littlest little
dear baby, you have my heart
so stop.
stop all this growing.
please.
don’t become a real boy.
swirling whirling life.
i can’t hang on
the clock keeps…
marching.
and here we live
chasing a dream
we chase the dream
for you.
for two boys in africa
our souls would burst
if we never showed you,
if we never lived it.
love,
mom
Happy Weekend! Hope you make time to appreciate all the little things that make life great… like underwear.
Love,
Kristy
We have 15 pieces of luggage being held captive against it’s will, and ours, in the Burundian customs office. It arrived two weeks ago… 15 bins full of kids toys, pillows, saucepans and very regrettably most of my underwear (yeah, I know). Every week that it is in “storage” at the Burundi airport we have to pay roughly $200 US dollars. For storage we don’t want, because we want the stuff in our home!
Just imagine if we had brought our great dane… she’d probably still be in storage for being “too heavy.” So, here’s the deal. Ben has spent about a bah-zillion intense and frustrating hours at the airport. Negotiating this. Negotiating that. Filling out that form. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Being told
“No, it’s too heavy.”
“Too heavy for what?” we say.
“Just too heavy” they say.
You get the picture.
Tonight we were reminded of brave souls who have fought for so much more than some silly air freight. Our friends Brandon and Kristin, Richie and Natalie, Jeremy and Ash who have known what it is like to hope in the midst of the deepest anguish any parent can know. Their experiences and pain give us perspective. Stuff is just stuff. We will be ok, even without our underwear… but we sure would like it anyway.
Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses allcomprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:6-7
Praying for peace that makes no sense at all, and praying the same for our friends. Please join us if you would like, and if you throw in a prayer for my underwear while you are at it, I sure won’t stop you.
Love,
Kristy
Hope is the belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one’s life.[1] It is the “feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best” or the act of “look[ing] forward to with desire and reasonable confidence” or “feel[ing] that something desired may happen”. [2] Other definitions are “to cherish a desire with anticipation”; “to desire with expectation of obtainment”; or “to expect with confidence”.[3]
I believe in us. I believe beyond all hopelessness, and even though this transition is hard I “expect with confidence” that God is with us during every step.
My coffee guy. Even though your brand new (to you) roaster is broken, even though you have spent over 6 hours in the last two days at Burundi Home Affairs wading through bribe after bribe in order for us to get a visa that will only allow us to stay here for another 28 days, even though you are bearing a burden heavier than I’ve ever seen you bear… I have hope. I believe in a God that can carry us if we let Him. I believe in you. You are the only man on the planet who could do this with such grace. Your capacity to keep smiling is insanely irritating, and I love you for it.
My big little. You threw a rock through the window tonight. I know you are struggling. It makes your mommy wet her keyboard to think of it. To watch you battle with life overwhelms me. I want to protect you, to shelter you from some of the things that are a part of adjusting to this new life, but I can’t. I will be here, right by your side, protecting you from evil, but letting you experience this life with your.whole.being. You are a fighter and I see you testing your strength everyday. I wrote this for you the other day while you were playing with some kids:
6 speak French
1 English, and that one with a confidence lost
1 parent watches
wishing it could be different
wishing his tongue could fly over the words
just fly
It’s true, all of it, except one thing. I don’t wish it to be so, I already SEE it. I see you talking in French faster than your mom and dad ever will. I see you playing with friends, shouting to them in French, not letting me in on what you are saying. I see it all. I see an amazing man, facing the world with confidence, love, and with abilities far beyond those who surround you. Abilities that living here have given you. Kids who grow up outside their parent’s home culture are just plain awesome. You are just plain awesome. I see it all, I believe it all.
My littlest little. Oh, my baby, you have my heart. You make us all laugh every day and we NEED that. You tire us out too, with all your getting.into.everything.ness But then I remember as I discover the entire contents of the medical supply cupboard all over the floor… you are healthy, ingenious and beautiful. As you climb into the sideboard with all the plates, and break one while you are at it… you are healthy, ingenious and beautiful. When you sit on top of the dining room table proud as a peacock for climbing there… you are healthy, ingenious and beautiful. You are already soaring in Burundi, your family is all you ever needed. Thank you for reminding me of that truth.
Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Hebrews 11:1
I tried to come up with a nice succinct title for my thoughts about the journey from Durban, South Africa to Bujumbura, Burundi. But like the roads I took, it may look like an inch on the map before you but the reality is it’s going to be long, hard and nearly inaccessible by the average driver (reader). Both previous thoughts frustrate Kristy to no end. The drive to Burundi with little to no clue of where I was to stay along the way (or direction I was heading, in all reality) and the writing style that meanders between sentences as long as a Tanzanian highway and ever changing tenses.
My journey of 5700 km (3,541 miles for you Americans) started as a fun tandem with friend and fellow Hope Church-ite, and French speaking Burundian, Alain. The journey ended in a sort of race against darkness and a battle of nerves with drunk soldiers at the edge of Bujumbura.
The start was 2 weeks late. The reason being that newly purchased used vehicles need their log-book to get through borders. My log book was doing African time wadding through the red tape of South African banks and Currier services. The “I’ll make a plan” attitude of the shoot from the hip good-ol’ boy I bought my 2000 Toyota Land Cruiser Prado from didn’t exactly speed the process. By the time it arrived my heart was already in the hills of Burundi, my mind on coffee, and my wife about ready to have an anxiety attack with the sure mountain of details my optimistic and adventure ready self failed to attend to. She mentioned food would be good thing to bring. Yes, and that I should actually should buy a map. She also suggested plates and silverware/cutlery might be useful. I could continue, but for my sake lets just say I’m thankful that my wife made me bring along a roll of toilet paper just in case.
Morning 1. Tuesday.
4:30 am start. Shelly the creative director/videographer is at the gate to video me pulling off into the pre-dawn to fetch Alain. The night before we were meant to leave but a very unpleasant phone-call about the sure death of Ella if we fly her to Burundi made it less then ideal to hit the road. I made a great call, a morning start was much better. My good friend Cyril and I had spent the better part of Saturday loading the 4X4 with more house hold and coffee lab supplies then you can imagine. No really. Imagine….. your wrong, it’s more. A couple more hours rest, family time and what I didn’t realize was to be my last good meal in a week took place.
Alain loaded. One small bag, still too big for the 10 inch of luxury (read luggage) space I allocated each of us. Oh, and the nearly 150 lbs welding machine we squeezed on top of the already loaded roof rack. Open road. Full Land Cruiser. No coffee. Yet.
West coast to northern South African border never was reached so quickly. We two men… no, road warriors. A dynamic partnership meant to be. What could stop us? Botswana by dusk was our war cry. We might make Burundi in 5-6 days! This sunset banter was tossed around as we dodged flipped burning petrol trucks, police wielding speed cameras and finding the black elixir (coffee) half way in the coldest place in South Africa, Harrismith, Free State.
Then the border. 7pm. Dark. Ominous in the glow of flickering florescent bulbs.
The first border.
The easy border.
The border that beat us and nearly sent me home.
Alain was denied entry to Botswana.
Coffee Guy
Friends of this blog, I really need your help. I know that this is a decision that only we can make, but I need to hear your outside perspective. I need to know what you would do if you were me, more for the comfort of knowing I’m not alone in this than anything else.
You see, we have this Great Dane named Ella. She’s almost ten and has lived a long life full of bed laying and couch stealing comfort. I love her to bits. She has been through so much with us. Even now, like she does every few minutes, she has found me and curled up at my feet.
We want to take her with to Burundi, we really truly do. If we do, she will spend 30 hours in a small crate overnight in hot Ethiopia. She won’t be let out, given water or food or cared for all all. She will be treated like cargo, alive or not. When she finally reaches Burundi she will have spent 30 hours in that small crate in hot and then cold and then hot conditions. She will have been loaded and then unloaded and then loaded again and then unloaded. She will have been terrified. I know my girl, she hides under the desk at the whisper of thunder.
Then there’s this great family. They are neighbors and best friends all rolled into one. They have a big place with a huge garden and lots of spaces for exploring. They have two dogs that love Ella already and two kids that she has been around since they were born… and they have offered to give Ella a home.
Ella’s breeder thinks the trip will kill her, she told me putting her down might even be the best option. Ella’s vet thinks she will handle the trip with ease, even though he preformed major surgery on her just 6 months ago. Who’s right? In the end, let’s be real, this is probably not as much about Ella as it is about me. I don’t know if I can let go. Not of her. I’ve let go of my house, my car, all of my stuff… until this point the letting go has felt GOOD. Like a new lease on life, like a chance to shed some pounds and live lighter. But now, at the thought of Ella, it is only pain that I feel.
I know she’s just a dog, but she’s more than that to me. I know she’s old and spending the money to get her there might only allow us a few more years with her at the most. But my heart breaks at the thought of leaving her behind.
What would you do?
Love,
Kristy
My brother came by for a visit a few weeks ago (he just hopped on a quick 30 hr flight to get here) and on his last day with us he had one request: monkeys. He wanted to see MONKEYS! To us, monkeys are a little like the neighborhood skunk that everybody hates. Annoying, a little bit dangerous, totally unpredictable and really hard to find if you are looking for them. Looking for them is like looking for a needle in a haystack. It’s like that Forrest Gump line, “You never know what you’re gonna get.”
We packed up and went-a-huntin’ and as usual, I was totally the sceptical one. Whining on about how we might never find them, until we practically ran over them in the road five minutes after the hunt began. Sometimes, things seem a lot harder in the beginning than they actually are. I keep telling myself that in these last days before the big move. I’m especially hoping it’s true re learning French!
Here’s what’s goin’ on:
Do you follow us on Twitter and are you a fan on Facebook? If not, we would love it if you would! With all this activity and so little time to type, right now it’s the best way to find out what’s up with us.
It’s the final days and our heads are swollen with details and our hearts are bogged down with the strain of goodbyes. Despite the stress, we are finding time to laugh with good friends and wrestle with the boys. Breathing deeply these last moments in South Africa, our favorite adopted land.
Luv,
Kristy
photos all scott e. knutson
For the last two weeks we have had the hardest workers you can imagine living in our house and pushing us to get ready for this move! Grandpa came all the way from the US of A to South Africa to help us MOVE IT! My baby brother, who is now known around this house as Uncle Scott, came along for the ride and the two of them transformed our house! They emptied every cupboard, looked us in the eyes and said, “Do you really need this?” They played with the kids, packed boxes, sorted through ten years of our life with us, and went home very tired.
They have left for the States and there is a big hole in my heart. It seems very lonely here. It is hard and sad to live so far from my family, but the joys of it are this: when we are together, we appreciate it to the nth degree.
With Ben about to leave to make the drive from South Africa to Burundi in just a few days, I am trying hard to cling to our last moments as a family in this home. This is it folks, just two weeks until we are going to be living in a new land. Today it scares me. There are so many unknowns…. and so many great people we are leaving behind.
Love,
Kristy
The road to Burundi is probably not paved with cheese, just like it wasn’t in an American Tail. All the mice sang about it, about a place where the streets were paved with cheese, where there were no cats. A threat-less path made of food sounds pretty good to me right now too!
I can’t sleep. I really want too, but I can’t. There are so many details flying around in my head… so many things stressing me out. The truth is, I don’t think we are great with big huge detail oriented things… like moves. Yesterday Ben told me that he thinks he should leave for Burundi with the vehicle on Monday. It’s Wednesday. Do we have a vehicle? No. Can we afford to buy one? No. Does he have visas to get through the borders he’s going to cross? No. Have I packed what will go in the vehicle? I’ve started, but really… No.
Then, if I turn my head two inches in the other direction I start to think about how today I signed my house away. I signed it away, just like that. The place I brought my babies home to. Our first home. A home in a city that I love… a city that loves me. When we bought this house we wanted it to be a home that was always welcoming. A place people could journey to and feel safe, as if they had arrived at their home away from home and were immediately a part of the family. It has been that for so many, including ourselves.
On Saturday we sold off most of our household belongings. It was like our house had vomited on the lawn. Ten years of life in a place laid out bare, for everybody to pick through. Watching people look at my things and decide if they wanted it and then haggle on the price was a bit too much for me. So, I hung out away from the sale and had good talks with great friends and pretended none of it was happening. Friends volunteered to take money and run the whole thing, and even make everybody coffee. My dad is here all the way from America, along with my little brother Scott, and he watched the kids all day while we sold. And sold. And sold. I feel such gratitude for people like these, it was a labor of love.
I will say that it is kind of freeing to be sort of possession-less. It feels good to know that our things will be of good use to others and we can move on with just the essentials. The essentials, at this point, include a whole lot of dark chocolate.
Luv,
me