Echoes

Africa is still on my heart, as I'm sure surprises no one.


I see these kids' faces every day.



And I wonder if I'll ever see them again.



In part, because I don't know if I'll be able to go back - who really knows what the future holds?


And in part because so many of the kids are sick - if I come back, will they still be here?


I'll remember them, most likely forever.



Will they remember me? Any of us?


I didn't expect to miss them this much. I really didn't.


Their smiles...



... their silliness...



... their singing.


It's hard to love people on the other side of the world, hard to be apart from them when you want so badly to just hold them.


Instead, I try to help them from here, raising funds and awareness.


And I hope, someday, to be with them again.

Until hello...

That Africa Trip... Still

I swear, one of these days I will run out of things to say about Africa. Not that I expect that day to be soon, necessarily, just that it will come eventually. Oh, and I'm sorry that MALARIA post was so long, but let's just keep in mind that that is the kind of thing that probably (hopefully... dear God PLEASE) only happens once in a lifetime, so I should be allowed to take as long as I damn well please to tell the story. Thanks to the six of you who read the whole thing, or at least enough to pretend you read by commenting.

As I've mentioned, during the weekend in between our two weeks of working in Africa, we took a mini retreat as a group to Lake Malawi. We actually talked a bit as a group about feeling guilty for what was, essentially, taking a vacation in the middle of what was intended to be a service trip. But the thing is, by the end of a full week working with the kids, visiting hospitals, talking to villagers and local students, etc. - well, we were just burned out, both physically and emotionally. We began to realize that if we *didn't* have that break in the middle, we probably wouldn't be able to continue working through the second week, and we had a lot to get done that second week. Plus, the time was good for us as a group, because it was a change of scenery and a chunk of time set aside for us to bond with each other in a relaxing setting. So with only minimal guilt, we enjoyed a beautiful weekend at Lake Malawi:


After a very long bus ride (okay, admittedly, it wasn't a long bus ride for ME, but that's because I was riding in a car. Keep in mind that less than 24 hours earlier I had been in the hospital, possibly for MALARIA, so I rode along with our hosts in their car while everyone else endured 4 hours on a crowded bus) we arrived at Lake Malawi and were greeted with that view up above. GORGEOUS. The coastline on the opposite side is actually Mozambique. We got to have devotions here every morning and evening. Some of the students woke early on Sunday morning to watch the sunrise. Such an amazing setting.

Swings! Swings are always fun...

... but especially with such a great view.

There's not much to say about the weekend at the lake, because most of it was really just hanging out and refreshing ourselves for the next week. A nice deep breath in the middle of a hectic and challenging trip. When we left on Sunday, we all felt a little more ready to finish the trip strongly. Oh, and on the way back to Blantyre we stopped at a nice hotel in the mountains for lunch. Talk about a gorgeous view:


Less picturesque, but slightly more amusing: baboons that will steal your food right off your plate if you are not ever-vigilant!

Seriously, stupid monkeys would take it RIGHT OFF YOUR PLATE.

And then it was back to work with the kids for another week before heading home. But of course, a very important part of that second week was MY BIRTHDAY! A student had given me a present on the last day of school, telling me that I was not allowed to open it until my actual birthday, and so I had to bring it with me to Malawi. It was easy enough to pack, so I brought it with me and opened it the night of my birthday:

Yeah, my hair is wet, so what? I HAS A PRESENT!

Wet hair only proves I do, in fact, shower occasionally.

For those counting, yes, this is the second layer of wrapping paper.

But beneath all the paper was a book! About words! English teacher WIN!

Sharing some gems from the book with those around me.

No, hair did not magically dry. Picture is from earlier that day, posing w/bday cards from students.

Tpiglette, my dearest BFF, also sent me two birthday cards, of which, unfortunately, I do not have pictures. The first one was amazing, though - on the front, it said something like, "For your birthday, you're going to get exactly what you deserve..." And on the inside, it said, "A big HUG!" with voices talking about bear hugs. (I know, you're wondering what is so great about that card, but I'm getting there.) What was amazing, though, was that she had arranged with the students that when I opened the card they would all swarm me and attack me with hugs! I don't know what I was expecting when a group of about 16 teenagers all stood around staring at me while I opened the card, but near-death by hugging wasn't it. I was laughing so hard, and when I read what Tpiglette had written on the card, it said those hugs had followed me from across the world, just waiting for my birthday. And later I got a second card from her that did not include teenage hug monsters but was still a very cool pop-up card. Thanks, Tpiglette!

I think that's it for this installment. Probably just one more Africa post to come - the one with all the pictures of the adorable kiddos we worked with, and my thoughts on how I can keep Africa in my heart now that I'm home. Thanks for being with me on my journey!

MALARIA

I think you've all been very patient with me, so I think it is finally time in this post to reward you by telling the story of my trip to the hospital for what some folks feared might be MALARIA. (It needs to be in all caps because of how afraid everyone was of it. I mean, let's keep in mind that this is a disease that kills people in that area every single day, so I guess we had reason to be a little afraid.)

On Wednesday, 6/10, I woke up feeling not-so-great. I had been tossing and turning all night, apparently whimpering as well, though I didn't realize until my roommate woke me - she thought I was having bad dreams, but actually my stomach was hurting, I just hadn't realized I was whimpering aloud. Some of the other leaders asked if I wanted to stay at the hotel that day to rest, but I really wanted to visit the village. So we went to the radio station and the village, and I was feeling sort of blah the whole time. When it came time to break for lunch before going to MCM for the afternoon, I decided it was time to stop being brave and take the opportunity to rest. So I stayed at the hotel while everyone else went off to MCM, and I took a nice long nap. When I woke up before dinner, I felt much better, and I thought everything would be fine.

It was.

...

For a while.

Through the rest of that evening and into the next morning, I was feeling fine. I had forgotten I had even felt sick, really. I figured I was starting to get sick, but I'd cut it off at the pass by getting some rest the previous afternoon. Everything seemed great, and when we headed to MCM that afternoon, I was ready for a fun day of playing with the kids.


Note that this pic was not taken when
I was sick, but accurately represents
the feeling.But then I started to feel a little shaky. I got that achy, tingly feeling that often accompanies the flu (because of fever), and I felt kind of light-headed and tired. Deciding to take it easy, I sat down and leaned against the wall, just watching the free play around me. But it wasn't getting any better - I could feel the aching/tingling through all my joints. Unfortunately, I knew the feeling well, because it's the feeling I always get when I get the flu (which really doesn't happen more than once every few years, but that feeling sticks with you, you know?). But I figured if I could just rest I would be okay.

By the time we left MCM to drive to Queen Elizabeth Central Hospital - for our second hospital visit - I knew I was going to get pretty sick soon. But however much I didn't want to miss out on the village visit the previous day, I really did not want to miss the hospital visit. If you read my thoughts on the first hospital visit, you'll understand why I wanted a second chance to face the challenges of visiting those people - people who desperately needed a friendly visit anyway. So when other leaders asked if I needed to be dropped off at the hotel to rest, I assured them that no, I wanted to go on to the hospital.

I won't say it was a bad decision, because knowing what I know now, I'm not sure there was anything to be done at that point that would have changed the outcome anyway, and I'm glad I got to go to the hospital. We visited more people, praying with them and giving gifts where we could, and it was easier to do the work we came to do now that we weren't so shocked by what we saw. The only thing was, that aching/tingling sensation (also known as RAGING FEVER for those who are a bit smarter than I was) was getting worse, and every time we stopped moving I felt the blood rushing and feared I was going to pass out. Which left me shaking out my arms and hopping from one foot to the other every time we stopped in a ward or wing to talk to doctors - I probably looked like a raving lunatic. Whenever someone asked if I was okay, I kept saying, "I just feel so weird." Yeah, I'm not so smart. By the time we got on the bus to drive back to the hotel, I was slumped over, forehead on the back of the seat in front of me, trying not to fall in a heap on the floor. One very sweet student rubbed my back a bit and gave me the standard (but well-meaning), "It'll be okay, Miss David. We'll be back at the hotel soon, and you can get some rest."

We had a little over an hour to kill before dinner when we got back to the hotel. Roomie and I walked to our room and I went straight to the bed, crawled under the covers, curled up in a ball, and tried to nap. She said she would wake me for dinner and left me alone to rest. I promptly began sobbing. Let's face it: No one likes being sick. When I get really sick, I give in to that childish instinct to just cry and whine about it - not forever, but just long enough to get it out of my system. But combined with that normal, "I'm sick and I hate being sick so I'm going to cry about it for a little bit," I was also afraid. I knew by this point that I was sick, and not with a little cough and cold, but something bigger, something I don't experience often, something that probably would require some sort of medicine or medical assistance.

And I was in a third-world country.

I cannot tell you how much that scared me. Maybe that makes me snobby or something, but all I know is that my worst-case-scenario planning was not looking good - getting violently ill in the middle of one of the most impoverished nations in the entire world did not strike me as exactly safe. I was definitely afraid.

My roommate came in a little while later and asked if I had any sort of appetite. I said that I did, so she brought me a little bit of chicken - don't worry, all our meals were cooked very thoroughly by the wife of one of our Malawian hosts - and potatoes to eat. I did, but it took a lot of energy, and when I finished I immediately lay back down. By this point I had put on two sweatshirts, with hoods pulled tight around my head, and was covered with blankets and quilt. And yet still, I was shivering. A lot. Roomie asked repeatedly if I wanted her to ask a fellow hotel-goer - part of a group of Irish missionaries we'd befriended - who was a doctor to come see me. I assured her that I would be fine with some rest, in spite of my fears that this was not true. But what can I say? I was worried about being trouble, about being a burden to the group, no matter how silly that is. She came to get my plate and left again, looking unconvinced when the bundle of covers mumbled, "I'll be fine," at her repeated question. Ten minutes later, I heard her enter the room again:

"You can be mad at me later," she said, very no-nonsense, "but I've brought a doctor."

Doctor S. was a very nice woman, probably early 30's, who mainly asked me about my symptoms. I told her the general timeline of my sickness thus far, and what I'd been feeling. When asked what I thought it might be, I said, "It feels like the flu, I just haven't thrown up at all." (Because flu for me normally comes with some sort of throwing up.) She listened carefully, nodding and prompting as needed. Then she gave her advice:

"Well, these are definitely symptoms of flu. Unfortunately, they're also symptoms of MALARIA. You almost certainly don't have MALARIA - it would be very unlikely - but you definitely don't want to have MALARIA and not get it treated." She turned to my roommate, saying, "But the bottom line is this: No one should look like this [indicating me in my bundled-but-still-shivering state] in the middle of Africa." We had to admit she had a point, and she recommended taking me to the hospital, so we prepared to go.

The main leader of our trip, Mrs. S., and one of our Malawian hosts, K., took me to the private hospital near our hotel (pictured here). I have to say that after having been to the state hospital earlier that same day, the stark contrast was fascinating; having yet another comparison, however, with the Stanford Hospital here in America - where I've been on a few different occasions, most notably for my depression - I can say the contrast there was even more fascinating. It was like seeing the worst of hospitals, an absolutely mediocre hospital, and a fabulous hospital, all side-by-side in my mind. Also, at this hospital, we had to pay for everything in cash before anything could be done. Need a blood test done? Pay first. Need a shot? Pay first. Need a medication regimen? Pay first. Very weird.

When the nurse took me back to a room, she weighed me, took BP, and took my temperature. Temperature was 38.9, to which I first responded with massive confusion and a firm belief that the thermometer was broken. Then I remembered - right, the rest of the world uses Celsius. Damn, what's that in Fahrenheit? I didn't know until I got home a week and a half later and looked it up online: about 102. YIPES. No wonder I felt like crap. They gave me a shot right away, both to help with my aches (especially headache) and to reduce my fever. From there, time for a blood test, to check for... MALARIA.

Of course, the lab had to be all the way across the hospital on the exact other side, as far as it could possibly get, so I shuffled along in my half-conscious state until we got there and then I slumped in a chair again. Only to find out we had to go all the way back to pay before coming all the way back again to get the test. Finally I let someone stab me with a needle - yes, it came from a sealed package, brand-new, etc. - and take a blood sample to test me for MALARIA, and to take other assorted statistics about my blood.

Then we shuffled all the way back again to wait for results and consult with doctor. Apparently I mumbled through a fairly long and detailed conversation with Mrs. S., though I remember very little of it. Eventually, the doctor showed up to let us know that I did not have MALARIA. Or rather, I tested negative for MALARIA. But unfortunately, I was taking MALARIA-prevention pills, and wouldn't you know it? Those pills could have produced a false negative. If I hadn't been on those pills, and I'd tested negative for MALARIA, they would have been all, "Yay! You don't have MALARIA!" But as it was, they were like, "Yay! (We think.) You (probably) don't have MALARIA! (But you might.)" Awesome. So we talked for a long time and our options came down to this:

Option #1: I get treated for MALARIA, even though I almost certainly don't have it. The treatment is a series of pills, and if I don't have MALARIA, they won't harm me in any way, but if I do have MALARIA, they will treat it before it gets really dangerous.

Option #2: We do nothing, because I probably just have a flu virus or something, and almost certainly do not have MALARIA. I am probably just fine, but on the off chance I do have MALARIA, I risk dying.

I'll bet you can guess which one we chose, smart people that you are. I am not, by nature, a risk-taker, but I am definitely not a risk-taker with my health in a third-world country when an easy treatment is available to me at a feasible cost. We picked up the pills from the pharmacy, along with a prescription for some pills that I swear someone called "Pinato," but Google doesn't agree with me - whatever they were, they were to help keep my fever down and act as pain reliever. With those in hand, we headed back to the hotel.

K. had offered to take me back to his house, where he and his wife could look after me and I could sleep more soundly (it would be quieter), but I wanted to stay at the hotel. I was terribly worried about the kids - I mean, can you imagine their little teenage minds worried to death because Miss David had to be taken to the hospital? I wanted them to see that I was all right, and then I could get some sleep. So we arrived at the hotel, and the kids were all in the meeting room, having a sing-along with the Irish group previously mentioned. (I am so bummed that I missed out on that, btw. Of ALL the nights to miss...) With my sweatshirt and hood still snugly fitted - I was still a bit cold - I shuffled in to say hello before getting some rest.

The whole room shouted in excitement to see me alive: "YEA-" followed immediately by an indescribable part-shock, part-concern, part horror sound at the state in which I stood before them: "ueggh..." Apparently, I looked "topply, and just generally terrible," as one student put it. But still, I was alive, and (probably) without MALARIA.

Over the next couple days I took my regimen of pills to treat the (probably non-existent) MALARIA, and was back to normal by the end of a restful weekend at Lake Malawi. A weekend I will tell you about in a later post...

More About Africa, To Soothe Your Impatient Souls

Your impatience warms my heart, and I actually mean that in complete sincerity. See, the fact that you all commented about your impatience (or just excitement, for the more patient among you) to hear more about my trip means that you care about me and my life at least enough to click "comment" and deal with that annoying word verification. Which may not be a ton, or it may be a ton, but in either case it was more than I was expecting. So thank you.

Okay, I got you just to our safe arrival and then left you in suspense, huh? Wow, I am a jerk. Okay, let me just give you an itinerary first, and then I'll move on to some details and - of course! - photos. Here's the trip in rapid-fire form:

- Friday, 6/5: Arrive in Malawi.
- Saturday, 6/6: Hang out and BBQ with local youth group. (Also, try to defeat the jet lag.)
- Sunday, 6/7: Church in the morning, visit Malawi Children's Mission (MCM) in the afternoon.
- Monday, 6/8: Visit Queen Elizabeth Central Hospital in the morning, work at Malawi Children's Mission in the afternoon.
- Tuesday, 6/9: Visit local high school (HHI) in the morning, work at MCM in the afternoon.
- Wednesday, 6/10: Visit Malawi radio broadcasting station and local village in the morning, work at MCM in the afternoon.
- Thursday, 6/11: Shop for curios at local street fair in the morning, work at MCM, then visit Queen Elizabeth Central Hospital in the afternoon. (Then, if you're me, go to the hospital at night, but we'll get to that.)
- Friday, 6/12: Drive to Lake Malawi for our weekend "retreat," lunch and relax.
- Saturday, 6/13: Enjoy Lake Malawi.
- Sunday, 6/14: Drive back from Lake Malawi, stopping for lunch in Zomba.
- Monday, 6/15: Visit local high school (SE) in the morning, work at MCM in the afternoon.
- Tuesday, 6/16:

(Okay, time out. I just now - like literally JUST THIS VERY SECOND AS I WAS WRITING THIS POST - realized that I missed my blogiversary. Totally forgot it. June 26 officially marked three years of blogging here at Life: The Ongoing Education. It never even crossed my mind until just this moment. I wonder what that means for me and the role blogging has come to hold in my life. Kind of sad, I guess.

Sorry, that's what you get for following a crazy girl like me - stream-of-consciousness blogging. I won't continue to berate myself for forgetting though, I promise. Back to our itinerary.)

- Tuesday, 6/16: MY BIRTHDAY! Most people work at MCM all day, but I get to be the special helper baking cupcakes (for the kids at MCM) and doing laundry (for our team) before joining folks at MCM in the afternoon.
- Wednesday, 6/17: Work at MCM all day.
- Thursday, 6/18: Work at MCM all day, say goodbye to the kids. (--> Sad face! <--)
- Friday, 6/19: Begin the journey home.
- Saturday, 6/20: Arrive home in S.F.

Okay, there's a lot in there to talk about, so let's get to it, shall we? I won't give a detailed play-by-play of everything we did, but I think you'll get a good sense of the trip from what I do choose to highlight. First, I'd like to share something I journaled after our trip to Queen Elizabeth Central Hospital on Monday morning:

Today we went to Queen Elizabeth Central Hospital, the main state hospital for the southern region of Malawi. There really aren't words to describe the experience. I know there aren't words, because plenty of folks used words to describe it to me ahead of time, to warn me of what I would see, and none of those descriptions were adequate in comparison to reality.

Bleak, somber faces with wide eyes - lost souls waiting to see where the hand of Death will strike next.

Open wounds running with puss, and children with huge tumors pushing through their eyes, their neck, their skull.

One nurse for every 50 people. Maybe.

The smell of urine, blood, sweat, and bleach, mixed with something else... Fear? Hopelessness? Death? What do these things smell like?

The white male doctors. Maybe five of them throughout the hospital, and these only because they volunteer their lives to the service of others whom they can never actually save.

Mothers sitting beside the beds in which their babies sleep, or cry, or gasp for air. Some of these babies aren't even being treated. They are just waiting to die.

Crowds of women and children - and very occasionally an old man - sitting in the grass between wings, waiting for the hospital to have room for them. A hospital that has already placed multiple children in each "bed" (wooden crates on table legs) and some directly on the floor.

The woman standing in the hallway wailing - groaning through her hands, crying to the heavens for the man just dead. And the line of women on either side of the hallway singing their song of mourning. And we walked right through them, heads down, unsure what else to do.

Yet in the midst of all this, there were giggles and grins. We sang to them, we waged, we hugged, we smiled. They don't need our tears, our pity, our hopeless looks. So we put on a bright face, for their sake, and we loved it - that was our whole purpose. And they felt it.

I prayed with two mothers and their two young sons. I don't think they knew a word I said, except for "Amen," and possibly "Jesus" (whom they call "Yesu"). But I put one arm strong around the mother, and my other hand gently on the child's head, and I know that both women knew someone was praying for them. And they bowed their heads and listened to my rambling, stumbling attempt at meaningful prayer in the face of indescribable suffering, and when I said, "Amen," they said, "Amen." And they thanked me when I hugged them. I did almost nothing, and yet they thanked me.

But the hardest part for me was when we sang to the children and their mothers in the first ward:

"How great is our God
Sing with me - how great is our God
And all will see how great
How great is our God"

And I wondered if He really was.

I know that it's not the happiest of things to share, but it was strongly on my heart that night, and if you want an accurate picture of what Africa did for me, you've got to take the good with the bad. I have no photos from the hospital, because cameras weren't allowed; the government is smart enough to know that, politically-speaking, it is not in their best interest for outsiders to see exactly how bad it is in there. We went back a second time, on Thursday of that week, and I felt a little more prepared at least, but it was still so hard, knowing there was really nothing we could do.

This has been a largely text-based post, and I know I'm not going to be able to write much more before I have to leave you (yet again) with nothing but a promise that more will come soon. So for now, I'll give a pictorial description of our village visit.

Here are some of the sights on the way to the village:





They greeted us with singing, as did almost every Malawian, everywhere we went:


They watched us with fascination, but no negative judgment:


And we gave gifts of sugar, soap, and Vaseline:



It was incredibly sad that we could not give gifts to everyone there. We knew that ahead of time - the chiefs had pre-appointed 100 families (the neediest) to receive the gifts, and that was what we had prepared for, knowing we could not serve them all. But to be there, face-to-face with people in need, knowing that most of us had, in our home pantries and kitchen cabinets, food enough to feed them for months, yet unable to get it for them... It really hurt our hearts. Never before have I so wished to have a Safeway or Albertson's nearby, so I could just swipe my ATM card and feed these hungry families. But I couldn't.

Then we headed off to tour some of the nearest homes of the village:


And we got to see a lady making beer!

(Don't worry, we didn't let the kids drink any. We're good chaperones.)

And on that savory note, I will have to leave you yet again. While I realize I STILL have not told you the almost-malaria story, I think we should all take a moment to appreciate the fact that summer + recent Africa trip = more frequent posting. It's almost like I'm a real blogger again.

(Note: this is where you raise one eyebrow dubiously. Go ahead.)

More to come soon...

I Went to Africa and All I Got Was This Lousy Case of Maybe-Malaria

No, that's not true. I mean, it is true that I caught what may or may not have been (but almost certainly wasn't) malaria while in Africa, but it's not true that that is all I got. In fact, I got much more.

... What's that? You want to hear about it? Really? Even after I've so brutally neglected you and left you wondering what you could possibly have done to upset me and make me leave you forever? That's so sweet! Okay, let me tell you about Africa...

(Be warned, this might take a while. Like, this post might be wicked long. Or like it might be multiple posts. We'll play it by ear - Africa taught me to be way more flexible with my plans.)

First, I must brag about the awesomeness of the students at Christian School. They are truly an anomaly in the world of teenagers, because they are amazing, sweet, well-mannered, conscientious young people, and I was (almost always) proud to be associated with them. It was really only on our first long flight - from San Francisco to Paris - that I was mildly ashamed to admit they were with me, when they were running around the airplane laughing noisily in the middle of the night, until one poor lady had to ask to be moved away from them. Literally, that was the only time I've ever seen them act like stereotypical annoying teenagers. The rest of the time, they were polite and mature beyond their years.

You may have noticed the mention of our flying to Paris in that last paragraph. Yes, even though we were technically on a missions trip - where the general understanding is that you go to sacrifice your own comfort and pleasure to help and serve others - we lucked out and ended up with a 12-hour layover in Paris. So we took a group of 20 teenagers and 7 adults trekking through Paris for a whole day, and let me tell you, it was beautiful. I can't say I fell in love with Paris, but only because I was only there long enough to get the barest taste of what it could be. I think if I were there longer, I could definitely be in love.

First we went to Notre Dame:

(The ambulance drove in at the last second. I think it might have been a harbinger of things to come...)

Then we visited the Arc de Triomphe:



And the Eiffel Tower:

(This is what we refer to as the "up the skirt" shot of the Eiffel Tower. Poor girl is horribly exposed.)

And we even got to go up the Eiffel Tower and enjoy amazing views (but we only went partway up - we didn't have time to wait in the lines to go all the way to the top, which was sad):




Yeah, for a "missions trip," we felt like we were getting awfully spoiled. Oh, and let's not forget that we also got crepes and chocolate croissants in Paris as well. Oh, it's a hard life sometimes.

After an overnight flight from S.F. to Paris - on which almost no one slept, or slept very little - and a full day of walking around the City of Lights, everyone was quietly snoozing most of the flight to Johannesburg. These were my first flights longer than 5 hours, and I have to say I did very well. I don't mind sitting for long periods of time, and if there are movies to watch and/or books to read, I'm pretty content. Plus I sleep well, so I was the one in the group at whom everyone else glared jealously on their way to the bathrooms, because I was so often sleeping soundly while they tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable by flopping face-down on their tray table. I didn't mind the jealous looks, though. Because I was, you know, ASLEEP. Suckers.

After Johannesburg we got on this lovely - and I'm sure completely safe - craft:

... and flew to Blantyre, Malawi. (Actually, we flew to Lilongwe, Malawi, then turned around and flew 35 minutes back the other direction to get to Blantyre. African flights are weird.)

When we arrived in Blantyre, we "met" our bus for the first time. There are really no words to describe the awesomeness of our bus, so I'll just let the picture do the talking:

(I hear your question reverberating through the interwebs. Yes, that is a squid.)

Then off to our hotel, complete with mosquito net - or, as I liked to call it, my "cocoon of safety":

(Until we discovered it had large holes in it. Then it was my "cocoon of mostly-safety.")

And then the trip began in earnest, which I will tell you about in the next post. I know, you're all still wondering about that whole "I may or may not have contracted a deadly disease" story, but that should be just the motivation you need to keep your eyes peeled for the follow-up post.

Until then...

Insert Title Here

No, I don't like what I've let happen to this blog. I don't know what I want. Well, what I want is to want to blog. The fact is that the desire just hasn't been there. Often my brain is just so fried by the time I get home that I don't want to try to put any more sentences together. I also think very carefully about what I should or shouldn't post regarding school and various school-related people, and more often than not I end up deciding to play it safe by not posting anything.

I used to be a blogger. Am I still? How long can you go without blogging and still call yourself a blogger? I liked the blogger I was. Last year, when I went to Blogher '08, I was in a zone. I liked my style, I liked my site, and I liked all the people I connected with who joined me for my ride through life. And then I started teaching, and my blogging frequency tanked. And then my readership tanked. And then my frequency tanked more. And then I just flat-out left. What the hell, right? What happened?

I don't like that it happened, but I also don't know how to fix it. Blogging was never supposed to feel like a chore. It's not my job - it's a hobby. It's supposed to be something I enjoy. So if I wasn't enjoying it, wasn't it right to stop?

Whatever happened, I'm sorry. I hope the people who honestly care about me - whether I met you in real life or on the internet (or both) - are still willing to read when I am around. But I can't make promises about when that will be. I do know it won't be for a few weeks at least, though.

Tomorrow afternoon I am flying to Paris, France with 20 students and 6 other adults. We'll arrive in Paris around 11am Thursday morning, spend the day sightseeing, and get on a plane to Johannesburg, South Africa around 11pm. After a couple hours killing time in Johannesburg, we'll fly to Lilongwe, Malawi, and then to our final destination in Blantyre, Malawi sometime late Friday afternoon. I will be home again (via the same route in reverse) on June 20.

I really do love you guys, and I want to promise I'll post about the trip. But the fact is that I love you too much to make a promise I'm not sure I can keep, so I'll just say see ya around.

Ummm...

So, I feel like I really ought to put something up here because I've been so sadly neglecting this blog but I just do not even want to get into how unhappy I've been with the way things have been going down lately and I don't really want to pretend that I have been happy with the way things have been going and I can't think of anything else to write and I don't really want to try very hard to come up with something to write so even though I really feel like I should blog I just don't want to.

Is that okay?

Life: The Recent Education (in Photos)

So first, a long time ago now (something on the order of FOUR WEEKS!) I was in our school's musical, Good News! I was a professor:


And I was also a police officer:

(And yes, that's a Civil War costume. Don't ask me...)

The weekend after the musical closed, I found myself at the wedding of two dear friends: Tali and K. (Tali is a frequent reader/commenter hereabouts.)

They were a lovely couple:


And it was a lovely ceremony:


Congrats, Tali and K.!

And the very day after the wedding, I was off to New Orleans. Almost our entire school went off this week on service trips: about 40 students to Kentucky, 50 to New Orleans, and 400 or so to Mexico. I spent my time helping tear up a floor and paint some classrooms to refurbish this church:



And 7 plane flights later (4 to get there, 3 to get back, all in five days...), I was home and it was time for Easter! The only remaining stained glass window in the church - all others had been destroyed by Katrina - coincidentally showed a perfectly appropriate scene:

"Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen!" Luke 24: 5-6

And now I am looking towards a week off - Spring Break! - to rest, to do laundry, to grade projects, and maybe even to blog.

Any fun snapshots from your lives lately?