Some days it seems like it was just yesterday. And some days feel like it was two days ago. There have been times in my life that a year was such a long time. Last year just doesn't go away. 

I was hoping all my tears would dry up in a year. I can hardly see the page I'm typing for the fog between it and me. My cheeks still burn with dried salt sometimes. And there's that emptiness that just won't go away. 

I haven't deleted my "sadness" playlist as I thought I would have by now. I don't listen to it every day like I did last year. I just don't listen to anything now. 

When will the sadness go away? When will I be able to go back to where I live and know that I'm home? 

On the weekend that marked the year of Michael's absence, the weekend that includes World Communion Sunday - the day he died, I rented a big house in the Poconos in eastern PA and invited my kids and their families. I didn't want to be in Wise. And I didn't want to be alone. We shared time and space together. We enjoyed walking in the park, riding bikes around the neighborhood, and sitting by the fire in the evenings. We watched the grandkids do kid stuff.

In 2002 and 2003, Michael lived for long stints of time with the Majangir people outside of Dembi Dollo while I stayed in Addis Ababa with our kids who were in school there. He and his Oromo colleague, Mitiku, were working with the Majangir community to set up a school and a church and to improve their agricultural process. It was probably where his favorite memories of our 26 years in Ethiopia were. He lived in a tent and cooked on an open fire, eating whatever was available and whatever he and Mitiku could make in one pot. He participated in the community. They taught him to dance. (Well - to dance their way. He already had some pretty good 1970s moves!) 

And he brought in a professional potter to show the women how to use a potter's wheel to improve their pottery work that was/is their livelihood. And since that time, we have had amongst the decorations of our houses, a bunch of interesting clay pots decorated with chickens or wild pigs or other animals. I took some of those with me to our gathering and presented one to each of our kids and their families explaining how they are symbolic of their dad. 

Michael was creative. He always had some creation going on in his head - whether it was a story about a kid named Sam that made its way into our bedtime routine, or a plan for a back yard garden that never happened, or a dream to build a ship in a bottle (he started that by collecting bourbon bottles). During some of the endless meetings he sat in, he doodled on the Paint app on his old computer. He carved square blocks of wood into four headed gnomes. He crafted every sermon he ever preached using just the right words. 

Michael saw the potential in others. And he created ways to create unusual gatherings.  Michael instigated the fellowship between the Pittsburgh Presbytery, who already had a partnership with the church in Malawi, and the South Sudan Presbyterian Evangelical Church, bringing Africans together who wouldn't normally have that opportunity. The professional potter who went to the Majangir village was a woman from Addis Ababa who had never been outside the city. She had the best time of her life and was thankful to have been invited. 

And Michael was an adventurer. When I was a young woman thinking about dedicating my life to mission, I found him in Egypt where he had gone in search of a good God in a suffering world. He spent his days off from teaching at Ramses College for Girls in Cairo  out in the desert visiting monasteries or in mosques nearby. His time with the Majangir was an adventure of learning the ways of people he had only recently encountered. It's where he saw lions on the path as he drove out to their remote home. It's where he learned about hunting at night with flashlights and spears. And frankly, (but he never told me this) he thrilled at surviving an interrogation in Khartoum by the secret police. (Of course he did!)

The clay creations of the Majangir women of Ulaa Waataa are a good representation of Michael Weller and who he was. Made from the gold-speckled clay from the ground of the hills above Gambella and just below Dembi Dollo, they remind me of his creativity, his adventure, and his interest in other people, other peoples. I will keep a couple with me as I keep on moving into what I am called to do and where I am called to go for the remainder of my life. 

I'm back in Wise now, still living in the church manse because of the generosity of the people here. With the help of a camping man in the congregation, I got my little camper winterized. She'll sit in the church parking lot till I have a place to go again. I hope I'll be able to get out again sometime next year and continue my wanderings. I am beginning to think of how to use the next years of my life. I hope that will include a trip to Ethiopia sometime in the beginning of the year. I'd like to pursue the work of trauma healing with Africans who have immigrated to the US. There's a lot to do right here in southwest Virginia, where one of the poorest counties in the US is. 

I keep a picture of Michael in my camper. He's wearing the red pullover rain jacket that he bought in Marion, VA before we went to Ethiopia in 1994 and now hangs in our coat closet, He is sitting perched on one rock with his feet on one in front of him. The mountains of the western Wollega escarpment beyond him, his hat in his hands, and a backpack on his back. He is deep in thought. It's a perfect picture of him in the place where he had such a good time and such a good influence - somewhere near the Majangir village where the women worked the clay and Michael built friendships and showed God's unfettered love. It's that kind of memory I wish for my kids to hold of their dad and for others to know about him. 

I miss him every day.

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.