But also ... Pittsburgh

 Before I move on, I've gotta tell you about driving through Pittsburgh on my way home.

I had made an appointment with a mechanic to get some of the electric issues sorted. It was at the only other RV place in the US that sells this brand camper and it happened to be just south of Pittsburgh. So I called, Kay Day, a friend and former PCUSA mission co-worker, and spent the weekend at her house. 
Oh - but where to park? Kay's house is on a no-parking street and I'm not backing my camper either up or down her short driveway. Fortunately for me, Kay is friendly. She talked to her neighbor on the corner and asked him to help her save two spaces with his car and hers. It was perfect - the first spots after turning left onto another one-way street (most streets in Pgh are). His car was gone by the time I got there and Kay had taken up two spaces, so as I pulled up, Kay pulled her car out. 

And that's where Blue and Red camped while Gabi and I had a regular bed in a regular house back around the corner and up the street a bit.

And then Monday came. The GPS wanted me to make the first (very tight) right hand turn onto a cobble-stone road. I knew GPS lady could figure out a better route, so I kept straight. And she did. But it's still Pittsburgh - narrow one-way streets, left-hand turns onto busy two-lane roads, and then a ramp up onto the highway. Traffic zooming by on my left. Blinker on, I moved forward and got in lane. Pretty soon my route veers off to the right and merges in with a couple (was it three?) lanes of traffic on my right. Of course, a horn blared. I ignored it. Because I had to get all the way over to the right across all those lanes to get onto the Parkway East going towards the Squirrel Hill Tunnel - which was under construction. 

But look. Big old tractor trailers do this all the time. I can get my little Jeep and little camper into this traffic. And if anyone wants to blare their horn at me - go ahead and blare. I won't hear it! 

A big sigh as I get onto the Parkway in the right-hand lane. I'm driving peacefully along in the right-hand lane and suddenly I realize the sign above my head says, "exit only". Oops. Gotta move left or I'll end up in Oakland and have to navigate around Pitt and CMU. Hold it steady and use your blinker, I tell myself. Lucky for me the driver behind me hung back a bit. I got over and then ... the "construction ahead" signs. I stayed in my lane ending up in the middle lane. And that's where I stayed, they can all merge around me!

And yes, I aimed my phone and clicked a couple pictures, too!

The tunnel is not as scary as it seems. No cars coming head-on, and, because of the construction, none on either side. Just construction barriers and a wall. 

When I finally saw the brightness at the end of the tunnel I started breathing again - because, don't you know, you always hold your breath going through tunnels! 

As I emerged into the sunlight, my hand shot up and I did a one-handed high-five to the empty seat beside me! "Did you see that, Michael!?!" I said. 

He would have squeezed my hand on the gear-shift. 

Grief comes in Waves

 The last time I was at the beach, I went into the water and standing about waist high I was jumping and "riding" waves with my kids and grandkids. The last time I ever did that (and am ever likely to try it again) I jumped up caught a wave - or rather the wave caught me, slammed me down to the floor of the ocean, yanked all my breath out of me, and receded as if nothing happened.

People have told me, "grief comes in waves". I guess I assumed that meant that it comes sweeping over you, you cry for a few hours or maybe a day, and then it passes.

After a week at New Wilmington Mission Conference, I spent some time with my sister in northern PA, then a wonderful, quiet few days in Cook Forest, not far from my sister's place, with just Gabi. We walked in the woods, slept in late, cooked dinner on the induction stove. I didn't have the energy to build a fire. I wrote a lot, thought a lot, prayed a lot, worked on my yarn project a lot, and cried some, too. Michael would have built a fire. 

Then I came home. It was about a week after my birthday and a week before the 41st anniversary of our wedding. I walked in the house, sighed a deep sigh and slept well in my bed - our bed - that night. I woke up crying in the morning. Amira had been away and returned that evening. I cried. I cried all the next week up till the day of our anniversary. I felt like the wind was knocked out of me. 

On our anniversary I remembered last year. On my birthday last year, Michael noted (somehow) that he hadn't gotten me anything. Gifts were important to him. Then he said very clearly, "That's where we are now." He couldn't smile for our anniversary picture. I just miss him so much this year. 

The wave has receded. I emerged out of breath, but I'm ok. I prayed. I journaled. 

Grief comes in waves. I don't ever want to go into the ocean again.

Blues Fade to Greens

 

For more than a week after the conference, I spent a week at my sister's house camping on their driveway beside the house. I was hoping to work out the glitch in my solar system. It was peaceful for me - not alone, but still living alone in my portable house. 

The Hamm's (Peggy, my sister, and her husband, Glenn) house is surrounded by woods. One neighbor's house is visible, if you stare hard enough through the foliage. With music planted against my eardrums, I wandered the woods contemplating my help that comes, not from the hills or the trees, but from the One who created it all and loves it all ... and me. They were hard days, but in many ways very green days.

Just some green pictures. 

Remnants of the 150 year old oil boom.

They were blue, blue days, but I found goodness in the grace of the green around me. 

And then a quiet several days in Cook Forest alone with Gabi and more green.

PCUSA Mission Continues

Since my last post, I've had several driving and camping adventures. The first one was a week at New Wilmington Mission Conference. 

My main job with the conference was to welcome the 2025 PCUSA Mission Co-workers, the ones who lost their positions when the PCUSA leadership decided to do mission "differently". They all needed a big hug. The mission networks along with the conference, through an event we called With You Always, did that. Sharon Curry, a colleague from several years ago, and I hosted a welcome room. 

For 120 Years the New Wilmington Mission Conference has been a gathering place for Presbyterian missionaries (or co-workers) and people interested in cross-cultural mission. It has been a place where those seeking direction have found inspiration and heard God's call to Go into all the world.

As a mission network convener (The Ethiopia Mission Network) I was part of a small group of people who organized the gathering of the 2025 Mission Co-workers and the time of public lament followed by conversations of hope, discernment, and commitment. The NWMC theme this year, planned more than a year in advance, was Matthew 28:18-20. In the With You Always gathering we promised to continue support for those whose positions ended, but whose call had not; we promised to continue relationships with international partners, and we remembered the source of our calling and the promise that Jesus is with us to the end of the age. 

The With You Always event was held during the "free-time" hours in the afternoon of two conference days, July 21 & 22. The time of lament, led prayerfully by Dr. James Taneti of Union Presbyterian Seminary in Richmond, VA, was moving, powerful, and sobering as many losses were named by the mission co-workers and others. We moved from lament to hope as we began to think about new possibilities. Hunter Farrell of Pittsburgh Seminary led us in the second day's conversations discerning possible options for sending and being sent and then we ended the conversation making prayerful commitments to using our gifts to continue engaging in incarnational relationship-building work to follow Jesus command to Go into all the world.

It was good to be with many former mission colleagues. It was hard to look around and see groups of Michael's friends laughing and talking without him. 

I continue to meet with the With You Always planning team to keep talking about ways Presbyterians will continue to support God's work in many places in the world.

After a week away, it was good to be reunited with my Gabi at my sister's house.

On the Road with Red and Blue and Gabi

I was given a hat. Camp more Worry less, it announces. I'll wear the hat, but it is lying. At least to begin with. Maybe I'll get everything down to a worry-free science, but for now camping in an all-electric camper pulled by my two-door Jeep Wrangler has been the focus of my attention and worries for the past several weeks.

Red pulling Blue

I am eager to get the hang of it and go worry-free to get some kind of sense of who Rachel without Michael is. I have a wonderful home in Wise, VA still, surrounded by the people who learned to love Michael in the couple of years he was active with them. They enveloped me and him with hugs, prayers, songs, food, faith, belonging, and hope. I love the community of Wise, but I went there with Michael and because of Michael. So, I need to figure out who I am without him now. I'm hoping camping in a pull-behind house powered by electricity that I have a very limited understanding of, in a country I am only sort of familiar with, will give me time and space to think about who I am without Michael - undoing and reorganizing 40 years of learning who I was with him.

How we ride!

I am not, however, alone. I'm taking my puppy, Gabi (rhymes with lobby), wherever I go. That also complicates my life. Gabi came to us when Michael was visiting near the church in Pound. A family had a couple puppies they needed to find homes for. At that time, I was still mourning my sudden departure from Ethiopia and loss of so many friends nearby. 
When he texted me, "Do you want a puppy?" with a picture, what could I do!? That was before the tumor. Gabi has been with both of us since shortly after we arrived in southwest VA. She's a complication I enjoy (most of the time) and I have found willing puppy-sitters when I've needed them.

After purchasing the camper in North Carolina, I took it home, went about getting stuff to use on a camping trip, and made a quick dry run to Camp Bethel, on the edge of Wise. I learned I had a lot to learn. So after learning most of what I needed to learn I set off. It seems to me that a reasonable trip should be about four or five hours. That should give me time to wake up in the morning (not something I do easily), organize and re-organize everything that needs organizing on a pull-behind camper, set my plan for the next stop, and drive off. Four hours away from Wise was a campground behind a TA truck stop near Lexington, VA on my way to Tidewater, VA where our daughter, Lydia, lives. 

That's where I had my first melt down. 

Because everything was going so well and I didn't want to mess that up, since I was only there to sleep the night, I left everything hooked up. Including the electric brake controller. It drained my battery overnight. If I had read the manual, I would have known that. Thankfully, nearby campers helped me out. Getting a hold of myself after melting down on the phone with Amira, who just happened to call at the right moment, I walked over to some neighboring campers and got a jump to get poor old Red Jeep going again. I took a deep breath and pulled off, Gabi at my elbow on the console of the Jeep.

Truckstop camp site near Lexington, VA

My next goal was Chesapeake, VA, not very far from Portsmouth, where Lydia was setting up in a new apartment. I took the scenic route most of the way, after loosing GPS signal right when I was supposed to get off the highway to go visit friends south of Richmond. Virginia lowland scenic roads are fairly easy to navigate; not so many twists and turns as in the highlands. Chesapeake Campground was our home for a week. And we enjoyed several visits with Lydia at her house and at our camp. 

I felt very successful hooking up to power and water, navigating life with a dog that barks at every sound she doesn't recognize (every sound, in this case), and learning how to use the induction stove in the camper - all by myself! My tiny, fat hands even twisted the grey water drain in place. But it took my breath away for a moment as my mind saw Michael's big, strong hands (until weeks before he died he had a strong grip) twisting the drain hose together. The campsite was a pull-though, so I didn't have to back up. I'll get to that hurdle eventually. I was thankful to avoid it for now.

I enjoyed slow mornings sitting under the pine trees, listening to

music, reading, thinking, and journaling. I missed Michael and cried. I picked myself up and did the next thing. 

Camp Chesapeake

 And then I successfully undid all the hook-ups and re-did the hitch-ups. I was so proud of backing up to the hitch and getting the tow ball on the Jeep exactly under the hitch of the trailer! Nothing toppled over and I didn't leave with anything still hooked up. I smiled as I left.

 After a lunch stop with our friends, Peter and Patty Ford, I drove on to a Cracker Barrel campsite. I knew that Walmart allows overnight campers. My camping video research made me aware that Cracker Barrel does the same thing. So I headed for a Cracker Barrel about four or five hours from where I needed to be next. It wasn't Gabi's favorite campsite. So many noises! Other campers pulled in till at least midnight. And there was something sniffing around out there - evidenced by the cleaned-up parking lot in the morning. Gabi was restless all night and drank at least two full bowls of water. 

After her morning walk and re-attaching the electric brake controller (I won't repeat that mistake!) we headed off towards Pennsylvania. I would be going to New Wilmington Mission Conference north of Pittsburgh and I had gotten a message that someone would be flying into Pittsburgh airport about the time I could be going past there, so I put PIT into my GPS and headed off. 

Only, I had forgotten that I had set my map to "avoid highways and tolls". 

The roads to Pittsburgh from northern VA go directly through West Virginia - not straight through, because no road in WVa is straight! And all roads go either up or down along with

round and round! My white knuckles steered Red Jeep and Blue Camper to PIT arrivals just as my passenger was emerging from the terminal. I blocked traffic in the middle lane while he got his bag behind the seat, greeted my over-excited puppy, and settled into the passenger seat. I was grateful for the four lane not-highly-trafficked road to New Wilmington. 

View from my chair

I dropped him off there and set my GPS to Franklin, where my sister, Peggy, lives about 40 minutes north. Forty minutes if there's no storm. But there was a storm. Just as I pulled out of New Wilmington on the Amish buggy rutted road going north, the skies opened up and rain poured down. I learned later that behind me trees were snapping and creeks were rising dangerously. White knuckles once again did their job of keep both Jeep and Camper from bouncing off the water-logged road even as water splashed blindingly over the windshield. I took two breaks along the way to let the rain die down a bit. And a little over an hour later I arrived at my sister's house where the sun was shining and parking places had been cleared for Red and Blue.

They sit there now as I am getting myself together to hit the road again. So far I've learned that I can, in fact, do harder things than I think I can or want to do. I've also learned it's easy to do things if you don't know how hard they are going to be!

Last week I spent a very fruitful week at New Wilmington. That's a story for my next posting.

 

Harder than Anything I've Ever Done

I've done a lot of hard things in my life. Most of them were things I didn't realize were hard until later when someone would say, "That must have been hard." I didn't notice - just kept plugging away knowing that with some persistence, patience, and ingenuity things would get better some day. 

But this thing I'm doing now - harder than I ever imagined. It's not fun. It is not satisfying. And it has no hope for a great outcome - at least not by anything I can do. The day it gets better ... well, I cry when I think about that.

I ... we ... live in a most generous community. Without them I would be a major mess. 

If you've been following our journey, you know that another tumor grew in Michael's brain and was removed Sept 1 last year. He hasn't been the same since. The whole tumor was not removeable. (The first time around they got the whole thing.) This time they had to "nick" some of the viable brain in the process of getting out what they could get out.

Recovery was slow. He had intention tremors in his legs that landed him on the floor daily until we (Amira and I) learned how to pay attention and place chairs strategically around the house that could be whipped behind him when we saw trouble coming. 

He has recovered to the place where he can walk around the house without even a cane. The tremors are gone. 

He can hear and understand everything that goes in his ears. He sleeps a lot. Maybe he's depressed. I know I would be. He watches stuff on the tv. Just watches. No comment, no annoyance, no excitement. He can answer yes/no questions effectively - except sometimes he says no when he means yes. He sometimes makes full, coherent, and correct sentences. He can tell you what position he played in high school and college when he played football. He can tell you the names of his teammates and friends. I tell him, "I love you". He says, "That's good". I laugh. Then turn away and cry.

We haven't had a conversation since mid August when he had a grand mal seizure. 

He is comforted by scripture. He likes quiet music. He drinks a lot of chocolate-banana smoothies and still likes potted-meat sandwiches. 

This is just the longest, hard journey I've ever been on. 

I am comforted by music, scripture, friends, and family. Our kids have all been to visit. Amira still lives with us (except for the three weeks we're in the middle of, while she is in Portugal helping a friend with a newly purchased house there). 
I've been preaching at a church down the mountain from here. The preparation keeps my mind off other things and points to Hope. And I preach at Michael's churches sometimes now, too. He's on permanent disability. We've been welcomed to stay in the manse as long as we need to. I'm grateful. 

Michael still receives treatment - chemo therapy in tablet form that he swallows once every 6 weeks as long as it works and an every-three-week IV infusion that constricts the small blood vessels in order to starve the tumor and help the chemo work. The treatment is tolerable - no nausea or hair loss. I don't know if it causes brain fog or not, but it's not interrupting life for him, like it does with many other types of cancer treatment. 

He asked me on one of our drives to get the IV infusion: Are we interrupting God's plan? 
I didn't answer. I don't know.

This is harder than anything I've ever done before. 

I appreciate your prayers, your emails and cards, your friendship, the meals and other support you all have provided. It's God's gift to us.

Thanks

  

Keep On Walking

I came back to our rental apartment in Durham, having spent the day sitting beside Michael who was a day past brain surgery to remove a recurrent tumor from the front of his head.

As I kicked off my shoes and sank down on the chintzy cloth-covered couch I heard a deep groan and a wail. Where did that come from? Except for me the apartment was empty. It must have come from a place in me I didn't know existed.

Man. This is a hard road to navigate. I had kissed Michael good-night and told him, “I love you”. He had looked at me with blank eyes. “Do you love me?” I had asked him. A monotone voice replied, “Yes, I love you.” I guess it was just too much that day. I sat crying. Loudly. Hoping no one in the other apartments was listening. Knowing Someone was.  

Most days I breathe deep. Sometimes those deep breaths turn into rock-heavy sighs that land with a thud in the bottom of my gut. My eyes brim over moistening my cheeks.  

My cheeks are probably marked with a permanent salt stain.

I have recently been listening to the music of david m. bailey David grew up, like me, the child of Presbyterian missionaries. I followed news of him as he fought brain cancer for nearly 14 years. He documented his journey (not exclusively about brain cancer) through music, but I didn't want to listen to it because it might make me cry. Now I listen. And cry. Of course, it's not all sad songs. A few weeks ago I nodded my head as I listened, and listened again, to Keep on Walking. And I said to myself, "yes. I need to keep on walking." So I have moved forward with the work that I have heard God ask me to do.

I'm starting slowly and locally. A group of five friends asked me to walk them through a program of trauma healing. We have started meeting weekly and will walk through the American Bible Society's book Healing the Wounds of Trauma: How the Church Can Help. For me it is a sort of practice - how to work with people who clearly understand English and need no translation! And of getting back onto that path.

If I am going to do this work fully, I am going to need your help. If you want to help, you can commit to praying for me, you can check on me to see how it's going and if I keep on listening to God's voice through it all, and you can drop a couple dollars here. I hope to raise enough to make this my full-time vocation for the next few years until I can retire. My hope is to work with Ethiopians and South Sudanese who have moved to the US in recent years, but that will involve more travel than I am free to do right now. That time will come, though, so if you are amongst those people or know some of them, let's talk. Who knows what God will do?!

three weeks post-surgery

This has been a hard couple of months. Michael's recovery from surgery has taken more time than it did after the first one. He has not been able to put together enough sentences to make a paragraph. Seizure activity in his brain has thrown him to the ground several times. We now have chairs strategically placed between where he hangs out and places in the house he wants to go to within our house. He has a cane, a walker, and a wheelchair and uses whichever one he needs at the moment. I am on constant alert, listening to every noise in the house when I'm not sitting beside him. We hold each other tighter than usual and tell each other I love you more often.

But what a blessing to have Amira, our daughter, with us! She has moved in and has started making this house look and feel like a home! Her presence makes it possible for me to run to the store or to the dentist. She's a joy to talk to. She even likes our dog Gabi! She's looking for paying work - and finding it pretty quickly. She's an Amira-of-all-trades and pretty good at everything she does. She'll stay till she goes somewhere else sometime. That's the plan for now.

 

Today I woke up discouraged. My prayer has been that God will allow Michael more days (weeks? months?) of productive work telling God's message that he is so good at doing. But the thinking process has prevented that. Until today. This morning after listening to our usual devotional podcast, he asked me what I thought. I was surprised, because he hasn't asked that for a very long time. I told him my thoughts and then cautiously asked him about his thoughts. What a joy to hear him tell me clearly and coherently what he has been thinking for these many weeks since the tumor returned in late July. He admitted that he was very discouraged, that he felt abandoned by God. And we talked about that for a little and then prayed together. His voice was stronger than I've heard it for a month. And his prayer was beautiful!

when we're all too busy to play

Thank you for walking together with both Michael and me. Thank you for lifting each of us up before the Throne of Grace, because sometimes its hard for us to do it ourselves. And I thank God for staying beside us, for giving us strength, and for what appears to be another miracle in the making. I thank God for all of you.