The Cutest Darn Writer's Block Ever

I haven't written much in a good long while, and as much as I kind of rue that unfortunate truth. I simply adore the reason for it. My little man steals a lot of my time and energy these days. Not to say that I would change that for the world. I love being his Mommy. Its the most natural life transition I think I have ever made, going from just Jo to MamaD.

But I was challenged lately to get back into writing. A friend of mine recently started a group for prospective writers to help encourage us to keep going forward in our projects. Currently I can't really say that I have any projects on the table, but I do have this blog which has been woefully abandoned. In the interest of staying true to this new group I feel I should pick back up on posting short stories and life lessons on here.

It used to be one of my very deep avowed hopes to someday be a published author and be able to help support our family from my writing. Unfortunately for me... my writing requires a certain level of calm determination which in my crazy busy life I do not often feel that I have. I need to be able to ruminate on ideas and concepts before they can be transferred into tangible words and expounded onto paper.

And wouldn't you know it, God even gave me the time to do this! One of my client's passed away a couple months ago and I haven't been able to pick up a new permanent position so I have 1 day a week off work. Lately, that has ended up being a snow day from preschool for my little distraction and I end up playing with him all day, but today its just a day off so I am sitting in the coffee shop as I used to do so frequently back in my 20s and just typing away. I'm not even sure that I have that much to write about today, but when I start typing sometimes everything else fades away and I am able to get to that calm, contemplative place where things are born.

So, here is the question: If I were to work on writing something, what would you most like to read?
Maybe I should go back and dust off that book that I had previously been working at writing. It was a bit of an autobiography and that of course is 1/2 silly (because I'm nobody special) and 1/2 scary, because there is so much of my soul bared in those pages. I'd really love to write more about my experience living and working in Uganda. Some about my experience in a multicultural, multiracial, long distance, multi-dimensional relationship with me and my husband and our little. I think that a lot of my experiences in Uganda, while not really out of the normal for me at the time, or out of the normal for Ugandans that experience that style of living every day, they would perhaps be a little shocking to our American sensibilities and therefore perhaps entertaining?
I've never been very good at writing fiction, so you'll have to excuse me from fabricating much in the way of my new writing project.
I could do a collection possibly of short stories. Or perhaps work on beefing up my poetry skills that kind of died off when the tablet that contained a lot of my works was stolen.
You'll have to let me know what you think.
For now, I'll plan on continuing to work on this blog and kinda get back in the cadence of writing more and fully utilizing my vocabulary.

All the Feels

There is a writer that I follow on Facebook and his posts have the power to evoke intense emotion! I have been inspired by his writing many times, and I hope someday to have honed my skill enough to tread very lightly in such footsteps.

One of his posts recently was a heartwarming piece basically listing off things that he found inspirational or encouraging. So I thought I would start making my own list of things that give me the feels to help uplift my spirits! Maybe you will enjoy it too, or maybe you can be inspired to go out and create your own list. This is a big beautiful world and sometimes its easy to not see the shimmers of inspiration through the scars of tragedy or doldrums of the mundane.


* The waft of summer breezes through an open window, preferably with the faint smell of freshly mowed grass.
*The color green. Pretty much anywhere. It feels like the color of life. 
*Ice cold lemonade served in a glass glass with ice cubes and a sprig of mint or strong hot nutty coffee served black in a thick ceramic mug, depending on the season.
*The smell of my Grandpa's barn. I still catch a whiff sometimes when I climb into my Grandpa's old farm truck that my brother drives now. It smells like alfalfa hay, sawdust, axle grease, and good ol' sweat. 
*Morning sunlight through wispy curtains. 
*Kitenge fabric. Every time I see it some place unexpected or used in a new and unique way it just makes me smile. I love the kitenge throw pillows on my couch, the kitenge I used to wrap my sweet little Afro-child in, feeling the stiff fabric slide over my skin as I pull on a kitenge dress, or recognizing a fellow sojourner from the motherland by the bright colors they are clad in. 
*Fresh sheets.
*Tomatoes, green pepper, red onion, garlic, cilantro, salt, black pepper.
*Tomatoes in general. Mostly grape, cherry, or roma but I'll settle for most any of them.
*Good Mexican food. My mom has the most amazing chicken enchilada recipe that probably has WAY more calories than I should eat in it, but every year for my birthday I try to work out a way to have it because its my absolute favorite. Best beans are from CocoBolos in Manhattan, Ks. (also try their Tijuana Train Wreck, mmmm) Best salsa is the fresh batch I can whip up in one of those enormous metal mixing bowls after lots of slicing and dicing. Best burrito is Chipotle. I used to eat it as my last meal before leaving the US and my first meal coming back. 
*Afrojazz.
*Good music in general. You know that kind of music that you can tell the musicians had their eyes closed when they were playing it because it just sounded so sweet. Yeah, that kind. I may be crazy, but I feel like I can audibly hear the passion leaking through.
*Well written poetry that makes you think and feel at the same time. 
*Roadside food. I know you are likely to get typhoid... but everyone needs a good colon cleanse every once in a while right? No, but for real. I have met some pretty amazing roadside food vendors that are magicians at their craft. Shout out to my guy in Wandegeya that still makes the best rolex. And the little old lady in Kawempe-Mbogo that insisted that I just call her Mum when I asked her name. She fed me many a supper after a long 12 hour day at the hospital. And not forgetting my original chapatti guy in Kitintale who makes the most airy chapatti ever and kept me supplied with my daily staple when I couldn't afford much more. From samousas, popcorn, and banana pancakes to roast chicken, kikomando, and chips and eggs I've eaten it all and its amazing!
*Brightly colored flowers. Especially in unexpected places. 
*Throw pillows. Don't ask me to explain, cause I can't. But I want them all. 
*Seeing my husband wolf down the plate I just handed him. There is something super satisfying about seeing your hard work get demolished in such an unceremonious fashion but with such absolute pleasure that you forget that you spent 2 hours on what is being torn apart in 2 minutes. Its a good feeling to be appreciated like that. 
*And while we are on the topic of husbands... watching my husband and son from a distance holding hands and trotting off somewhere, talking and laughing to each other. Just about the fullest heart feeling that I ever did feel. 
*When a little kid falls asleep on your shoulder. Especially if its your own little kid, but nephews and nieces are pretty close seconds in my book!
*Cheekiness. (a little bit of humor mixed with a little bit of sarcasm)
*and many, many more...


So now its your turn... What makes your heart full? What inspires you? What uplifts your spirit? What feels like your "happy place"? Try making a list and look back at it every time you are starting to feel like life is dragging you down. You'd be surprised how it may help you refocus and remember that life is still beautiful in so many little moments!

Motherhood

So the other day my Mom asked me a very pointed question about motherhood. Nevermind that it may have been a thinly veiled attempt to probe my openness to bearing any more grandchildren for her. It has bounced around in my head several times since then. I think the main thing that gave me pause was that I felt I should have had a different answer than the one I had.

So what was the question you ask?

"Is motherhood everything that you thought it would be?"

My answer: simply "yes".

Maybe I am just more practical than most and didn't enter motherhood with any stupid ideas of idyllically rocking sleeping babies with my perfectly coiffed hair and satin dressing gown. It was probably just the way that I was raised. I knew what it was like to be a mom. It meant that everybody else's needs came way before yours. In fact you were probably so low down on the totem pole that the only time anyone ever made a consideration just for you was Mother's Day or your birthday, and even then, probably after you had been up all night with a teething or vomiting little one, feel perfectly dreadful about the baby weight and how you can't fit into any non-stretchy clothes anymore, and the last thing you want is people looking at you or giving you cake to eat. (But YAY, here's to you!)

Needless to say, I expected it. (Maybe not the extent of the baby weight, but I expected it). I knew that having a child and being a good mother meant daily laying down my wants and needs and emotions. He demanded that. You can't talk down a fussy 2 year old with your own complex emotions! HA! I'd like to see you try! Nevermind, none of us want to see that... enough evidence in the grocery store check out line. You can't eat healthy and exercise when he's there demanding you read him books and feed him an endless supply of cookies and chocolate milk. And lets be honest, you are going to be too tired for that stuff anyway by the end of the day running after this endless ball of energy. (Mommy didn't get to take a nap today like you, be kind kid!)

Now to be perfectly fair, I may have gotten off lucky with my little man too. He was by no means a particularly hard or fussy baby. He still had his moments when try as I might nothing could get him to calm down, spit up an appropriate amount at in-opportune times, cried when I left him at daycare, spread poop from one end of his room to the other, and the usual. But for the most part he's a pretty chill guy. I would like to take credit for raising him to be a tough little trucker. When he falls down or bonks on something he's not one to burst into tears, especially if he is busy playing. He'll likely just get up and run off for another adventure. Truthfully though, I don't know whether to credit that to nature or nurture.

Is motherhood full of those precious snuggly moments though? Oh my goodness yes!! I CANNOT even tell you how good it feels to snuggle up next to this little guy on the couch while he is watching his Lego Movie for the umpteenth time. The hugs, kisses, and "I love you SOOOO much!" and "Nkwaggala nnyo!" (because our love is so big one language can't contain it) that we say to each other every night before bed. The way he runs up and tackles my legs, yelling a happy, "Mommy!" when I pick him up from preschool. Tickle fights on the floor. Hide and seek/jump out and scare somebody are pretty great too.

I love to see his little mind turning with thoughts and when he pulls a new random word into his vocabulary. He's simply a star at singing at the top of his lungs in the car (I think he got that from me). My personal favorites are "Skinnamarinkydink" (or however you spell that) and when his sweet little voice belts "...I'm a child of God, yes I am" (from Hillsong's Who You Say I Am).

He is the perfect little cheerleader, always quick to say, "We did it!" or "Good job, Mommy!" Although some of that is slightly unfounded (I don't ACTUALLY have the power to change traffic lights from red to green... but we'll let him think that for a little while longer.)

There is also a simply beautiful feeling when I watch my husband being "Papa" to little man. Oh my goodness it nearly melts my heart! The way they interact and laugh together. Them dancing in the living room to Ugandan music beats or running around the yard together. I don't know if that technically falls under motherhood, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't feel that if I wasn't a mother, so we are going to count it.

But even with all that, I felt like I should have said no to her question. Like I should have been expecting something different than what I got. Most people I hear of do. They don't expect to have their lives monopolized by their tiny creation. They don't expect to lose their figure, their sleep, and a strong grip on their sanity in one fell swoop. But I had no such naivety. Perhaps that is why my husband and I reacted so differently to the news that we were to become parents. I knew what motherhood would require of me. I knew that the rewards would be beautiful, but I knew that the loss would also be real.

Worth it?

Definitely.

But not to say that I am ready to do it all over again Mom. That jury is still out. ;)

Confessions of a Kansas Girl in Missouri

Jan 29th was Kansas Day and let me tell you, as a proudly born and raised Kansan, I was only too happy to post about it on social media and not be low key for once.

I don't like Missouri really. I mean, CoMo is okay, but for the most part I just roll my eyes at everything here. Mold and pollen allergies are worse here, though dust and goldenrod are slightly better. The landscape is dull. It gets uncomfortably hot without a breeze and ridiculously cold. We got 17inches of snow the other weekend. I wanna go back to Uganda!!

People in Missouri can't drive worth a cow fart. No really, I looked it up. The death rate for road traffic accidents in Missouri vs. Kansas, Missouri was over double. DOUBLE! Kansas is right next door. And we take our tests with the grumpy lady from the DMV. Missourians take their driving test with a highway patrolman! How do they end up driving worse??

People smoke here. A. Lot. I hate it. My nose finds it offensive. My lungs are repulsed by it. My asthma nearly chokes and dies on it.

The only really good thing that I can get behind is their hate of KU. As a born and raised K-Stater I fully endorse a good honest dislike for all things related to Jayhawks. As they say, "My enemy's enemy is my friend."

And in a few non-Missouri related confessions:

I get unnaturally paranoid about telling people about my husband in relation to my son. If I say "my husband" it sounds like he isn't D's dad, but if I say "his Dad" it sounds like I have nothing to do with the guy! I know this paranoia is just a residual effect of being a single mom for that long year and a half, but still... Is there a good compromise besides saying both and sounding like you are confused or redundant?

My kid has become increasingly aggressive at preschool and I don't really know how to handle it. Part of me wants to pull him out immediately and keep him with me so I can preserve my sweet little boy!

I drove across town with a giant art piece on top of my rather small car last night. Not the brightest move. I didn't realize it was sprinkling until I had already walked out of the building. Thankfully I had a spare old blanket in the car to wrap the piece in. Then with the help of some spare rope to tie it down and an improvised elastic cord from the trunk to try and keep the blanket in place we set off. I had to stop probably 3 times to readjust the thing and couldn't go more than 30mph for fear it would fly off the top of my car. I made it home, but I really need to start thinking more before I do these crazy things!
In other news, the new art looks great hanging in my husband's den!

90 Day Fiance (Part 2)

Well life in Kansas was awkward for a while. I waited until after my brother's wedding to tell my parents about the pregnancy and our engagement.

I think what I stressed to them the most (and then to the rest of the family as I told them by turns) in those moments is that I was not making a rash decision to get married to Moses just because we were pregnant, but that when we did get married it would be a well thought out and prayed over occurrence. I'm not sure they were completely convinced.

I made the difficult decision to not stay in Kansas, but to move to Missouri with my older brother's family. We will both be forever grateful for the love and generosity they showed to me and the baby in those next few months.

Whether from pregnancy hormones or from exhaustion or just from the stress of the whole situation, I found myself crying to sleep at least once a week from the time I came back to the US. We tried to talk to each other as much as possible, to hide from the other one how bad things were, and to keep one another encouraged. It worked sometimes, and sometimes the entire conversation would just disintegrate into "I miss you"s back and forth.

It was a long 7 months carrying that little guy alone on this side of the ocean while his dad struggled to make ends meet in Uganda. I found a job, but could only work a few days a week or I would lose my health insurance that I needed to be able to deliver the baby. Carefully I rationed out what I would need to purchase for the baby. A lot of things were purchased second-hand, hand-me-downs that were generously shared, and loving friends and family showered us with gifts for Baby D (as he was affectionately called).

Moses and I had settled on a name, and then a middle name for D, but we kept it a secret until after he was delivered.

After a good after dinner walk one night in early May I went to get up from sitting and felt a pop and then liquid streaming down my legs. Little man was getting ready to make his arrival!

Moses and his mom went to the church and prayed all night for us as my labor wore on. My sister-in-law sent him constant updates on how things were going... but the long and short of it is that they weren't... going... anywhere. Water broke at 8pm; Mom, sister in law, and I went to bed around 930-10 thinking we'll have to go in sometime later. Around 1 am my mom came out and found me sitting on the couch timing contractions. They were about 3min apart at that point and she was like, "Oh my! Let's get you to the hospital!" I calmly walked upstairs and woke up my sister-in-law to go with us. But by the time we got to the hospital they slowed down to 4-5min apart and I wasn't dilated hardly at all. By 6pm the next night I still was not dilated, and starting to run a fever from exhaustion, so they opted for a C-section thinking it might be infection related. When they tried to give me pit it spiked late decels in D's heart rate as well, which I could very easily read on their in room monitor. (never underestimate a nurse to keep nursing, even on herself, even when slightly loopy on a epidural) They turned the monitor so that I "couldn't see it" but I already was asking for different intervention and told them to stop the pitocin. So off to surgery we went.

That was incredibly hard... not having Moses there with me for that. I've never had surgery before or since and it was scary, though I tried very hard not to show it since my Mom was in the OR with me. My sister-in-law was given the job of accompanying Baby D wherever he went. And I wanted no discussion on that topic. I knew they weren't going to come and ask my permission to start anything on him since I'd be coming out of surgery and Moses not being there with him, I put my sister-in-law's Mama Bear skills to work making sure my little one was gonna be safe and cared for.

The post-surgery nurse had compassion on me and took me down to the NICU to visit D before going to my floor (even though she really wasn't supposed to). The torturous amount of time that it took for them to accept my leaving the floor to go and see him was just that... torturous. They hooked up a live facetime feed for me for a little while, but then the battery died on the ipad. And I was done anyway. I wanted D to know that his Mama, the only person he really knew in the world, had not abandoned him to a unit of alarms and strange lights, lack of body warmth, missing my heartbeat, hungry, and confused by this whole big world that he had suddenly been yanked into. Hang sleep and recovery from major surgery, there was an infant that needed me!

Holding and cradling him to my chest was the absolute best feeling I have ever felt in the whole wide world.

It still is, to this day. Though he has grown a lot and Moses does come in a pretty close second on the cuddling front. ;)

90 Day Fiance (Part 1)

Someone asked me the other day if our experience was like "90 Day Fiance" the TV show. I wasn't sure how to answer, mostly cause I had never seen the show. I mean, yes, we did have 90 days on a K-1 visa, but not sure how much else was accurate.

So, to better understand in case I got asked that question again, hubby and I decided to watch the show (and because we don't always agree on shows but we kinda like reality/documentary types...)

I couldn't help thinking throughout the whole season (we got through Season 1 already) that I kinda wished we could tell our story like that. It was so easy to see the similarities and GLARING differences in the stories.

So for lack of a better intro than that, this is part of our "90 Day Fiance" story:

I had been in love with Uganda since I first traveled there back in 2008, but frankly I wasn't thinking about any other kind of love when I walked into The Sound Cup in Garden City Mall, Kampala, Uganda in early 2015. I had been volunteering with a hospital in the Kampala suburbs and was redesigning charts for them. The Sound Cup had relatively fast wifi and good coffee, so I was fixing to get some work done.

Apparently he took one look and was sold. Moses was working as a waiter in the little cafe. When I arrived he made sure that the other waiters knew that was HIS table and then promptly forgot my order as soon as he took it. This necessitated several extra trips back to my table to make sure that he had actually gotten my order right. He saw my lips moving, but he didn't hear a word I said.

He fell in love at first sight, but I took my time. Through a little careful finagling he finally convinced me to go on a date with him, and then to start hanging out regularly. Long walks, shared meals, dancing, live music, movie nights, and talking late into the night. He made life so fun and was so easy to talk to. I found myself falling a little more every time we were together.

Things went fast. In August we found out we were pregnant. Two weeks later Moses lost his job. Another week later we found out that the hospital I had been working at was not going to help me renew my visa like I had thought they would. I was already scheduled to come back to the US for my brother's wedding so we made plans for me to travel now and hopefully come back in a year's time. It was hard to say goodbye, especially not really knowing how everything would go, or really even how our relationship would weather the separation.

In the meantime, Moses and I tried to soak up what little time and energy life had given us. We went to the hospital for a sonogram and took a close and precious first look at our little baby, affectionately called "Blueberry" at that point. I was convinced it was a girl and Moses firmly believed it was a boy. This is one disagreement I'm glad he won.

We took many long walks up to the market after work to get the baby's favorite snack: popcorn. We looked up baby names together. We squeezed drops out of every day going to live music and music festivals together. We planned days out, just the two of us to go to the movies or swimming/picnicking. And we tried hard to not talk about the fact that we wouldn't be together too much longer.

In October Moses escorted me to the airport with the clothes and belongings that I might need in the next year. He was to pack up and move the rest of my things out of my apartment by the end of the month. He would keep them in his apartment and store them until I could come back. He was so quiet in the back of the car in the wee hours of the morning as we sped towards Entebbe airport. I didn't really know what to say to him either.

When we reached the gate all I could hope for was a quick goodbye without a lot of gushing. Instead he got down on one knee and asked me to make him the happiest man in the world. Let's just say that waterworks were definitely in the picture (I can blame it on pregnancy hormones right?)

The whole plane ride I sat in a state of shock and looked at this strange new shiny thing on my finger. I couldn't help but feel like my whole entire world was changing and strangely enough, for someone who had sold all her household goods to move internationally, I feel so scared that I was sick to my stomach. (And that, I cannot blame on pregnancy hormones.)

It takes a tremendous amount of courage to open your heart to another person and commit to spending the rest of your life with them. And I was scared because I was at the airport not knowing when I'd be back or even see him again, pregnant with his baby, and needed to catch my plane. I didn't even feel like I was able to say "no", even had I wanted to. It would have been so cruel to him for me to say "no" with no time to talk about it, and then just get on a plane and leave.
But by the same measure, we had no time to talk about what my "yes" meant either. We didn't have a good plan of how to even see each other again, let alone raise our child together. To top it off... I had a massive UTI setting in.

And you have never experienced UTIs until you have experienced a pregnancy UTI... during a 48 hour international plane trek... through countries you've never flown through... running to the bathroom every 5 seconds but still feeling like you are constantly about to have an accident... while the airline attendant is telling you that you need to pay an additional fee for your checked bag because British airlines is stingier than any other airline and only allows one checked bag for international travel.
In my very least exasperated voice I informed her that she could have free reign of the $10 that was on my card, but I had no other currency and had no way to get any. (By that point I was in South Africa.) If she insisted in removing one of my bags then to please be kind enough to let me tell her which one to remove or to let me repack things into my carry on bag. (At this point I realized that it was already loaded on the plane and she had no intention of giving someone the task of finding and removing it from said plane. A task that was probably nearly impossible seeing as it was a double decker Boeing 747.) After several unsuccessful attempts on her part to make me "cough up" the extra cash, she did print my boarding passes with a ominous, "I'm probably going to get in a lot of trouble for doing this."

Unfortunately, but this point it was too late. I made it into the stall, but that was all the farther I got before what we most fear to happen during a UTI, did indeed happen. Stupidly, I had packed only shirts to change into during my flight, not pants, so the only other thing I had in my carry on was my bridesmaid dress for my brother's wedding. On it went and I stepped off the plane in Kansas, much to my brother and sister-in-law's surprise, all ready for the big event that wasn't for another week.

Finally safely back in Kansas I had to deal with an even bigger issue. Telling my family and friends that I was not only engaged (to a man that they had never met), but also pregnant.

What in the World, Church??

Something that has really irritated me lately... and probably it shouldn't to the extent that it has, but this is the interwebs and basically ranting is a thing... is nativity scenes.

Our immediate family is biracial. I don't make a big deal about it, because honestly... despite what people try to tell you... its not a big deal. Its just something about us individually. I have blue eyes (gray, hazel, depends on the day actually) and my husband's eyes are black. I have a astigmatism in my right eye and I am overweight. He has amazing pec muscles 😉 and his glasses are fake! We are just different.

That much being said... I was really hoping to find a nativity set for our Christmas as a family that showed multiple races all coming together around the baby Jesus! Cause how sweet and authentic would that be, right?

URGH.

So, if you are lucky, you can find nativities where the wisemen are African, Asian, etc... but then the rest of everybody has this pasty Caucasian skin. Eww.
Honestly, probably prior to getting really involved in Uganda this never really occured to me as a problem. I mean I had heard people joke about "Black Jesus" but I thought that was just a joke. I hadn't really stopped to realize it was an attempt to make the stereotypical depiction of Christ more relevant and relate-able to marginalized people. Dang. #softlyhangsheadinshame Then I realized that most artwork pictures him with blue eyes and soft straight brown hair. Which, I am sorry, but what Middle Eastern man do you know that has blue eyes and soft straight brown hair? Like really, Christian America, really??

Okay, so that is my rant.
All this to say... if you have any good leads on wooden nativities, teddy bear nativities, or anything else that might be racial neutral and not cost a fortune... Let me know!
I'll just be over here cutting out nativity silhouettes... in a nice, neutral grey. 😒

May God Uphold Thee

So as many of you may (or may not) be aware, the political situation in Uganda has not been positive of late.

Opposition leaders have been gaining popularity among the people and the current regime (which is older than me!) has been resorting to violence and intimidation in attempts to suppress the growing dissatisfaction of its citizens.

Needless to say, I do not condone violence on the part of the current regime, or on the part of the opposition. I do however understand that desperate times often seem to call for desperate measures as we are often told by the old adage. The current situation I believe is making both parties feel pressure to promote increasingly bold and potentially violent shows of strength.

How I wish for my country that things could be different. How I wish that we could trust the results of the allegedly democratic elections process. (One that hasn't been proven to be flawed in execution and riddled with bribes and vote fixing.) How I genuinely wish we could work together to promote the health, well-being, and growth of this beautiful land.

Because there are days that I remember, not so very long ago... when I fell in love with my country, Uganda. All the days seemed bright, the vegetation was brilliant green, the sun and rain fell with equal intensity on us all, and we smiled at strangers without knowing their background or political party. We laughed and danced together at kwanjulas, we hired bodabodas without fearing robbery, we had a chapatti guy who made the best rolexes around, we walked along busy streets bound together by the red dust on our legs. I deeply long for my country to go back to that.

But perhaps I am asking for too much. Maybe I am asking for my own innocence back. Maybe its not my country that has changed so very much after all... I mean the president is the same (though the constitution has been changed), and the struggle after all remains the same. Poverty is still rampant, even in my own family. Masaka road is still dangerous as hell. Potholes still litter pavement. Thieves seem to multiply every day, from the city streets to high government offices. Bribes seem normal to a Ugandan's thinking. Every day a child goes without food. Another father hides in a bottle of waragi instead of facing that he can't provide for his family. Another mother heartbreakingly decides between her children which one to send to school because the shillings won't cover all their fees. Another young girl prostitutes herself to a "sugar daddy" for a chance at a "better life". Another parishioner is convinced to believe they need to give their last shilling to help "build God's kingdom" not realizing that they are building their "preacher's" million dollar mansion.

We see it all and we feel helpless. Its times like these that we know all we can do is cry out to God. We are powerless, but He is all powerful. And after all, its through the lenses of His love that I first saw and felt the love for Uganda growing up in my heart. He has loved these children of His much longer and much harder than I ever have. He has gathered up every tear of every person affected by the violence that has littered these streets and it is His to repay for every wrong done against His children.

So, from our hearts to yours:  Uganda, may God uphold thee.

Coloring

Coloring is the best!
(please ignore the iron in the background, and don't worry, it is not hot)

We may have an artist on our hands. Little buddy absolutely loves coloring with crayons or markers or pens. Pretty much anything he can get his hands on.

Thankfully we have not graduated to the "everything is a canvas" stage where our walls and floors are in danger.

I tried to avert this by making sure that I got him coloring books and an entire art book devoted to his scribblings. This has provided him endless delight and Mama a few sane moments for house cleaning as once he is in the booster chair, he can't get down by himself! (I know, smart, right?)

Also, ironically, some of his Mama's art is hanging above him as he is coloring away. Hmm... you never know, we may have an artist!

Working Mom

I am a working mom.

Some days I love this and some days I hate this.

Mostly I love it when I really get to do my job well. Those few and far between days when I catch something early in a medical case, or a patient thanks me for care or for not making them hurt when I do a lab draw. Every once in a while talking down an anxious patient or having someone say your are their favorite nurse. Those times when you feel like you are most proficient at your job. And the days that you come home energized instead of drained. Those days are nice too.

Mostly I hate it because I feel like I don't get to spend enough time devoted just to my little buddy. I feel guilty when his speech development is behind, that maybe I am not talking to him enough. I feel like a complete and total pile of refuse when he chooses his dad over me to comfort him when he wakes up after sleeping on his arm and putting it to sleep (and I shouldn't feel like that, but I do). And any time I try to get things done around the house and he comes and grabs my hand to pull on my finger and take me where he wants me to hang out with him I feel like the worst mom in the world.

There are usually piles of dishes on the counter. The floor doesn't get swept or vacuumed nearly as often as it should. There are generally toys littered in unexpected places all over our tiny apartment and PLEASE don't check under the couch, cause who knows what's under there!

Also, its ridiculously hard to make friends with other moms. The ones who have time to be friends with me are SAHMs and honestly, I just don't have that much in common with them usually. I can't go anywhere during the day. I don't have time to pinterest make cupcakes or arrange crafts or run to playdates for my kid. And the other working moms don't have time to be friends with me either.

I literally am doing really good if I get all my bills payed on time, balance the accounts, get groceries for the week, keep the house mostly picked up, and manage to get a semi-decent amount of sleep at night. (showers should probably be there somewhere on that list too, right? Meh, that's why they created deodorant...) This doesn't even count all the other things that I need to do: call such and such business about card that didn't work, talk to insurance about changes, file paperwork for visas/name changes/taxes/etc (it varies), work with my son on his language skills, make nutritious meals, make lunches for everyone for the next day, exercise, organize the house, general house cleaning, those dang dishes that need washed every stinkin' day, and so many more things that come up...

I have been trying (unsuccessfully) to lose weight ever since my son was born. Its almost 2 years now. I had a breakdown about it the other day and when I started listing everything that I have to get done in a week, it made me sound like I needed to be freaking Wonder Woman! I'm not saying that to be proud, in the moment it was completely overwhelming (especially when you are failing at it).

Let me just stop here and say that my husband (and I do thank God for him pretty much daily) is a huge help. But there are some things that I just need to do myself to make sure that they are done. Yes, yes, I need to stop micro-managing everything but there are some things only I can organize in a way that makes sense. Or I can not find things for 3 weeks because my husband organized it and doesn't know what it is that he organized so he doesn't know where he put it... which is always fun too!

All this to say, if you are a working mom and feel overwhelmed by all of this... I hear you.

You are not failing.

This is undoubtedly one of the hardest places to be in life and you are doing everything in your power to make it work. Its like doing 2 jobs in 1, and can I just say that being a full time mom is already super time/energy consuming. You are plus 40 hours a week. Wonder Woman ain't got nothin' on you.

You go girl!

And as my gracious and wise husband told me, there are seasons for everything. Maybe it isn't my season to be able to concentrate on losing weight right now. I can do what I can, but there will be a season coming up where that is going to be more workable and then we will tackle it together. (I know, he's a keeper). We are both responsible for this little buddy, for our house, for the bills, etc and we have to get it all done together. Sometimes there isn't enough time in the day for everything you need to do and sometimes there just isn't enough energy.
Sometimes I desperately need to just curl up on the couch with little buddy or hubby and not have to do anything but listen to music or read a book together. Sometimes we need to forget all the dishes and laundry that need done and just run off to the park together.

Don't ever let the list of things you need to get done get in the way of connecting with the people that you love the most. I can have the most pristine house, but if my son and husband don't feel loved by me, then none of it was worth it.

So if you come over to my house and its messier than it should be, I'll probably apologize to be polite, but really, I don't regret my choices for even a moment!

Proudly a Working Mom

True Love

I was just thinking this morning that you never really know what you are capable of until you are in that situation that completely tests your inner strength.

Let me take you on a flashback to when I was living in Uganda, Africa. Coming home late one night (around 4am) from a house party, that I probably shouldn't have even gone to, a friend and I boarded a bodaboda bound for home. He was going to stop when we got to Acacia Mall, and I was going to continue on to home. (I wanted to get home and sleep well so I could get up and go to church in the morning, which isn't really relevant to the story, I just thought you should know that I had very good intentions.)

He dismounted without a problem and then I proceeded to snake my way across the northern bypass and up the back way to my gate high on Kawempe-Mbogo hill. Everything went on pretty well. I  vaguely remember seeing another bodaboda light coming up the hill as I was getting off to pay my driver. Then I was suddenly yanked from behind and knocked to the ground.

Apparently the other bodaboda was 2 thugs who were trying to steal my bag. Now a few things... A.) No one has ever accused me of being skinny or slight of build. At the time I was a good 5'8+ and about 175 so pulling me backwards over on top of them was not exactly a good idea. B.) I'm pretty tomboyish when it comes to my accessories. The bag in question that they tried to nab from me was a stocky messenger bag with rivets and double stitching everywhere that was secured around my body, resting on the opposite shoulder. I think they were expecting it to rip easily, which it did not. In fact, I think the guy had a knife because when I was recovering later I found a clean cut on the back of my arm in the area where they had tried to get the bag off. C.) Never underestimate a girl who has seen too many action movies...

Instead of screaming, rolling over, and playing dead as I have heard some proper ladies do, I literally grabbed my bag and fought for it until the dude did succeed in getting the strap sliced all the way through and wrestled it away from me. Then he jumped up to run and hop on the bike behind his buddy, with me in hot pursuit.

*Now, I would not recommend trying this at home folks. Thieves in Uganda use deadly force, they usually have knives or pangas (machetes) and they aren't afraid to use them. However, these details did not flash through my fuzzy, still-slightly-confused-as-to-what-was-going-on brain. I went straight to fight or flight mode. And apparently, the flight mode doesn't work very well, so fight it was!

I nearly caught the guy too, tripped him once and chased him half way up the next hill before he could finally get his motorcycle motor revved up enough to get up any speed. I remember very clearly the look on the guy's face as I uttered some sort of guttural yell, and hurled a choice Christian homeschooler's curse at his disappearing bike. Oddly enough, that guy looked genuinely scared. Apparently a crazy white woman who isn't a lick afraid to fight lumbering after you with all her might is quite frightening.

Returning to my gate defeated I realized that my keys to my house were also latched securely on the end of my bag so I had no way to get inside. Worse still, even if I could get inside, they now could too! That idea terrified me much worse than the fact that I had just been robbed.

Realizing that I couldn't stay there all night and risk them coming back when they realized they had the keys to my house, I ran as fast as I could up the hill and down the other side to the police station. (Ironically funny that it was so close).

It was only afterwards that I basically broke down as I realized how much they had stolen from my world in one small little messenger bag. My camera, a tablet, my phone (with every saved number), house keys, favorite lip gloss even were all gone. After spending the night in the police station, a kind officer gave me a ride up to the hospital, I got a ride from there to a friend's house and tracked down the phone number of my best friend who of course came and rescued me.

We secured the house with a new padlock in case my key nappers came back to haunt me, and she made me come back and stay at her place that night. I never went back home in the dark again and moved from that house less than a month later.

To this day I still rue some of the things that were stolen from me that night. And in a large way, some of my magical fascination with Uganda was stolen as well. Its heartbreaking to realize that though you may be volunteering as a nurse, working on multiple community service projects, and being kind to people that you interact with, you will still be judged. My skin color pointed to a way for those thieves to make a quick buck (although ironically, there was no cash in my bag.) They didn't know me. Most likely they had followed my bodaboda from when I dropped my friend off. (I learned later that they were targeting foreign girls from that area and following them home to ambush them on dark streets.)

Those times when you kinda kick yourself for being so naive. This was the beginning of my falling out of love with the country of Uganda.

But falling out of love is not always a bad thing. Think about it in a relationship. Falling in love is what happens in the very beginning. You are enamored with that person and everything they do or say or text is funny, and beautiful, and wonderful, and exciting. You, in all your starry-eyed splendor, are completely naive. Then something happens: you get in a fight, he's grumpy when his team loses, you find out he's not really that awesome, he stinks up the bathroom, etc... and suddenly all those roses you were seeing start fading. I have known friends, which, bless their hearts, only ever got to this point in their relationships. Once the "in-love" blinders fell off they were out of there, carrying their disillusioned tails between their legs.

Maybe we were told that there would be more. Maybe we were scammed into thinking Prince Charming wouldn't fart or leave dirty socks on the floor or have displeasing manners at times or track mud in the house or want to adopt a dog!

But... my friend, if you are in a committed relationship this is where it gets really beautiful. If you are in a committed relationship then when you start to see every flaw of the other person (and TRUST ME, they are flawed! (as are you, but that's none of my business *sips tea*)) you can chose to love them anyway.

And that kind of love, where you've chosen to step over the discarded socks and not mention that thing that they do that you really can't stand, and you still chose to stick around and love them. Well that kind of love, my friend, is infinitely stronger than this silly school-girl "in-love" that you had in the first place.

Having had my eyes opened to some of the less than desirable truths about Uganda hasn't just made me fall out of love with it, but it actually strengthened my love for all the hurting places of my beloved country until my heart nearly aches out of my chest at times. Its a desire to see the best in a place that has experienced some of the worst and to see its young people learn to thrive in areas they have been given so little hope. Its the courage to forgive the thieves and look at the bigger picture in the economy and the justice infrastructure. Its a deep and abiding longing to make a difference in a place that I see so much beauty despite all her flaws.

For despite all the imperfections and downright messiness, I still love Uganda. And someday I hope to go home.

Snow

Happy, snowy winter from our family to yours! My husband got to experience snow for the first time ever this year. (Welcome to the US babe!) Needless to say, there is no snow in Uganda, Africa. (I am told at the very tip of the Rwenzori there may be some, but I think they are just bluffing.)

I think the novelty has worn off already as we haven't got a snow big enough to close my workplace or thick enough for some tobogganing fun. Not even really snowball weather!

Little D has been super stoked about getting his hands (and feet) in it so I went and bought him his very first sled and snow boots!

I have so many fond memories of sledding down the big hills in our town and neighborhood when I was growing up. Even constructing an igloo or two (one of them was post college in all honesty... we were the envy of the entire apartment complex! but I was technically still growing up then, right?)

My husband asked me the other day, "If you could choose one thing from Uganda and bring it here, what would it be?"

I was stumped for a long time. I finally told him that I didn't want only ONE thing from Uganda. I would rather just go there myself than bring any of it here.

He told me he would say the same, but then relented and said he would bring the weather.

Marriage and Other Important Things

So, in July/August I got married to my best friend. I know this is an incredibly late post for that, but we have had a little bit going on with all the paperwork, still working 45+ hours a week, and trying to reconnect/grow as a newly wed couple.

I do hope that you will excuse the rather LONG break in my posting/writing. While I could promise to do better and to get back into writing, I won't make any false promises.

I was reminded in talking with my husband the other day about marriages that when you get married you have to really commit everything you have to your family. Whether that family is just you and your spouse or if it includes children. Some of the things that you would have done just for yourself have to become back burner things as you commit to loving and caring for them more than yourself. So for now, I will just say that my writing is not as important as my family. Every once in a while I hope to memorialize my experiences with them on here, but for the most part I will probably be pretty scarce.

That much being said, I would like to write down on here so that we look back on it some day, but my husband and I, in aforementioned conversation, both agreed that some time we would love to be part of strengthening Godly marriages. Especially in our beloved country of Uganda. I dearly hope that God opens the doors for that to come to fruition some day.

That's crazy, right? We haven't even been married 6 months yet, and we already want to be able to help other couples? Needless to say, we both have much to learn, but I do hope someday God can use us!

Brutal Truth (this post contains mature content)

Because these issues have affected my fiance's and my story much more than we can say.
Because I have younger brothers and sisters in life and faith.
Because I have a son.
And I don't like the statistics.

OCD

Well, I finally have to admit it to myself.

I am OCD.

Maybe a high functioning OCD. Is there such a thing?

I have been denying it for some time, though the subtle signs were all there, but this has finally brought it to full light. Okay, let me take you back to the story of a young mother.

In a town quite similar to the one I live in (it is the one I live in) lived a young mother not unsimilar to me (she was me). This mother was not ridiculously organized. In fact at times she was downright unorganized. She had many things going on in her life, and indeed many things that were not ideal and quite out of her control. Perhaps that is what drove her to it, but when it came to her son, she was fastidious about a few things.

1.) His outfits must be coordinated from the shirt to pants to socks. If possible the jacket, coat, or blanket shouldn't detract from the outfit either. In the rare event that laundry ran down to a level where she wasn't able to make this happen, the mother viewed herself as some sort of a mothering failure and that she had probably let her son down for life. This was also the day that he was most likely to be photographed and she would have to relive her non-matching shame in the form of a smiling face captured forever in pixels (I started to say on film, but who are we joking here).
2.) His clothes, when placed in his drawer must be folded in a certain manner and stacked in certain stacks. It would take way too long here to explain the system, for now, it should suffice to say that it was meticulous.
3.) Whenever the sheets on the bed are changed, the matching sheets on the changing table must also be changed as well as any and all coordinating blankets in use in the bed.
4.) He must only eat the African animals from the animal crackers. (in her defense, the mother realized she was doing this and the complete ludicrousness of it and did attempt to stop with only minor relapses.)
5.) His bottles must not only be to a certain standard, but they must be matching lids to bases according to their colors. Heaven forbid they ever be matched differently.

And therein lies the catcher folks.
Because one day the mother accidentally took a bottle which normally stayed at her house in to daycare. And daycare kept it for a day before returning it. But when they returned it, it was not the bottle she had sent. Indeed it was an altogether different bottle. The dishwasher at daycare had damaged some of the print off the side and the nipple was completely white from hard water stains. And in fact the top and bottom didn't even match according to color!
What could the mother do? She weakly accepted the bottle and placed it next to her son in the car to take it home. And there it has sat to this day. At least once a week she looks at it and contemplates just throwing it away because there is no way she can use it, but then she chides herself for such a waste of resources and not being able to bear to bring it inside her house, she leaves it there.

And that is the story I had to tell you today folks.
If this does not make you all want to rush over and make sure I am not going crazy, then I don't know what will because even as I am writing this I think I sound completely bonkers!

But then again, my writing is my therapy and if this helps me process... then by all means... I shall write about how crazy I have become until the day I die!

Next time: How to plan a wedding in no time at all, with no date at all, and no groom in the country!

Mushy Stuff

They say life never goes as planned.
And for my case that has been true.
I never planned to look up from my Americano
Peer over the top of my reading glasses
Whilst gently rocking my crossed high heels
And see you.

I didn't plan for you to slip the other waiters a bill to get my table.
I didn't plan on giving you my real phone number.
I didn't plan on you actually calling
Giving me some story about a party somewhere that I should go with you to.
I didn't plan on going to any party anyway, but you cancelled.
I didn't plan on you promising to take me out to make up for it.
I didn't plan on you pawning your phone to be able to take me out in style for that first date.
I didn't plan on having such a good time.

I didn't plan to go on seeing you
I'm pretty sure I told a friend that it was fun, but I didn't think I would see you again.
I didn't plan to slowly find myself liking hanging out with you.
How did you do that?
I didn't plan on going out dancing with you that night.
I didn't plan on you kissing me for the first time
Under the glow of a streetlight on the Kololo Bypass.

I didn't plan for the weeks to turn into months.
I didn't plan for our lives to get so entangled.
I didn't plan on hurting so much when you wouldn't talk to me.
I didn't plan on writing you that "Mr. Darcy" letter.
I didn't plan to feel such a flood of relief when you finally said that you forgave me.
I hadn't planned to care that much.

I didn't plan on loving the way we used to ride double on a boda boda.
I didn't plan to get used to your stupid blue crocs
Or your extreme hairstyle, or the way your eyes looked into my soul.
I didn't plan on it feeling so right to hold your hand
Or lean on your shoulder when we were sitting on the porch watching the last drops of sunlight be squeezed from the sky.
I didn't plan on falling for you.
I didn't plan for what your answer was to your mom
When she asked you in Luganda if I was the one you were going to marry
Not knowing that I had understood her question.

I didn't plan on that test being positive
As my shaky hands could barely hold the cup to pee in
And my mind raced with a million different thoughts and emotions.
I didn't plan on being so happy
It was all I could do to keep from bursting into tears at the thought that I would finally be a mother.
I didn't plan on you losing your job.
I didn't plan on not getting my visa.
I didn't plan on us being thrust apart by the very thing that has tied us together for life.

And so it was that
I didn't plan on you getting down on one knee that day at the airport with ring in hand.
I hadn't planned for what I would say if you asked
And so in the rush of the moment and with a plane to catch
I said yes.
But I didn't really plan on everything that would mean to you.
And my mind hadn't even gotten to planning on such a promise.

But I didn't plan on you being so constant
If you had won my heart before while present, you now won it again in absentia.
I didn't plan on looking anxiously for your messages every day.
I didn't plan on you staying true.
I didn't plan on your gentle words, tender affection, and fervent prayers calming my fears.
I didn't plan on your candor and valor building bridges to my heart
That not even half the globe's distance could retract.

I didn't plan on your big, black eyes staring back at me through our son's
I didn't plan on wanting so badly for you to be here
And share every little giggle and toot that escapes out of him.
I didn't plan to go through every day constantly thinking of you
What you would be saying to me if you were in the seat beside me in the car
What kind of things you would pick out with me in the grocery store
If you would hold the door for me when I am carrying the sleeping baby.
I didn't plan on missing you so badly that sometimes a piece of my chest feels like its missing
Like a black hole is eating me from the inside.
I didn't plan on missing the warmth of your hugs or the feel of your lips
Even the toughness of your palms when they were pressed in mine.
I didn't plan on any of this.

I didn't plan on knowing what is to truly be loved.
I didn't plan on having hope again of planning a wedding.
I didn't plan to have someone know me so thoroughly and still love me so completely.
I never planned on anything like this ever happening to me.

And I am so glad that life doesn't go as planned.

*[To my dearest Moses, 
Today marks the one year anniversary of that day at the airport when you asked me to make you the happiest man in the world. I don't know if I have succeeded in that yet, but I hope that I have many more opportunities in the future. I wasn't sure of what I was promising that day, but if you asked me again today I would answer exactly the same. I would be/will be honored to be married to you and I hope and pray that it happens sooner than any of us can plan! 
All my love (except the part that D stole, sorry!), 
Your Jo.]

Random Musings on Pregnancy

1.) I had no idea how vain I was about my slim ankles until... BAM... pregnancy. I mean, I've always had big calves which I have just learned to live with, but at least my ankles were still small. Yeah, that's pretty much blown to bits now...

2.) About 30 min into sitting, resting, lying down my legs seem to regress to their 11month old state and forget that they ever learned how to move, let alone walk.

3.) I have been anxiously awaiting that awkward moment that they say happens when a complete stranger decides to touch your pregnant belly. I anticipated a complete action movie domination sequence where my karate rigid hand is at their throat with their offending hand bent behind them painfully as I tell them in my best Liam Neeson voice to never, ever touch a pregnant lady.

4.) I still go to work, I helped lift boxes when moving, I can push carts, carry my 17+ pound niece around, and lug my bigger 25 pound work bag around. I sleep in a lofted bed that I have to climb into every night. But when I go places people who never would have held a door open for me suddenly do and checkers even load my groceries into my cart after bagging at times. Its the strangest phenomenon.
Even my own family... they don't want to leave me alone for the weekend before my due date. I'm like guys... women in Kiibito, Uganda hike down from the mountain (2+ hour hike) while in labor to deliver at the clinic, deliver a baby, then hike back in time to peel matooke for supper... I'm pretty sure if anything happens I'll have the time/presence of mind to drive myself to the hospital.

5.) I don't have pretty hands. I never have. I got my dad's rather large handed genes... which impressively meant that I could palm a basketball from a rather young age and completely show up all the adolescent boys who were trying in vain to do it (a fact I rather exploited). Now thanks to pregnancy they are not only big in size but also in diameter. As I loose circulation intermittently (*cough, while typing this, *cough) and my engagement ring becomes hopelessly bonded to my finger, all I can think is: Oh the joys...

6.) As I pray for this little guy growing inside me and feel him kicking and squirming against my diaphragm and bladder... I can't help wondering how God will choose to use him, what his character will be like, even how his skin and eyes will look. One thing that I do know completely: I love my little boy already and I can't wait to meet him.

Impending Hiatus (Most Likely)

Hello my dear readers... I've been absent from writing these last few months as I took time to re-evaluate/reorganize my life and process everything that's been going on.

As many of you may have realized by now, I am pregnant with my first child. My pregnancy was a bit unexpected for many obvious reasons. However, regardless, I am very committed to first of all loving this child to the very best of my ability, and also to caring for him in the best ways possible.

This of course necessitated my relocation back to the U.S. for the time being. My dear country of Uganda, which I hope and pray God may lead me back to someday, has had to be put on hold right now for the immediately foreseeable future.

Instead, I have found myself buried back in a world of trying to make ends meet and learning all about the cost of baby diapers. A very rude awakening if I do say so myself.

I can but say that I will attempt to meet this challenge as I have the many that have come into my life in the last several years: With a little bit of coffee and whole lot of Jesus.
(no, literally... a little bit of coffee... they don't recommend more than one weak cup a day... don't ask me who "they" is!)

That much being said, I have no idea how often this blog will be posted on over the next several months/years. I optimistically hope that I'll have time to reflect and write about everything that God has been teaching me through these infant eyes, but lets be honest... between work hours and long nights and poopy diapers and drying crying eyes (most likely mine, not his) I doubt I'll have a terribly large amount of time to write on here how it is all going down.

So consider this your official notice... if this blog goes fairly inactive it was not from the best intentions of the writer herself, but from the very complicated circumstances of what we commonly refer to as life.

May God Uphold Thee

I am not now, nor have I ever been, a very politically motivated individual. However I find myself watching so many things in this world recently with a growing urge to add my voice to the masses protesting.

And... I probably would... if I had not learned time and time again that few things are won in arguments which could not be more effectively won on my knees.

The lack of satisfaction grows in Uganda as a 30 year long economically stagnant regime proceeds to rather sketchily "claim" power for another 5 year term. Amidst clouds of scandal, claims of voter bribes, claims of ballot rigging, and other forms of potential corruption and general incompetency... I can't help but wonder if the "Pearl of Africa" that I have grown to know and love will long keep itself from turning inward in anger at its own members who would sabotage any chance at a productive future.
I desperately wish for change in this area. Uganda has so many rich resources, so many willing and able workers, so much to offer the world in the way of forgotten beauty and intricate culture. I would wish nothing more for this country than to see its full potential of economic growth. And, a bit selfishly I might add, I want my son to have something to come back to someday. Something worth giving his time and talents to, something left in what is fast becoming a hollowed out shell of wasted hopes and disappointed dreams.

Then I see my birth country, and I have little more hope for them. We are riddled with unrest and disquiet. Seething with the tumult of a thousand issues that have long been repressed under the surface. Deep scathing wounds from hundreds of years of racial repression and the hate that it has bred in hearts that never knew the sting of whip on slavery's bare skin.
I hurt for the fact that my son will also know the cruel face of this tension as his skin color belies his heritage and he is assumed a descendant of an oppressed people. I hate that my country will teach him that he can't trust the police, that politicians just want power and fame, and that he should be entitled to anything he wants as long as he can complain loud enough.
I fear my choice in the next election may be between equally ridiculous buffoons. Already, we have come up with a system whereby we penalize people for simply having good health and not buying into medical insurance schemes. The system slants against those who want to work hard and be good upstanding citizens with morally responsible values.

At the end of the day, it all comes back to this:
I know no other form of combat against all the evil, corruption, and disillusionment I see around me than to cry out to the only one who can permanently and irrevocably affect change in our societies.

Less talking, more praying.
First lesson of being a mother.

Welcome My Dear

Mark 9:36-37

"He took a little child who he had placed in their midst. Taking the child in His arms, He said to them, "Whoever welcomes one of these little children in My name welcomes Me, and whoever welcomes Me does not welcome Me, but the One who sent Me."