Let the Story Be Told

Really it's an argument from silence, but in a non-traditional sense. Some of you, though not as many as I would probably like to believe, have probably noticed a major decrease in new blog entries this past year, more specifically since May. In some ways, it has been a freeing feeling for me to take a break from blogging, put the computer away to focus on other more important things: ie. my family. Specifically, last May, while away from home at an international conference, I spent a lot of time processing where I spend my time and energy. I knew that Andrea needed me more than ever during this season in our lives, and together we lamented to see the trajectory that Micah was on toward discouragement and negativism against everything present in his life (his sisters, his mom, his schooling, his lack of English-speaking friends, etc). And so, at that conference, I made the conscious decision that blogging, among other things in life, would be pushed to the back-burner of my life, for the sake of intentional investment in my family.

 

Now this all sounds very noble and good, after all, what does a man gain if he records a lot of nice stories but loses his family? At the same time, there is something very sad about it as well. I write blogs for at least two reasons. The first being the reciprocal relationship that is formed through the blog, that is the joy of welcoming others into experiencing our story while at the same time feeling loved and appreciated by those who take the time to read it. This hits two things that are very important to me: 1) being heard and 2) helping partners in ministry feel like they are a part of it.

 

The second reason that I write blogs is that it helps me process through life. When I set my fingers tapping on the keyboard, they often lead my mind to conclusions that it otherwise doesn't want to go to. When I read and reread the story I've written, new truths and lessons pop out in meaningful ways. In a sense, it’s a journal, but at the same time a conversation with myself that keeps me focused on what's important and why I'm here. It is this second reason that kept me writing, even when I felt like the blog's readership had tapered off (based on the only thing I have to go on, comments back to me).

 

In the past seven/eight months as I have neglected the blog, I have seriously missed the positive outcomes of these two reasons. More than ever, I feel the vast ocean that separates us from our partners back in the US, and, though maybe not directly related to the blog, I wonder if our partners would say the same from their end. At the same time, my failure to process life through this written means has seemingly taken its toll on my ability to rejoice in our life and ministry. For the first time in the past eight years, I frequently find myself without a “story to tell,” that is, I no longer rejoice in the “Story of God's Faithfulness” to us (as the blog is titled). It is not that God is no longer faithful, nor that he isn't writing his exciting story all around us, rather it is that I am not pausing enough to reflect upon that story in ways that nourish my soul and fan my passion into flame. This resulting starvation of my passion toward God and ministry is, I believe the most detrimental consequence of my decision last May.

 

Now, don't hear me wrong, my relationship with God is not solely dependent upon whether or not I write blogs. However, it brings to light something our Wycliffe resource coordinator (and friend) helped us realize a while back: recognizing, meditating upon and writing down the story of God's faithfulness, may certainly be considered a spiritual discipline. And so, at the beginning of 2017, I declare with new enthusiasm, let the story be told. And just in time, as we have the feeling 2017 will be a year filled with many exciting new adventures! J

 

In the Circle of Life, The Egg Came First

Micah has the answer to the age old question of the chicken and the egg! In his experience this past year, the egg certainly came first, that is, given the condition that “dad” already has a hen.

You see, last year, about this time, Micah, Grace and I went to the market to buy two laying hens, Dalmatian and Pinky. A few weeks later, Micah's hen (that is the one that he named) had laid her clutch of eggs and was now ready to begin her three-week sitting marathon of incubation. However, early one evening, Micah and I pulled a fast one on them. You see, not having a rooster to fertilize these eggs, we knew that no chicks would hatch from these eggs. So, instead, Micah gathered his chore money and we headed off to the market to buy other people's eggs. And that we did, Micah bought 12 eggs with his money which we then exchanged with the eggs under “his” hen – Dalmatian. And so the excruciating 3-week wait began.

“Hey Dalmation, are those eggs cooked yet?”

In mid-January, a surprisingly high percentage of the eggs hatched, giving Micah 10 tiny chicks and a potential huge return on investment (eggs cost about 16¢ each, but a full-grown chicken sells for at least $4.50). All we had to do was raise these chicks through to adulthood.

Micah, carrying Dalmatian, leading the chicks inside the coup for safety.

Sadly, a brown chick, named Caramel, died on day two. He was my favorite at the time, which was especially sad for Grace. And so to appease her grieving on my behalf, I chose another favorite, a nice yellow chick called Treasure. Well, later that week, I came home from the office one day to learn that Treasure was no more. Although we never got the full details, we suspect she was dropped (or thrown) and internal injuries cut her life short. And so once again, I chose new favorite – this time a black one with a  white chest. He was known as Penguin.

After a few weeks, our family went to the capital city for some meetings, entrusting the care of our chicks to our housemates. Upon our return, we were informed that all the chicks were doing well, except one that had disappeared, likely grabbed by a cat. Any guesses of which chick that might be? Yep, a quick head count and sure enough, it was Penguin! After that, I stopped choosing a favorite chick and wouldn't ya know it, all the remaining seven chicks successfully grew to reach adulthood. (That, and Micah and I built a stronger coup.)

Building a New Coup

The first return on investment came in late August when two of the Bible translators wanted to treat their families to a chicken dinner. Each paid Micah 100 birr ($4.50), and happily invited Mr. Pink and Cat Breath (whom I had once rescued from a cat's mouth) home for dinner.

200 birr ($9) might as well be a million for Micah!

 In early September, Micah's female chicks, now grown into young hens began to lay their first eggs. In October, we were raking in 3 or 4 eggs a day, many of which made it onto our breakfast plates. In November, we decided to let our young hens, with the help of their one remaining brother J, complete the cycle of life on their own. And in the span of about week, we successful got three hens sitting on eggs: Shiney, Squawker, Redneck, followed by one more, Almond, about a week later. And so the waiting game began again.

 

Shiney's first two chicks, discovered early Sunday morning.

On November 27, the life cycle was completed, when Shiney hatched 6 new chicks, followed later that week by Redneck's 7, and Almond's 3 (we shafted Squawker by yanking her hatching eggs and planting them under other chickens – why? Because Squawker earned her name with a loud beak, and one of our coup rules is that loud beaks get invited to “dinner”J).

A “once in a lifetime” invite to dinner!

So Micah's initial investment of $1.92 in 12 eggs, has him now sitting on $15 for the sale of three roosters, 4 adult hens valued at $14, and 16 baby chicks  with the potential of raking in over $70 in the May/June marketplace – that's a grand total of nearly $100 or an over 5000% return on investment. I suppose that doesn't figure in the dad who bought the original hen, a year's worth of food, building supplies for the coup and whole lot of elbow grease.

The Loyal Customer

Inspired by a lunchtime conversation among colleagues, Andrea and I gave a crack at browsing through yet another personality profiling book. One of the traits that popped up in several of the categories was loyalty, and I found myself asking, would I consider myself a loyal friend? Is loyalty one of my strengths? What does loyalty look like anyway?

                                                                                          

As our minds have been shaped more and more by different languages and different cultures, there are increasingly more and more concepts in our minds that can only be truly captured by a non-English word. One such word is the Amharic word “dembenya.” We use it all the time, but if you'd asked me to translate it for you, I'd definitely have to take a rain check until finding time for further consideration. If you ask an Amharic speaker, they often translate it with “customer,” but something about that never sat well with me. A “dembenya” not just a customer, it is a LOYAL customer or a patron. When in Addis Ababa we always by our meat from the same butcher, a few paces back toward our house and you come across our regular chicken and fish store, followed by our hole-in-the-wall that sells milk and mobile phone cards, and lastly the fresh bread store. Keep in mind that most of these places have identical stores within walking distance, sometimes right across the street, but a true dembenya customer will never be caught dishonoring his/her loyalty. Being a loyal dembenya is supposed to come with its benefits as the shop owner will give you preferred treatment and when it comes to fruits and veggies, they give you the cream of the crop. It’s a win-win relationship, and one I very much enjoy.

 

I was reminded of the value of a dembenya relationship last week when we drove from Addis Ababa out to the countryside. You see, about 2.5 weeks prior, when driving into Addis Ababa, we stopped at a familiar restaurant in a city called Dejen. As soon as we walk in the door, everyone who remembers us from previous visits, greets us with a big smile and the very common half lament, half accusation, “T'afachu!” (translated: Hey you disappeared! – ie. we missed you). Well, as we ate our lunch that day, two large transport busses pulled up and the passengers filed out and into the tiny restaurant. In an effort to not be swallowed up by the masses, we quickly paid our bill and gave up our seats. Once back in the truck and down the road a bit, Andrea realized that she had left her Nalgene water bottle in the restaurant. No worries, we thought, we are dembenyas of that restaurant, if they find it, they will hold it for us.

 

And so, 2.5 weeks later, here we were travelling back through that area. We stopped for a cup of tea (a bit early for lunch this time) and sure enough, as soon as the “Hey you disappeared!” greetings were finished, and without our even asking, out came the now-dusty blue Nalgene bottle that we had inadvertently abandoned. We are loyal to them, they are loyal to us. It's really a beautiful network of relationships and one that I feel is rapidly dying back at home in America, where if you can manage to slip by the megastore greeter, you can shop and self-checkout without ever having to interact with an actual person.

 

Snap, Crackle & Pop

No I am not writing about the three silly mascots for Rice Krispies cereal, rather I am writing about the three methods we have been employing for controlling the mice population in our home.

Snap refers to the tried and true method of using traps, of which we consistently have two set in different places in the house. My secret weapon in slathering the bait (usually a raisin) with peanut butter, both on top and underneath the trigger. It always seems to snap a few mice on consecutive nights before the others learn the trick and steer clear. And so I wait a week or two and hit 'em again.

Pop is a fun one, a bit more of a cat-and-mouse game where speed and reflexes win the day. To date, the score is humans 3, mice 2. The game starts when we see a mouse running along our floorboard (usually in the evenings) and hiding in what we suspect to be an advantageous corner. We then corner him in and systematically begin removing the stuff from the corner in which he was hiding. When he tries to make a run for safety, we spring into action with shoes and brooms to POP him one on the noggin'. Twice the mice have gotten away, either by slipping past our POP, or by hiding somewhere safe in the first place. But 3 times now, we've hit our target and added one more mouse to our compost bucket. 

My favorite POP was when three of us got in on the action. Having see a mouse run into a corner and hide behind a large plastic tub, Andrea, Paula (one of our summer interns) and I geared up for the fight. Andrea and Paula, each armed with brooms stood poised along both walls exiting the corner. My job was to pull the tub out and cover the middle ground. With our plan in place, I quickly pulled the tub into the center of the room leaving the little mouse exposed. He ran toward Andrea who brilliantly swept the little critter off its feet and sent it sliding across the tile floor into the middle of the room. I, still off balance myself from having pulled the tub, couldn't catch my traction any more than the mouse could which made for a hilarious tandem slip-fest like two baby Bambis playing tag on the ice. Paula, however, playing the role of sure-footed Thumper, left her station against the opposite wall and, with her broom, delivered the deadly POP that incited cheering, I'm sure could be heard across the neighborhood.

Crackle is a very unique method of killing mice, that, while very effective, is not very reproducable. One night, after the kids were in bed, we were sitting in the living room writing thank-you cards, or reading or whatever, when suddenly a power cut left us in pitch black. Nobody jumped up to find a light, I suppose we were all waiting for someone else to do it. As for me, I was content to keep rocking in my rocking chair where I often rest at the end of the day. CRACKLE! I felt a bump under my rocker, which isn't all that unusual as the rocking chair slowly shifts to the left with every rock and had there been a toy or piece of dried food left nearby, I was sure to find it eventually. I simply moved the chair over a bit to avoid hitting it again, and continued my rock. That is until about 4-5 minutes later when the power flipped on and I looked down to see an unlucky mouse who had tried to make a break for it at just the wrong time.

 Although I can't take much credit for the kill, it gave us all a good laugh and one more tally on our column of the mouse killing scorecard!

Happy Birthday Papa with a Big Bowl of Crowder

Happy Birthday to Papa (that is, Andrea’s dad)! We wish you were here with us as we have plenty of Crowder to spare. What’s that you ask? What is Crowder? Well it is the special meal we enjoyed tonight in honor of your birthday!

It all started this morning as we were translating through the final verses of Philippians. A brief glance out the window and we saw a boy leading something on a rope. He stopped in front of our office, clearly wanting our attention, which we were very willing to give. “What is it? Let’s go see.” I say as I led the charge outside. “Looks like a monitor lizard,” one of the Gmz translators said. “No,” I said, now with a good view, “that’s a crocodile!” As with our last adventure with Candy Girl the dik dik (small antelope), it’s not unusual for people to bring animals to our gate in the hopes of making a couple bucks. And so after playing with it for a while, we negotiated the price and soon had ourselves some meat for a very special dinner indeed.

Our lunch hour ran long as we prepared the croc.

Adding a few potatoes, corn and milk, we had ourselves the very best crocodile chowder any of us have ever tasted before!

Happy Birthday Papa!

On a Day of Mourning

It was May 1^st, 2016, a day unfortunately book-ended with crocodile tears. The end of the day was quite sad as the kid's bedtime mean goodbye to dad, who would be catching a midnight flight to Thailand. Lumi is too young to know what is going on although I know she noticed my absence over that next week and a half. Grace seems to push aside goodbyes with a curious ease, which could either be a sign of age or an adaptation to her ever-transient lifestyle. Micah, on the other, is the opposite. Goodbyes hit him hard with the reality of an unwanted separation, and without a true sense of the difference between one week, one month, and one year, it's hard for him to let go. So with the necessary tears shed and ample assurance of my return after only 12 “sleeps,” he got started on the first quite nicely in the end.

The morning tears on that same day came as somewhat of a wake-up call for me,  “Daddy, Candy-Girl is dead!” Grace announced as a reason for the raucous I had heard coming from downstairs. Yes, indeed, Candy Girl, our pet dik-dik, whom we had brought to Addis Ababa for safe-keeping and care, ended her journey with us sometime in the night.

It was just over a month ago, that Candy Girl came to us. A tiny baby dik-dik (which is a small African antelope), brought to us by  rural Gmz man wanting to make a couple bucks. Given our kids' love for animals, especially small ones, I knew I didn't stand a chance at turning it down. And so the bidding war began at 200 birr (about $10), I countered at 50 birr ($2.50). He slashed his offer in half to 100 birr ($5) at which point Micah said, “Come on dad, he only wants ONE 100 birr bill…you have LOTS of those and he only wants one!” Yea, thanks for the bartering help Micah!

Seeing how small and weak this little gal was, I said, “I'll pay 50 birr today, and if it survives 2 weeks, I'll pay another 50 birr.” Done deal.

Candy Girl, as Micah promptly named her, immediately receive abundant attention, including 4-5 daily fills of powdered milk fed.

At about the 1 week mark, we were quite sure that we were going to lose poor Candy Girl. her energy was gone and whatever milk we could get in her was just running right through her system. However, taking a stab at giving an antibiotic, we slowly saw her gain both strength and the will to live. Soon, she was up on her feet and enjoying her new family.

When it came time to come to Addis, we feared that she wouldn't get the care she needed, so we popped her into a box and she made the 10-11 hour trip with us. The next day everything was fine as she enjoyed tasting the leaves around our compound, however, that night turned out to be her last. I had checked on her before going to bed and all seemed well. However, by morning she was gone. Without a thorough autopsy, it's impossible to tell what got the best of her, but I suspect that some of the strange leaves she munched on are at fault. A friend pointed out one variety in our compound that is known to be poisonous.

And so, when tears had been cried, we dug a hole in our garden and gave Candy Girl her final resting place. She is missed even now, but Micah and Grace seem to have gotten over it quite well. After all, with our lives over here, we never know what the next animal adventure will be.

With Mixed Emotion in Thailand

I'm filled with mixed emotions, sitting in my air-conditioned 12^th floor hotel room in Thailand, on the cusp of 10-days of our international conference. This time last week, I was happily zoomed down, focused in and soiled by the trenches of translation, pushing forward in a first draft of Romans 5-6, this week I'm “cleaned up smartly” (as my English roommate might say) and asked to radically zoom out my “Google Earth” picture to see instead the whole world in one screen shot. I’m excited to engage with some of the issues facing our organization at the global level, but at the same time respectfully terrified of their magnitude and significance, especially at this important transitional stage in the history of Bible translation. I'm humbled and privileged to be a delegate seated among top leaders from all around the world, yet very aware of my inexperience and near ignorance of the foreign language of “business” and “management” in which meeting will be conducted. Eager to learn from the wealth of experience in the room, I can't help but notice and feel my youth, as I'm having trouble identifying anyone younger than myself. With transition of leadership, with challenges in funding, with imperfect channels of communication between grassroots and global, in all that we do, we pray that grace of God would prevail, manifested in the unity we have in Christ and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, as I and the other 200+ delegates represent our respective constituency and at the same time, catch a vision of where we might be headed and how that might be implemented alongside our partners in Ethiopia. That is my prayer, would you pray with me?