Arrived!...but not yet there

Earlier today I enjoyed the challenge of explaining to the translators the meanings of the English words "optimism" and "pessimism." An attempt at "glass half full" and "glass half empty" explanations only led to undoubtedly empty stares of confusion on all three of their faces.  Eventually, I optimistically think I got the idea through to them. Could they use it correctly in a given circumstance? Pessimistically speaking, I doubt it. 

Some days I struggle to see the silver lining in our lives, other days I drink deep of its refreshing pool, but most days are a mixture of both perspectives. Tonight as I lounge in the Catholic Father's guesthouse for yet another night away from home, I definitely feel that tension. I can't help but enjoy life right now, at the peak of mango season, surrounded by lush trees whose tired arms hang low with the divinely inspired candy. My craving for delicious fruit is intensified by the one guava over there on the table, which somehow manages to permeate the whole room with its sweet aroma.

 And after hearing of the nasty, long winter many of you endured, I likely shouldn't get into the weather we are enjoying these days. Besides, I'm sure none of you can relate with the need to pull on a long sleeve shirt when the temps drop down into the low 70s.

Yet, not all is perfect as my eye catches the remains of the scorpion over in the corner of the room, and the cleaning crew, that is, the trail of ants, starting to carefully dismantle and carry away it many parts. Tomorrow morning, I'll have to finish the job by sweeping up the part they always leave behind – the tail, or course. Not only that one, I'll have to do the same with the other two scorpions I killed in my room tonight. Yea, the rains have come forcing these bad boys to come out from under their rocks in search of new homes outside the flood plains. So far this year, as a family, the score is about 15 to 0 in the war against these unwelcome housemates. We're hoping to keep that shutout going through this whole scorpion season.

 The war between optimistic excitement and pessimistic melancholy wages most with regard the project I've undertaken to do tonight. I just spent an hour printing off the first ten copies of Luke's gospel in the Gmz language. And now, after fixin' and snarfing down some quick mac 'n cheese, I popped in a movie ("I am David") and have set myself to the task of folding the booklets. Once my fingers learned the ropes, I set them on autopilot. What an exciting time it is to see the gospel of Luke finally in print! We did it! After years, even decades of dreaming of this day, we've finally arrived at seeing the ripened fruit of Bible translation. Or have we?

 Although the excitement of having arrived is there, it is definitely notched down a bit by the reality of the situation. These first ten copies are actually not being printed for Gmz people at all, instead they will be given to certain anonymous project donors back in the States. Don't get me wrong, I am happy to share the joy with ALL those who are part of this work with us! Absolutely. And the official print of Luke's gospel is seemingly in the works, but even when those boxes arrive, the pessimistic voice of realism will still have its megaphone pointed directly into my joy. The mere existence of Scripture in the Gmz language is NOT the goal, not the destination we are striving for. What good are these ink spots on paper to the 90-some % of Gmz who can't read? What harvest will this text reap in the many, many fields that seemingly have yet to be planted?

It's a sentiment that is beginning to feel really, really familiar. In 2009 we came to Ethiopia – we've arrived!…but yet we can't do what we came to do until after a year of language school. Then we moved out to the Gmz lands – we've arrived!…but yet we can't begin translation until we learn the language. Seven months of study gave me a good foothold into the Gmz language – we've arrived!...but then we had to wait another year for the official translators to be hired and the project started. Last December, we finished the final step in Luke's gospel – we've arrived…but now we are still waiting for the publication process. We will soon have Luke officially on paper – we've arrived? Not so fast. I have grow very comfortable with the feeling that whatever goals I am striving for today, they are really only mile-markers in the marathon we're running. Even when/if we see the New Testament published in the Gmz language and being used for the strengthening of the Gmz church, will we finally kick back and enjoy the feeling of having arrived? I seriously doubt it.

Al Welcomed Home At Newly-Constructed Fenway Park

No we aren't about to become Red Socks fans just as the Brew Crew is having an unexpectedly hot start to the season. And so why did we name our newly-constructed chicken pen after the Boston's stadium? Well, it guess it comes down to our personalities which take great delight in being cheap. After looking at our schedule for the coming months, we saw that we were going to be in Gesas for several long stretches between now and November (and then not so for some time). So, if we were going to attempt yet another round of raising chickens, now was the time to start. Yet, after so many failed attempts since our return from the States in early 2013, neither of us were wanting to invest too much money or time into building a pristine coup. After all, last year, we poured hours into cleaning coups and mending fences before parting with more than $50 in exchange for 10 hens and a rooster, one of which brought an unwelcome virus which left us two weeks later with only 3 eggs and a handful of meat. That was a waste and we weren't about fall for it again. This time around we were determined to start up without much of an initial investment.

Needing to build a new fence, we looked for a place with trees near enough to each other so as to not require the planting of any extra posts, as that would require either chopping down trees or buying metal of some kind. Then, seeing that we only had a about ¾ of a roll of chicken wire left, we knew that the enclosure would have to be small. Though I would never credit chickens with any level of notable intelligence, they do get pretty creative in finding ways over whatever restrictive barriers stand between them and the glamour of the outside world (hence the whole point behind the Chicken Run movie). Knowing that the small enclosure would shorten the distance between the roof of their coup and the nearest fence, I realized that even putting the coup in the very middle would not create enough distance to discourage their training in long jump. So instead of breaking down and buying more chicken wire, we opted for making one wall extra tall, and putting the coup directly beneath it. Those of you familiar with Boston's Ballpark can see the obvious left field connection.

Our motivation to stay cheap also carried over into the construction of new coup. Rummaging through the junk tent of those who came before us, Micah and I found some dismantled aluminum frames from a table and chairs and the badly beat up bucket from a long-retired wheelbarrow. "Perfect" I said, "Let's go build a chicken house!" The mounting pile of junk on our front porch soon caused more than a bit of confusion for Andrea and Grace…

 but as the house began to take shape, both of them found ways to lend a hand.

 Grace quite enjoyed playing the role of the first chicken to enjoy the coup.

 At some point, Andrea commented, "My grandpa would appreciate this project, he always liked building things out of junk." And so, right then and there it was decided, the first rooster to sleep in our junk house would bear his name – Al.

 That next Saturday morning, a couple old tires, plastic barrels, and an old wicker shelf unit were screwed together to create some pretty nifty egg laying boxes. 

And so with everything set, Micah and I went into market where we bought four new chickens: Al, Mary, Rockey and Salt 'n Pepper.