summer vacation?

Well, the end of the school year finally came.  So many things happened, that I'm a little dizzy even now, one week and fifty-billion miles later.  Yes, you read that correctly, although when I say 'fifty-billion' I really just mean 'a lot.'  Flying out of West Africa is not for the faint of heart.  After thirty-plus hours in airports and airplanes, three brushes with customs, and two 'fumigations,' I finally made it back to the good old US of A.  And now I'm travelling through the greater Seattle area like a regular little nomad.  Yesterday, I walked into the office of dear old Conway (my old school) with a towering green canvas duffle, my trusty green book bag, and a ukulele.  The office manager thought I was moving in.  It was wonderful to see my students and colleagues again and get to say a proper goodbye.  Though I'm pretty sure I left my heart on the playground.  The dear little ones just orbited around me all recess.  And then there was church, followed by a proper movie night with Shelby...and I'm not even going to talk about my time at Casa Walter (because I happen to be typing this in a public place, and I don't want to cry--suffice it to say I was sorely tempted to just move in for good).  There was also a whirlwind visit with Grandpa and Peggy that was well worth the drive.  Right now, I'm sitting the Seattle Pacific University library, letting the muted sounds of knowledge just wash over me.  Lovely.

There are two things I'd like to say to you today (before I leave you for an evening of nerdy revelry).  First, I wanted to share this link with you.  It was written by my friend Dianna Cash, and beautifully sums up the work that has been done in Guinea this field service.  Thank you all for being a part of this effort.  You may not feel like you did much, but you've been a great support to me in what has been a most challenging (and rewarding) year.  I know I could not have done my job without your help love.  So these numbers belong to you as much as they belong to me. 
Second, you should know that I may not have regular access to the internet over the course of my summer wanderings.  I fly out of Seattle tomorrow to spend time with the family in Hawaii and California.  Then I'm off to Texas for some training in the 'Gateway' program.  I'll be able to explain it better after it's started, but I've heard it involves learning how to fight fires at sea (sweet!).  I won't have nearly enough time with anyone, but I'm very, very grateful for the time I get with each person I see while I'm here in the States.  If I missed you, I'm sorry.  But I still carry you in my heart nevertheless.

Happy Summer!!

It's the last day of April, but it feels a bit like Fall to me.  In four weeks, the school year will be over and I'll be somewhere else.  The ship will be getting ready to sail to the Canary Islands.  Three of our families will have moved on to the next page of their adventure, somewhere else.  Some really good friends are going away.  Also, the dry season is on its way out, and one can feel a touch of coolness in the air.  So many endings.  I can't help but feel a tad melancholy about the whole thing.

But we're not saying Goodbye today, so let's give our heads a shake and get on with the blog.  I'm sitting at my desk right now, listening to the first graders on the other side of the wall learn about Magnetic Force.  My friend Kayleigh is the first grade teacher here, and she loves teaching science lessons.  Seems like every time I come into her room for a chat/venting session/stare out the window time/cookiefest, there's some fun-looking science activity afoot.  I think it was last month they were soaking gummi bears to see if the dye would come out of the gummi.  And then there was the month or so when tiny plants were sprouting out of six little well-loved cups of soil--so exciting!  When the walls are thin, you either become real good friends with your neighbor or else you try to avoid eye contact.  I'm so glad Kayleigh is the first kind.  I wonder what my class sounds like from over there. 

A couple weeks ago, I had the opportunity to visit a mosque and spend the day with a Guinean family.  It was a truly amazing experience.  Here are a few pictures.

This is the view from the women's balcony, looking down on the rest of the mosque.  You may not be able to see it, but the walls are covered with beautiful designs incorporating Arabic writing.  Our guide translated some of the words.  Something about living righteously to please God, I think.  The red carpets are for all the people to kneel on, and there are small wooden shelves every few yards along the row for people to put their shoes in.  It was very cool and quiet inside, and pretty to look at.

The man on the left was our guide, while the one on the right was a student of the Immam (I think) who explained to us about muslim prayer beads.  There are ninety-nine beads on the string, three rows of thirty-three, each representing a name of God.  While there are some significant differences between what I believe about who God is and what these fellows believe about him, I found myself really appreciating the reverence that they show in their approach to worship.  Also, I was grateful that the men at the mosque were willing to show us how they pray, and answer all our questions.  It's so nice to have one's curiosity satisfied without having to be afraid.

And now for my favorite part of the day:  spending time with the Selah family!  All the aunts, uncles, and cousins live together in one largish compound, and everyone takes care of everyone else's children so that you can't really tell who belongs to whom.

This is my room mate Michelle and me helping the ladies fix dinner.  We were tasked with chopping onions.  What we really did was mangle them until the patient lady in the red shirt took them off our hands and did it proper.  Oh well...  we can't all be cooks, can we?

This is the newest edition to the family, a beautiful little albino baby.  Her name, I believe, is Stephanie, and I got to hold her!!

This is me playing (or trying to play) the Balafon.  See how the poor musician has to hold the tops of the mallets?  He was showing me, for the fifty-first time, how the pattern went.

This was my very favorite part of the day.  It took me a while to learn the game, and I can't really remember how it goes now, but that little girl and I just clapped and clapped forever.

This is what we did for a good fifteen minutes, between the time our leader said we had to go home and the time we actually climbed into our Landrover and went.  Can you find me in this picture?

Friends

Let me tell you what just happened to me.  I was walking down the hallway with a trembling lip and sad puppy eyes, when I ran into my friend Remy.  Here's how the conversation went:

Remy:  Hello Sarah!
Me:  *sniff* hi.
Remy:  What's up?
Me: (all trembly)  I missed dinner.  I was showering and I took too long, and now the dining room's closed and I can't even get milk for this little bag of granola I found in my beach bag. 
Remy:  (Full of concern) Oh, well I have some yogurt in my cabin.  How many would you like?  Two?
Me: One should be enough (pathetic coughing).
Remy:  You'll need two.  Wait here a minute and I'll get them.
(My sad eyes have gone all wide and hopeful.  If they'd given Oliver Twist a roasted duck when he asked for more porridge, he'd have looked very much like me right now.)
Remy: (returning from her cabin) Here they are.  I have some eggs on the shelf in my classroom, if you want to make yourself an egg.
Me:  (happy, but still a little pathetic)  Thank you so much!
Remy:  You would have done the same for me.
Me:  Yes, I would.

So here I sit at my computer, happily munching away at my granola, now fortified with two cups of yogurt and some dried cranberries I found in my cupboard (Score!), and I reflect on how much difference a good friend makes.  I really was close to tears tonight when I rushed upstairs to find the food already gone.  I hadn't eaten a legitimate meal all day.  We'd been at the beach, snacking here and there, while we went on hikes and played in the waves, until it was time to come home.  I was so dirty I couldn't bear the thought of touching plates of food before I cleaned up.  First, I had to hunt around for my soap, and then my towel wasn't in its usual place.  What with one thing and another, I just took too long.  It seemed all hope was lost, and then in stepped a friend with yogurt.  The day was good and saved.

Sometimes I spend so much time thinking about the Big Thoughts...how to keep the balance between telling the truth about what you believe and not sounding like a heartless know-it-all...what it really means to live well...whether it's better to let your students learn from their failures or to keep them from failing in the first place...etc.  I forget that life isn't lived in absolutes but in particulars.  It doesn't matter what I think about the nature of love if I can't bring myself to show any tangible sign that I love people.  I don't just know about friendship, I am a friend, and I have friends, and we show our friendship through our actions.  Some of them are big, like when you grieve with someone, and some are modest little things, like sharing your yogurt.  But they add up to something very beautiful. 

Jesus chose to die on the cross, and that was something he had to do by himself.  But there were friends who were with him along the way, like his mother Mary, and John the Apostle.  They didn't understand what was going on, or why, but they stayed with him until it was over.  That's special.  We don't often get to do things for God.  Usually it's the other way around.  But there are times when we have the unique opportunity to show our friendship to Him, times when we can bless the One who invented blessings (which blows my mind, when I think about it).  Maybe the chances come by more often than we realize.  Jesus did say that when you do something for "the least of these [his] brothers," you do it for him.  So the next time we have a chance to do something kind for someone who couldn't possibly pay us back (or maybe just isn't very likely to), we could think "Here you go, Friend.  Enjoy."  And we'd be part of a pattern of kindness that touches the very center and source of Life.  (That sounds dramatic, but I don't know how else to say it.)

How did I get to preaching?  I really only meant to share my satisfaction in having a real dinner when I thought I'd be stuck scrounging crushed granola bits and soy milk.  Ah well.

Happy Easter, friends!

In defense of doing things the hard way...sort of...

With just about anything worth doing, there is an easy way and a hard way, and the hard way is probably the better option.  You'll find this in cooking, in exercise, in education, in relationships...  Our parents were right.  It's better to do a good job the first time.  Sometimes the first time is the only time you get. 

One of the local craftsmen who sell wood carvings and leather doodads to our ship shop had a wife who was pregnant.  When it was time for her to give birth, it became apparent that she would need a caesarean.  So they sent the man off to buy blood for his wife, in case she needed a transfusion.  (The way it works here is if you need blood, you have to buy it.)  But while he was away trying to get the money he needed, they went ahead with the surgery and lost both the mother and the baby.  It was devastating for the man, but not an uncommon occurrence here.  A friend of mine who runs an organization called Babies Without Milk to raise money to feed infants whose mothers have died, told me about one local family in which the young mother came down with malaria and died.  No one took her to the doctor or even bothered to buy medicine because they all figured she'd pull through.  Life is fragile.  No less in the US than here, although we like to think we've found a million ways to preserve it.  There are still no guarantees.

So tell people you love them, goshdarnit!  Well, I mean, make sure you know them and actually do love them and all.  Don't just go confessing your love to random strangers or anything.  But please do take the time to tell the people you love that you love them.  Relationships are not meant to be disposable, but if you treat them that way you will cut yourself off from everything that makes life matter.  ...And while we're on the subject, children are not pets.  Nor are they hobbies you can pick up and then slough off at will.  They are people, and they are worth every bit of time and energy it takes to raise them!  I'm not saying you need to drop everything you like to do and sign them up for soccer, ballet, judo, acting lessons, and tutoring.  I am saying that when your little darling does something foolish or cruel, you discipline them lovingly.  You work hard to be kind and generous and always keep your word because you know that your kids are watching, and they will judge themselves and others by the standard you set.  I'm saying you put down your books and gadgets and play with them.  And when they ask you hard questions, you take the time to answer honestly and from your heart.  I'm saying you delight in them.  You call out good things in them.  You sacrifice your happiness for their good.  And you pray for them all the time.

Ahem.  I don't know where that came from.  I watch these silly movies and tv shows, and get all worked up when the main character pretty much throws his/her family away in pursuit of something that will turn out to be empty.  Don't do it!  I yell at the screen, Stop right there, get back in your car and drive home to your wife and kids!  They never listen.  It's like they aren't even watching the show. 

In other news, I am officially coming back to teach at the Mercy Ships Academy next year!  If all goes according to plan, we'll be working in Congo, docked at Point Noir.  With this in mind, my summer plans run thusly:  1) Fly from Conakry to Seattle and split about three-ish weeks between family and friends in Washington and family and friends in California, 2) Fly out to the IOC in Texas (I don't know what the acronym stands for, it's like the US headquarters for Mercy Ships) for several weeks of training, and 3) Fly back out to the Africa Mercy which will probably be docked somewhere in the Canary Islands.  On the one hand, I'm so excited to see you all I can't hardly contain myself.  On the other hand, I don't know how I'm going to squish a year's worth of hugging and visiting with all-y'all into those piddly three weeks.  And on the third hand, I'm excited to see Congo and all the cool things that'll happen when we're there.  I may just be an emotional basket case for a while.  Fair warning.

I just want to thank you, again, for helping me come here and teach these wonderful kids in this beautiful corner of the world.  We come and go and do amazing things every day, so that it eventually becomes routine.  But I'm not taking any of it for granted, and I know that the people we help in Guinea aren't either.  My friends and I were in the market this morning looking for fabric and a man shouted out "Mercy Ships!  I love you!" when he saw us.  It felt kind of silly at the time, because how do you respond to that?  But the truth is that the man knew that we were from the ship, and that the ship was doing something good, if not for him or his family, then for his country.  And since you are all a part of my being here, I pass his sentiments on to you.  Thank you.  And (because I take my own advice) I love you!

Here we are getting ready to go on an adventure! 

These are just some of the beautiful fabrics we looked at today.  (My friend Stephanie took this picture.)

Ca va? Ca va bien, merci!

Did you know that Romania has 53 airports, or that Luxembourg has cheap gas?  These are just two facts among several that my 7th and 8th graders have picked up in their European travels.  Sometimes I hear them talking amongst themselves about this town in Switzerland or that airport in France, and I think to myself "Why am I the one teaching them Geography?"  And then one of them tries to pass off a picture of an Alaskan glacier as part of Holland because it came up on their google images search and they didn't stop to wonder how a glacier might form in a country where almost a third of the land is below sea level.  (Fun fact:  the name "Netherlands" literally means "low country".)  Then I think, "Right, that's why I'm the teacher."

The only thing more surreal than living on a ship that sits more than it sails, where helping the blind see and the lame walk, etc. is more or less a daily thing, is teaching on one.  For someone who has given up home, job, family, Target, sushi, etc. to come to Africa and serve "the world's forgotten poor," I really don't see much of them.  To put it another way, if you thought of the Africa Mercy as a giant body, my fellow teachers and I would be the equivalent of some sort of gland that secretes the goo that helps the muscles move the bones to walk and so forth.  We all know glands are important, but when Michael Phelps won pretty much every gold medal in Beijing, nobody was saying, "That boy's got some impressive glands!"  I'm not complaining, really.  I guess I'm just trying to explain why with all the fuss I made about coming to Africa and asking you all to support me with your prayers/thoughts, letters, money, etc., I don't seem to have had much regular contact with the Africans I came here to help.  On my low-confidence days, this bothers me a lot.  But the truth is that my immediate ministry is with about twenty eleven to eighteen-year-olds, the health and well-being of whom directly affects the hearts and hands that heal the blind, lame, disfigured, and outcast.  Moral of the story:  if you can read this, thank a "gland."

Ooh, and speaking of eleven to eighteen-year-olds, did you by any chance, have a chance to watch this segment of last week's 60 minutes?  It features one of my students!  That makes me famous by proxy, and since you all know me, you are now famous by proxy once removed, as it were.  You're welcome.  Since watching American TV is a little complicated around here, we all watched the 60 Minutes report together on Tuesday evening, and it was a really cool (and slightly nerve-wracking) experience.  One never knows how one will come across on television, and for the most part, I think CBS got it right.  The only correction I would make is to point out that we are not a "mostly American" crew.  There are in fact more than 30 nationalities represented onboard at present.  But I'm not going to complain too loudly.  It's pretty darn cool to be on TV. 

Okay, time for a picture or two...

This is a picture of a typical "Ward Service."  On Sunday mornings, our West African crew like to invite patients and crew to participate in a church service right here on the ship.  I like to come to this service as often as I can because, in addition to the great West African worship (songs in French and Creole as well as English) I have a chance to make connections with some amazing people.  The Guinean people who come to the ship are very courageous, not only because they have made the journey to get here (one woman spent months walking to Conakry in hopes that we could help her) but also because they have trusted their health and in a sense, their future, to a group of weird looking strangers.  If all I can do is say "Bonjour, ca va?" and shake hands and smile, it still means a great deal to me.  (We all look very serious in this photo.  I think we're trying to figure out the words of the song.  With a congregation as linguistically diverse as this, sometimes all we can do is clap together.)

I know what you're thinking, and yes, that is my mother standing next to me!  This week, my mom was able to fly all the way over from California to have a taste of life on the Africa Mercy.  She ate with me, went to Sunday services, helped out in the classroom, and even accompanied me on a venture into Conakry to purchase some delicious mangoes.  It was wonderful to be able to share this life with her, even for a little while.  I didn't even think it would be possible for her to come, but as you can see, she did.  I am very blessed!  By the way, you may have noticed that we are wearing matching wrap-around skirts.  I made these.  I purchased the fabric at the market and sewed them (!) with a sewing machine (!!).  It was my first experience with a sewing machine, but fortunately wrap-arounds are not rocket science.  Still, I never thought I would sew anything that one could actually wear!

Bored?!?

I'm ashamed to admit it, but today I am bored.  How can you be bored in Africa?!  Well, the human soul is a sort of black hole sometimes, and there's nothing you can do but chug away at whatever's in front of you until something comes by to take your focus off of the general dullness of life.  It's a shame, really, because now after waiting ever so long for word from your well-loved wanderer, you'll have to slog through my complaining of boredom.  And then the contagion of my dissatisfaction will have spread over into your day and spoilt what should have been a lovely "chat".  Sorry about that. 

Hey!  I have an idea!  There's this wonderful little boy I've made friends with at the Hope Center (a facility off-ship, where patients go to prepare for/recover from their surgeries).  His name is Yaya, and recently our media team wrote up a nice story about him.  So, in lieu of several paragraphs of my complaining, why don't I copy and paste a bit of Yaya's story here?  Maybe I can even find a picture of him to show you.  Yes, this is much better.  You can see a different view of what we're all doing here in Conakry.

Rather than joyous celebration, the reaction to Yaya’s birth was broken family ties. Yaya’s mother, Salematou, and his father, Abdulaye, were not married when their son was born. The tradition that Salematou’s father lived by did not make room for a child born out of wedlock. Despite Salematou’s pleading with her father to allow her to keep her child, his decision was final. As soon as Yaya could leave his mother’s breast, he was sent to live with Kadiatou, his grandmother on his father’s side.


 Living with his grandmother turned out to be a wonderful blessing for Yaya. Kadiatou personifies the bottomless heart and limitless space that African grandmothers offer their children and their children’s children. She assumes whatever responsibility comes her way, no matter the burden. Kadiatou explains, “There are many mouths that I feed in my family. In addition to Yaya, five of my children and their nine children need my support too. Everyone shares in the work of the household, but earning income in Conakry is very difficult. My husband now, Mamadouba, is very old. He gives what money he can, but he has family to support too.”

Yaya stole his grandmother’s heart from day one. His ready smile and eagerness to be close to her formed a thick bond. When tragedy struck Yaya, Kadiatou was distraught. “Yaya started walking when he was one year old, but after taking a few steps he would fall. We tried many traditional medicines, but his condition grew worse. At eighteen months, his legs started to twist and curl up. They failed him entirely.”

Yaya’s uncle, also named Yaya, remembers this as a time of many trials for his mother. “Kadiatou was so afraid for Yaya. He often had a high fever, and his legs would cramp up terribly. He would cry for hours from the pain. Kadiatou tried everything to soothe him. She held him for hours. Then my father and sister died very close together. My mother’s heart was broken into so many pieces.”

Kadiatou, who had taken in her daughter’s five children, decided that moving the family to Conakry, the capital of Guinea, was best for Yaya. “I hoped that the medical care Yaya needed was in a big city. As well, I knew that Conakry had schools for handicapped children that Yaya could attend.” Another important reason for the move was that Kadiatou was protecting Yaya from the villagers who thought that children with disabilities were cursed. She would not stand for her grandson being tormented, ridiculed, or forced into hiding.

When Yaya reached five years of age, he started attending the school for handicapped children. “I was so happy for Yaya. He started to learn his letters and bring home things he made,” Kadiatou says. Although there were no school fees and transportation was provided, Kadiatou still had expenses to cover, like school supplies. She made ends meet by going to the Grand Mosque daily and helping with cleaning and cooking. After a full year of being a volunteer, she was finally included in the group that received a weekly stipend, plus donations of money and food from appreciative people attending the Mosque.

Yaya often joined Kadiatou at the Mosque after school, and he soon became a favorite with everyone. In the Muslim faith, people are eager to help the needy as a way of observing sadaqah, the duty to overcome miserliness. Many Muslims wanted Yaya to join the group of handicapped people who begged, so that people could give to him. Kadiatou was against Yaya’s doing this, regardless of the enormous struggle she had to support the family. “I faced so much pressure to allow Yaya, in such obvious need, to help people fulfill their duty to sadaqah. I finally relented,” she explains.

Kadiatou continued to be distressed with Yaya’s participating in sadaqah. She prayed that Yaya would get his education and find an occupation where he could use his sharp mind and very able hands. Kadiatou had many doubts about her prayer being answered, but she remained faithful, clutching that thin bit of hope to her heart.

Yaya himself dared not hope. But then an incredible set of circumstances unfolded around him. Nick Veltjens, who worked with orthopedic patients, saw Yaya at the patient screening location the day before consultations began. “I waited all screening day for Yaya to come because I thought we could help him. We didn’t see him that day, so I sent an email around asking if anyone knew where he was.”

According to Yaya, “I did go to the screening with my friend, but I lost my courage.” Yaya left without being examined.

The next day, Dan Bergman, a long-term hospital volunteer, came to Nick with a video of a possible orthopedic patient that he had just seen outside the Mercy Ships Dental Clinic. According to Nick, “What a coincidence that Dan found the same little guy that I was looking for!”

For Dan, this series of events said loud and clear that, “God wanted Yaya to find Mercy Ships. He kept putting him in front of us!” Dan tracked Yaya down at the Mosque and delivered the news that he had an appointment at the hospital ship.

But Yaya missed his appointment. As he says, “I did not believe I could be healed, and so I did not want to tell my grandmother to bring me. She would be too disappointed.” But another divine coincidence occurred that finally put Yaya and Mercy Ships together. A government official, Cellou, who had befriended Yaya at the Mosque, was at the Mercy Ships Dental Clinic that same week. He casually asked what a young boy with deformed legs needed to do to get an appointment. It was quickly realized that the boy in question was Yaya and that he just needed someone to bring him to his appointment.

Cellou immediately went to Yaya’s grandmother with the news about Yaya’s appointment. They agreed that Cellou would go to the hospital ship with the boy. When Kadiatou received the telephone call from Cellou telling her that Yaya was accepted for surgery, she experienced a mixture of emotions. “I was so grateful that Yaya could be helped. It was all that I had prayed for. But I was also very uncertain and afraid. I wondered how it would be possible to fix Yaya’s legs and what he would go through.”

Dr. Frank Haydon, volunteer orthopedic surgeon, was able to fix Yaya’s legs. According to Dr. Frank, “The condition that Yaya was born with caused his bones to be very brittle. As he started to walk, the pressure on the bones caused multiple fractures. The surgery he had aligned his leg bones properly, and the two rods I installed will give his legs the needed strength and structure so he can walk.”

Each day Yaya does grow stronger. He is starting to take his own steps with the help of a walker, and he has progressed to simple below-the-knee leg casts. But at the same time, each day wears on Kadiatou. She shows the strain of being away from family and being indebted to more and more neighbors. She has borrowed money from them for food and malaria medication. However, regardless of the hardship, Kadiatou’s commitment to see Yaya through his healing journey is unwavering. “I would endure anything so Yaya can do what he longs to do more than anything else – play football. By suffering for Yaya and my family now, I know that there will be great happiness in the future,” she says.

According to his uncle, Yaya’s journey to hope and healing is summed up in a few words: “Yaya is so loved by everyone on Mercy Ships.” And, still, even with so many kind hearts embracing Yaya, there is one who continues to occupy the most special place in his heart. As clear as a bell, Yaya declares, “I love my Grandmother so much! She has done everything for me.”


There now, wasn't that better than my whining?  I feel better myself, in fact.  And Yaya really is a marvelous person--smart, engaging, and just full of energy!  We are all convinced that he will be running the world someday.

(The story was written by my Toastmaster buddy, Joanne Thibault, and the photo was taken by Michelle Murray.)

Merry Christmas!

A Merry Christmas to all you wonderful people!  You've been very much in my heart these last few weeks.  Little things pop up to remind me of this or that.  In a surreal moment, I found myself watching an episode of Stargate SG-1 with the Africa Mercy Nerd Herd.  My heart shed a tiny nostalgic tear when I saw those familiar faces (Walter! Siler! Oh stock footage of British Columbia, I've missed you!).  On a very long car ride back to the ship I found myself making up a story to entertain some kids, just like I used to do for J.J. in Mount Vernon.  And of course the onslaught of Christmas movies we've been watching on this ship does nothing to help matters.  Also, I feel I should confess that whenever I get the chance to, I stalk you all on facebook.  If I can't be there with you in your festive celebrations, I can at least look at the pictures and pretend I'm there.  Sigh...

It is a fact that saying yes to one thing necessarily means saying no to many others, so even though my heart aches at the thought of all the loved ones I won't see this Christmas, it is also bursting with gratitude for all the rich experiences I am having here in Guinea.  I shall try to share a few of them with you.

Almost two weeks ago, my good friend Rebekah got married, and I got to be one of her bridesmaids.  Here's a picture.

See how I'm holding my skirt up with my left hand?  That's because we got our dresses sewn for us by a local tailor who, despite our efforts to communicate otherwise, insisted that all right thinking bridesmaids wear heels with their dresses.  Since most of us very sensibly bought flat silver sandals, our dresses were all a few inches too long for us.  The wedding was a wonderful blend of cultures as Rebekah is from the US and James (the fellow she married) is from Nigeria.  The ceremony itself was relatively short and simple (a Western thing), but it was the first wedding I've ever been to where everybody dances down the aisles and out of the church at the end (definitely an African thing).  Actually, we did a lot of dancing (and, unfortunately, sweating) that day.  It was great fun!

Last night, the Australian contingent got together and planned a traditional Australian "Carols by Candlelight" sing-along.  We all gathered on the dock to eat grilled chicken and sing Christmas Carols.  Highlights of the event included:  a visit from "the Wiggles" and a very African looking Santa, and getting to hold real candles with real fire on them while we sang.  My friend Leanne took this picture.  The glowing cups are our home-made candle shields.

It was strange to look at our ship all lit-up last night and think, 'I live in that big blue and white box with about 300 other people.'  I've noticed lately, that people here are getting to know me well enough that I am no longer able to pretend my way out of a bad mood.  More than a few times over the last few weeks, I've told a friend that I was feeling 'fine,' only to meet skeptical eyes and pointed questions.  It's unnerving to have people digging around your feelings until you're all teary and vulnerable.  But I really appreciate having people here who care enough about me to help me work through things instead of letting me ignore them until they fester.  I know you all would do that for me if you were here.  I know you think about me and pray for me.  Maybe your prayers are helping my friends here notice things.  In any case, I am well taken care of. 

Well, it's Christmas Eve, and there are things to do before our special dinner tonight.  I've decided to give my students coupons for a free game day sometime this next semester as a Christmas present.  Having no Wal-Mart within driving distance really forces a person to get creative in the gift-giving department.

I love you all, and I am holding you in my heart this Christmas.

As Tiny Tim likes to say "God bless us, every one!"