burned once a year between harvest and planting. And the fire has a way of cleaning up whatever real trash was rejected by all. Bones go to the dogs, husks are gobbled up by goats, and any scraps of food-like-substances are pecked out of the dirt by the scavenging chickens. Even in Addis Ababa, just this morning I saw a dog gnawing at a cow skull which had been thrown outside into the street. One man's scraps meant prime rib for the canine outside his gate.

Yum...yum...

 I remember a movie (a movie about "oil") in which the US was accused of something like "having 5% of the world's population and producing 95% of the world's trash." Which sounded to me like an exaggeration until I stopped to think about it. In the States, how many huge trash bags does a family of 4 put out every week? Compare that to how we could easily fit our typical week's trash, uncompressed, into a 5-gallon pail. 

Fire night in the rain...you can see one of our two garbage baskets next to me. That is the extent of our week's garbage.

And yet, every Saturday night's trash burn reveals out wastefulness in light of that of our Gmz neighbors. It's not a problem that anyone can really solve. Our food comes in packages within packages within packages, Gmz food comes on plants. Back in the States, our clothes may come with tags, pins, cardboard, tissue paper, receipts and bags required in order to carry merchandise out of a store. Gmz buy from street venders or small stores where there are no receipts and asking for a bag will cost you extra. Sadly, our consumer-driven culture has created an economy where things depreciate in value so quickly that it becomes cheaper to replace something old with something brand new, than it is to fix that which was broken. Back in 2006, I sold my 11-year-old car for something ridiculous like $750 because it had a short list of fixable problems. Yet the cost of fixing it was more than double what the car was worth! This past week, while doing the annual safety inspection with my truck, the guys at the inspection place were salivating over my "beautiful" and "strong" truck – that is a 15-year-old Toyota Hilux. When I took it to the mechanic last March, I overheard him saying that trucks like mine were selling for 800,000 birr, that's more than what I paid for it 5 years ago! Things don't necessarily depreciate over here, some things appreciate! Why, because the Ethiopian culture hasn't yet come to value the "single use only" mentality that we've swallowed hook, line, and sinker. In due time, I suspect, consumerism is coming this direction, but for now, it is somewhat refreshing to see resources used and reused in very creative ways.

Multiplied Blessing

There's always at least two sides to every story, more accurately, there are a million different spins I, as the writer of any story, can put onto the actual events with you as the readers at the mercy of my decision-making. Last week, Andrea, the kids and I travelled down to a place called Kamaashi for a Gmz song-writing workshop and as I consider what and how to write about it, I am stumped by the many options. I could talk about our clanking and squeaking truck and the mental/emotional stress that added to my week as we clattered our way well off the main roads. At the same time, I could write about the beautiful scenery of Western Ethiopia and how it surpasses what we see in our usual travels North. I could tell you about the delight it was to stay in the same hotel with Dr. Julie, the well-rounded and incredibly-experienced ethnomusicologist who led the workshop. 

Or I could focus on the misery of that hotel, the stench of the toilet, and the sickness and fevers that Andrea, Micah, Grace and Julie fought throughout the week. I could tell you about the transportation problems our team of 11 guys had when coming from the North, or the communication problems that created some strife within the ranks. I could highlight the sad times of seeing Christ's body fractured into denominations, or I could share the glimpses of that body coming together again in writing and singing Gmz worship songs. All that to say, every negative story I write, has a light in the darkness. At the same time, every glowing positive story has its own bumps in the road which try very hard to dampen our joy.

As I had the privilege of sitting in and even at times teaching during the workshop, I can't help but marvel at the great effort put into writing good, Biblically-based songs in the Gmz language and style. One of our big prayer requests was to find ways that we could help the various denominations in contextualizing their worship so as to speak to the Gmz hearts not only in their language, but in the Gmz musical style that effortlessly engages their hearts. The guys from Gesas, as expected, shined like stars, after all, they've been writing such songs for more than two years now. Dewaan, Worku and a new person from the "Full Gospel" church wrote an excellent song on Jesus' response to Satan's first temptation attempt – man does not live by bread alone! The tag line at the end of the song really brought smiles to the Gmz faces, "Let's eat God's Word like bread! It’s the food of life!" WoHiis and Wene worked with a person from the "New Testament" church denomination to write an excellent song from one of my favorite passages – Habakkuk 3:17-18 – "When the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, when the olive trees do not produce and the fields yield no crops, when the sheep disappear from the pen and there are no cattle in the stalls, I will rejoice because of the Lord; I will be happy because of the God who delivers me!" The Gmz people face many, many similar hardships, and so I repeatedly had to fight the tears in my eyes whenever I heard them singing that they will rejoice in God their Savior even when everything around them bears only discouragement. Finally, Habtamu and his new friend from the "Christ is the Foundation" church knocked the ball out of the park with their song taken directly from Ephesians 4:28, encouraging those who steal to instead work hard with their own hands, that they might produce extra and honor God by sharing with those in need. Each of these songs speak directly into issues that Gmz people wrestle with. The Gmz work hard all year in the unrelenting cycle of subsistence farming, yet there is more to life than this hand to mouth cycle! The Gmz are weighed down with hardship, yet there is reason to hope in God their Savior! Many Gmz in need quickly resort to stealing, rather that abiding by their own tightly-held cultural value of working hard! And to put these powerful messages together with powerful song, the initial result was immensely encouraging to see. I can't wait to see what happens when the CD of the workshop is released to the greater Gmz population!

 While the Gesas guys really impressed me, it wasn't their outputs that most kindled my joy. Rather, it was another denomination which I will leave unnamed. We invited and welcomed this denomination into the song-writing workshop knowing that their tradition does not typically approve of worship songs in the local musical genre. Just as American churches initially feared and rejected the instruments of sin-filled rock-and-roll culture such as guitar and drums, so also this church has tightly restricted the musical style allowed in church worship to only a few – all of which are very foreign to the Gmz culture. We understand that, and it isn't all bad. Yet, we prayed that this workshop could present some fresh ideas that would challenge some of those views and get the Gmz believers thinking about how they can worship God from within their Gmz culture. From day 1, it was encouraging to see how the 5 workshop participants from this church interacted with the topics. Later in the week, they too were asked to try writing a song in the Gmz style and they did! Not only did they give it a try, they jumped in with both feet and wrote what sounded like a very nice song relating the story of Jesus' feeding of the 5000. It’s a great start, communicating God as the abundant provider as he takes our human efforts and multiplies them exponentially. The multiplication of food resources is a huge miracle in the eyes of subsistence farmers. In addition to that, it provides a very reasonable justification for why we bless our food BEFORE we eat (can you imagine just a single bite of mashed potatoes multiplying times 1000 inside your stomach?!?! On second thought, better not try to imagine it in great detail.)

 

In a sense, the multiplication of five loaves and two fish is an inspiring parable for what we hope to see happen as a result of this song-writing workshop. Seven denominations attended, thirteen songs were recorded and are now being polished for publishing on a CD. We pray that these songs might be heard far and wide within Gmz communities; that they might multiply themselves in encouraging the production of more and more songs. And dare I pray that these songs and their offspring be effective in bridging the divisions of denominations imposed from the outside upon the Gmz Church. The Gmz traditional music is sung in a circle, it is sung by clansmen. Might Gmz Christians sing past man-made divisions in unified worship of their common Savior, that all might eat and be satisfied.

Quarreling, yet without sin

From time to time, while translating or checking a passage of Scripture, it happens that one little rascal  of an idea escapes the heady, intellectual nature of our task and makes a mad dash toward our hearts, audaciously applying itself to our personal lives. Ok, it doesn't happen as often as it likely should, and we sincerely ask for your prayers in that. After all, we have been given the privilege of studying God's Word at a depth that many only dream of, and we OUGHT to come out of the process radically changed! Eelanaaŋgo? (That's a Gmz tag question meaning "Isn't it like that?" It's used in impassioned speech to emphasize a point.)

Not that it never happens. Last year, I had a front row seat as the Gmz Christians wrestled with some of Jesus' radically counter-cultural statements such as "Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you," (Luke 6:27) and " Anyone who divorces his wife and marries another woman commits adultery." (Luke 16:18). A Gmz culture that abided by these two principles would be very different than what we see today. More recently I had the privilege of standing with the Gmz translators in awe of the great things God did through the early apostles in the book of Acts. What a powerful example of BOLD witness that book gave to a young church poised on the edge of its own expansion efforts! And now as we move into working on several of the New Testament epistles, I ask for your prayers that our hearts would be convicted more and more and lives be changed accordingly. The letters to the Thessalonians have already shown us, among other things, the need to stand for Christ in the face of opposition, living lives worthy of our calling, working hard so as to have good testimony before others, and being children of the day as we await the return of our Lord Jesus.

As we have continued on into Paul's letters to Timothy and Titus, we have begun to wrestle with some of the qualifications and responsibilities of those in church leadership. I'm reminded of one verse we encountered in 2 Timothy, where the transfer from academic translation into application into our lives led us not so much into conviction, but into laughter, rather a hushed snickering as we couldn't find any way around its identification of our own sin! 2 Timothy 2:14, in the NIV, states, "Keep reminding them of these things. Warn them before God against quarreling about words; it is of no value, and only ruins those who listen."

Quarreling about words received such a harsh command? There isn't a day that goes by in the translation office where we don't stumble into this practice of "no value" which "only ruins those who listen." Call it what you will, quarreling (NIV, ESV), wrangling (NET, NASB, NRS), disputing (RSV), striving (KJV), fighting (NLT), we do it all every day even before our morning tea break! We confess to being blatant, unrepentant, repeat offenders and so if there is such a thing as hierarchy of sin, we hope this one doesn't rank very high. For arguments are a necessary part of the translation process. I firmly believe that the Gmz language is just as capable of communicating God's Truth as any other language is, BUT its language and its worldview haven’t yet been shaped by the gospel message so as to have ready-made terminology we can just pick up off the table and plop into the text. Rather, we "quarrel about words"  in order to tease out the different possible translations, thinking long term for how the words themselves will be shaped by the Biblical context as it enters and transforms the Gmz culture. Take, for example, the list of 14 different types of sinners listed in 1 Tim 1:9-10. Trying to differentiate near synonyms like some of these is fertile soil for disagreement. And so, writing on our table-top white board, we wrote the NIV choices, the words used by two of the Amharic texts (of which only 5 of 14 agreed), and then, possible Gmz renderings. The result is what you see here:

Some quarrels last over months or even years. This isn't new news to those of you who read the "I Saw Satan Fall…yet again" blog entries from Feb 2014, but the point can be further made in giving the update that two of those three "decisions" have since been overturned and changed. In all reality, some arguments will never end, there are just milestones along the way every time we hit the print button to publish a portion of Scripture. But, even in these marathon quarrels, the discussion itself shows movement in the right direction, leading us to hope for and run toward the now-invisible carrot of total consensus.

Just last Thursday, much to my amazement, one of the translators popped up with a new word for the idea of "encouraging " – a phrase which literally means "to push down on/plant someone's chest."  I can't tell you how many times we've quarreled in the past two years over the differences between comforting someone, encouraging someone, pleasing someone, and causing someone to become strong/mature, but with unanimous agreement on this new "chest pushing" concept, we can move beyond yet another argument, at least for now.

Lord willing, our quarreling will decrease as we continue in this work, but honestly, I'm not sure I look forward to that day as much as my non-confrontational nature might suggest. For truly, the wrangling part of the process has a certain appeal, like an archaeologist digging in the sand for years before finally unearthing something of historical value. The joy in discovery is that much greater with every ton of earth moved in order to arrive at it. And I'm becoming more and more convinced, God's work takes place in the processes we quarrel our way through, more so than in the outputs we revel so much measuring.

The RSFDWFP Syndrome Part 2

Who are those fine looking folks...I've never seen them before in my life!

As mentioned in my previous post, I have a problem with what I call "The RSFDWFP Syndrome," that is a "Ridiculous Single-Focused Disorder When Facing Problems". In other words, when a potentially big problem confronts me, my worry-prone  heart serves my mind an arrest warrant and locks it away until the problem is passed. In its cell, unable to be distracted from any of life's other demands, my mind focuses only on the problem, analyzing every possible scenario, past, present and future. My last blog story was an extreme example where my single-focus on the problem drove away my appetite and my sleep as I couldn't stop replaying both my mistakes that led us into the problem as well as the 1001 stresses my family would experience if I couldn't find a solution out of it within 24 hours. This second story, I hope shows some improvement on my part, though I'm not convinced, given the fact that the whole "problem" may have been fabricated in my mind.

At first it seemed like the best of both worlds, we buy the cheapest available ticket on a flight between Addis Ababa and Bangkok, while at the same time getting a 18-hour daytime layover in Cairo both on the way there and on the way back. And why not? Our kids sleep amazingly well on planes, trains and automobiles so we've no fear of red-eye flights on their account. And besides, we'd heard of how Egypt Air treats all of their passengers (with a  5+ hour layover) to a free hotel room and the freedom to explore the city, all in exchange for allowing them to hold our passports as a guarantee that we will return for our connecting flight.

And so, on August 23^rd,  after our first red-eye flight from Addis to Cairo, we navigated our way through the hoops and eventually found ourselves on the shuttle to the hotel. Immediately, we were impressed, as it was clearly above the standard of hotel we'd ever pay for for ourselves. Multiple restaurants, multiple pools, and what looked like important people all around. As we checked into our room, I approached the concierge with the request of how we might see the pyramids during our time. He set us up with driver and a time of departure, "Its only $100, and that includes your entrance fees. Meet here at 12:30pm." After exploring the facilities, playing on the playground and then nibbling a bit on the complimentary buffet lunch provided as part of our room, we returned to the concierge desk where we were introduced to Mohammad, our driver. "You want to see the pyramids? I'll do more than that for you…I'll include the papyrus museum, the Nile river, the sphinx, and more at no extra cost." "Great," we agreed, though in hindsight, I now see that I should have done some internet research beforehand. The following I write for the benefit of anyone who intends to travel to/through Egypt.

Our first stop was the Papyrus Museum, which I found interesting having studied much about papyrus in Bible school and seminary. Museum, however, was a bit of a misleading term. Rather it was a high pressure sales event. Luckily for them, I was interested in their goods, but even after bartering I walked away quite sure that I drew the short end of the stick. Oh well. That's the life of a tourist that I'm very much not used to. The next "stop" consisted of us driving on the bridge over the Nile river, which turns out wasn't really "thrown in for free" since we had to drive over that bridge to get the pyramids. As we approached the ancient sites, several young people tried to stop the car and not permit us to go further. Muhammad told us that these were bad people who were somehow related to the recent political unrest. We didn't quite follow. We were assured that he would take care of us.

After what felt like 6 U-turns, we pulled into a small parking lot, then out the back through an alley, before parking next to some camels and horses. We were hurried into a small room and asked to sit down as an intimidating Egyptian man entered and closed the door behind him. In his sales pitch, he told us how we could choose to ride camels, horses or go in a horse-pulled carriage. We chose the carriage given that it was extremely hot, and the sun was mercilessly beating down on our already stressed kids. Ok, horse and buggy it was. He then gave us three packages by which we could see the pyramids: 1 Pyramid = $48 a person, 2 Pyramids and the Sphinx = $75 a person, or all 9 Pyramids, the Sphinx, ancient temple, and the top of a mountain where the whole scene could be caught in an excellent photo shoot = $92 a person (kids free). Now, given no other options, we grudgingly agreed to the biggest package, justifying it as a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

Ok, so we handed the cash over and soon found ourselves herded next door into another room, where a young lady hit us with her best sales tactics in selling her ridiculously overpriced merchandise – this time oils and perfumes. Having already used up nearly all of the US dollars that we had brought along for the day, we got out of there 20-minutes later, without buying anything, but not without mounting frustration. We got on our horse and buggy and rode for less than 1 minute, as right around the corner (unknown to us) was the historical site entrance gate, where we had to disembark for security check. As we joined our horse on the other side, I began to realize something. The "entrance fee" included in the hotel concierge's price was the $2 ticket I just handed the guard, and one option I was not allowed to choose in the room around the corner was "entering on foot and walking around by ourselves." Now, given the age of our kids, the strength of the sun, and the length of the walk, I'm not sure I would have chosen anything other than a horse and buggy, but having not been given the choice, I clenched my teeth in anger. Next, as we entered, I realized that the whole package selection was a complete joke. For example, in order to get to the 1 pyramid option, one must pass by the temple ruins, the sphinx and one of the other big pyramids. In other words, as best as I could tell, options 1 and 2 were exactly the same, except the $27 price difference. And the third option being made to sound so wonderful, well, it wasn't. Our horse driver/tour guide's English wasn't very good, his accent made him very difficult to understand, and he didn't seem to be very knowledgeable beyond the bare facts. I could have gotten a much better tour had I printed off and brought along a section of Wikipedia. Nevertheless, this being once-in-a-lifetime, that meant that I'd never have to be ripped off again.

At the end of the buggy ride, the driver stopped around the corner and gave us a speech about how he works only for tips, which first of all, I highly doubt. Having already been relieved of much of my cash, I gave him much less than what he thought he deserved, but so be it. We weren't impressed and wanted the tip to show it. When we arrived back at the back-alley parking spot, we were herded back into the oil and perfume lady's room and told to wait. Not wanting to, we got up and left, found our car driver smoking on a hookah hose and told him we were done. All of our tiredness and frustration was obvious to him and so he led us to the car. Once on the road again, he asked a bit with a  touch of meekness, "So you don't want to stop at the alabaster factory on the way back to the hotel?" "NO!" we both responded, knowing we'd be putting ourselves into the jaws of another high pressure sales event! Less than a block from the hotel he pulled into a packed gas station and queued up in line. You have got to be kidding me! As I was bracing myself for being asked to pay for his fuel, Andrea politely, yet firmly asked if he could take us to the hotel immediately. He agreed.

Thankful to finally be back to the hotel, I gave Muhammad the last bit of our American dollars for his tip. Grrr…Are we glad we did it? Sure. But we were more glad that we wouldn't have to do it again. All told, it had only cost us $399, and we have several pictures and two papyrus paintings to show for it. Not the end of the world, but believe me, we were D-O-N-E with Egyptian tourism and the pushy, tip-demanding culture that went along with it.

Now, all of that was laying a foundation for the RSFDWFP crisis to start in my mind. Both the airline and the hotel had told us that we would need to be ready to leave the hotel at 9:30pm to return to the airport. And so, after eating another complimentary buffet meal, and letting the kids sleep a bit in real beds, we went to the lobby to catch our ride. The lobby, however, was CRAZY with angry people crowding all the reception desks stretching their papers in the faces of the workers in order to try to get their attention. I went to the "hotel taxi" desk and said that we were supposed to be taken to the airport. He called over a big man, who then led us quickly outside, passed the airport shuttle van, down a ramp, through a parking lot and over to the last car in the row. We piled in and he drove us the 5 minutes to the airport, where we disembarked and thanked him. "What do you mean, thank you?" He responded with his hands stretched wide. We all stopped in our tracks, "I'm sorry, I have no money for a tip." He continued, "There is no 'I'm sorry', this is my personal car, this is not the airport shuttle!" I tried again, "I'm sorry, but I have no money, if someone must pay you, it is either the hotel or Egypt Air who provided us the room at your hotel. I'm sorry." And we turned and walked into the airport, not daring to turn around to see what became of the fuming man at least twice my size.

The airport was a madhouse, complete with high-volume yelling on the verge of fist fights on at least two occasions (no, not involving us). An hour later, we boarded our plane, where a kind Thai flight-attendant advised us on how to save two entire rows on the only half-full flight. Andrea, Micah and Grace fell asleep even before take-off leaving me alone with my thoughts. I was very happy to be leaving Egypt behind, and at the same time, thankful for the Ethiopian culture, which we have found to be much more respectful and hospitable toward their visitors. Then again, when money typically flows like water out of tourist's hands, it makes sense that Egyptian salesmen want to get in on that as much as possible. The fact that we live in Africa and on a tighter budget than most international tourists, probably made the day much more difficult than it needed to be. And in that final conflict with the "non-shuttle" driver, what if it had been our fault? I had assumed that he had chosen to use his personal vehicle in order to milk a $20+ bonus for a mere 10 minutes of work. What if, the shuttle was reserved for the big group that was wrecking havoc in the lobby (likely a cancelled flight)? What if I had gone to the wrong place when I went to the "hotel taxi" desk, or requested the wrong service instead of asking for the complimentary shuttle for transit passengers? What if there was not complimentary shuttle returning to the airport? I began doubting the righteousness of my anger. "But wait," the terrifying thought finally occurred to me, "We are scheduled to fly this route back again, landing us for a full-day layover in Cairo again in exactly two weeks. So, presumably, Egypt Air will hook us up with a room in the same hotel, on the same day of the week (Saturday) and we will be in need of a ride back to the airport at the exact same time (9:30pm)!" Will we run into the same disgruntled man? In my RSFDWFP plagued mind, it was not only possible, but likely, and so I had two weeks to devise a plan. After all, this big guy probably had a "back room" of his own and "high pressure sales tactics" that we surely didn't want to see.

Thankfully, fear of what would happen in Cairo, didn't ruin our vacation, even when I saw a BBC news report of three British/American journalists who have been held in Egypt for many months without a charge brought against them. But that doesn't mean it didn't occupy any space in the back of my mind. One day, Andrea and I went to the dentist (going to the dentist while on vacation? – oh yea! Quality service at great prices! We couldn't pass it up!). When waiting for Andrea to get her work done, Micah, Grace and I took a walk. When I saw a currency exchange place, I had an idea - I could transfer some of the Thai Baht I had gotten from the ATM back into American dollars in order to have cash in my pocket in case of the anticipated conflict in Egypt. At least then, if I was in the wrong, I could pay for the previous ride and make things right. Or so I hoped.

As the day of our return to Cairo approached, I began to think about it more seriously and, of course during the hours when others were sleeping, I began rehearsing the umpteen possible scenes we might encounter in Egypt. We could refuse the complimentary hotel and just sit at the airport for 18 hours. That would be a bummer, especially for Micah and Grace who had seen the nice swimming pools last time but hadn't been allowed the time to swim. We could make our previous dissatisfaction known and request a room at a different hotel. Or we could go with the flow and hope to fly under the radar. When walking through the public areas of the hotel, we could split up so that we aren't ever seen as a family of 4, or we could try disguising our appearance! "Aha!" I decided and asked our friends in Chiang Mai, "It wouldn't hurt to carry some disguise elements, where can I buy cheap sunglasses and a women's head scarf?" On the afternoon of our departure, Rob took me to a local market where we found just what we were looking for (big sunglasses - $1.50 each, a white Thai silk scarf with green zebras - $2.50).

With unexpected calmness in my heart, maybe due to an over-confidence in our disguises, we arrived at our gate at the Bangkok airport where Micah and Grace quickly claimed a row of seats and fell asleep. As the hours passed, it became apparent that our 12:50am flight was going to be delayed. First a 45-minute delay was announced, then another hour was added and passengers were given free soda/water in addition to being informed that they could get meal vouchers to get a "snack" up to $8 each. Taking turns with our kids still sleeping, Andrea and I bought a whole bunch of over-priced airport food with our $32, but unfortunately the airport DQ had shut down its ice cream machines for the night. Right when Andrea returned with her bounty of goodies, we received word that the flight would be delayed until 5pm the next evening and that we would all be given hotel rooms in Bangkok. Having small kids (and one more on the way) helped us see a different side of the Egyptian culture as those on our flight  encouraged us to go directly to the front of the immigration line, putting us on the first hotel shuttle, and giving us some priority in the hotel reception line. The Thai lady behind the counter blessed us again when she said, "Don't tell anyone (does that include this blog?) but our rooms are filling up fast with all these single travelers, you have four people in one room so I will give you an extra big room." And that it was – HUGE! At somewhere around 4:30 or 5am all four of us crashed and slept in the King size bed, waking up just in time to catch the end of our complimentary breakfast buffet. The morning consisted of playing in the hotel toy room and swimming in their cold, but still fun pool! An over-the-top delicious lunch buffet (once again complimentary) filled our bellies before we were rushed off to the airport again.

The flight left Bangkok around 7:30pm, arriving in Cairo with just enough time for the person at the transfer desk to say "Go with him, quickly." A brisk walk to our next gate and we soon found ourselves on our flight to Addis Ababa. American dollars still in my pocket, disguises left undisturbed in our carry-on, and, as we would find out later, both of our checked luggage pieces having made the quick transfer with us, we were leaving Egypt without the anticipated conflict. We had traded our stressful layover at the posh hotel in Cairo in for a stress-free delay at an equally posh hotel in Bangkok. And yes, while I processed through the situation enough to exchange money, plan all of our potential movements in the hotel, and buy some cheap disguises, honestly, this potential trouble didn't have nearly the control over me that similar ones have had in the recent past. I pray that these blogs act as my confession of a problem I want to overcome. That I might learn to walk through the trials with a peace, allowing myself to engage the situation, but yet maintaining control over my mind,  knowing that some way or another, things will turn out just fine, as they most often do.  "My name is Travis and I've suffered from RSFDWFP. But by God's grace, and continuing to trust in his faithful provision of a way out, I'll soon be free!"

The RSFDWFP Syndrome

I have a problem, and I don't think I'm alone in it. Some might classify it as a form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, I prefer the acronym RSFDWSP (that is "Ridiculous Single-Focus Disorder When Facing Problems"). Like when a flash drive of a good friend our ours "disappeared against me" (that is how the Amharic speakers push the blame to NOT say that they lost something). I tell you, for a week or more, I replayed every event from the time I received the flash drive until I realized it was lost, I retraced my steps numerous times, turned the house inside out and upside down, and having buried all other passions in life deep in the trunk, I basically drove myself to the "funny farm" until I finally came to terms with it being gone. I'm a hard-wired problem solver, a sleuth, and believe me, I think this quality pays off in my role in the translation office. There are times, however, I wish I could turn it off. Like I said, I don't think, or at least I hope, that I am not alone in this disorder. And so while the predicaments which set off my RSFDWFP may be a bit more unusual than yours, I hope that other victims to this disorder can find some comfort in me sharing the following stories (one now, one in an upcoming blog).

Friday Morning, August 15^th, 2014 - The 6am alarm was a welcome caller, alerting me of my release from the imprisonment to restless sleep. I slipped on some warmer clothes and shoes and grabbed the truck keys on the way out the door. With my stomach in my throat at this final test, I climbed into the driver's seat and gave the engine a crank. Rarr..rarr…rarr…rarr…rarr… I dropped my head in frustration as the engine turned over with ease, yet without engaging. Without going back inside, I grabbed my bright yellow tow rope and beginning the short walk up to the main road that passes over Gesas mountain, I did a mental review of the multitude of mistakes I'd made leading us into this pickle.

Andrea and I had enjoyed being together these last five weeks, without my having to travel and spend nights away at the translation office (50 km north). We had also been blessed by not having any urgent request from the community to run into town for emergencies, medical or otherwise. All that to say, our truck had sat unused for 5 weeks, that is, mistake #1. But, having recently had battery problems last Spring (see the June 2014 blog "Too Late For Cheeseburgers"), I had been periodically checking the new battery we had put in and found it to be strong and consistent. No worries. Then, as our American and Canadian neighbors were packing up for Addis Ababa just last weekend, my wife intuitively asked me, "Don't you think you should start the truck before they leave?" Yep, you called it, here comes mistake #2! "Nah," I replied, "The battery reads strong and as long as there is power, it should start." And so our friends left.

With our first prenatal appointment for Georgie Porgie on Monday (Aug 18) and Micah starting school on Tuesday (Aug 19), we had planned to leave early morning Saturday, Aug 16. And as is our custom, we like to have all of our drinking water jerry cans filled before leaving Gesas, so Thursday evening just as the sun was beginning to set, we all piled into the truck to drive the short distance to the hand pump well. The truck had started without a problem, although it didn't sound very happy about it. And then, after driving about 100 meters, the engine died an ugly death. Repeated attempts to restart it gave us the cursed sound I had heard again this morning, rarr..rarr…rarr…rarr…rarr. When many of our Gmz friends had gathered around, I asked them to give me a push back down the hill so I could look at it and work on it in some level of privacy. That push, turns out to be mistake #3 on my part. For as soon as the truck rolled to a stop in front of our house at the bottom of the hill, I called a friend in Addis who told me that his truck has a similar problem when it sits too long. "The good news is," he said cheerfully, "we've always gotten it started again with a pull start!"

"Nooooo!" I screamed inside, "I had just been pushed down a sizeable hill and I didn't think to try a rolling start (I thought that that was only for dead batteries). And why had we waited until our neighbors had left? The American family who lives about 8 km away is in the States for furlough. And we knew that the American Catholic priest in Dibate (about 12 km away) was planning on leaving that very morning, which he had. The closest person we knew with a vehicle was the Portuguese Catholic priest 50 km away!"

Grrr…. Filled with self-loathing frustration for the mistakes I made which brought about this predicament, and stressed by the implications of having a dead truck way out here, my entire night had been ruined. I couldn't eat supper, (neither the delicious sausage cooked on an open fire, nor the Smore's which typically follow), I couldn't concentrate on anything else, and then at bedtime I was entirely impotent to turn off the constant idle of situation analysis and re-analysis ad nauseam.

And so now, 6:05am, there I sat, waiting on the road with my tow rope, hoping to flag down a passerby willing to help. "Where are you going?" several Gmz people asked me. "I am not going anywhere, I'm waiting for a good (ie. nice) person." The dim morning light did nothing to warm the morning chill which was creeping through my fleece and the unsettled feeling was reaching new heights. Even if I could flag someone down to help tow us, there was no guarantee that the pull start would work for our truck, as it had for our friend's. I cringed at the realization that if I couldn't get the truck started in these 12 hours of daylight, then it would be Andrea, Micah, Grace and I standing at this very same spot tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn to flag down a big bus and begin a 2-day stress-filled journey on public transport. Not to mention, what am I supposed to do with a dead truck out in Gesas, when our schedule doesn't allow us to return for 11 weeks? I played the million and a half scenarios over and over in my exhausted mind, most of which did nothing to ease my churning stomach.

After 30 minutes, a pickup truck came and stopped at my signal. I pleaded with the stranger behind the wheel, "My truck won't start, can you come and pull it?" The man immediately rejected my request, "It is not allowed," and he hit the gas before I could ask why. As I sat back down on my rock and thought about it more, I realized that he likely thought I was asking to be pulled the 12 kilometers into town. Hmmm…I'd have to be more clear next time. Some 45 minutes later, after several people whizzed right by my outstretched hand, finally another vehicle stopped. "My truck won't start, can you come pull me a little bit, just to the top of the hill?" The driver responded favorably, "Sure, where is your truck?" Overjoyed, I pointed into the trees, "It's in there! Come on!" Immediately, the man's expression changed, "No, we cannot do it, goodbye." And off he went. Dumbfounded again, I sat on my pondering rock, "It is rainy season and if I say that my truck is stuck in the woods, any reasonable person would assume that it is stuck in mud. And helping to pull someone out of mud, brings with it the great risk of also getting stuck!" He was right to move on.

Finally, after another 45 minutes, another truck came and so, having reworked and rehearsed my plea yet again, I spoke in Amharic, "My truck won't start, would you be willing to pull me a little bit to get it started. It's just in front of my house there (pointing as if you could actually see it through the trees)." The man thought for a moment and responded with confirmation of my earlier suspicion, "Is there any mud?"  "No," I responded with a surge of excitement, "Come, follow me!" And he did! I ran down the hill as he backed into position. After pulling just 20 meters or so, I let off of the clutch and rejoiced to hear the engine sputter and gasp and eventually spark into life. Parking, I jumped out of the truck and showered my savior with thanks. It wasn't a pretty idle, but after a few minutes, the stammering engine settled down into the smooth chugga…chugga…chugga I had dreamed of hearing all night.

Finally, released from its enslavement to problem solving and analyzing worst-case scenarios I've come to accept as part of the RSFDWFP syndrome, my mind began receiving input from other sources. "I'm hungry," I said to Andrea with a smile, as we walked back to the house (leaving the truck idling at the top of the hill). It certainly wasn't the first time I'd gotten so yoked by a problem so as to not be able to function. Why is it like that? Overseas workers (the "M" word) are trained over and over again on the importance of being flexible and rolling with the punches. And that I was prepared to do (mentally repacking for the restrictions associated with taking public transport), but why can't I walk through the trials with a peace knowing that some way or another, things will turn out just fine, as they most often do?

My second story, involving disguises and avoidance tactics to escape heated conflict with an angry Egyptian, I hope shows more improvement on my part. Then again, the real possibility of the whole scenario being fabricated in my over-analyzing mind doesn't argue in my favor. More on that in the next blog.

Good Thaims!

Last December, following a long push in finishing all the translation checks of Luke's gospel, we took a 5-day vacation to a "resort" about 2 hours outside of Addis Ababa. While the accommodations were nice, the grounds were beautiful and the food extraordinarily delicious, I had a very hard time actually enjoying the time. The nights when Grace decided that screaming was preferable to sleep led to some early Ibuprofen and extra coffee the next morning. Micah's response to relaxation was apparently boredom and so he provided some extra exciting misbehavior to liven things up. Repeatedly, each night after finally getting the kids in bed, Andrea and I found ourselves just as exhausted as normal life. Is this the best we can do for a vacation? We hoped not.

And so, when the opportunity to visit to Thailand presented itself to us (initially to attend a conference), initially I was skeptical. But then as I put the pieces together a bit, I grew more optimistic. Travelling outside of the Ethiopian culture in itself is a form of "getting away" that we hadn't been able to do last time. Micah loves airplanes and trains and so even with red-eye flights, we knew he would do fine. Our friends in Thailand had offered a guest room for us to stay in and their two boys (ages 5 and 3) would be perfect playmates, not to mention that we would be living in a house filled with "new to them" toys that would provide them hours of exploration. Living with friends who actually live in Thailand meant that we could see the sites, experience the culture and enjoy fun activities on a modest budget and without the stress of tour agencies and figuring out transportation problems. Trying to plan one event each morning, we kept ourselves a busy, but at the same time found plenty of hours of true rest and relaxation.

Rather than walk you through every event, I've chosen to post a smattering of pictures with short captions for those interested in our highlights.

Leaving the Addis Ababa airport in the middle of the night.

Traveling before Grace turned 2 saved us lots of money on airfare, but as you can see, she was a bit too big for the airplane bassinet. Nevertheless she slept well on all the flights.

Our plane tickets took us through Cairo with a full day layover and free hotel accommodations. 

The same Nile River that we cross over in Ethiopia every time we travel to and from the Gmz area.  

That's us, tired from flying all night, and hot from the sun.

Looking up the pyramid

Our tour guide person had a whole bunch of silly pictures for us to take. Andrea really shouldn't be lifting such big rocks while pregnant.

Micah resting his elbow on a pyramid.

Quite the jump!

Riding escalators was definitely one highlight of the trip for Micah and Grace.

As was riding the overnight train from Bangkok to Chiang Mai.

Lots to see from the window.

We did actually sleep on the train, only after the excitement simmered down quite a bit.

"Street food" like this sausage on a stick is amazing and ridiculously cheap!

The PooPooPaper Factory was very fun - yes, they make paper out of elephant poop!

And so the process begins.

Lots of fibrous poo!

Making PooPooPaper

Making PooPooPaper Cards for the Grandparents.

We had to get a "Poo Poo" cookie for snack.

Micah did a great job learning to ride a two-wheeler.

Three of us partook in plenty of Ice Cream. Mommy's high glucose count at the last baby appointment forced her to have to behave...at least a some of the time!

The weekend night markets are quite impressive and fun.

If you are squeamish about odd foods, don't look too closely here. Grasshoppers, crickets, grubs, beetles...Mmmmm.

We all tried them, but no, we did not finish the whole batch.

Lots of swimming!

And more!

Sharing fresh papaya and pineapple in a park, does life get any better?

The elephant camp shows were fun - here is a baby elephant painting a very impressive picture.

Up close and personal

No kisses please!

Grace didn't quite trust that long nose coming at her.

Here Fido, have a banana.

Andrea and Christina attended a Thai cooking class.

Oh I hope she learned well, we all LOVED the Thai food!

Meanwhile, Rob and I took the kids to the zoo.

Here giraffe, have a string bean.

When Bangkok taxis include boats running through the canals, we have ourselves a dirt cheap tourist attraction for toddlers! 

After returning to Bangkok, we spent one day at a world class aquarium.

On our way to the airport, we couldn't help but stop at the street stands and buy some final "street food."

With four red-eye flights, we are thankful for two kids who can sleep almost anywhere.

Tired from lots of fun, but at the same time, well rested from normal life.

Silly gooses having some fun with the "presents" handed out by the stewardesses - earphones, socks, eye covers and tooth brushes!