That Darn Question

Talking to people is always interesting, especially in this work. Again a family came to meet us and again the subject of "where is your father" came up. I have learned not to ask this question with any casualty. If the question comes up I do all I can to control the selfish urge to plug my ears and begin humming loudly. But alas the question comes up and I hold tight waiting for the answer.

The answers to that question range from "don't know" to "we're divorced" to "he was blown up by a suicide bomber." or "killed by vehabija."

What do I learn from the answers to that question.

*to be grateful
*to be aware of others-everyone has their own set of experiences they are dealing with.
*to be very careful what I feel the luxury to complain about. It could always be so much worse.

I was also so very pleased and grateful to the Serbian military for their work of the past months. Check out the latest news! It is absolutely thrilling!

http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/k/radovan_karadzic/index.html?excamp=GGGNkaradzicnews&WT.srch=1&WT.mc_ev=click&WT.mc_id=GN-S-E-GG-NA-S-karadzic_news

Summer Reading So Far!!

It has been such a long time since I was able to come here and sit down and write a blog. It has been a very busy and fruitful time. I decided to share with you the progress of summer reading thus far.

We have five neighborhoods going this summer. We have been blessed with 30 volunteers and a few more waiting in the wings for training times to come up so we can plug them in.

Another first we are doing this year is that one of the kids we registered in school seven years ago is now volunteering for us as a reader. That is fun. She needs volunteer hours for her school and we love having her.

It has been a great summer thus far and we are just getting started.

Come join us for summer reading!

Mr. Jay Comes to Dinner

Thursday was Jay Clark's birthday! Robert called him and invited him to dinner. I had it all planned out. We had chicken in the freezer, potatoes and corn. Joy would bake cake and we were set. I felt so organized and ready to go when I woke up in the morning.

Then Rachel called. The girls were staying home from school to pack while she was at work. Would I show them where boxes were? I took them to find boxes. During this time Robert is at a school working.

It was an early release so I took Joetta to her new school to meet her teachers and get ready as well as see her new apartment. Then finally about two o'clock I took them all home after getting as many boxes as I could find.

When I dropped them off I saw a translator I had been trying to reach. I grabbed him, called a school, set up a meeting, made arrangements to let the family know and put another meeting on my schedule for next week.

Robert & I got home and began to talk about dinner for Jay. I got called because a Sudanese family's foodstamps hadn't come and the mother was worried about feeding her children for the weekend.

I went and got them and headed to H&W. She and I and her five kids sat around a waiting room...waiting.

While we were there a Bantu family walked in. The oldest daughter had an issue that I needed to visit the family for so we were able to talk about it there. One thing off of my plate, just need to follow up now. The same family requested our help with school- they had one child ready for "K" and another ready for Headstart. I made a call to Headstart while I was sitting there.

As we are still sitting there waiting, a Turkish family came in. Again they had school aged kids and they were moving. Could we help them change the children's schools (four kids, three schools?). I added it to my schedule for next week.

We went in to the office. I was actually very impressed with the H&W office. The caseworke that narrated on this case yesterday was very kind. She was patient with 5 kids in her office. We walked out with food stamps for the kids by 5pm. We had started this process at 3:30pm. I really didn't expect that!

As I am taking this family home- I call Robert to see if he can start working on dinner. He had pulled the chicken. We had one large pack of legs and a large pack of breasts that had mistakenly gotten put away in the freezer before we had portioned it out. I was bummed. We only needed enough for 7 people and had food for a lot more people. Robert & I decided to cook it all and we would just eat a lot of chicken left overs.

As I was dropping the family home I watched the kids walking away. They have been wanting to come to our house since last summer. They love our two youngest children so they asked me to say "Hi" to them. I looked at them, thought of how much my kids would love to see them, thought about Jay and how much he likes these two kids and decided to ask their mother if I could take them for the night. Yes! Nine people instead of 7.

On the way home I went to the store to get potatoes. As we were walking up to the door the kids saw the girl scouts selling cookies. "Can we get some?" I see behind the table one of the
women we work with and enjoy at one of our schools. I stop to say "Hi" and buy a box of cookies.

I walk in the store. When I walk up to the produce I saw two people from my past who obviously hadn't seen each other for a long time. I stopped with my two charges to talk with them. Again one of them was involved in an organization that Robert and I had wanted to refresh our knowledge of and partner with again. I found out they have a meeting tonight. "Do I want to come?" (that is still up in the air- I really want to sleep)

We check out- I talk a bit to the cashier that I see almost on a daily basis and then I head home. On the way home my phone rings. A Kenyan friend of mine needs to visit a friend in trouble at the hospital. Can she bring her three year old over for a couple of hours? "Sure." I say "Has she eaten?" No. Ten for dinner.

I get home with my charges. My children yell from their rooms and come tearing down to greet their friends. Robert and the kids have cleaned the house very well, put the chicken in the oven and peeled the potatoes we had.

I peel potatoes, get the table set and Jay comes. He and Robert sit and talk for awhile. F and her three year old daughter come. I ask F if she has eaten. No, but she needs to get to the hospital. "Do you want me to save you some?" She would love that. 11 for dinner.

I am putting food on the table...the phone rings...it is Joetta. One of the kids in her neighborhood , who is one of our cases has gotten hurt. He hit his head very hard and is walking around the neighborhood, scared, not listening, making no sense and acting paranoid. Can Robert come? He and Joy leave. Jay, our kids, visiting kids and I sit down to eat. Robert spends time trying to find the boy and get the boy come with him to the hospital. to Robert delivers boy, father of boy, brother of boy, and translator to the emergency room. When all had settled down and he was no longer needed at the hospital he leaves for home and dinner.

Robert is home, Jay and he are talking, S comes, I serve her the plate I have saved for her dinner. We eat a birthday cake and sing "Happy Birthday to Jay" the reason we are here. At nine Jay leaves for another appointment. God bless Jay. He isn't upset that all of these people crashed his birthday. Instead he enjoys it, laughs with the kids and blesses all of us.

I take S and together we deliver my charges home. When we get back to my home S and I sit and down and talk until midnight about issues she is dealing with.

The food that was too much hours ago is now just enough. The five pound sack of potatoes is gone, the large bag of corn is gone, there are a couple of pieces of chicken for someones lunch today and one last piece of cake.

This is not an unusually busy day at our home. Instead it can be fairly normal. We walk around, we meet new people or we know people. With almost every encounter during the day a request for action is made from us. We have to draw our boundaries tightly because of this. Some things we will do, some we send to others, and some we just won't do.

As for dinner- a typical American home I believe asks a certain group of people to dinner @ 6pm. They come, have a great time and the guests leave graciously around 9pm. In all of the other cultures we work in being invited is rude and means that you really don't like the person. It is normal for people to just come by around dinner time and eat with you. It is also rude if a guest leaves a few hours after dinner or if you expect your guest to leave.

Yes, I know we are in America and that people need to learn our ways... However they often know our ways and miss some of their own. They miss that connection that you get spending time around food talking and laughing. It is amazing the relationships that we build sitting at their table or our own. Thanks Jay for letting so many people crash your party!

Friends!

It is so fun when you get to make contact with a friend that you have not spoken to in a long time and find that they are doing very well and making a significant difference in the lives of people around them.

This week I "googled" someone I had been thinking about a lot and found her. Check out this link and see what great things she is doing!

http://oregonstate.edu/leadership/president/2007Report/eda.php

Eda and her family were good friends of mine before I got married when I lived in Oregon. They came to Robert and my wedding and for years we made the trip up to Oregon to see them until kids made the trip more difficult. We eventually just lost contact. I am so excited to see what she has been up to over the years.

Good job Eda!

I Woke in the Middle of the Night...Thinking

My first waking thought at 4:59am was of a friend of mine.

Two summers ago, I remember sitting in the van with a Russian translator waiting for a Turkish lady to bring her children to us. I saw the door open and out came a beautiful woman wearing a powder blue suit with white piping. Her dark black hair was pulled up neatly in back. She carried a little blue purse that matched her outfit.

She moved her four children then nine months, 4 yrs, 9 yrs and 12 yrs along until they reached the car. When she got to the car I smiled at her introduced myself and helped everyone into the car. We went to our office to begin the process of registration for school.

Robert was at the office along with our children. We were met by our oldest daughter who had already begun to set the table for our guests. She had set tea out with cookies, nuts and candy. Our guest, L, sat down elegantly on a chair and began to drink her tea.

I had known from the minute I saw her leaving her front door that I would like her. She had a ready smile, a husband she enjoyed and loved and children who she felt the same about. She was a strong woman who had been through times of difficulty and was stronger for it. Not bitter and vengeful. I liked her. I like her.

One day not long after that first day, we went as a family to their home and visited, ate dinner with them. Monthly visits became a norm for us. Then one evening she was obviously having a difficult time. I asked her about it. Her husband told us that she had been to the doctor that day and been given the results of tests. She had cancer. Aggressive cancer. I went home and cried.

At the end of this summer she called me. I was sitting at a picnic table with my family meeting our children's new teacher when the call came in. I had been trying to reach her but had been unable to so I excused myself and took the call. I will never forget it. She said "Hello" and we talked small talk for a bit then she told me why she had called. She had neighbors who needed our help. "Would we help?" I said we would and then I asked about her, how was she? Her composure left. She started to cry. "I am still very sick. I am so sick that I cannot cook. Because I cannot cook my father-in-law left. He moved to NY." She cried. I let her. She struggled to regain her composure. I promised to visit her.

Over the next few months I tried to. But when I would got into her neighborhood without another refugee or without my own children she was never home. Finally again the other day she called. This time she got my message machine. I was in a meeting that I could not get out of. She said to my machine "Hello. This is L. I hope you remember me. I need your help. Can you call me when you are able?"

When I called her back I found a very hurting woman. Her cancer had gotten much worse. She had been doing so much chemo that often she was incredibly sick. A few times she had heard me at the door or on the phone but had been unable to get up to answer the door. Her husband had gotten a job and over the fall his job had taken a down turn. So in order to keep his job he had to work out of town. He had been out of town for the last twenty days. So now she was alone. Three of her children were at school now all day long and her youngest, Iy, was at home with her. Now he is three. He is a very active child. On the morning I called we talked about her trouble. She needs a place for Iy to stay during the day when they are alone. A place for him to play with other children, to be active. She told me what had happened the day before. She had chemo and had come home. She was so sick that she couldn't answer my call when I called. She couldn't answer the door. She couldn't move. She had just laid there crying. Her husband was 200 miles away and had been gone for 20 days. She and Iy were the only ones home and he had gotten so angry with her for not moving that he had started to hit her and scream at her.

This dear reader is the thought that awoke me this morning. Christmas is over. People will be getting back to business as usual and now I must begin research. I must find a good and safe place for Iy to go when his mother is sick. I will begin today with cancer support groups trying to find a place not only for him but for her as well. A way for them to be taken care of.

If you, are a prayer...please pray for me today. Pray for magic to happen and for God to bring the exact right person into this situation.

Ohhh... How I wish I had a picture

I got up early yesterday morning and headed out. Robert was at school and so I needed to do a bus appointment and I needed to get to a school for a registration. I was feeling a bit tense.

I was sitting in the car waiting in traffic when I first noticed the rain. It had been raining since I left the house but the rain was changing. A flake of snow had just dropped onto my windshield. Three days before Thanksgiving, it felt like spring yesterday, and now it was snowing. Ugh! was my first most honest thought.

As I drove on I noticed that snow was beginning to collect on the last remaining leaves, on the trees, it was building up on roof tops and it was laying on the ground. I arrived at my destination, pulled up to the apartment building and went to get my charge. Her very tall African father answered the door. He greeted me... in French... I spoke back in Haitian Creole...we got through it and then I remembered the snow. "Garde" I said "Ou bezwen garde sa. Neige... My friend gave me a funny look. "Neige?" He asked questioning. I realized he understood the word neige in the same way that I know the word cyclone. I know the word but I don't really know what a cyclone is so if I ever saw one I would not know what I was looking at or what to do. I realized that I was going to be able to experience someone seeing snow for the first time. It has been awhile since I have been able to show someone snow for the first time. I love doing it. It makes me happy.

So "A", my charges father followed me out, onto the sidewalk. A tall, thin, barefoot, African man. He bent over a bit and looked out around the corner to where it was snowing. I said "touche?" (touch). A huge grin covered his face. When he grins his whole face changes color, his cheeks become full and lines around his mouth form and become distinct. This is a refugee man who has seen terror, who may have nightmares about it regularly but who is still in the habit of smiling, in the habit of joy. You can see it in the lines of his face. Anyway, he smiled, even chuckled a bit and replied "no..."

He kept watching the snow until his daughter, "H", my charge came. She and I left for school. At school I took off my glove and grabbed a bit of snow off of the top of a wooden fence post. "Touche?" I asked. H giggled and waved her arms in response "awww...touche, come on." I pleaded. Again she giggled and said no. So I threw the little bit I had in my hand at the arm of her coat. It hit its mark and she laughed saying "Pas bien, pas bien" (not good, not good) I laughed with her and said "No, no, bien bien." (no, no, good, good) We went into the school laughing.

Half an hour later I had H taken care of and was in my car headed to another home for another family. It was still snowing and now there was even more snow on the ground and in the trees. It was another African home I was going to. One of the children greeted me at the door. I stood around waiting for dresses to go over little girls heads, for socks and shoes to go on and for coats to be zipped. When all of this had been done the little children and I went outside to wait for their mother "V" while she finished getting herself ready to go.

The three children stood on the stoop looking at the snow. Again I picked some up in my ungloved hand. This time I could only reach out with it and use the English word "touch." I knew they would not know the word but they would understand the action so I said "touch" and to my surprise each one of them touched it. They giggled. I threw the small ball at one of them and got them bouncing, laughing. I picked up another and got the coat arm of another little girl and my final shot got their older brother. They all laughed and scattered so I couldn't get them. When their mother joined us we were laughing in the middle of a full fledged snow ball fight. Happily we all climbed in my car and they headed to school for the first time. It was their first day with snow and their first day of school.

Storytelling...the need to tell

Hey guys- parts of this blog will be a bit graphic

so please be aware as you read it!!

Stories help people to become animated, alive and full of different kinds of emotions. Many places in our world are based on oral communication. For years and years every time Robert and I did a registration we asked the family to tell us their story, how they got to America. When we began with the Haitians in 93' we didn't know the importance of this request. As a matter of fact until Robert went to a conference in October by Dan Allendar based on his book "Wounded Heart, dealing with victims of sexual abuse" we still didn't truly realize the importance of telling your story.

A Haitian story is about a man who had a radio show. When the unrest began to happen with Jean Bertrand Aristide, this man let everyone know his opinion over the airwaves. He supported Aristide. The rebels came for him and his family. They had to run.

A Bosnian story... A lady sat in front of us "needing" to explain the Bosnian war. She talked about how under Tito things had been good. In the fifty years of his reign life had been easy. Then he died and leaders began to fight over land, money and power. They used the ancient religions as leverage. She had grown up with a brother named S. He had a best friend who had lived next door to them all of their lives. The two boys had be born within days of each other. In truth this lady had two brothers. F, the next door neighbor and her own brother. F was a Serbian while S's family was Muslim. When the war finally after years came to their village-- one day the fighting began and the last she saw of her brother was him running in the city square away from his best friend. F shot S in the back right between the shoulder blades. S fell to his knees and died. F left his body in the town square and moved on to others. That day this woman lost her father, mother and brother in the same way. She was able to escape the village with her husband and brand new son. She is a haunted woman today.

An Iraqi story... one of the police officers came. He had been an officer in one of the cities that had rebelled against Saddam. The Americans were due to come in and overtake Iraq. They had promised. On the night the invasion was supposed to happen, he was on duty, waiting... the word finally came from the Americans. They had made a deal with Saddam. They were pulling out of Iraq. He ran! He couldn't go back into his village. He had to leave his family. They didn't even know where he was for years. They didn't know if he had survived that night.

An Afghan story...The family woke. The mother helpe her sons get safely to school. This was a very dangerous thing for her to do but she did it daily. The father was just leaving their home for work when a few members of the Taliban broke in. They killed him that day and threw his body in the back yard. During that day the wild dogs found his body. After school the eldest son of the man found his father's body in the back yard. I must tell you that it was at this story, listening to the anger, hatred, and festering pain in the wife/mother that I began to not want to hear stories. She told me that story for two hours, in perfect detail. It still rolls around in my head occasionally. I had a very hard time removing the graphic details that played a movie for me. Sometimes this work can be gut wrenching.

A Congolese story... He was a student. She was pregnant with their first child. They were newly married and beginning a life together. The war broke out. He was from one tribe and she was from the other. She had the baby and within days the war came to their city. They took the baby and ran. At one point they were starving, her belly was very bloated and sore, she was trying to feed the baby. They found fruit that had been eaten and discarded. It was decomposing. They ate it. They found an open sewer with other people drinking from it. They drank too! They prayed "God deliver us!"

This couple was amazing. As they sat on our couch blessing us with their story they got very animated. Emotions crossed they face... anger, hatred, bitterness, terror, disgust, peace and thankfulness. It amazed me that day what the human spirit can take and get past.

An African story... a young woman lost her husband to the rebels in Sierra Leone. She took her baby boy and they escaped to a refugee camp. They had no family so the camp was more dangerous then normal for them. They were starving because she was unable to fight for enough food in the camp. One day a man came to her tent. He had rice. He offered it for sex. She accepted. The next day another man came and then another. It had gotten out of hand. She was now a camp prostitute. She had more children. Now she sits in front of us. We ask her where the father of her children is. She makes up a convoluted story that we know doesn't work. We wonder. She is ashamed. The older kids know where they came from... they are ashamed. But she and her son survived. They are in America in a home, going to school and eating food.

Our story. We have been listening to these kind of stories weekly since 1993. As I said after the Afghan story I began to not want to hear them. They were too hard, too disgusting, to frightening, to painful and too ugly.

Then life got hard for us, for Robert and I. Our world was turned upside down, our finances were in trouble and even our marriage. We just stopped asking about stories and got through our day, our duty.

During this time, we turned our face to God. We talked and even fought with Him. Eventually things got better. Robert went to this conference and brought back with him many things but one of the most important was the power of story.

He asked a Congolese family their story last week. Another Congolese man who had come to visit us at the same time we were doing the registration sat and listened to the story. He explained cultural things to us that we did not understand. At the end of the story time he prepared to take his family home. When he stood with Robert at the door he asked Robert, "Why did you ask them their story but you did not ask me about mine." Robert was amazed. This man was jealous. We set up a time to go to their house for dinner and listen to their story. They need to tell it and we are able to listen. Perhaps we need to hear it.