a different sort of vacation

Well, here we are in Benin, West Africa. A very different place than Rome! We're here for 3 weeks, and then we make our way home.

I've been thinking today about acclimatization. Partly because of the heat/humidity here, and partly because I'm curious how long it takes to feel comfortable in a new place. Rome was easy and felt familiar, not just because it's a Western country, but because we had spent time in France and Italy 3 years ago, and it was fun to see a new part of the country and remember all of the things we loved about it (gelato, pasta, pesto, food in general, the kindness of Italians toward children, gelato, cobblestone streets, gelato). Eden also mentioned that in Rome there are many cute boys. :)

In our family, I am definitely the packer/planner/detail person on the getting ready end. But Derek is the master of figuring out a place when we get there. Maps, public transportation, grocery shopping - he thrives on figuring out all of these things. And I like someone to take me by the hand for a bit until I get my bearings. Which I still don't have, but I guess it's only been one day.

Benin is another world. I'm searching my past experiences: India, Indonesia, Morocco - but none of them are Benin. I'm pleasantly surprised by the traffic here - it's much more controlled than, say, India.

Today we went to visit 2 primary schools in villages near Cotonou, the main city in Benin where we're staying. At the first school, the children were outside for recess and our arrival caused quite a stir. White people are not often seen in these parts, and the children started chanting "yo-vo, yo-vo, yo-vo" which means "white person, white person, white person." Apparently it's not a negative term, just one that identifies us as "other." Just imagine hundreds of little children chanting this and surrounding you and poking you, and you'll know how Zoe and Eden felt. They said afterwards that they felt like movie stars.

our welcoming committee at recess time

We were then taken to each class in the school where the students stood up and introduced their class and responded to some standard greetings (hello, how are you) with responses as a group. The parts of the day I like most are engaging with people that we meet. I talked with the teachers at the first school about educational approaches and the differences between their school and schools in Canada.

It was a good, full morning. We spent the afternoon resting from the heat and from full minds - full of new sights, smells, sounds, friends. Here are some pictures from the day.

families on motorcycles

teachers at the primary school

students who are Zoe's age

students who are Eden's age

drinking coconut water on the way back

Zoe writes: the colossal colosseum

 Hi everyone! Just against my will, I got really bad Jetlag. I was sitting in a restaurant, and
every once in a while, my head flopped back, and I kind of dozed off. Then I popped back up and opened my eyes. That night, I fell asleep at 8:00pm, I was EXHAUSTED. The next day, I woke up at 11:00 am! I was still pretty tired and I didn't want to get out of bed, but I had to
stay awake because we were going to see the Colosseum!

I had gotten a mini Colosseum and was comparing it to the real one, it looked kind of similar. Did you know, it's an optical illusion that makes the Colosseum look circular. It is actually an
oval shape.

It's surprising that the Romans saw killing or attacking people as entertainment. I certainly wouldn't like that! We learned that this is what happened in the Colosseum long ago.

Ciao,
Zoe

Zoe writes: we're off!

Rebecca's note: I am pleased to introduce a guest blogger who will be blogging alongside me over the next month - my daughter, Zoe. She wanted to try blogging as a way to document what she's experiencing on our month away. I'm sure she'd love to hear your feedback! :)

This is so exciting! We’ve been talking about this for months, and now it’s actually happening! I’m on my flight to Rome, Italy. We flew over the CN tower. It doesn’t look so tall from up here!

 I’m flying Alitalia and the movies on the screen are all in Italian, so I can’t understand anything!

I’m hoping I don’t get really bad Jetlag! When we arrive in Rome, I’ll feel like it’s 1:00 in the morning but it’ll actually be 7:00 am.

 

…

Now I’m off the plane and we’ve been at a café for about an hour since a man named Romano picked us up from the airport in this huge van-taxi. It could fit 8 passengers, not including him! We can’t check in to our apartment until 11:00, so we’re sitting at this café table with all our suitcases and lots of people are giving us weird looks. Our apartment is 10-15 minutes away from basically all the Roman sites. Today we visited the Piazza Navona and tomorrow a new day begins!

eating gelato in front of the Pantheon

sitting with the famous Italian liar

drinking from a water fountain

in the Piazza Navona, a one minute walk from our apartment

There are so many things to see and do, I can’t get my head around that we’re actually in Rome!

Ciao,

Zoe

travel immunizations

We got a whole cocktail of immunizations in our arms for this trip: yellow fever, Hep A, typhoid, and meningitis. We'll take malaria pills starting on Wednesday. I don't love putting these things into my kids' bodies, but the possible alternative - to contract a preventable disease while we're away - leaves me feeling that this is a responsible thing to do as parents.

There are a few things that this raises in me.

1. We have money to do this. Many people can't afford these immunizations. They live with the risk every day, and this is part of life.

2. Life is risk. Someone told me that we should ask people to pray for our safety - both health-wise and safety from car accidents. There are risks in taking our children to Benin, Africa. But there are risks to just staying at home too. There are risks involved in driving down the 401 to the Toronto airport. So, this trip kind of scares me and mostly excites me.

3. This type of travel is a much-needed immunization for both me and my kids. It's an immunization against the dis-ease of North American entitlement. We see how many in our world live, and it changes us. Both Derek and I have traveled extensively, and we've been changed. And we will change again - I know this.

We're about to board our plane for Rome. We'd love your prayers for our safety, and for a perspective-altering experience.

“It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.” 
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

traveling shoes

On Friday we're leaving for Benin, West Africa, a trip of a lifetime. We're excited, a little nervous, and packing. And what is on my mind most? Shoes. Embarrassing, but true.

I asked my facebook friends for advice on their favourite traveling shoes. Partly because I want to reduce the number of shoes I take, and if one amazing pair of shoes can serve me for all of my needs, that would be so great. Also because I secretly want to buy a new pair of shoes.

Here is the advice that I got: Keens. Birkenstocks. Tevas. Chacos. El Naturalista. Mephisto. Romika.

All great shoes. So I went into a local shoe store last week that had all of these brand name shoes. And I came out with: nothing.

Because here's the thing: in Benin, we'll be helping out at an orphanage for a couple of weeks, and we're collecting things that they've requested for the children there. So $100+ for a brand new pair of shoes could buy a lot of needed supplies for their home and school. I still have some Tevas that "work", although they're not my favourite shoes to wear. I haven't had a pair of Birkenstocks for 18 years, and here is why:

I have had 2 pair of Birkenstocks. One pair I wore until they needed to be thrown out. I LOVED them. So much. Then I bought another pair, just before a 7 month trip to India, Indonesia, and US/Canada. We were in India for 2.5 months, and we traveled a lot by train in the sleeper cars. We were told to sleep on anything that we didn't want stolen, including our shoes.

So I diligently slept with my Birks under my head every night. Safe and sound.

One day near the end of our time in India, our group was going for a hike near a river. There were lots of rocks to climb on, so I took off my shoes. It was a beautiful, secluded spot, and we went walked a little way away from the shoes, but came back after 5 minutes. I looked at the ground where my shoes once were, and guess what? No Birks. My heart sank. We hadn't seen a soul around that area, but I ran barefoot down the path, and spied 2 boys running down the other side of the river, my precious Birks in hand. "Stop!" I yelled. "I'll pay you for them!" I knew they would probably sell them at the market to make some money. But they didn't stop. They just kept on running.

We had a fair walk to go back into town, where we were staying. For half of the walk, I was barefoot. And it really made me think. About all of the Indian people that I saw every day without any shoes at all. And here I was, poor me, pining away for my $70 cushy shoes, when most would be happy with a pair of plastic flipflops.

The ground burned my feet so I had to keep moving, and stopped on any patch of grass I found. My soles were weak and uncalloused - not used to that kind of heat.

A little Indian woman saw me hopping along and offered me her flipflops. I said no, thank you, I'm fine, but she insisted. They were about 2 sizes too small, but she seemed happy to help me, so we walked the rest of the way to the town, side by side, her calloused feet on the gravel, my cushy feet in her shoes.

The next day I bought a new pair of shoes from the Bata store there. They were nothing like my Birks, but still fairly comfortable. They were a constant reminder of my wealth. Shoes are like that, you know.

So that's why in the last week I have walked out of the shoe store exactly 3 times with nothing in my hands. I know I am privileged in this world, and there are other ways that this is noticeable - not just in my shoes. In the next 5 days, I may yet bring myself to shell out some money for some shoes. I'll keep you posted.

brokenness and new life

I don't know why broken trees make me feel so sad. I guess I think about all of the years it took them to grow. Our ice storm, exactly one week ago, wreaked havoc on our trees. Some suffered minimal damage - a branch here, a limb there. Others, majestic, old trees, were split down the middle of their trunks.

I told my dad how it made me feel to see the trees on the farm broken like that. He just looked at me, hazel-green eyes calm, and said, "I just think it's nature's way of encouraging new growth."

Through my tears several weeks ago, my mom took me on a walk through the woods on the farm, and showed me little shoots growing up from the ground. It was this same idea: bright new green growing from soggy brown composting leaves.

Now, I'm not going to go looking for reasons to be broken. But when it comes, I can see this is what it does: makes a painful break, and then, after time, cracks open your heart to new life. Makes beauty from brokenness.

broken

it's a word that keeps coming back to me lately: broken.

It's how I felt on Monday when I heard the news from the Boston marathon. Broken.

It's how I felt on Tuesday when I read the news that a high school classmate, beautiful mother of 4, had passed away from cancer, her children by her side.

It's how I felt when I heard that Melanie, strong mother of our little friend Nolan, sang him lullabies into the night as he breathed his last breath.

It's how I felt when Nolan was diagnosed with brain cancer. It's how I felt when he died.

It's how I felt imagining my own 6 year old as one of those first-graders at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Connecticut last December.

From public news to the personal stories all around us, there are cracks and huge chasms.

"There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." - Leonard Cohen

I usually like to protect myself. Say "I can't go there." Just to preserve me. And because I'm afraid. But lately, I've let the cracks shape me. Tear me open just a bit.

Those cracks make me sad, but also open me to tenderness. To compassion. To love.

Some days I have cried, cursed God, stared blankly out windows, no prayer words coming. Because there's something I know in the deepest part of me: it could have been me.

"The end of my youth was the possible truth that it all happens randomly." - Indigo Girls

The sermon preached at Nolan's funeral by Rev. Mark Lewis, helped me to remember to believe. In God, in humanity, in tenderness. I want to share some of the words with you:

"When a child dies, when a life so bright and promising comes to an untimely end, I ask the same questions that many of you are asking today, “Where is God?” and “How can God be so cruel?” I have struggled with these questions throughout my life, and I have worked out answers which might be of some help. I think I can tell you where God is.

On the night of Friday March 22, just before the opening game of the Kitchener Rangers / Guelph Storm series, God was at center ice; God was in the heart of a little boy filled with excitement, joy and exuberance as he dropped the puck to start the series. God was in the heart of a little boy so concerned with fairness that he wore both a Rangers Jersey and a signed Storm hat in order to show no bias. God was there! And not just in the boy, but also in his mom and dad and his two sisters who shared his joy and understood what the moment meant to the boy. And God was in the fans who filled the arena and who understood the majesty, solemnity, gravity and transcendent joy of the moment. And God was in the players who gladly stepped aside in awe and respect to invite Nolan to center ice and into such a magnificent moment. God is in humanity when humanity rises to such heights of love and compassion.  

God is not outside of us; God does not just live in churches, and is not particularly concerned with religious matters. God is concerned with tenderness and with our ability to feel the hurt and joy of others. God lives in us when with compassion we feel the needs of others.

You all feel brokenness, deep sorrow and tenderness towards this family; those feelings are God. 

God is not external to us; God is not outside or foreign. God is in our tears and our laughter.  God is in our love and care. We should have known this all along."

mourning with my children

It feels like the last week has passed in a foggy haze. Easter came too early this year, and I'm still not really there. I can identify with disciples who were walking around aimlessly, wondering what had happened to their friend and teacher. Right now I'm still not ready to believe in the miracle of the resurrection. Questions from my daughters ring in my ears: "why Jesus, but not Nolan? Why Lazarus, but not our friend?"

Mourning and celebrating the life of our dear friend Nolan has been heartbreaking and deeply moving. We are better people for knowing him and his inspiring family.

This has been a huge time of learning for our daughters and for us as parents. It was a teacher we didn't ask for: a friend who became sick with a terminal brain cancer - but it's the one we got, and we have certainly learned a lot of life lessons.

We have learned about the importance of visiting friends who may look and sound different than when we used to play with them at school.

We learned that you can care for people going through hard times by showing them you care, and by surrounding them with prayers. It's not an exaggeration to say that we have prayed for Nolan every day since we learned of his illness in September. Eden continues her prayers this week, praying that Nolan is having a good time with our guinea pig in heaven. His heroic journey has left a permanent mark on our whole family.

We learned that prayers can come in tangible forms. Our daughters and their friend gave a symbol of love by gifting Nolan with a prayer shawl in the fall. His mom told us that he kept this blanket very close, asking for it to come with him on his visits to the hospital. Prayers can come in the form of food and cards and messages of support and condolence. Today the girls wanted to pick out special beads to give to his family - ones that reminded them of Nolan.

We learned that it's ok to cry. Children learn, somehow, that they should keep their tears inside and not let others see them cry. We have done a lot of crying as a family: crying first for his illness, and then to mourn his death. We have cried in front of our church, and cried in front of friends and family. It's not just ok to cry; it's good to cry.

We learned that through this mourning, walls are broken down. Other parents of children our age, who were acquaintances before, become friends as we console each other in this time of deep pain. Teachers hug students, parents hug teachers, boundaries that are usually put up in the name of safety and professionalism fall down as we realize that we are all just humans grieving a great loss of a little boy.

We learned that others support you when you're grieving. Through hugs, phone calls, flowers, cards, and presence people show that they care that you are hurting. This is a powerful lesson of compassion.

We have learned about funerals: tributes, caskets, giving flowers, sharing photos, and remembering.

We learned that in this life we will experience pain, and that we can show God/love/tenderness to each other by supporting each other through that pain.

We learned that cancer is as close as your good friend in kindergarten.

We learned that a life can go on in the way that we live today. We know what things were important to Nolan. How can we pay tribute to these things in our own lives in an ongoing way?

We learned that grief comes and goes. We can't just cry once and be finished. Eden's teacher told me that for kids, grief is like puddle-jumping. They're in one moment, then out the next.

Eden's dragonfly and lily pad with names to remind her of loved ones who have died.
Great kids' book about dying that her Sunday school teacher read: Waterbugs and Dragonflies.

We learned that we live in a broken, grieving world where people are capable of boundless love and deep tenderness. That we need those things in large amounts in our world today. We need compassionate children and adults.

We learned that we can continue to remember.